A Knockout From the Inside 
By drp76@aol.com (DRP76)
f/f boxing
Update: 04/03/1998 to misc3


Once more, the usual disclaimers of mild violence, but PG13 at the 
most.Again, comments welcomed.  Will repost the other story. 

A Knockout From the Inside 

Lying stunned on the canvas, she writhed in agonized helplessness, 
unable to rise.  Her dazed mind was clouded and confused by the spinning 
dizziness in her head; her tired body fatigued by the effect of the 
punches it had taken and numbed by the blow which had dropped her.  For 
the first few seconds she was down, blackness had overwhelmed her.  When 
she had first picked up the count, it was already climbing past five; 
now, as she struggled in vain to get her unresponsive arms and legs to 
give her some kind of support, she heard the count tolling ever upward.  
First fear and now panic were setting in as she realized that she was 
not going to be able to rise. 

The ten count found her still face down on the canvas.  Her sleek, 
strong arms were pulled in under her shoulders, near her chest, but 
those arms, those shoulders, that chest, which had put so many other 
opponents in just this position, had no strength to lift her upper body 
off the mat.  One leg, the right, was still outstretched; the left had 
managed to find its way drawn up to her hip, but neither of her lean, 
hard, powerful legs, the legs which had given her the mobility to evade 
so many opponents' blows, could summon the strength to hold her body. 
Softly she began to sob, sobs of pain, of anger, most of all of 
frustration. She had been so close to winning, but her opponent was 
patient, cunning, smart, and powerful; she had finally detected that 
fatal flaw in the defenses that had allowed her to drive the telling 
blows home.  Those blows had in turn created more openings, openings 
through which punches which first hurt, then dazed and stunned had 
smashed against vulnerable targets.  It had been done with surgical 
precision.  In less than half a minute her opponent had turned the fight 
around, had gone from losing on points by a wide margin to the winner by 
knockout. She had been boxing, in one form or another, for about eight 
years, but professionally only for a year and half.  Blessed - or maybe 
cursed - with a feisty nature and a fierce competitive spirit, soccer 
had fallen by the wayside after red cards for pushing and shoving gave 
way to a suspension for slugging an opponent who had blatantly tripped 
her.  Swimming was great exercise, but the lack of face-to-face 
competition left her feeling empty. Tennis came closer, but the 
opponents were too distant.  Martial arts had seemed the natural outlet, 
and for a time they were.  From them she gained the discipline to keep 
her temper in check, but eventually the overly-structured discipline 
began to gnaw; she wanted more. Her parents had seen to it that as she 
reached puberty she learned how to defend herself, and her indulgent 
older brothers had secretly taught her how to box.  To their surprise, 
she turned out to be a natural, and as she got her growth, they had 
first to stop "taking it easy" on her, then scramble to find excuses not 
to box with her - she began to be able to beat them!  In that 
frustrating roll of the dice called who gets whose genes, the boys of 
the family inherited their build from their mother's side of the family, 
and turned out short and slim, while she got her father's build, tall, 
lean and strong. Fortunately, today's enlightened age recognizes the 
right of a determined, talented woman to learn to box, and so the local 
boxing gym had, a few years before, begun admitting female boxers to its 
training ranks.  She soon established quite a reputation for herself as 
a hard worker who took her craft seriously.  The gym would not allow 
competitive bouts, but their sparring sessions were structured to be a 
serious test of ability, and she shined, to the point that most of her 
fellow female boxers really did not want to spar with her if they could 
avoid it.  She had a killer instinct worthy of a world champion, and 
delighted in putting her sparring partner on the mat - which began to 
happen with regularity. When the local Golden Gloves competition opened 
its ranks to women boxers, she entered.  To everyone's surprise but 
hers, she made it to the semi-final round in her weight class, scoring 
three knockouts in her four victories.  She lost a close decision in the 
semifinal round to a woman with twice her experience. 

With high school graduation came college.  During college, studies came 
first, but she continued to train.  The college had a men's boxing team, 
but nothing "official" for women; however, her persuasive powers were as 
good as her boxing skills, and she was allowed to train alongside the 
men. Sparring with them was not allowed, however.  Of course, what the 
coach didn't know wouldn't hurt him...and more than one of the men came 
to practice with suspicious scrapes, cuts and bruises - and those were 
the visible ones.  The bruises to their egos only showed in their eyes. 

Her degree - not surprisingly in athletic training - allowed her to 
choose a job where she could resume serious training.  Along the way she 
had worked in a few more amateur bouts, and even some "pin money" boxing 
for "men's social organizations."  The latter activity she kept to 
herself, of course. She had kept track of her record, being interested 
in her progress.  As she prepared to turn pro, she was 18-4-2, with 11 
knockouts.  All her losses were by decision, and she had only been down 
twice. 

The pros quickly recognized her as a natural.  At 5' 7" tall, she found 
135 lbs to be her natural fighting weight.  Years of sports had 
developed her entire body into eye-popping proportions; men took one 
look at her and began quivering with desire.  She was not "stacked", but 
deep, powerful pectorals gave her a high, jutting bust line which 
complemented the nicely-shaped breasts which were a legacy from her 
mother's side of the family.  Her stomach was flat, hard, and rippled.  
Her shoulders were broad, with nicely full and rounded deltoids.  Her 
neck was long and graceful, but years of training had made it strong, 
and the muscles on either side of it sloped full down to her shoulders.  
Her arms were sleek and strong.  At rest they appeared merely well-
formed and well proportioned; however, when she chose to tense her 
triceps, they leaped out of the side of her arm, arching up and around 
the back of her arm in an amazing display of power.  When she was in a 
boxing stance, the biceps looked full and nicely rounded, but if she 
could be talked into flexing them, the biceps muscle would first 
contract, then as she increased the tension and moved her hand closer to 
her shoulder, would harden into a peak and begin to rise...and 
rise...and rise...until it finally swelled and cut high above her upper 
arm. 

Her legs were no less amazing.  Long, hard and powerful, they were not 
the over-developed legs of a body builder, but the strong, supple legs 
of an all-round athlete.  The quads rippled as she moved with her easy 
grace, and her calves stood out nicely to both sides and the back.  The 
cut in her calves was horizontal, showing both sides equally well 
developed.  She was proud of her calves, proclaiming them her body's 
best feature.  The only argument she got was not whether she had great 
calves, because that was universally agreed, but whether the rest of her 
body suffered by comparison - which nobody claimed. 

Her pro boxing career had gone well.  She had no trouble getting bouts, 
not even having to travel too far from her mid-Atlantic home town.  She 
and her trainers felt that a bout every two months was about right, and 
so in the first 18 months after turning pro, she had nine bouts.  She 
won seven, lost one and drew one.  The one loss was a decision and a 
close one at that; she would admit to herself that it was close but not 
that she lost.  The seven victories included four knockouts.  Only in 
the loss by decision had anyone dropped her, which provided the margin 
of victory for her opponent in that fight.  In her seven victories, 
there had been likewise seven knockdowns, spread across five opponents.  
One of her knockout wins was a tko from three knockdowns in one round, 
one was a tko stoppage when she trapped her opponent in the corner and 
had her helpless.  In that one she hadn't yet dropped the opponent when 
the ref stopped it.  A third knockout win was a tko after she dropped 
the opponent, who then somehow made it up but was in no condition to 
continue.  The last knockout (actually the third in sequence) was her 
favorite.  Spotting a tendency of her opponent to throw a"lazy" jab that 
was late in coming back up to the blocking position, she had timed one 
to perfection, crossing her straight right cross over the lowered left 
to land flush on her opponent's jaw.  The opponent was still flat on her 
back looking glassy-eyed at the roof when the count reached ten.  One 
punch, one knockout.  Nice!!!  Two other opponents had also gone down 
from her punches; they had decided to run for their lives for rest of 
the bout, and she'd had to settle for a lopsided decision. 

Oh, and by the way - the three knockdown tko avenged the Golden Gloves 
loss. Her tenth bout was scheduled for ten rounds.  She had already had 
two ten-round bouts, one of which went the distance, so she didn't have 
any concern about the length of the fight.  She could go the distance if 
she had to, and be as effective at the end as in the beginning. Her 
opponent sounded, at least on paper, like a good matchup.  She was 5'8" 
tall, weighed in at 133 lbs, and had a record of 10-2-0 with five 
knockouts.  She, too, was lean and sleek; not quite as muscular, she was 
nevertheless strong and lithe. The strategy her trainers gave her was 
straightforward...attack, attack, attack the body!  Get inside, work the 
abs, the ribs, the solar plexus...hurt her, drain the strength from her, 
make it hard for her to breathe.  When - not if, when - she drops her 
hands, attack the head.  When she raises her hands, go for the body 
again.  Keep mixing it up that way, and she'll probably fall. As they 
waited for the bell to begin the fight, those words kept 
ringing...attack, attack, attack! Her bright red sports bra with the 
protective inserts was complemented by the white boxing shorts and their 
red trim.  She loved the cut of women's boxing trunks, cut high on the 
side as they were.  Stylish yet sexy, comfortable yet utilitarian.  Her 
maroon gloves with the white striking area, a holdover from her amateur 
days, felt good over her carefully taped fists. Impatiently she pounded 
them together, waiting for the bell. DING and round 1 was underway. 

Round one was the traditional "feeling out" round.  They circled each 
other, throwing jabs at the head.  As expected, they were evenly 
matched.  Both picked off most of the other's jabs; they both showed 
lots of motion, bobbing and weaving, moving side to side, in and out.  
She began her strategic body attack successfully with a thundering left 
hook into the flat, tight abs of her opponent and was rewarded with a 
hint of widening of the eyes as it crunched home.  A followup uppercut 
aimed at the solar plexus was caught on the elbow, but thing were 
underway nicely.  The expected counterattack came right on schedule; she 
was ready for it, catching the punches on her gloves and forearms.  
Again she drove her left hook into the body, the ribs this time; her 
opponent backed up a step this time.  A followup right hook toward the 
abs was once more blocked by the elbow. 

This time the counterattack went toward her head, but she saw it coming 
and ducked the powerful left hook in plenty of time. The first three 
rounds went just about the same way.  Her corner seemed satisfied, 
limiting the between-rounds advice to fine tuning of the basic strategy.  
10-9, 10-9, 10-9, she thought to herself. The fourth round was the time 
to step things up a notch.  She was in her stride.  She began to put 
even more steam on her body shots.  A left hook to the abs powered 
through the defenses and gained a grunt as its reward.  The followup 
punch, an uppercut as it often was, split the gloves and went straight 
to the chin, where its thudding impact was heard throughout the arena.  
The groan from her opponent told her it had hurt, so she quickly 
followed up with a hard left hook to the temple.  Her opponent's legs 
betrayed her, collapsing under her as she fell sideways to the mat. 
Unfortunately, this opponent was smart enough not to try to get up too 
fast. She waited on her hands and knees until the count of six, one knee 
until eight, then rose.  Covering and moving, she basically ran for the 
rest of the round, surviving despite the best efforts to catch her and 
put her away for keeps.  Ten-eight, she thought as the round ended. By 
the beginning of the fifth round, her opponent seemed to have gotten her 
head clear, but she didn't try to mix it up, preferring to move away for 
most of the round.  Try as she might to get to her with telling shots, 
most of them were blocked; she had to be satisfied with taking the round 
10-9. The halfway point and still pitching a shutout, she thought to 
herself between rounds...50-44.  Maybe that thought gave her too much 
confidence, or maybe her opponent realized she had to really get moving, 
because she came out winging in the sixth round.  It was purely a head 
attack, though, and the ability to move, to react, to catch the punches, 
slip and parry them, prevented any serious damage.  Enough of them 
landed to give her the round, though...9-10.  And, the next round went 
similarly...a hard head attack, but no real damage.  Near the end of the 
round, she began to counterattack with the body attack that had worked 
so well earlier, and was rewarded with a slackening of the ferocious 
head attack.  But, the aggressiveness of the head attack, and the 
punches that did land, meant that round, too, was lost 9-10. 

Into the home stretch, last three rounds, she thought to herself.  Time 
to really push the body attack.  She has to be running out of steam.  As 
soon as the bell for round 8 rang, she sprang up and rushed out.  
Immediately she launched the body attack.  Left hook to the abs.  Right 
hook to the abs. Left hook to the ribs.  Right uppercut to the solar 
plexus.  They were landing!!!  Her opponent began giving ground, a 
pained look on her face. Again and again...left hook to the abs, right 
to the abs, left to the solar plexus, right to the solar plexus.  How is 
she still standing???  Left hook to the ribs, right to the abs...and she 
went down!!!  She doubled over forward and dropped to her hands and 
knees, gasping spasmodically.  1...2...her head dropped 
downward...3...4...she raised it back up, showing it contorted in 
pain...5...6....gasps continued to rack her body...7...8...she brought 
one knee up...9...she rose!!!  Amazingly, she had managed to get 
up...but she was hurt badly...go on the attack...DING  Oh no, out of 
time.  Oh well, another 10-8 round. Round 9...she should still be 
hurting...go on the attack...She once more drove lefts and rights at her 
weakened opponent's body.  Most were blocked, but a couple got through, 
and the look of pain on her opponent's face told her that they were 
felt.  But, her opponent still had her mobility, and somehow she managed 
to move enough to keep most of the punches blocked.  Near the end of the 
round, she even somehow managed to find the strength to mount a brief 
counterattack.  The left hook she somehow slipped between the guarding 
arms thudded home on the solar plexus, sending a stab of pain through 
the body just as the bell rang.  A 10-9 round, she thought as she took 
deep breaths on the way to her stool. 

Round ten.  The last round, with a commanding lead...88-81...I can't 
loose! She thought to herself.  Well, she quickly corrected, I could but 
I'm not going to.  DING!  Out quickly, she snapped two fast jabs to the 
chin, then resumed her body attack with a hard left hook to the abs.  
Her opponent, expecting it, caught it on her elbow.  A following right 
toward the jaw was similarly blocked on a forearm.  First circling 
right, she then stepped back to the left and snapped a jab toward the 
nose, but her opponent caught it on a glove. And then it happened. 
Exactly as had taken place near the end of the previous round, a 
powerful left hook found that one small opening between her arms and 
smashed home against her solar plexus. 

As before, a stab of pain shot through her body, and she grunted 
involuntarily.  Before she had time to react, a fearsome uppercut 
followed, blasting through that chink in her boxing armor and slamming 
into her body on that most vulnerable of spots.  Her diaphragm spasmed, 
whoosing the breath out of her as a wave of pain washed over her body. 
Bringing her arms inward to protect her stomach, she tried desperately 
to move away.  But, her opponent was driven by the desperate knowledge 
that only by a knockout could she win the bout.  Sensing the damage she 
had done, she launched a right hook with all of her weight behind it 
that exploded on the now-uncovered ribs.  The thud reverberated 
throughout the arena, and the impact forced her to give ground.  Still 
another wave of pain enveloped her; the cry of agony that escaped from 
her seemed to come from a distance, as if another person had uttered it.  
The pain now seemed to paralize her; she could not seem to get her legs 
to move.  She knew she was in mortal danger and had to move away, but 
the legs would not react.  In that instant of immobility her fate was 
sealed.  The left hook that found her open jaw was textbook perfect.  
Launched from as far back as her opponent could reach, it had behind it 
the full rotation of her hips and shoulders, the full power of her 
biceps to begin the arc, her pectorals to continue it and her triceps to 
provide the explosive extension just before impact. 

Impact it did, flush on the jaw just behind the chin.  It spun her head 
half around, but her legs buckled instantly and so she began to drop 
straight down.  At the punch's impact, stars exploded in her head, but 
were instantly replaced by the blackness of unconsciousness.  As she 
continued to fall, her knees touched first, then she toppled forward 
onto her stomach and face. Lying stunned on the canvas, she writhed in 
agonized helplessness, unable to rise.