Date: Mon, 21 Feb 2005 11:23:28 EST
From: DT
Subject: Learning to fight

We started with some boxing skills. I knew Jake was a 'big guy' and
physically able to be very aggressive whilst I could not find the ability
not to drop my hands and utter the stupid words 'are you alright' every
time our sparring included one of my better punches.

When I say I knew that Jake was a 'big' guy, we worked out in a huge,
treble sized garage and for this November just gone, through to that
fateful New Year's Day, I had never seen Jake's body during our four times
a week training sessions.

The garages were cold, with a few broken little windows in their three sets
of doors which hardly kept out anything, including the rain. We could press
out reps for an hour before starting on the speed skills and sparring for
another hour with an almost manic frenzy but we would never strip down to
chest flesh. I would end up in a tee shirt but Jake was like a Russian doll
with a number of hoodies that would be gradually discarded, all bar the
last one which was longer than any of the others and never rode up during
any routine. The cold and damp was never considered but it was always there
keeping us clothed.

Two years in the bank and its consequent inactivity resulted in demotion at
my Rugby Club (to the seconds) and had left my spring heeled hips led hard
body to degenerate enough that a late Saturday night early Sunday morning
conquest was more 'you'll do' that any sort of 'whoar' factor. I though
that I still looked like the guys who had won the World Cup - the ladies
apparently did not.

That supposed (actually once there) speed and the fact that I ran Jake's
business account were how we had met. Having accepted his first big
commission cheque for his new business one late August Thursday had been
followed up with my nearly running into him that same evening. I was
shirtless and in my shorts on a path out of town, trying to get some
setting suntan on my ever pasty body having made a conscious decision to be
as ripped as I could after a really bad Saturday night the week before.
Jake was ... in hoodies and tracksuit bottoms.

'I didn't know you worked out?', he said as he pulled his walkman earphones
out before pushing himself up from the grass.  He had just missed a bush
when he fell after our 'slight' collision.

'We don't get to tell our customers anything about ourselves, like gossip -
it causes a queue', I replied, 'And anyway this is just a start as I've
early signs of a large spare tyre.'

Jake's glance at my big clasp of flesh was quick then back to my face.

'You look like you are putting some effort in', he said, slipping back his
hood fully off his head, 'That was all my fault.  I just do head down slow
stuff.'

I put my hand to my chest and swept aside a river of sweat. It was the same
physical action three months later when after probably our sixth or seventh
session we were stood again just a couple of feet apart when we made our
first pact.

'This is getting serious', said Jake as he looked me up and down. His words
came with a mist from the cold air of the training room but when I followed
his gaze, my front was getting much more impressive, much more muscle just
a millimetre or two underneath the completely soaked tee shirt than stuck
tight to my flesh. MY move to wipe myself once again led to my sweat
appearing just as water does on rain soaked grass when you tread on
it. Jake leaned across to me and we hugged.

'That was so good', he said moving out of our damp embrace with a laugh,
'You should try out for the next wet shirt thing they have at Maxims on
Ladies night.'

'Your girlfriend runs that place doesn't she?, I asked, slipping off my
shirt before wiping myself down with my towel.

'She's mine when she wants to be - and no she doesn't run that place - but
yes, she does.'

'What do you mean?', I asked.

'She has boyfriends in town, the guys who actually own the place. I go in
there about 10 minutes before it closes to pick her up - when she calls
me. To be honest, I like being less than committed. I don't have the money
to support her as she would want to be and with the business, I can work
all the hours I need and know that I can still have fun - hate clubs
anyway.', said my new long term training partner.

>From the collision that August evening, we had made arrangements to start
training the following week. That had been forgotten immediately when I was
suddenly summoned to cover a heart attack at the northern Market branch, a
move that meant two hours traveling a day for the next two months, and thus
no time to train. I got bigger.

I think it was Halloween when Jake arrived at my counter with another big
cheque, an even bigger grin and a map of how to find the 'training shed' as
he liked to describe it.

'This is good money', I remarked.

'Its good and they want more, a whole new campaign', replied Jake, 'Only
trouble is I need to spend what's coming in on a new car - her indoors
wants me to get something sporty!'

'You need to pay yourself something before you splash out', I replied.

'You on for starting tonight - we can give it a go for a couple of weeks
and see how things happen?', asked Jake as he pushed his paying in book
back into his coat pocket, 'You look like you could do with it.'

I sucked in my belly and pushed myself upright in my chair to remove my
paunch from view - 'Yeah, I can make it tonight.'

So started things, training myself harder than I had ever done before. It
was just three nights a week then four and that first embrace was at the
end of a special four session week which had seen us both devote ourselves
physically to breaking all barriers that our bodies had presented.

The following week had ended up being too much that we both had decided on
a two easy, two tough sessions and twice a week we ended up falling into
each others arms at the end, noticing the changes, an embrace of respect
for commitment.

'Hard man', said Jake mid December, his left hand on the back of my neck,
his right on my waist. I was now back in the firsts, the best player in a
team that was unfortunately going down, just a handful of points (the lack
of them) from being relegated by January.

'You've never said why, why you want to train like this' - my one hand was
leaving the cloth which enclosed an arm I really knew was power of some
magnitude.

'I want to fight. Actually I don't really want to fight but I want to learn
how to fight so that if I had to, I could', stated Jake, ' ... Actually I
just want to know my limits.'

'You do all the teaching', I replied, still not aware of how Jake presented
what we did each week.

'Its all quality stuff - I do loads of preparation and the stuff we've been
working on is all things I learnt on a couple of courses - at University I
was into everything - Taekwando, Aikido, Judo. I got really really thin. It
keeps me sane whilst I am studying (like back then) and like working now.

'I've got pride in what I am becoming - and Melanie doesn't mind (by the
way I have taken your advice on the car).  At Uni I was too committed, too
thin - I was weak. I like the adrenaline rush we get and I want to raise
the skills stuff.  You hit hard and I can take it - and when I clock you,
you are strong enough and hard enough ...

'Can I be honest?', I interrupted.

'You don't like hitting me and you don't like being hit?', responded Jake,
his face an accepting one.

'You hit me hard enough that's its still OK but you could ...'

Jake regripped the back of my neck, 'I know what you mean - I want to try
some new stuff in the new year. What are you doing between Christmas and
going back to work?'

'I'm going back home, to see my Mum and Dad?', I replied.

'Oh - I am going to shut over the holidays and I want to do something with
this place - I need some storage as well - just wondered if you could give
us a hand?', said Jake moving back to his kit bag to put away his mitts.

'Is there anything we can do before Christmas?', I asked.

'No, that's OK ... but you are going to have a surprise when you get
back. You finish on Christmas Eve and you're off then?

I nodded.

'Well we can start again on New Year's Day - good sweat out. You don't like
the kicks stuff really either?'

We had tried some kick boxing routines the week before only for me to
really bruise a hand defending myself. I didn't realise that some of that
training was part of what made that return to training a life changing
experience.

'I don't think my build is right for it', I said displaying sureptiously my
sprinters hips which were unable to hit head high targets without snapping
a hamstring.

'You just wait', said Jake as he flicked off some of the lights and grabbed
his bag, ready to go.


I went away back up North with no idea of where things were going to go
until 4pm that very warm New Year's Day afternoon (warm for January!) when
I turned off from the alley and through small gate into the garage yard.
What had been faded green painted and really rotting wood was replaced by
three steel doors, each fitted with a substantial lock. The new doors were
dark blue, freshly painted.

I had hardly moved when the middle one sprung open leaving me almost
blinded by the glare from inside.

'Come on in', said Jake.

Crouching down, even though the door was almost open to head height, I
walked into the now white room and gazed around.  Jake slammed the door
behind me. He had been busy.

What was previously broken paint on the floors was now a thick dark red
surface. All the walls had been patched and repainted in purest white. At
one end of the garages was a brand new weights stack, bench and pull up
bar. The other end was now partly covered by some racking, just what Jake's
business needed. I was standing on a huge mat, something that was a good
three inches thick and at least 16 by 16. It was grey and newly re-covered.

'Wow', I stuttered, 'You have been busy.'

'It was my Christmas present to myself, my bonus. Its all second hand but
I've stripped it down and repainted it.  I started on Boxing day! Got fed
up of the telly.'

'When did you finish - this afternoon?', I responded, bewildered by how
much had changed and guilty that I had not helped.

'Nope - yesterday. And I've introduced some home comforts', Jake pointed to
the far wall which was now part covered by a section of a fitted
kitchen. Next to it was a stand alone shower, with no curtain but set into
a little well which once was for oil and chemical rinsing. I followed his
eyes as they went to the two electric heaters pushing out a significant
warmth across the revamped training facility.

An hour later, we had completed our usual weights routines.

'You got a half an hour you can add to tonight?', asked Jake as he opened
up one of the kitchen cupboard doors to reveal a small TV set sitting on
top of a video player.

'This is what I want to try.'

Jake pressed the play button and stood back a pace as I watched the first
few minutes of the tape.

It was American Cage fighting and this was an edited demonstration of
'ground and pound' with perhaps six matches showing a throw, then very
quickly a beating for the person on their back with the eventual winner
applying fists of fury to their opponent's head. I turned to Jake to talk

'Just keep watching!', he said

I did as I was told and my gaze was soon taken by a longer clip, actually
three rounds of five minutes. This time, a larger stronger fighter was
making the throws but never able to pin his opponent, to make a
strike. This was physical chess and the smaller man was hardly touched by a
fist accelerating into damage mode.

'How come?', I asked.

'This guy is special. His strength and his speed are incredible. He's low
in the weights, the bigger guys is pushing to go up a weight so he is much
stronger - don't think the little guy can't hit though. The big guy knows
that and you should have noticed that he is trying things that no-one else
you've seen has done just to get hold of him to hit him.

'I can deal with having to control the hit when we box because neither of
us wants to hurt each other. Some of this stuff is just as skillful - just
as physical - very aerobic. These guys have incredible strength and we can
mix the control of the grappling with splits on the gloves. What do you
think?, Jake was sitting back on the bar on the bench with his hands to his
sides, on the cold steel of the bar, his hands gently trying to wring the
metal

'The sparring is never what you want it to be - that's my side of things
that is the problem', I replied,' This is not as aerobic - or is it.?'

'The push we give each other is why this is working out. To get the
grappling right, we need to learn lots of basic drills', replied the man
who had changed forever my philosophy on where I could go physically. He
walked over to the kitchen units and opened up a drawer to pull out a
number of folders. Opening one up there were stills taken from the video,
perfectly displayed in sections -

'I've enough here for about three weeks - stuff we can learn - and grouped
together, we can do one set tonight and then have a bit of a match. On
Tuesday we can do some more, repeat on these and then use what we have
learnt for something competitive.  Do this stuff for a couple of months
then I want you to start sprinting with me - I want to have that
athleticism you have but this stuff really is part way there.'

'OK', I said, 'Where do we start ... and I don't have to work tomorrow so
as long as it takes is the answer about time?'


We started by learning how to push each other away. I tucked my shirt into
my gym pants whilst Jake actually revealed an almost skin tight thermal top
from under his hoodies. It was just as physical as much of our sparring.

'Now for a throw!', said Jake as he stepped right up to me, his arms
encircling mine then gripping tight around me, 'You Ok?'

I did not answer. My face was against his, my cheek pressing against his
button ears, my nose taking in his scent from his hair.  I could feel his
eyelid flicking against mine, his frame tensing against my chest. I pulled
my head back enough to have his black eyebrow fill my vision, then his
brush like inch long crown above his temple as I looked up.

When we had practiced the kicks, a month before, we had been clinched ready
to try and insert a knee into each other's sides.  Then there had been
heavy headguards keep us apart. Now I was touching his skin.

I was in the air, turning my back to the ground. Then came my frame my
thudding into the mat with his body trying to crush mine just a split
second later and in a moment after that he was pushing up between my legs
to achieve the mount position.

One hour later, I had learnt the same throws as Jake, we could both offer a
basic defense to being placed in the position of having our brains beaten
out and we could bridge properly to throw each other away onto the mat. It
had been the most physical hour of any we had spent in the past two months.

'OK, are you ready?, said Jake as I crouched down to get some breath.

'You want to compete?', was my reply, looking up as my friend stretched
back to ease the tension in his shoulders.

I stood up.

'Take off your shirt', said Jake, reaching hands crossed to the bottom of
his now very baggy top, rippled across his body.  He stared at me.

I looked back at Jake for perhaps a second and he did not move so I put one
hand behind my head and pulled off my top. As the cotton came over my head,
Jake did the same, his uncrossed arms revealing his body with an
understated arrogance .  I threw my shirt to the side to which Jake did the
same. We stood looking each other up and down.

'You've no idea what sort of shape you've become', said Jake, his words
warm and genuine, 'You always had the power in your hips but look at your
abs and your arms.'

His eyes started on my chest then moved over my slightly distended belly,
now tight and ridged.

I glanced down then back to the body in front of me, the muscle and bone
that I was to take on. I had never bettered 5ft 10 whilst Jake was perhaps
four inches taller. He face was round, not feminine but from there on down,
his physique was geometry all triangles. The neck made its way out to
shoulders that again were slanted to banana covered shoulders. There were
tapered yet still bulging biceps to long forearms, everywhere muscles that
were long, prominent and aesthetic.

He was smooth across his body, all angles and blocks covered by skin that
curved across him, not stretched by zero boody fat.  His chest dominated
his torso, cropped triangles of rock looking slabs perhaps a foot long set
above eight framed abs muscle sections to a waist that was already heading
out to Jake's hips before the stomach disappeared into his gym pants. I did
not stare but both of us knew that we were looking at each other. It was a
phsyical assessment that was intimate in repsect.

Jake raised his hands up to shoulder level and turned his palms towards me,
flicking his fingers to beckon me. I looked with an unconscious dart of a
glance at the bushy outcrop of hair under his arms and walked forward. The
slabs of chest flesh fluttered then floated on his ribs, dancing in front
of my eyes.

For possibly two or three minutes, neither of could grip each other to make
a throw, hands slipping off bloated and wet skin. The it happened.

My hands gripped behind Jake's back, with one of his arms locked against
his body. This effort made my chest puff up to its maximum girth whilst
Jake's efforts to escape did the same to his width. As I then turned my
body, it was chest against chest, and I had never felt so much power or so
powerful. Our nipples were pressed against each others, his ribs grating
against mine.  A second later, I was caught between his legs and my face
slapped into his chest - I had thrown Jake onto his back.

Jake was trying to push me away whilst I took breath. My eye was barely an
inch from his nipple and I just could not but look. It was slightly bitch
like, a raised up point still soft but not as the cone of the coin like
area that surrounded the peak. I studied the little indentations, the
flecked white dimples on the brown skin. That second or so was over as in
response to Jake I pushed into him. That pushed me, rather my mouth, across
the nipple and whilst there was no intent, I savored that fleeting touch,
how I savored it.

Pushing up and through Jake's attempts to remove me from covering him, I
now sat on his chest and he gave in. I raised my arms to clench my biceps
and went as if to kiss one arm whilst making sure my pecs were brazen over
my friend-

'What about my chest and shoulders - pretty good for a short arse!', I said
triumphantly.

Jake's hand moved up to my waist - '1-0' he whispered before thrusting his
hips up in a perfect bridge to throw me onto my back.

The next ten minutes was my struggle to escape a grounding from Jake. It
was the hardest fight I had ever undertaken, to try to remove myself from
Jake's grasp but to go avail. What it was though was our bodies being as
strictly intimate as any lovers.  Time on time his hands pressed into me,
his face into my armpit or into my chest, or to my neck. I came to respect
every muscle on his upper body, to know where there were marks on his skin,
where his veins bulged and where his sweat pooled from or gathered.

I could only marvel in the pump of his body when he resisted my escape
attempts, a sensuous grip that made my mind so numb. Time on time,
sometimes for a minute perhaps I buried my face into his body or to his
side. I saw the sweat escaping his skin and I knew his every tiny hair on
his body - and the day of his armpits filled my nose.

'One more?', gasped Jake from his seat on the mat, his look straight into
my eyes from under eyebrows dripping with pale liquid.

'I'm just going to get rid of these', I replied, undoing the tie on my gym
pants to reveal my rugby shorts. The gym pants were stretched to
destruction and half hanging from my hips.

'I can't join you this week', laughed Jake. He pulled down the edge of his
pants to show his tan line and the edge of his pubic hair, 'Its commando!'

I laughed and moved to stand over him, offering my hand so that he could
stand up. I saw him looking at my arm, then my chest as my muscles tensed
to support his weight. I consciously pushed my shoulders back to look more
impressive - I don't know why.

We were both exhausted. The walls glistened to recognise our efforts. If
Jake had a weakness it was his endurance. From the moment I managed to get
an arm onto his back and my leg behind his, I knew I could take him
down. He was dropping to his back, but he was ready and in my mind, my slow
motion gaze of his torso was preparing me for him to twist away. I landed
over him but with his legs and arms pushing me back. His foot caught my
side, on the band of my shorts. I was pushing at his arms and his his grip
as my shorts slipped down onto my thighs, their tie cord snapped.

I landed on my knees, between his open legs. I stopped, I froze, and was
reaching down and ready to roll away.

'You've one chance -- or I am going to finish this', muttered Jake,' Forget
your cock -- we've all got one. Just ...'

Jake was not going to escape, he was too tired, but I wanted to challenge
his words and I completely forgot my embarrassment.  Now nearly naked I
could slip through his weakened leg grip. My groin was now crushed against
his abdomen, a shaft that was part gorged but not erect, my balls flaccid
and soft, spread into his belly. As we struggled my private flesh against
the softening steel of his belly. Until I was sitting across his chest, my
sensuous skin against his body was all that occupied my mind whilst the
rest of my body completed its physical task.

Jake tapped his hand on the mat. I rolled away, my shorts tying my ankles
together underneath my hips, my shaft just exposed between my thighs but my
balls held between legs. Jake stood up and offered my his hand. I took it
and stood up without thinking of pulling up my shorts from the floor. We
stood facing each other and smiled before I reached down and did cover
myself by pulling up my shorts to the edges of my hips and holding on with
one hand.

'My shorts nearly broke my ankles', was my joke to break any tension. My
mind was only full of the split second of my breathing out with my shaft
nestled between his chest muscles, the glancing touch of by scrotum against
his skin as I had pushed away.

Jake offered his hand again and we clasped our fingers to pull ourselves
together, only our hands preventing us being chest to chest.  It was Jake
who let go of my hand and with both hands he grasped me by the forearms.

'That was fuckin brilliant!', whispered Jake, My head moved forward and
next to his. Our temples touched then my nose went down to his neck where I
could smell my friend, smell everything. We were spent and when did fall
into each other's arms it was softness against softness, fluttering breath
against the warmest skin, a rumble of muscles, hip bones touching.

'You've bought your towel?', said Jake.

'What...?' was my response.

'I can see your stuff in your bag' - Jake was looking across my shoulder to
where I did have a change of clothes.

'I've put the hot water on - you don't need to go to the Spa afterwards.'

I looked at the clock. It was half eleven and tonight had been nearly three
hours of a test. The Spa had been closed for hours.

Moments later I was standing naked in the completely open shower. Jake sat
on the bench perhaps eight feet away, leaning back against the wall. He had
replaced a hoodie over his top. As I soaped myself across my torso, we
talked and I did not think that Jake was looking at my bloated and
sometimes bruised muscles. As I moved to my groin, we still talked and I
did not hide myself in anyway. I did not mind if he was looking. When my
eyes were full of shampoo I wanted him to be looking.

Ten minutes later, our places were swapped and I could take in his body,
and his shaft which he soaped up just as I had for him. From his sack to
his chest was in front of me and we talked and I watched his face with half
my gaze, to his body with the other part of my vision. His black pubic hair
was wetted down and flecked with snowy white soak. His shaft flicked out
and back between hand and hip. I was watching his mouth and his fingers
spread across his chest, brushing over his nipple then away. They, the
pair, were still conical with buttons as ends. All of him, the long and
lithe hips covered in more black hairs, it was bloated muscles which I had
touched with my body.

Twenty minutes later we were walking down the alley, talking about the
weekend to come. MY eyes only recalled his belly with its muscles going
from ridges to mounds as he breathed in and out, his skin tight then soft.
I could see his few torso hairs and the flattened stream of flecks of black
just above his pants line.


Copyright 2004 DT