Boxing, Masochism And Fun.The label on the genetic packet did NOT say 'Boxer'. Tall, a bit gangling, never very strong, rather poorly co-ordinated, and lacking much courage - that I developed a boxing fetish is surprising.
But I did. So, how did it start? At school, rather than become - as I probably should have - the library monitor, I joined in the boys' games about dominance and status. I lost at wrestling and boxing and enjoyed it hugely, as my arousal demonstrated. Fighting morphed into fantasy and I was hooked for life.
Joining a boxing club should have cured me of the fantasy as it collided with hard physical training, full contact sparring, and the recognition of my own inadequacies. I really enjoyed the training and loved being fit. I liked, and deliberately fostered amongst my friends, the image of being a tough, courageous boxer grittily pursuing a dream. At best I simply became modestly competent so that I could offer some sort of opposition for my opponents.
In truth the fantasy held me in it's grip and developed extra la
The bouts were where fantasy met fact, where my dreams became painful reality, and where my public image got trashed as I fought ineptly. One long term girl friend liked watching me get beaten and encouraged me to fight as often as possible, but most girls who came to watch were appalled. My male friends thought it was funny. Standing in the corner dressed in my satin gear I used to feel a mixture of emotions; fear, excitement, arousal and panic. On the bell all that was forgotten as I manoeuvred around the ring and traded punches. It was a whirl of taking repeated jabs to the face, seeing stars as his blows robbed me of my wits, bleeding over my vest and satin shorts, frantically scrambling to my feet after a knock-down, and being trapped in a corner as my opponent belaboured me. The fantasy didn't nearly match the sheer thrill of fighting and losing, and of course the actuality fed the fetish.
After a fight, and not all of them were walk-overs for my opponent because I went the distance 16 times, the arousal and elation faded as the headache and bruising became the dominant sensations. I liked having a battered face because I thought it made me look tough and macho, but not being able to breathe through my swollen nose properly, having my vision impaired by a partially closed black eye, and finding eating through my mashed lips somewhat painful was a bit of a turn-off. Often I stopped training for a time afterwards but I found it impossible to kick the habit and went back to the club.
Now, after years of being a bit embarrassed by my boxing fetish I'm actually rather proud of it. I get dressed in my satin gear to box shadows and punch bags, balls and pads. I work out on the rower, treadmill, stepper, wobble board, Swiss ball, medicine ball and exercise myself into what I hope will be a long old age. Just occasionally I get some sparring and still get aroused and excited by trading punches. Is this good for me?
(bouts 74 - won 0 - lost 74 [58 inside the distance, 14 by KO])