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Float like a butterfly, sting like a maternally outraged gorilla... or something like that. This guy floated like a maternally outraged gorilla and stung like... that same gorilla. I had to hand it to him, he had experience and endurance. While I had youthful vigour and speed. Round ten with me and he was sweating, the hulking beast of a man, but hanging in there with dogged determination.

A liger, hybrids ain't that common and mostly they are unremarkable, but this guy had a genetic abnormality telling him to take up space. Ligers keep growing, he certainly looked like it, long arms meaning I had to dodge more, pick my moments. His frame was huge, massive muscles and a robust gut, that could take one hell of a pounding and still keep going.

Another flurry of blows, he failed to get past my guard, but he pushed me to the ropes. He snarled like a beast, his mane sending showers of sweat and water onto the mat and me. The air was rank, the stench of two sweating alpha males in combat. My nose was drinking in his stink heavily, good thing I was so focused on the fight, otherwise my cock would drop.

My opponent, was just my type. Seven foot plus tall, his huge shaggy mane made it hard to judge. No doubt he knew that, made him more imposing and the first battle is with the mind. A man who thinks he will lose, he will find a way to lose. His eyes were golden and locked with my baby blues, as we danced across the canvas and tried to find an opening. Faded stripes of a tiger, golden fur of a lion and fangs covered in a teethguard, that kept him looking like he was snarling. He had had a world title match at his peak, but had the snot beat out of him, an embarrassing knock-out in the forth. There was no second chance for him.

I was young and strong, a natural southpaw which gave me an advantage. A draft horse like me, percheron purebred, I was only an inch shorter though my mane was tied back, in tight braids. Black fur, except for a white diamond on my muzzle, a target for my opponents my coach often joked. He never understood why I didn't laugh, he wasn't the first to think that. Tall, dark and as well muscled as a bull on steroids... sadly back then with the brains to match.

The bell sounded and the ref pulled us apart. You'd think we would be easy to separate, we know the rules. Yet once you feel the burn of adrenaline, the pump of testosterone... oh fuck me you don't want to back down. That feeling, it is raw, primal... fucking needful, two knights locked in combat. I didn't want a mouthful of water, I wanted to pummel him into submission.

My coach said words as I swirled some cool water, slightly sweet cause he mixed in some sugar cubes. I know what you are thinking, some stereotypes are true. Whatever was being said I wasn't listening, my eyes were on him and his were on me. I examined his body, broad muscles thick and taut, yet with a gut that comes with age, food and booze. I had to hand it to him, he was a tough old bastard, he had caught me a couple of times and his uppercut had made my head spin. That would make what had to happen that much easier... believable even.

I felt a tightness, a mild nausea when the bell tolled twelve. My coach had told me I was way ahead on points, all I had to do was go the distance and the fight was mine. One last bout, we faced off, tapped gloves and came out swinging. My guard dipped as our eyes locked, I could see the look in his eyes, before my world was eclipsed in red... knock out in the twelfth.

The crowd was still cheering when I came too a few seconds later, staggered to my feet just after the ten. Bell rang out and it was over, his paw held aloft in victory. We went for a quick hug, hugging the man who beat you always feels weird. This time I felt something else, something electric. His eyes looked at me with a smouldering hate, something I had not seen in years.

My coach tried a post match pep-talk. I shrugged it off and got showered. Heroes walk out to cheering crowds, no doubt the liger would have a good night. I walked out to muted silence, a mumbled few well wishes and nobody wanting to catch my eye. It made it easier somehow, I didn't deserve more. Into a cab and off to my local, a pint on my own. Guinness bitter, thick and stout, with a good head on it. Just my type of pint.

A weasel plonked himself down opposite me, no introduction, no hellos and no ' is this seat free?'. He sat down like he owned the place and gave me a smirk. " Now that lad was one hell of a fight." His voice was thick with Irish brogue. "None of the punters going home disappointed after a match up like that. I hear they already booked you a rematch."

I didn't look up, I just took a pull on my pint letting the bitter taste calm the bile rising in my stomach. My nose taking in lungfuls of the dank bar air, stale beer and staler men. It wasn't calming, I could feel the anger and hatred rising as the skinny little man continued.

"Oh many a good bloke lost his wad betting on you tonight," he leaned closer and I could feel the bitter sting of far too much aftershave burning in my sinus. "Though, I hear you like helping guys lose their wads..." He jumped as my pint glass slammed down and I shot him a warning glance. Still he rallied quickly, I was clearly far from the most scary guy he had met. " Oh, come on now boy, can't you take a joke?"

"Say what you've got to say and go," my words were snorted and hatred oozed off every syllable, like black tar off a freshly painted fence.

"Down in the fifth on your rematch," at least he had got to the point. The rancid, twisted point. How had I let things go this far? It is easier than you think, too much overconfident brawn, too little brains, a little goading and I bet more than I had. Stupid fucking kid, trying to prove I was a man.

Then it was just a one off, maybe a second... third time pays for all. No wait, fourth times the charm. By the fifth time it was expected of me. I didn't look up, the fifth round... that was insulting. I could beat that old, fat cat. Hell, I could beat almost anyman. God I hated myself in that moment, useless little streak of piss, just like daddy used to tell me. ' You ain't good for shit, ya worthless little cunt.' That was on one of his better days.

No, don't feel sorry for me. I don't need your sympathies, like it or not I was a man then, a useless waste of fur and muscle, but still a man. I made my choices and knowing what he did to me... It ain't an excuse.

Without another word I gave a nod, good little beaten pony bitch. The fire in me long since soaked by the harsh rains of reality. I drained my pint and pulled out my vape, my coach would beat me senseless if he caught me with a smoke. However, science had given me a new way to get a nicotine fix. Of course I still had to do so outside, I avoided the nice pub garden with the heaters and other people. Instead I headed round the back, with the rest of the rubbish. Nobody came back here until after pub kick out time. It was dark, the only streetlight long since broken. The air stank of rotten beer, food and waste. This was where I belonged.

Putting the vape to my lips I took a deep in full, sweet apples on my tongue. Damn if these devices don't have their perks. My eyes closed as I tried not to think back on the fight... the look on my coach's face. He suspected something I was sure, but he didn't want to ask. I think he was worried I would answer. Poor shit, he invested so much into me and I repaid him by taking dives for coin, didn't even give him a cut. Not that he would have took it, he was a good man, better than I deserved.

I was too lost in my own self hatred to hear footsteps, my eyes closed so I couldn't see the filth around me. So it wasn't until someone growled, "little pissant." That I knew I was not alone. My reflexes weren't fast enough, truth be told I'm not sure I wanted to put up my defences. So the first punch caught me square across the jaw, my vape flying into the wall, the sound of glass smashing following the sound of meat hitting meat.

Now you'd think being a professional boxer I would find a punch easy to shake off. However, a bare knuckle punch has no padding, it rang all my bells and I went sprawling to the ground with my head ringing. I shook myself as the world spun and I looked up on a familiar monstrous body, his mane framed against the moonlight.

"Get up!" He snarled and I saw his fangs glinting, far more scary than with his fangguard in. The liger had both his huge fists balled and was on dancing from paw to paw. "Get up you little whore, or so help me I will beat your ass on the ground."

"Fight's over," I whinnied up at him as I tried to pull myself together.

"Horse shit!" He roared at me and kicked my thigh, not hard enough to knock me down, but enough to know it was no idle threat. "Take a dive on me boy and think I won't know?! I am going to beat respect into your worthless ass." I wasn't to my feet but I was pulling myself up, he danced forward and with a swift jab to my jaw I was knocked down. "I said get up, you worthless cunt!"

That is when I felt it, the red mist beginning to descend, my blood screaming through my veins as my heart went into overdrive. Adrenalin, pure and potent flooding my body, it was fight time. I blocked his next jab as I got to my feet, he got me in the ribs with his left instead. The wind was knocked from me, but I held on to my hooves. Finally getting my fists up. "Oh I am going to fuck you six ways from Sunday, you old bastard!" I whinnied throwing a powerful left hook.

He dodge it smartly and delivered two quick jabs to my chest, "no that is what your mother did to me last night." The liger mocked as he danced back.

I roared with anger, pure beastiall rage at the mention of my mother. Logic, sense, intelligence all went out the window as I unleashed my fury on him. Battering his defences with lefts and rights. His huge frame soaked up the damage but I could hear moans and grunts, at last I was hurting him.

Still he was a crafty old fighter, he picked his moment for a jab to my jaw, a kick to the kidneys and then a headbutt. I was so shocked, I had forgotten this was a fight not a match, that meant there was no ref, no bell, no audience and no need to take a dive. It was just one man against another, muscle to muscle and all bets were off.

With the rage of the young and stupid I charged him, he got a strong jab to my jaw and a hard punch to my kidney. However, my momentum carried me to him. We sprawled together wrestling, writhing and grinding as we tried to dominate and beat the other. His body stank of sweat and musk, the rank of a dominant male. It fired my blood more, the need to be the bigger male, to be the top. I was drunk on it as we struggled, clawed at each other. My shirt was torn down my chest, his ripped down the side.

I had him up against the wall and I could feel him weakening. With a whinny I announced my incoming victory, my eyes and his locked again, his golden and angry, my baby blues full of rage. His paws reached up and grabbed my shoulders, for a moment I thought he was going to throttle me, instead he pulled my head forward. Our lips met, it wasn't a gentle kiss, it was raw and primal. Two tongues locked in battle, each trying to dominate the other. His taste, it was bitter and potent, the rank of an old lion and the vigour of a tiger. Our bodies relaxed slightly as we moaned against each other.

My cock dropped in seconds and then I felt his paws on my pants, ripping at the belt desperately. With a gasp I felt his clawed fingers clenching around my horsemeat, he growled into my mouth. I snarled back into his, pushing him hard into the dirty brick wall as I kissed him, thrusting my hips forward, a foot of hard ponycock sliding between his calloused fingers. It was his turn to gasp as he realised what he was taking on. Not that I cared, I had the upper paw and it felt good to win once more. My hands reached down, I didn't bother to unfasten his pants, just used brute muscle to force them down past his hips. Not caring that they would end up on the filthy floor.

Breaking the kiss with a snort I grabbed his shoulder, he didn't fight back as I turned him. This round I had won and we both knew it. We had matched up body to body. He had experience and endurance, but I had youthful vigour and speed. His ass was plump and delicious, like a striped golden delicious, part of me wanted to feast on it. However, a far larger part wanted to show this mare just who the herd stallion was.

The need for lube never passed my mind, this bitch had challenged me he didn't deserve lube. I was going to show him just what happens when you go up against a better man. My flare slipped between those cheeks, one paw grabbed his hip tightly, the other landed on his head holding it against the rough brick wall. He whimpered slightly in submission. It was too late for that, there would be no quarter, no mercy for the loser. To the victor go the spoils. With a loud unbridled whinny of triumph I thrust hard into the spoils. I could feel his entire body twitch and convulse as a foot of ponycock, flare and medial ring were forced into the hilt. My huge leathery nuts smacking against his.

His ass was tight and raw, it burned around my cock like the heat of the desert. I heard him whimper "oh fuck!"

I bickered with joy and leaned close to whisper, "I'm going to fuck you harder than I fucked your bitch sister last night." I felt him tense and push back, struggling against me, but with a hard thrust of my hips I beat him back into submission. He had lost and we both knew it, leaning down I licked slowly up his neck, while he panted trying to adjust to the rock hard length of horsecock side him. He tasted good, bitter and rank, yet spicy. My teeth claimed his scruff and his head dipped low.

Good bitches need to be rewarded, while my thick length was plunging deeper and deeper, my paw slipped around. There I found his cock, bitter, thick and stout, with a good head on it, just my kind of drink. It was also dripping with precum and as hard as diamond. He was loving this just as much as I was.

My nose flared as I drank in his musk, my cock thrusting faster and faster. His body submitting to mine, as my huge nuts slapped against this furry sac. The dark alley filled with the feral grunts and moans of two animals in heat, rutting with wild abandon. His unprepared ass struggling as I used brute force to deep dick him, letting the bitch feel every inch. He twisted and moaned, as if trying to stop me feebly, while his cock jetted pretty onto the floor. My cock teasing and assaulting his prostate as I took my pleasure inside him.

It didn't take long for my own needs to become dominant, he was my bitch and I treated him like it. Biting down harder on his neck, making him squeal as I stuffed his feline ass with too much equine cock. Over and over, taking his body up against the wall. The warmth of his body was becoming too much, I needed it, craved it. With each withdrawal I burned with need to push back. The smack of my hips on his ass echoed down the alley, along with his mewls and whines. There was no more resisting, his will was subservient to mine. I would show him why I was the herd leader.

A deep throated roar caught me by surprise, the thick cock between my fingers throbbing, while the alley filled with the stench of cum. His ass clenched down impossibly tight, my blood fired at the perceived attempt to foil its wants. I let go of his scruff and gave a deep feral whinny of triumph, slamming my meat home deep inside him, my flare widening, stretching his abused ass as the first jets of stallion milk was pumped inside him. I snarled and thrust hard, his ring getting stretched more as my extended flare was fucked back and forth, while my spunk was fucked deep into the mewling little mare.

Snorting and gasping I rutted throughout my orgasm, my huge nuts working overtime as I flooded my defeated opponent with thick rivers of pony seed. His ass overflowing, streams of my seed running down his legs, while I continue to stuff him with my meat.

Panting for breath I finally released him, pulling out completely, my softening cock drooling cum onto the alley floor. His ass was dripping, a steady stream of cum, he turned and gave me a toothy grin before pulling up his pants. "Buy me a fucking drink, ya little pissant." He snarled the words, but winked at me his eyes glinting with mischief. I was too shocked by his brazenness to say no. While I led him back into my local the cum stain on his, now very filthy pants, spread wider. The cocky bastard didn't seem to care, glaring at everyman in the bar, as if daring them to challenge him on it.

I bought us both a pint and sat down at a table opposite him. He drained his glass in one mighty gulp and gave out a sigh of content, so deep and loud it practically rattled the glasses behind the bar. "Good fight, good fuck and a free pint. Life doesn't get better than this, pissant."

"Hey! I bought you that fucking beer granddad, show some gratitude. Plus it was me that did the fucking," I leaned across the table glaring him in the eye. "Don't you forget it."

"Now boy, you may have done the fucking, but only cause I wanted to see what kind of man you are." He snorted back at me as he waved his empty glass at the barman emphatically.

"And what kind of man am I?" I spat back, taking a sip on my own pint.

"Ha! The type who knows how to use his cock," the liger laughed as the barman arrived with a fresh pint for him. I had drank in this place every night for a year, but I had never gotten at-seat service before. When the barman left the liger lowered his voice to add,"and the type to take a bribe for a dive, disrespecting the art that is boy! My grandfather, god rest his soul, would have put you over his knee and spanked some sense into you."

With a snort of derision I met his eye," you couldn't beat me in the ring, you couldn't beat me in the alley, why do you think you could put me over your knee?"

The liger took a long pull on his pint and licked his lips,"in the ring you were winning on points, a pussy way to win and not this kind of pussy. In the alley... frankly I wanted to remind you you were a man, so I borrowed a page from your book and took a dive. It seemed only fair, you took a dive on me in the ring, I could take one on you in the alley." His grin broadening to full Cheshire cat width, "I'm up for a tie break later, if you are."

I flushed slightly, the idea of a round two with this old champion certainly had its appeal. "Why did you come here old man?"

For the first time I saw something in those golden eyes besides pure confidence. "I'm good," the feline muttered looking down at his pint. " You know I used to box amatuer, Olympics even. Bronze medal in ninty-six. Proudest day of my life, of my granddad's too. Shame he weren't alive to see it."

"What has that got to do with anything?" I asked, none too politely. It had been a good fuck, but my jaw hurt, so did my knuckles and kidneys.

"I dunno, I looked in your eyes earlier, when that twelfth bell rang. I knew you were gonna do it." The liger looked me in the eye again. "More than that I could see how much you hated yourself, been there done that, got the T-shirt and personalised mugs..."

"Don't come here and pretend you know my life you stupid old twat, yeah you are a good fighter and a damned fine bitch ass." Huge breaths were huffing out of my nose, I could feel myself trembling with rage. What did he know of my life? "I don't need some washed up, never-even-was, telling me how to live my life. You don't know a damn thing about me!"

"So tell me," he replied evenly. "Why do you box? Your dad teach..." he didn't finish his sentence, he didn't need to, the wince I gave at the mention of my father told him more than enough. "Ah."

That was it for the moment, we sat in silence staring at and drinking our drinks. Then eventually, after what felt like hours, he broken the silence. "I learned to box, cause of my granddad. He thought it would help me gain confidence. Hard to imagine but I was a gangly thing as a kid, never said boo to a goose, jump and cower when the school bullies raised their hands."

The stare I gave him said clearly and succinctly that I wasn't impressed or even remotely interested in his high school bully problems. Nevertheless he continued his story, "of course they weren't as bad as my dad, mum died giving birth to me...too big, that was always my problem. So it was just me and him, save on a Saturday when I would stay at my granddad's."

I shuffled in my seat suddenly uncomfortable, I thought about leaving, don't know why I stayed but I did. "Boxing taught me how to throw punches, my old man taught me how to duck a punch... he called me you know. After the Olympics, said he was proud of me. I told him to fuck off and die. Part of me still regrets it, the rest of me will never forgive him."

"My mum put me in boxing classes," he was as surprised as me at my confession. "Boxing was a Thursday, dad always came home drunk on a Thursday, payday he would drink our money away." I didn't say more, but then I didn't have to, he knew enough and so did I. We stared at our drinks and then drained our glasses. He worked his magic to get two more pints delivered to our table.

After the barman had gone he leaned forward again, "thing is boy, in the end you chose to fight cause you got guts more than brains, like me. No sensible person puts gloves on night after night and dares another guy to punch his lights out. So I gotta ask, why are you pissing your talent away taking dives for old farts like me; who are too stupid to hang up their gloves when their day is done? Gambling? Threats? It better not be fucking drugs or steroids."

"Naw, I'm clean." Sighing deeply I shrugged. "I had some debts to pay. What does it hurt?"

"Fuck that boy, you don't get a long career as a boxer, don't go pissing it all away," he leaned forward. "I had my shot at the brass ring and fucking missed, you have the talent to grab it, don't be stupid. Hell what I wouldn't give for five more years, dead by fifty... that's as old as I can get. The blessing and curse of being a liger, we are big strong buggers, but we keep growing. Even with modern medicine my heart is unlikely to keep going more that."

Shrugging my shoulders I gave my emphatic response, it wasn't my problem and I didn't care. He growled and downed his pint then he stood up and placed a card down in front of me," call this guy, he is on the commission he will help you get out from under whatever slime has his thumb on you."

As he started to leave I opened my mouth but he beat me to the punchline,"our fathers made us fighters, but it is up to us as men to decide when we give up the fight. If I see you diving in our rematch you won't get a little back alley fuck off me, I will kick they mother fucking shit out of your cocky body, break all your knuckles and make damn sure you never step in the ring again. You call me a bitch, but I still fight, you are the weak little pissant letting someone use him." With that threat he turned away and was gone.

I looked at the card and then left it on the table as I walked out of the pub. Only people who are worthy give a shit about the rules, I was a worthless cunt, I deserved a career that ends in the toilet, probably shooting up hormones what into my veins. The barman made me pay for all the beers on my way out, that cheap ass bastard hadn't paid for a single one.

****************************

Ding! Ding! Round five, I felt the nausea building in my stomach as I lifted my gloves and tapped his. The liger scowled at me from across the ring, I locked eyes with him and lowered my guard just enough...

I felt the wind as his wild haymaker slipped past my right ear, I dodged and rattled his jaw with a powerful right uppercut. I snorted and laughed through my mouth guard. Another point to me, it was looking like this bout would go the distance. The punters were screaming for blood. Everyone was having a great time, everyone except the weasel.

We danced rapidly trading blows off each other's guards. Neither making any headway and then, out of no-where the liger managed to score a bell ringing jab. I went down onto one knee, shaking and blinking as I hear the ref start to count. Looking up I could see the liger glaring at me, his eyes daring me to stand up. I let the count hit eight and then got back to my hooves. A quick reassurance of the ref and the round continued.

The bell sounded the end of the fifth round, I turned and gave the weasel a wink. I could see the rage in his eyes as he tore up his programme. How much I had just cost him? I was never able to find out, it was a lot though. The match continued and in the end I won, like I should have done the first time, on points. I never was able to put that old bastard down.

After the match, while my coach was off preparing the celebrations and I was having a quiet moment after my shower, I found myself no longer alone. An angry mustellid was standing in my locker room. "You made a big mistake boy, Mr Richmond paid you good money to go down in the fifth."

My black head tilted and my mane flopped with a wet smack onto my shoulder. I always unbraided it after a victory shower. Somehow the release of tension helped me relax and come down after a win. "Yes indeed, Mr Richmond definitely paid me to take a dive." The smirk couldn't be kept of my lips as I saw the weasel looking confused. This wasn't how he anticipated the conversation going.

"You should have taken the dive, now he's gonna have you messed up, if you are lucky," snarled the tiny man. I actually started to laugh as he spoke. Some people will not only dig their own grave they will dynamite it down to the bottom of the Earth's crust.

"So... let me get this straight," I asked leaning against the wall. "Mr Richmond's, local bookie lives at twenty two Calton Drive, paid me money to take a dive and now, because I didn't, he is going to have me assaulted...or is it murdered?"

"You won't think it's a laughing matter when the boys get a hold of you," the weasel spat taking a step forward towards me, maybe he expected it to be menacing. I stepped forward to meet him, a good foot and a half taller than him, and a wall of pure black muscle.

"Mr Richmond's boys? What will Mr Richmond's boys do to me?" He still hadn't figured it out and that was just the icing on the cake.

"They will fucking break your legs and if Mr Richmond gives the word...your own mother won't recognise your body," he shoved me as he spat the threat, his little weasel paw having hardly any power behind it. A little male, all mouth and no balls... or brains for that matter.

I couldn't stop myself, the laughter just flowed out of me right into his face. With deep painful breaths I cackled and slipped down to the bench,"all they wanted was you to confirm he paid me the money, I mean they had so much on him...all they needed was one of his guys confirming it." I gave him a smug grin. "As the police officer who took my statement said, thank you, you've been very helpful."

The huge clang of the penny finally dropping in weasel's brain could be heard from London to fucking New York. When I have bad days, and I do have them, the look on his face in that moment it keeps me warm and happy at night. The little loudmouth bully, mouthpiece of stronger men, wondering what said men would do when they were all in the same prison with the guy who got them locked in there. Oh I lack the words to express the sheer fear in his expression as the police officers burst in. Of course he broke, and fast, he was already offering to turn evidence against his boss before the police car door was shut, or so I was told.

Then I was alone, a car was waiting to take me to a victory party. However, I had one more place to stop by. The other locker room. It stank of cigar smoke as I opened the door. I found my opponent sprayed naked on the locker room bench looking up at the ceiling tiles. His large frame covered in those faded stripes, looking like his mum had run him through the wash too many times and they had faded. A huge fat burning cigar was in his lips, he glanced up at me as I entered, took a deep draw on his cigar and blew the biggest smoke-ring I had ever seen. "So I see you decided it was better to fight then, good for you, pissant."

"Yeah, well I figured losing to a useless old fart like you twice, was just so unlikely everyone would figure I was on the take anyway," I replied as I walked into the room. He laughed at my words and put his paws behind his head.

"What was with that little act in the fifth then?" He asked as I sat down on the floor, huge bastard had taken up all the bench and after a long match I needed the rest.

"Well.. you did catch me properly, but I figured given how out of shape you were a little breather might have been welcome," I was smirking as I spoke and he took another pull on his cigar.

"Fuck you, ya little prick..."

"Ain't nothing little about my prick," my reply cut through his thoughts.

"Ha, fuck that's true enough. Young, hung and only slightly dumb. You are the complete package," leaning up he gave me a wink. "I'm glad my last match was against someone I can at least respect, a little....some of the time...partially anyway."

"Well I suppose if anyone was going to put you down, it would be me. Nobody else could stomach your old man stink for twelve rounds," it was my turn to laugh as he glared daggers at me. "I stayed down on the fifth just to fuck with the weasel, little twat... you should have seen how his happy little face fell."

"Ha! That's twisted kid, fucking love it," he growled with another laugh that sent puffy clouds of cigar smoke everywhere. "So what now? Onwards and upwards, title shot in your future, you gonna grab the brass ring?"

"Maybe...in four years time," I replied with a shrug, I could see his eyes questioning me so I answered. "Part of the deal they offered, I turn evidence get them all they need to bring the whole ring down. However, I had to take a four year ban, no professional competition for four years. Still better than a lifetime ban and prison time, beside I did take four dives, a year a time seems like fair payment. I thought...well I might give a go at amature stuff. I hear the olympics is easy, they hand out bronze medals to any cunt who can get his gloves on. Figured I might try to go one better. I... could use a coach, I mean if you don't have anything lined up."

"I don't coach losers," he growled without looking up. "Any tosser aiming for a silver ain't worthy to suck on my fat nuts, though he is welcome to if he wants."

It took me a few seconds before I realised what he meant. "Fine I will go two better, should be easy I mean that guy was such a useless fucking fighter, honestly if he got into a back alley brawl with some kid, he'd end up with the kids cock rammed so deep in his arse he would taste cum at the back of his throat."

"Ha! It's a nice taste though," he snorted. Then he looked down at me. "Gold it is then."

And that's it, you asked me how I got this medal. The full story, warts and all. He saw me fight clean, win clean and helped me celebrate afterwards. Sadly, his health took a turn... he never lived long enough to see me grab the brass ring. I'd have liked to have seen his face when I went one further than him again, I'd have given the belt back to have had one more conversation with him. But, life ain't like that, is it? People ain't perfect and we don't have half as much control as we like to think we do.

Still I remember him, and maybe someday after my final bell is rung I'll get to see him again. I'd love to share one last cigar with him, to trade barbs again. For now, I'll train worthless little bitches like you and try to make a man out of them, like he did out of me. Gloves up boy, ding, ding...

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