Unstoppable

by Scott Hildreth

  Kane followed as I walked through the door. I looked up and made note of thirty or so people gathered around talking. Wearing cargo shorts, Chuck’s, and no shirt, almost everyone stopped talking as soon as they looked in my direction. I wasn’t new to this facility, and most of the faces were familiar. On and off, I had been fighting here for ten years, and to date I had never lost a fight. This kid coming from out of town would have the people wondering about his ability, but I was a crowd favorite for sure.

  I quickly walked to the center of the floor, onto the mat, and turned to face the door. As I waited for Monkey to come in, I touched my toes a few times and stretched. Fucking and fighting were two things that made me happier than anything. Knocking this punk out would be nearly as satisfying as getting laid, maybe just a little more. Knocking him out and taking one of his girls home with me would be even better. Knocking him out and taking both of them home with me would be like hitting the fucking trifecta.

  “I appreciate you bringing this inside,” Kane said nervously.

  “It’s all good,” I responded as I stared at Monkey and his two girls.

  “You alright?” Kane asked.

  “I got this,” I responded as I raised my hands over my head.

  The building had an open floor plan with very few amenities. A complimentary keg of beer in the back corner was Kane’s offering to the group. In the center of the floor were martial arts style folding foam mats forming a fighting surface about sixteen feet by sixteen feet. Standing on the mat, I began to shadow box as I waited for Monkey. As he reached the edge of the mat, he pointed to an opening in the crowd and snapped his fingers sharply. Almost immediately, the two girls at his side walked to where he had pointed and stood.

  What a douche bag. Oh yeah. I’m going to enjoy whipping this kid.

  As the girls turned to face us, I noticed one was blonde and one was a brunette. Hair color aside, they could have been twins. Monkey-boy pulled off his wife-beater and handed it to the blonde, who smiled as she reached to grab the dingy shirt. I watched in awe as he reached down and removed his shoes. Now standing barefoot and in swishy pants, he began to swing round house kicks over the height of his head.

  What the fuck?

  The difference between a good martial artist and a good boxer is the difference between night and day. A good martial artist will have predictable fluid like patterns, and will fight with a more artistic style. Fluidity and form are important. Years of practice of the same movements and motions make the martial arts fighting style, to an observant outsider, almost predictable. Boxers tend to adjust more to the advancements of their opponent. A typical boxer, however, isn’t prepared for someone to attempt to kick them in the head.

  I’m not a typical boxer.

  As Dekk stepped to the edge of the mat, he pulled his hood over his head and smiled, “You alright, Ripp?” he chuckled as he watched the Monkey-boy do a back flip.

  “I got this,” I nodded affirmatively as twisted my body from side to side, popping my back.

  Although it was pretty damned entertaining watching this kid do his Bruce Lee imitation, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of feeling I had any interest in paying attention to his Kung Fu horse shit. I continued to stretch and look beyond him and into the crowd. Putting his hands on my car was uncalled for and disrespectful. In some respects, it was no different than the boxers who talk a mad line of shit at the press conference before the match. It’s one guy trying to get the other off of his game. Intimidation tactics.

  I can’t be intimidated.

  By anyone.

  “Ok, fella’s,” Kane’s speaking caught me off guard.

  Kane motioned for the primate to stop with the bouncing around, and pay attention. As Monkey worked his way to the center of the mat, Kane began to speak again.

  “If I blow this whistle, everything stops,” Kane held the whistle up that hung from his neck as he glanced at both of us.

  “You know what’s acceptable. Just so there’s no confusion, there are no rounds, and no breaks. Tapping the mat three times is a forfeit. That or being knocked out. If you’re still standing and you want to forfeit, wave your arms over your head like your trying to get a plane to land on the deck of a fucking aircraft carrier. There will be no biting, and no gouging, understood?” Kane looked at Monkey-boy and then turned to face me.

  I nodded my head sharply.

  Monkey nodded affirmatively toward Kane and turned to face me. He attempted his best means of forming an angry scowl on his face.

  I smiled, slowly puckered my lips, and winked at Monkey.

  Different fighters have different techniques or styles. Mohammed Ali, for instance, allowed his opponents to beat on him, without repercussion, for rounds on end. Eventually, he would conquer each and every one of them, after they wore tired. Ali had an odd style combined with tremendous finesse and talent. Micky Ward allowed his opponents to beat on him until he saw his opening. Micky was just plain tough. A killer left hook to the body was his signature punch, and every one of his opponents worst nightmare. Micky would wait as long as he had to, and in seeing the opening, instantly crushed his challenger with one punch – the signature left hook.

  I’ve always fought a more conventional style. I protect myself and allow my opponent to come to me early in the fight. After a few minutes, I determine his patterns and reactions to my advancements. I, not unlike Micky Ward, wait for my opening. My opening, however, is anywhere I have a place to punch. My hand speed and an uncanny knack of seeing a punch coming a second before it’s thrown is what’s allowed me to remain, for the most part, undefeated.

  Fucking Dekkar.

  Kane stepped from the mat and gave his whistle a short tweet, indicating it was show time.

  Alright bouncy boy, let’s see what you got.

  Monkey stepped to me quickly. As his right shoulder faded back, I prepared for a left jab to come. What happened wasn’t near what I expected. His hands remained held close to his face, and I quickly threw a quick left jab to feel him out. My open left side was promptly filled with Monkey’s size twelve foot. As his right foot contacted my jaw and chin, he threw a well telegraphed left jab. The punch glanced off the right side of my neck.

  His punches were slow and his feet were fast.

  Most fighters don’t like being hit.

  I fucking love it.

  Come on, Monkey-boy. Bring that shit.

  He took a step back with his left leg, and kept his right foot planted. I stepped forward with my right foot and threw a left hook to his ribs, Micky Ward style. As with most street fighters, he was in no way prepared for my quickness. Monkey was used to slow, tough, predictable street fighters with minimal speed. As he lowered his right elbow to cover his now sore ribs, I raised my punches and unleashed a lightning-fast three piece on his pretty face.

  “How’d that feel, you fucking punk?” I huffed as I landed my last punch.

  His face was covered with an oh shit what the fuck did I get myself into look I have seen a few hundred times. Fighting out of the boxing ring - where there are no rules - hell that’s where I shine. I am a lot of different things to a lot of different people, but in a bare knuckles match, I am just plain motherfucking mean.

  Talking while trying to fight in a boxing match is nearly impossible. Your mouthpiece prevents much speaking at all. Grunting is about all that’s possible. Bare knuckles matches have always been my favorite, because I can talk shit to whoever I’m fighting.

  And talking big shit is part of who I am.

  “What’s your blood type?” I growled as I stepped back and let him recover from the punches.

  “What?” he brushed his mouth with the back of his hand and drew back blood.

  Knowing what I know about my speed, style, and ability to be beaten on without being hurt, I knew this fight was over. I could have knocked this kid out in the amount of time it took him to wipe the blood from his mouth. I took two steps back and glanced at Dekk as Monkey looked at t
he back of his hand again.

  Dekk dropped his hood to his shoulders and smiled his slow Shane Dekkar smile. As the edges of his mouth curled upward, I winked. Dekk shook his head slowly and nodded, giving me the go ahead.

  “Your blood type. You know it?” I asked again as I threw a quick combination into the air - just showing off for the crowd.

  I heard a few get him Ripp and fuck him up Ripp’s from the crowd. Nice to hear, but I didn’t need the inspiration. I needed thirty-four hundred fuckin’ bucks. There was a pair of Ed Hardy Chuck’s in the mall had my name on them, and I needed to go shopping.

  “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” Monkey asked as he started bouncing again.

  “Because I intend to make you bleed, boy. You might want one of your girls,” I paused and threw two slow left jabs to get him to react.

  “To call the hospital,” I threw a right uppercut that caught the left side of his jaw.

  “And get a pint on the ready,” I smiled.

  As his right shoulder faded backward, I knew what he had planned next. I stepped into his right, not allowing him to have distance between me and his right foot. A right cross to his shoulder got him to drop his left hand a little.

  And a little was all I needed.

  A left jab, follow up left hook to his ribs, and a right cross to the chin ended this fight quick. His eyes went glassy as soon as the right contacted his chin. He was dazed, and he was done, but he wasn’t knocked out. His pride and the two girls screaming wouldn’t allow him to forfeit this fight willingly. Without an ounce of thought, the heartless part of me took over. I grabbed the sides of his face in my hands, squeezed his head, tilted my head back and looked at the ceiling.

  And growled loudly.

  Head-butting a guy in a boxing match isn’t allowed. Intentionally doing it will get points taken away, and over time will get you placed on a list of fighters which no one wants to fight. It’s a matter of respect and adherence to the rules that prevent most fighters from ever doing it.

  But we weren’t in a fuckin’ boxing match.

  I thrust my head forward as hard as I could and smashed the top of it into his face. As I felt his nose crush under my skull, I raised my head and head-butted him again. This time for touching my Chevelle.

  And threatening to butt fuck me.

  The screeching sound of Kane’s whistle reminded me it was time to stop. I let go of his head and raised my hands and screamed.

  “Who’s fucking next?” I screamed as I raised my hands in the air.

  “No takers?” I shouted as I looked around the room.

  “God damn it Ripp. Did ya have to do that,” Kane asked as he pointed at Monkeys face.

  I rubbed my knuckles and looked down at Monkey. I’ve never been disgusted by blood, but looking at him was disgusting. He was bleeding profusely from his nose and mouth as Kane wiped his face with a towel. I looked up at the two girls who accompanied him to the fight – now standing beside Dekk in a little group.

  “Well,” I said as I winked at the blonde and flexed my pec’s, “he shouldn’t have been such a dick. And he touched the Chevelle, Kane.”

  Kane held pressure on Monkey’s nose with the towel, and shook his head lightly from side to side as he looked up. His pursed lips slowly moved to a smirk, followed by an exaggerated eye roll.

  “Good job, Ripp. Twist has got your money and your shirt. I’m gonna be with this kid for a bit, he’s pretty fucked up,” Kane said as he shifted his gaze back toward Monkeys face.

  “I’ll see The Twist then. Thanks boss,” I said softly.

  “Dekk, you ready? And you girls needin’ a ride? Your boy’s kinda fucked up,” I shouted across the mat toward where Dekk stood as I pointed down at Monkey.

  I walked across the mat in the direction of the group. As Dekk pulled his hood over his head, the blonde smiled as I approached. She attempted unsuccessfully to hide it as I got closer.

  Now that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. Fightin’ and fuckin’ in the same night.

  “So, you girls needing a ride? I’m gonna guess Monkey will be at the hospital for a bit. Name’s Mike Ripton, friends call me Ripp,” as I spoke I reached for the blonde’s hand.

  Holding her hand out, she smiled. The brunette did her best to appear uninterested and disgusted by my presence. As her hand slid into my palm, I gently raised it to my mouth and kissed the back side.

  “So, what brings you girls to Austin?” I asked as I released her hand.

  “We live here. He put an ad on Craigslist and wanted two girls to come with him to the fight. I’m Barbee with two E’s. This is my sister, Brandee. Same way,” she giggled as she nervously twisted her hips.

  I nodded at Brandee and smiled.

  Sisters.

  Sunday dinner, knocking out a fuckmuffin, and sisters, all in one day.

  I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer.

  God, if you’re listening, he did touch the Chevelle. He deserved it. Can you help a brother out on some sisters?

  I opened my eyes, glanced at Dekk, and winked. As he pushed his hands further into his hoodie pockets, he slowly shook his head. Dekk didn’t speak much, but he didn’t have to. My lifestyle, or portions of it, disgusted him. I didn’t take advantage of women, and I never hurt them, but I sure fucked the shit out of them if they’d let me. Dekk wasn’t one to agree with me about a woman’s desire to be shoved full of cock. I always told ‘em up front what I wanted, and if they agreed…

  “Well, I need to go get my shirt at the manager’s office, and I’m ready to get out of here,” I focused on Barbee’s blue eyes, which were glued to mine.

  “If you girls need a ride, I’ll gladly offer one. I’m going to tell you up front, there are two things I’m good at on a Sunday night,” I paused and alternated glances between Barbee and Brandee.

  “Fightin’ and fuckin’. And when I leave here I ain’t headed to another fight,” I chuckled.

  Slowly, Barbee slid her arm around my right elbow, gripped it with her hand, turned to her sister, and nodded. Almost immediately, Brandee walked to my left side and slipped her hand around my lower bicep.

  I took a shallow breath, exhaled, turned to face Dekk, and mouthed the only words that fit this fucked up situation.

  Fuck yes.

  BARBEE. “Chuck what?” I asked, not really sure of what he said.

  “Chuck Fuckin’,” he responded.

  He tossed his shirt over the arm of the couch and reached for the waistband of his shorts. I watched his hands as he fumbled with the button. His knuckles were covered with scars, and his hands were huge. If what they say about a guy’s hands being large is right, this may just make for a really fun night. Something about a tattooed, muscular fighter with a sense of humor was a huge turn on; and this guy was all of the above.

  “Oh my fucking God,” I gasped as his shorts fell to his ankles.

  “What?” he said as he kicked his shorts free of his shoes.

  “Your….uhhm…cock,” I stuttered as I pointed to the massive cock that hung between his legs like some other form of appendage altogether.

  “The piercings?” he asked as he looked down and started stroking it.

  “The what?” I asked as I watched his hand slide up and down the shaft.

  “Piercings?” he said as he lifted his cock and exposed the underside.

  “Holy fuck, what are they? Oh God. It’s getting hot in here. Brandee, come here,” I squealed as I waved my arms.

  Brandee stood from the barstool and shook her head as she walked toward the portion of the room where we were standing. Her eyes widened as she saw Ripp standing naked, wearing only his shoes and holding his massive cock by the head. Although Brandee rarely spoke, she looked down at his cock, up at his face, back down between his legs, and almost screamed.

  “Oh my fucking God, that’s hot. Are you going to fuck him?” she rested her hands on her thighs and bent her knees slightly, staring across the room at his cock.


  Brandee and I had a rule. We never had sex with the same guy. We almost always traveled together, and were quite close, but we never crossed those lines. Several guys tried, and many had fetishes, but we always stuck to our guns in that respect. She knew if Ripp and I had sex, she was out of the equation.

  “Uhhm, yeah. He’s mine,” I mumbled as I licked my lips.

  “Quit staring at me, you’re making me self-conscious. I’m not some fuckin’ circus animal,” Ripp laughed as he started to stroke his cock.

  “What is it called?” I asked as I stared at the jewelry in the bottom side of his cock.

  “This,” he pointed to a hoop that was pierced through the tip, “is a Prince Albert.”

  He raised his cock back up, exposing the underside. Four shiny shafts of metal with little balls on each end pierced the skin along the shaft. As if hypnotized, I stared while he spoke.

  “And these are called a Jacob’s ladder,” he said as he held the head of his cock between his thumb and forefinger, stroking the tip of his other index finger along the underside of the shaft.

  “Does it hurt?” Brandee asked.

  “Go back in the other room,” I pointed toward the bar, “you’ve seen enough.”

  “Fuck you, I wanna see it,” Brandee whined as she continued staring at his cock.

  “Get. Go back to the bar, Brandee,” I demanded.

  Ripp stood and smiled as he began to stroke his cock more aggressively. As his massive hand slid from the tip to his balls, it became apparent just how large his cock actually was. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and realized my pussy was absolutely soaked.

  “Is it hot in here?” I asked again.

  “It’s Austin, babe. It’s always hot,” Ripp laughed, “I feel like I’m in a bad porn movie. This is gettin’ weird quick. What are we doin here?”

  “She’s going to sit on her bar stool, and you’re going to fuck me. Do you leave the stuff in, or take it out?” I asked as I pointed to the barstool and nudged my head toward the bar.

  “I didn’t put all of these in here to take ‘em out during sex,” he shook his head and smiled as Brandee walked back to the bar.