The Boxer: Kerry

"God damn." She said.

She moved back a bit and dropped to her knees. From there, she proceeded to clean my thighs, my groin, my cock and my balls with slow, languorous laps of her tongue. She licked and sucked it up, her tongue seeking out every nook and cranny of my body it had oozed into. Once I was clean, she went down on all fours and, crawling back and forth, lapped it up from the floor while I sat there, watching. There was something primal about it, something purely animalistic that made it one of the most sensual things I had ever seen at that point in my life.

When she had finished, she moved back into my lap, straddling my thighs again, and kissed me deeply. I tasted my own cum on her lips and tongue as she frenched me, a heady, musky taste. We clung to each other again for the longest time, our kisses deep and gentle.

Finally, she leaned back, her eyes locking onto mine.

"God damn." She said.

I nodded in agreement.

"God damn."

She laughed then, kissed me quickly and stood up. She moved swiftly to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of orange juice. She refilled our coffee cups with orange juice, and we sat there in silence, recovering, drinking in quiet sips, staring at each other, naked, across the table.

When the orange juice was gone she stood up and extended a hand to me.

"Shower?" She asked.

"Shower." I agreed and followed her down the narrow hallway to the small bathroom. The shower was as small as the bathroom itself, but we both fit. A moment later the spray of warm water cascaded over us, running down our bodies, warm and relaxing. We took our time, soaping each other, washing the cum, saliva, and sweat away. When we were clean, we just stood there under the nozzle holding onto each other until the water ran cold.

We climbed out of the shower and toweled each other dry.

"Do you want to spend the night? Or do you think you can make it home?"

"If it's okay with you, I'd like to spend the night."

"Oh, I think you earned it." She said, smiling at me.

We made our way to the bedroom off the living room and, naked, slipped into the double bed, beneath the off-white comforter. She curled into my side. I think we were both sound asleep in minutes.

Morning came quickly enough, and she popped out of bed.

"Shit, I have to go to work." She said as she scrambled through the dresser and closet, dressing quickly. I gathered my clothes for the kitchen floor and dressed as well.

"I left my car at the gym; can you give me a ride back?"

"Sure, no problem at all."

Once we were back in the pick-up, she sat as she had the night before, one leg pulled up, her arms wrapped around her knees, turned in the seat to face me.

"Do you want to know what Cindy told me about you?"

"Sure."

"She said you had a great cock, an excellent body, and that you had potential." She made air quotes as she said potential.

"Potential?"

She laughed, that musical laugh of hers.

"It's good to have potential. That means you're not a dumbass jock who is full of himself. It's a hazard when you're involved with an athlete, especially a boxer. Sometimes they just start thinking the world of themselves, especially after they've gotten a taste of groupie strange."

"A taste of groupie strange?" I asked.

She laughed again.

"Yeah, groupie strange. Have you ever had groupies before?".

I shook my head.

"No, I can't say I have."

"When it comes to groupies, and I include Cindy and myself in this category, we want to fuck you. You don't even have to do anything. No need to be charming, no need to have good game. Just a body and a cock and a fight card, with bonus points if you're a winner, but hell, the losers get fucked too. What matters is that you're in the ring, so we can see you fight and sweat and bleed. It's an aphrodisiac. Most of us don't want to fuck you as a person. Most of us don't give a shit about you as a person. It's what you represent that turns us on, just like for some women it's rockstars, for some women it's cops, for us, it's boxers.

When Cindy says you have potential, that means you might be one of the rare ones who doesn't let it go to his head. They're rare, unicorns, and for groupies, that is the most valuable target. That mythical combination of a guy who can fuck you like an animal, but treat you like a human being. Understand?"

I nodded. What she was saying made sense to me, even as I wrestled with the concept of groupies.

She continued.

"You can fuck the shit out of us. Fuck us the way we want to be fucked. Turn us on, tear us apart, the rougher the better, and make us into little fucktoys. Have us anyway you want, as often as you want. But then, when the fucking is over, treat us like we're human beings, with lives and hopes and dreams. That is the sweet spot you want to find. That is the potential she talks about. Do all kinds of unimaginably nasty stuff and then hold a conversation.

Think of it just like a fight. Pay attention. Stay focused. Stay disciplined. Women will let you know what they want, either by showing you or telling you. Pay attention to hints, subtle and not so subtle. Some women are straight forward. Some like to dance around a bit. Some are damn good at the bob and weave. If a woman isn't one of the ones that come straight out, pay attention to what she says, how she says it, and how often she says it. We'll guide you in, one way or another.

So, do you think you have potential?"

I slowly nodded as we pulled into the parking lot of the community center.

She smiled again, leaned across the seat and kissed me, then popped out the door.

She pointed at me, her face serious, her look solemn.

"You got potential kid."

Then she laughed, waved, and headed over to her car. At the last moment, just when I thought she was going to get into her car, she turned around and walked back, circling around to the driver's side of the pick-up, making a circular motion with her hand. I rolled the window down.

"Rumor has it you're going to get sandbagged next fight. Some powerful folks were not happy with the outcome of your bout. You're going to fight Frankie Jones in Castlewood in six weeks. He's a powerful fighter on his way up, better trained, and more experienced than you. Tell the coaches you heard that is who they're going to put you up against and start training for it. Then expect to get your ass kicked, cause you're not going to be that good in a little over a month."

She leaned through the window and kissed me on the cheek again.

"See you soon Cowboy."

I watched her walk back to her car and slip into the driver's seat, my mind spinning around groupies, getting sandbagged, and the intensity of last night's fuck. I took a deep breath. Then smiled.

"To the victor go the spoils." I told myself, and started home.