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It was the Men’s Boxing Association’s turn to hold a crisis meeting, about a month after Tanya’s defeat of Mark. She was humiliating him regularly in front of the other girls at the gym. There were stories of her tempting him to fight back, before “putting him in his place” with a well-placed punch, often in the genitals. At other times she would sit on him, or have the girls tie him to a punching bag for her to “train” on. When she was feeling really mean, she would take his manhood in her gloved hand and force him to tell the girls how she had beaten him up.
Some of the men’s wives had heard about Tanya’s victory, and they relished the fact that a woman had won a fight against a man on equal terms. One man’s wife, who previously had no interest in boxing, had taken it up, and now spent more time training than he did. Another man complained that every time he got home from work, his wife would greet him with a playful punch and mockingly call him “champ”.
Perhaps most insulting of all, women’s boxing was now making more money than men’s. Indeed, while the women were hiring new staff, the men were having to make economies. This was reflected in the membership. Lots of men no longer wanted to belong to a male boxing club, whose champion had lost to a woman, while women were flocking to join the female club.
Hence the meeting. The chairman, Tony, struggled to make himself heard above the general complaining and arguing.
“All right, all right,” he shouted, “We won’t solve anything by moaning. No, we must do something to attract new members, and fast.”
“No one wants to belong here now,” growled Jim, an old member. “We all know why, because of the stigma.”
“Yeah, I know,” replied Tony, glumly. “We need a victory for ourselves. There’s Stinger’s match coming up against their Pamela, but it’s a bit of a sideshow. No offence Stinger, but it has to be a championship match to restore any morale. By the way,” he looked sharply at Stinger, “I hope you’re training for that match…”
“Oh, yeah, yeah,” replied that man, dismissively.
“… Because I’ve heard she’s training really hard. Saw her for myself the other day. Very impressive. I’m telling you, you’d better start working. Anyway, my proposal is this: we need to swallow our pride, and, er, ‘borrow’ a champion from another area to challenge their Tanya. What do you all think?”
This caused much debate. The Association was now the butt of the joke among other associations, and it was adding insult to injury to go asking one of their members to fight their battle for them. On the other hand, the defeated Tony had been a skilled fighter, and he had beaten many of the other area champions. After plenty of agonising, it was decided to implement Tony’s idea.
“All right, this is what I propose,” Tony said to the committee after the general meeting had broken up. “Two or three of us have a drink at the ‘Golden Lion’, where the Essex club go and drink. We go easy on our drinks, but make sure they have a good few beers. When they start winding us up again, we point out that Mark beat their champion, and that Tanya went on to beat Mark. It follows that she could beat their famous Steel Kirby. They’ll pledge him to fight her, and then have a lot of explaining to do the next day, because we’ll have witnessed it. One of us could even record it.”
For the first time in a month, they laughed.
“You devious old bugger!” sniggered Paul, the club secretary.
“So let me get this right,” Tom ‘Steel’ Kirby almost hissed through his fury, “You get pissed with the lads from North London, right? They say that because Tony lost to Tanya she can beat me, yes? You all stick your chests out and say ‘Never’, they say ‘Put your money where your mouth is’, and now I’ve got to fight some blonde bint? I don’t fight women!”
“I don’t think you have any choice,” Derek, about the only man who hadn’t been in the ‘Golden Lion’ that night who was present at their meeting, responded, “Not after this. Here’s Tanya’s email to our secretary:
I would be delighted to accept the challenge to my World Mixed Boxing Champion title. Nowhere else is there a mixed boxing championship, so we can claim the world one. I long to plant my fist on another man’s face, because I’m getting a bit bored with Mark.
I have seen Tom fight once or twice, and I think you must nickname him “Steel” because he fights like a robot, and must think like one (as all men do). I would adore to show him how a flexible female can destroy a mechanical man.
I happily await confirmation of the fight, which I will contest at any time and in any place of your (or Rusty’s) choosing.
Tanya, the Man-Tamer.’”
“So that’s it then,” Tom glumly concluded. “You muppets have dropped me right in it. All right, go ahead and arrange it.”
The prospect of the fight caused a tremendous stir, especially among women. Tanya was a heroine for them, and they loved to see men so troubled by the idea of a blonde, buxom beauty who could punch them all round the ring. In fact many men dreaded the fight (apart from the North London Association men, who were busy promoting it, and managed to get it booked at their stadium, it being the largest in the area).
So it was to a full house at the stadium that Tanya faced Tony. For what must be the first time ever in a boxing match, women outnumbered men in the crowd. Tony entered the ring first, and everyone craned their necks for a sight of the legendary Tanya. When she approached, every man there seemed to experience the same sensation – a combination of desire and dread. She exuded sexuality and danger. As for the women, there was a chorus of “Ooh!” and “Lovely!” Her white leotard suited her perfectly. With her red boxing gloves, she looked both feminine and deadly.
She entered the ring, and the referee introduced them both, beginning with Tom. It was impressive enough: 28 fights, 28 wins, and 28 knockouts. (The fight with Mark didn’t count, because it was for a charity event.) Tanya’s record was even more impressive though, at 27, 27 and 27, because she was 5 years younger.
The ref now withdrew, and the fighters weighed each other up. There was a lot of threatening talk. Indeed some in the crowd began to wonder when it would start. One man was even heard to ask if it was a fight or a job interview. Other crowd members fidgeted a bit. The boxing girls were in one of the front rows, and Pamela glanced towards the men. She caught Stinger’s eye, who looked back, unsmiling. She stared in turn, before fixing her attention back on the ring.
Tom struck. He caught Tanya high in the stomach with his left. As one, the girls flinched; but she fought back with a firm right jab, which caught Tom to the side of his chin and jaw. The force of it surprised him for a moment, but he recovered and responded with another body blow at Tanya’s kidney area.
Tom seemed to have the initiative. Tanya managed to deflect a face punch, but he caught her with a second right to her kidney area. However, she bounced back in style, with a right cross, catching him in the same place as before. The girls’ sigh of relief was short-lived though, because Tom held his ground and came back with a left cross. It was a huge blow, and it had Tanya over at her corner. There was some cheering and taunting from some of the men in the crowd. Snatches of “Well they wanted the match”, and “Don’t see much man-taming” could be heard.
Tanya stood back up, and took some deep breaths. She’d had a shock, but she was focusing on recovery. The ref satisfied herself that she wanted to continue, and she went to meet Tom in the centre. He, for his part, looked for a quick finish to the match. He repeated his previously successful punch, to the alarm of the girls. Tanya recoiled but she didn’t go down, as he’d expected. Now he struck her low in the stomach with his left. There was some relieved cheering from the girls, as Tanya struck back with a splendid straight right, catching him in the same place for a third time.
There was a general “Oh!” in the crowd when she followed up with sweeping left hook. Indeed it swept the man away; swatted him like a fly so that he, in turn, lay on his back. The noise of the crowd was immense. In the ring it was just noise, but among the spectators could be heard female cries of “Ah, didums!”, and “Ah, what’s the matter den, did the bad girl knock him down, den?”
Tom was momentarily knocked out. But he survived the count and struggled up, working hard to regain his focus. Tanya stood, hands on hips, waiting for him. He now assured the ref that he wanted to carry on, and they faced off. Just as Tom had done, Tanya repeated her successful stroke. Her punch caught him nastily in his right eye, bludgeoning his senses for a moment. He played for time, and got Tanya briefly in a clinch. But she broke free, and landed him one on his left jaw.
“Must regain the initiative,” thought Tom. He attempted a right face punch, but Tanya blocked it. The same thing happened when he tried with his left. But his next one got through.
“Like left hooks, do you?” Tom murmured to Tanya. “What do you think of this one?”
He followed up with a straight left. Most of the work had been done by the hook, and this last blow just ensured Tanya fell, to the dismay of two thirds of the crowd and the crowing of the men.
But Tanya was soon up again, with the aid of the ropes. She stood up, full of resistance, giving the girls hope after all. But this was soon dashed. Tom lashed out with the favourite left hook, and stunned Tanya. Building on his advantage, he caught her for the third time in her kidney area.
“I’m not sure she can take much more,” lamented Pamela to the girl next to her, Erica, who looked downcast.
Tanya doubled up … then sprang. Her left fist smacked into Tom’s mouth. His lips vibrated and throbbed as if he’d been stung by a wasp, and his head lurched to the side, as he tried to absorb the blow. He responded with a straight left, which Tanya deflected. While he was still following through, she plunged her right fist into his stomach, and he gave a little ground. Increasing her new-found momentum, Tanya caught his left ear with a right hook.
“You were saying?” Erica commented, relieved, to an equally reassured Pamela, as Tanya ratcheted up the onslaught further, with her left fist into Tom’s already sensitive stomach.
Uppercut! A glorious one! Tanya’s right fist finished up arched above her head, as Tom’s own head shot backwards. He gave a little more ground. Tanya pressed home her advantage – literally – with a straight right.
“She’s a punching blonde goddess!” Erica half-shouted in glee, as the woman’s punch turned the man’s retreat into a knockdown. He lay dazed for a moment, before starting to struggle up. Tanya even allowed herself a little break by sitting on a stool while she waited.
Perhaps she was just a little hubristic though, because when they faced off again, Tom partly caught her with a straight right. She avoided some of its force, but it was a reminder that she still had some work to do. In fact she had a lot more to do. Tom landed his favourite left hook, and it struck home painfully. But she responded with not quite an uppercut, more of an upper jab, with her left. It was enough to halt his progress though. The girls had been getting nervous again.
If the left hook was Tom’s favourite punch, then the straight right was Tanya’s. That half-uppercut set her up perfectly for it, and she hammered him for a fourth time in the same place. She had him on the ropes now, and she thundered her right fist into his stomach. Those in the nearby seats could see the distress on Tom’s face.
The woman’s left fist now found the man’s right eye. His other eye was already almost closed over, and now she did the same to his hitherto good one. There was no further retreat. He was in the corner, and still the onslaught continued. Her right was used again in the familiar way, and it proved devastating. Tom’s head was over the ropes as he struggled to remain upright.
She hit him in the stomach; she punched his right ear, so very nearly bringing him down; she blasted him with an uppercut; she assaulted his stomach again; she punched him in the face and had him sagging over the ropes; she fired off another uppercut … and it was over.
The ref counted him out, and Tanya celebrated her sweet victory, waiting for Tom to stir. Victory was hers, and she meant to give the women in the crowd their money’s worth. Some of the men in the crowd shuffled out when she made Tom take his shorts off. She forced him to say that she was the world mixed champion. So disorientated and defeated was he, that he was reduced to sobbing while he spoke.
“Who is the sexist pig who had the chauvinism beaten out of him?” Tanya demanded, and he obediently replied that he was. She was determined to live up to her “Man-Tamer” title, and forced him first onto his knees, after that down again, then onto his front. More men began to leave.
After she had got him to lick her boots, she made him go back to the corner of his recent defeat, and she punched him in the groin.
“It’s funny how a man gets an erection when one of us beats him up, isn’t it?” Erica said to Pamela.
“I love it!” replied that woman, glancing over at Stinger and licking her lips.
She looked back in time to see Tanya bringing Tom to an unwanted ejaculation, with her gloved fist around his manhood.
One last punch, some forced lady-pleasuring, and then a sit down on the crawling man – one of the very issues that caused the crisis meeting in the first place – and the evening’s entertainment concluded.