Series: Gut Punch Journal - Entry 4

These stories started off as a standalone short, meant to be a one off tale that sparked unexpected interest. Got a few comments and request about wanting more, and so here we are! "Series" with feature recurring characters, themes, and an expanding world that continues to unfold, one story at a time. Also yes, this series does feature the actual meetfighters site.

Journal Entry #4 – April 28, 2024

I told myself I’d write this the same night it happened, but I.... I just couldn’t. My hands were shaking to much. Way tooooo much. My head was fuzzy, confused maybe, trying to process everything that happened all at once and way to fast. My stomach, my sides, my whole freaking everything, it still feels like the muscles are vibrating under my skin. They should be fully healed soon, well soonish, but the high of it all? The pure emotional power of it all? That will take a couple more days to come down from. To finally relax and think clearly again. Like actual me again. Ugh, yeah so it was crazy, in case you couldn't get that. Even now, a week later is it, sitting here with an ice pack balanced across my stomach, I’m still not totally sure how to make sense of it.  But I know I need to try. I need to write. I can't just document the good parts, I can't honestly explore this otherwise. Can't be honest with myself otherwise. And, if you are reading this, please understand this. I don't hate the guy, not one bit. When I say red flags, I mean flags I should have seen in me. Experience that I should have put a stop to right away. But I didn't, and that's on me. You see with him, I honestly got lucky. It was a painful lesson to be sure, but one I needed. 

So onto the story? 

 

It was, because of course,  another match from the fight site where you meet fighters. 

 

With two good experiences already, I had nothing to worry about! Right? The first red flag that I should have saw, was his screen name. Dói Tão Bom. I thought it was just some reference to his nationality, I should have looked a bit deeper. But I didn't, I was too preoccupied with his great looking profile. Ademir, as I would learn his real name is, was Brazilian, mid-30s, living on the other side of town. His profile was short and blunt: “Hard body puncher. I don’t hold back. Don’t ask unless you’re serious.”

I was serious or at least I thought I was. 

We messaged, a lot of back and forth, for a couple of days. He was respectful, but clear, direct and to the point on what he wanted and expected. Ademir liked to push people past their limits. Really dig deep and test a man. He didn't handhold or engage non-manly crap. You faced him, you faced him for real. It also wasn't some cruelty fetish thing, it was a test, a real test of strength, power and manhood. 

“If you want to know yourself,” he wrote once, “you have to go to the edge and beyond.”

That line stuck with me. Maybe too much. I really should have thought about this more, better... 

Series: Gut Punch Journal - Entry 3

These stories started off as a standalone short, meant to be a one off tale that sparked unexpected interest. Got a few comments and request about wanting more, and so here we are! "Series" with feature recurring characters, themes, and an expanding world that continues to unfold, one story at a time. Also yes, this series does feature the actual meetfighters site. 

Journal Entry #3 – March 23, 2024

I’ve also been thinking a lot about that meetup with Rick. The power of his hits, how he kept such control, and made it such a amazing experience. That moment stuck with me, with such force, force that I wanted. When he caught me when I stumbled, doubled over, when I fell but didn't want to stay down. When he finally broke me. I’ve caught myself walking around work some days, stomach tightening when I remember the impact. Not in fear. Not even in anticipation. Just remembering the feeling of my body absorbing something like that. And yeah how I wanted it again. I mean if I'm going to do this right, explore it and find out what it means to me, and if I really want it...im going to have to do it a few times at least. So I went back on the site, thought I have a single message at most. Probably addressed to someone else. Someone better than me, better looking, better built, better able to take a hits and be a man. Yeah I'm working on self confidence thing too, bare with me. Anyways, imagine my surprise when I saw a lot more than just one message. Like a lot more. I read them all, thanked each and every one for messaging me, reaching out to make me feel wanted for once. I wanted to meet them all, even the odder ones, but one really really stood out. 

 

Series: Gut Punch Journal - Entry 2

These stories started off as a standalone short, meant to be a one off tale that sparked unexpected interest. Got a few comments and request about wanting more, and so here we are! "Series" with feature recurring characters, themes, and an expanding world that continues to unfold, one story at a time. Also yes, this series does feature the actual meetfighters site. 

 

 

 

Journal Entry #2 – February 17, 2024

I’ve been thinking a lot about that fight. How I was forced into it, for reasons I still don't know. How it was my first fight ever really. Been thinking long and hard about it. More than I probably should. It’s been sitting on my chest like a weight I can’t shift. Not that I would really want to. You see all this, it's not in a bad way. It's all more like a memory I keep coming back to, reliving it, pressing on it, testing how it makes me feel. Is that weird? Normal? I don't know, but as my generation is ever so fond of saying... it is, what it is. I told my therapist I’ve been journaling (is that a word?) about the fight, about how it made me feel physically and mentally. She thought it was progress. I didn’t mention everything.... I don't think I can yet. I have no idea how they would react if they knew I enjoyed it in the end. I don’t know why I like it. It’s not sexual, at least not yet. It may very well become that, but it's just... well I don't know what it is. Maybe that's why I keep writing you know?  It’s just... something in the force of the blow, the way my body braces and absorbs it, the way it breaks me down in the end, empties me out. Like it resets something. But to really understand it all, I needed to be sure it wasn’t a one off fluke. Some bs misfire of my brain or some other techno babble explanation. 

 

So I went online. 

 

If I went to a bar, club, park or something public it could have ended in a bad way. Public humiliations you know? At least online I can search, research and the like without being judged... yet. And you know what? It worked! Sure you're probably going to think I'm insane (I'm still not sure if I am or not) but, I found a site, “Meet Fighters.” Yeah, I laughed too. But it was surprisingly, to me at least... normal. Sure it was literal real people looking for real matches, but there was no judgement, no questioning, just accepting who you are and what you wanted. Some guys were looking for sport, some to play out a fantasy they had, some to find themselves, and some for other reasons. It just clicked, felt right, so I made a profile. Kept it honest: average build, 5’11”, some body hair, not looking to be seriously hurt, just curious about body shots. Sure I wasn't impressive, but I was trying. 

 

A guy named Rick messaged me within a day. 

Series: Gut Punch Journal - Entry 1

This story, well now stories, started off as a standalone short, meant to be a one off tale that sparked unexpected interest. Got a few comments and request about wanting more, and so here we are! "Series" with feature recurring characters, themes, and an expanding world that continues to unfold, one story at a time.

January 17, 2024

It... Damn.

Sorry....Ffs I'm apologizing in writing to paper.

I must really be messed up... 

OK focus... It's still a lot to process. Feelings suck sometimes. 

OK... So, I remember it was bad. Even now weeks later, I can still feel the phantom pains of it all. My stomach still jerks and pulsates when I'm still. My therapist said writing it down might help. 

I think it's bullshit, they could never really understand all this, but when your shit insurance is finally paying for something, I guess you gotta do. 

So here goes... 

 

It was raining hard, I can see and remember that clearly. It was the kind of bullshit rain that soaked you down to the bone, and made every breath feel like steam off a dying fire. It was like I was in some dark YouTube video or found footage horror movie. What I don't know... Is how it started. Maybe it was something I said? He said? Maybe the other guy was just looking for someone to bleed? Maybe we both had to much to drink and did something really stupid? 

I really don't know... 

Maybe that's why I can't let this go. Not knowing does things to the mind. Maybe I'm not realizing something yet? Anyways, all I do remember is I blinked, and I was outside in the alley, some dirty back alley behind the bar, and this guy was standing in front of me with his fists clenched tight like iron.

He didn’t speak, just paced angerly. The rain made his skin shine, his shirt tight, muscles twitching like they were on a hair trigger. He was same age as me and about the same build. Average, maybe, but every inch of him said he was about to make me feel everything bad in the world. He wanted to make me hurt. 

Then he moved. Gods he was fast. 

Dark World: Not everything, is Black and White

Part of the dark world series. Dark world is the collection of stories that are far more violent then the other stories and often have brutal beat downs, sadistic fights and unforgiving knock outs. Great for your looking for a fight with more gritty tones. All stories take place in the same world.

Co-written by author The Unbroken

Dirty water streamed off rusted fire escapes and splattered in the cracked concrete of the alley. It mixed with long since dried blood and bile from previous... Interactions. The rain continued to came down, never to clean or wash away the old, no it came as judgements. No matter what waters come, blessed or natural, this city would never be clean. It was cold, hard, relentless, the kind you should only see in cheap cheesy disaster movies. No one in their right mind should have been here, but this was Dark City, sanity had long since stopped being a factor here. 

Comhraic was already waiting, alone this time as Ben was on another job. Comhraic wasn't worried, nor was their any reason to be, business had been good, easy, this would just be another job. This Coach, as everyone called him, would just be another easy sorry target. Some idiot who pissed off someone with money. And so Comhraic stood there, shirt discarded, skin soaked to the bone, lean muscle coiled tight under rain-slicked tattoos. His chest rose and fell steady, the hair across it plastered flat. He didn’t shiver. He didn’t blink. Just stood there, knuckles flexing, jaw set. Coach stepped in from the other end of the alley. Bigger, bulkier—built like a brick wall and just as unforgiving. His skin gleamed smooth and dark under the rain, water tracking down his arms like sweat. He didn’t stop walking. Didn’t flinch. His eyes locked on Comhraic, and nothing else in the world mattered. No greetings. No insults. That part was long over. A job was given, a price was paid. Everything that needed to be said would be written in the blood and bruises left behind in this exchange. 

Shorts: The Clash of egos – Mikey vs. Celticfire

Part of the shorts series. Shorts are short one off stories done by request of the person generally in the story. Meaning, they will be self contained even if they have characters from other stories. Good for when you are looking for a quick fight that won't hurt your eyes reading for a long time.


When the match was announced, it came as a surprise to no one. Both wielded and flung smack talk easily as any person would breathe. The stage was set, the date had come and now? The crowd was electric, the roar deafening as two bear-like men stood face-to-face in the center of the ring. On one side, Mikey, a powerhouse wrapped in muscle and rage, eyes burning with intensity. Some said his mouth moved faster than his fists. Today he would prove them all wrong. On the other side, Celticfire, full of self pride and a thirst for battle. His thick frame carved by years of battle, fists clenched ready to go, and more bar fights under his belt than should ever be allowed (or legal for that matter).

The bell rang. It. Was. On. 

Dark World: Hit the Road Jack

 

Part of the dark world series. Dark world is the collection of stories that are far more violent then the other stories and often have brutal beat downs, sadistic fights and unforgiving knock outs. Great for your looking for a fight with more gritty tones. All stories take place in the same world.

The empty incongruous place of worship reeked of dust and abandonment, what ever deity desperate for worship having long since left this grotesque city. The electricity no longer worked, not that it did well to begin with. What little candles remained (or haven't been stolen) have long melted down. The only source of light came through cracked stained glass, painting jagged shapes across the pews like bleeding wounds. Silence owned the room, until Comhraic's boots echoed down the aisle.

Jack backed toward the altar, shirtless (having already lost it previously), chest rising fast. He clung to his gloves, the gloves of a fighter, like it meant anything. But this fight was long since decided, before the two had met, before the two had faced off, before the first punch was even thrown. He clutched at bruised ribs, eyes darting like a cornered animal. Comhraic, all muscle and menace, approached slow, bare-chested, fists clenched, body dripping with intent... and stained in more blood than just Jack's.

"You thought this place would protect you?" Comhraic sneered. “Only thing holy here’s the hole I’m about to put in you.”