Celtic_Tiger's blog

The late evening skies were heavily jacketed by thick gray clouds still producing a steady stream of snowflakes. Nearly 10 o'clock at night and the few cars slotted in the parking area beside the twin leveled building were all covered with a layer of powder, except one. A chocolate brown Ford GTO with a tan stripe sat idling here. The heat of the engine melting the flakes as soon as they fell and the internal heat handled that which attempted to land on the front and back windshields. The driver watched a room on the second floor for the darkened window to become illuminated by a lamp within and a sign to be posted against the glass. Chet Donovan bit the edge of his thick cigar and illuminated his angular face with the orange glow as he took a good drag. His close-cut brown hair was thick near the center and stood up a bit. He wore a black leather jacket over an army green button-down shirt and that was open to expose a low-cut white tank top. The undershirt dipped down to sit just above his solar plexus an inch or two and his muscular chest which was adorned in a small patch of brown chest hair was exposed to the light as well. He had the look of a guy who had been a lanky guy at one time but grew into his body, his pointed chin and button nose gave him a semi-boyish face. Thick eyebrows had been trimmed a bit to angle and give his face a harder edge at 32 years old he looked a bit younger than that. He liked to think he was the best-looking guy in the world. Chet's ego was healthy and gaining weight since he releases from the Marine Corps. He hadn't been to this motor inn before but they were generic. This would be his sixth match this year taking place in this kind of venue. Staring up at the window again he grinned. His wide mouth formed a smirking shape as he saw that the light was on and the number 6 was posted. “Six it is you fucking bean and rice eating son of a bitch.” Chet's voice had a strong masculine reverb here in the interior of his GTO. He spoke the words in a mocking tone though. Leaning back over the leather seat, he grabbed a dark green and gold gym bag and took a moment to turn off the car and seal the window. Getting out of the car he slung the bag over his right shoulder, holding it with his thick fingers by both straps at once. Climbing two sets of dark wooden steps to the second-floor landing, he puffed twice more on his cigar and flicked the remaining bit over the edge to land in a thick blanket of snow near some type of thorny bush. His free hand, thick and strong looking reached up and gave the door to room 16 three good rapid knocks. The door slowly receded after the final rap of his knuckles upon the cheap wood like material. A voice from inside came suddenly through the small gap. “Your just in time white boy, ready for an ass kicking I hope.” Chet grinned as he pushed the door wide open, stepped inside and gave it a good hard shove with the bottom of his left boot. Taking in the room before him he shifted his attention to the door itself, slipped the metal flip bar and locked the door lock as well. “Smart thinking chico Blanco, don't want you taking off like a little gatto during the action.” Chet turned from the door to the source of the voice taunting him. Taking his free hand, he reached down and grabbed the crotch of his tan military cargo pants and pulled it up. “I won't be leaving before you take a good long suck on my cock, you are fucking bean farmer.”

Standing across the motels medium sized room was Carlos Montoya, 29 years old and in very similar shape body wise to Chet. His facial features seemed like a mix of Hispanic and possibly Irish. The reality was that he had some Irish blood but he was nearly one hundred percent Mexican. His dark brown and gold complexion illustrated that. His brown eyes very dark almost black, thick black hair of his beard and that on his chest were thick and mane like. He had a similar button nose and brow to Chet’s' own though and this is where he might be construed as a half breed by an ignorant person. Standing here he was stripped fully bare except for white cotton jock strap with red and blue lines along the waistband. He had on a pair of white leather boxing boots the high kind and white socks that stuck over the edge. Chet looked him over for a moment. “That's why I grabbed my crotch, after seeing what your packing it’s the only real cock in this room.” He looked left to a small waste basket near a badly upholstered chair and spit like it was the period to his sentence. Carlos rubbed at his own crotch for a moment before replying. “Fuck you Blanco, you’re going to learn all about my skills with my fists soon enough. Get your shit on and let's get this boxing underway.” Chet looked around. The room was roughly thirty by twenty dimension wise. The bed was gone completely leaving the two night tables on either side without a purpose. This left a good 15×20 space between the back wall and two chairs and a table near the door. “Did you send the mattress to your mother, I mean she should get a new one for that back alley anyhow.” looking at Carlos as he said this, Chet grinned. “Another wise ass remark Blanco you will pay for.” Slowly he began to wrap his hands in bands of cloth, which were used to secure the knuckles while boxing and keep the wrist from getting damaged. “My friend works here, he had the bed removed for cleaning for a little extra cash from me. We have enough space to get this shit going. My hands are aching to punch that handsome face of yours Chester.” Tensing his neck muscles, he gave Carlos a mean glare “You’re going to get dropped like your wages, your migrant worker son of a bitch” he then went back to unzipping his gym bag and removing its contents before he started wrapping his own hands in black. The other chair had a pair of black Reyes 12-ounce boxing gloves, Mexican flag satin trunks and matching mouth guard. Taking out his own gear and placing it on the chair he had his own pair of medium brown 12 ounce Tuf-Wear brand gloves, blue trunks with gold waistband and an American flag on the right leg. He also had a white mouth guard and black hand wraps and lastly a pair of white boxing boots with gold laces. Chet stripped down to his white boxer briefs but left his boot socks on. Carlos brought out a scale from the bathroom and placed it in the center of the room. Standing a few inches from each other, they were nearly twins in height and relative body type. Carlos was a bit smaller in chest and shoulders though. Staring at each other intently, they raised their hands and gripped each other firmly by the other hands. Nodding, they started a small test of strength. The first to force the other one down to his knee was the winner. Each phase of the coming action was carefully planned beforehand and each man knew the consequences for failure. He would have to suck the others cock. Carlos threw in that it would start with a nice bathing of the testicles before the loser had to put the shaft in his mouth till the timer went off. Staring at each other now, dark brown eyes looking deep into dark green ones. They started to struggle against each other their forearms tensing up under the pressure. Bearing their teeth as their necks strained Chet as well was forced down, his arms shaking from the downward momentum. Once his hands were free he pounded his right fist on the floor. “No fucking way!” he stayed on one knee while Carlos set a nearby timer for three minutes and returned to position his crotch in Chet's face. “Yes way, get to sucking on this dick.”

Dropping to both knees from the one, Chet gripped the sides of Carlos' strong thighs with his wrapped hands and drew his face closer into the crotch area. Extending a longer then natural tongue from his pursed lips, he caressed the underside of the testicles with enough force to lift them up and draw them into his waiting mouth. They both fit easily and he began to suck on them with his entire mouth. Carlos felt his whole body becoming fully relaxed and his penis became fully erect rubbing up against Chet's forehead. Taking some time to properly wash each side of the ball sack, he reached over with his right hand and took hold of Carlo's cock by the shaft. Sliding his mouth free of the testicles, Chet licked the underside of the penis head. “Yeah you like that fucker.” He spoke the words in a whispering tone not one of malice but more of sexual stimulation. Carlos nodded. Then the shaft was drawn deep into his waiting mouth. His unnaturally long tongue acted like a sort of blanket as it wrapped around the underside. A mix of musty sweat and flesh covered Chet's taste buds as he began to work the thick appendage back and forth like sawing a log. The various states of warmth, moisture and pressure were nearly close to overloading Carlo's mind. Chet suddenly pulled his mouth free of the cock and stood up. He moved faster than expected and was in time to watch Carlos open his eyes slowly and the fresh expression of fading pleasure cover his face. Chet stepped over to the small table between the two chairs and picked up one of the ice buckets. He rinsed and spit. “Well that's about all of the free preview you’re going to get. Let the boxing decide what happens next ahhh-mee-go.” He pronounced the word amigo like he was mocking each vowel sound. Placing the bucket on the floor he dragged the chair at an angle to form his corner for the fight. Carlos did the same, taking his chair to the far corner. “Get suited up Blanco, your ass kicking is getting cold.” They both took some time getting all set. Trunks, boots on they each had their mouth guards in hand. Opting to just box without the headgear, it blocked the view of the punches hitting the head and they both liked seeing that. Carlos took out some waters and handed two over. He took out a small electronic timer. “We are going rounds or just till I drop you fool?” he didn't bother to turn around to see the look on Chet's face. “Let's go rounds, that way you can reflect each break just how nice my punches feel wetback.” Adjusting the timer to time them for 6 rounds at 2 minutes in duration, Carlos set the break time for one-and-a-half-minute rest periods. Neither of them needed more than the standard minute but he liked to rub his crotch and fuck with his opponent’s head during the extra time. The timer had a nice voice activation feature that responded to the word “box” Picking up his gloves, and walking to the middle of the carpeted area Carlos met Chet there. They got their gloves on and applied the Velcro fastening. Shoving the mouth guards into their waiting gaps, each locked eye with the other and smirked. Carlos turned his head and spoke through the front hole. “Box!” he said this loud enough that the timer made a clicking sound, nine more till the first round was underway. The only rule was that they keep within the chairs and away from the walls. That would hinder footwork but this wasn't a boxing ring nor was it for some large group of people to enjoy. Fancy wasn't going down here. Just a good old-fashioned fight.

The last tick of the timer had just sounded when Carlos stepped forward into an oncoming left jab that Chet had begun to throw. Slipping it like it was moving in slow motion, he fired off two stiff shots of his own and connected both times to Chet's chin and lower mouth. Immediate gratification filled his mind. The first punch landed was a small victory in boxing, like setting the flag on a new moon or planet or in this case this asshole's chin. The shots were stiff enough to jar Chet's neck a bit. They were also so fast that his failed to process except to get his gloves up to guard his face. The gloves blocked the thinking expression on his face and Carlos might have noticed he was being baited into going to the body now. He took it. Dipping forward he attempted to pummel Chet's stomach just above the belly button with straight left and right punches. His guard compromised as he began to throw the shots and equally as fast as the double jabs had connected, a powerful left jab and right cross combination tagged Carlos in the lip and nose areas. He still managed to sink his first shot into Chester's abdominal muscles but they were very well conditioned and the punch didn't have the desire affect. Jarred by taking two surprise face punches, he found himself thrown off long enough to receive a couple of good punches to his own body. The former marine had struck him near the edge of his ribs, and the solar plexus area. Stinging of his nose and sharp aching of his body seemed to mix now. He took a step back but ducked instead of leaning back with his gloves tight to his face area. This was a great ploy, because Chester had an incoming hook miss as it sailed over Carlos's head. Stepping into the punch it left his own body open and with a great amount of force, a straight right smashed into the solar plexus causing the marines pecs to shake from the force. Chet's eyes popped then pulled tight into a wince. Carlos began to pummel the midsection with left and right punches, rocking his head back and forth with the rhythm. The leather gloves pulled into thick balls smashed into abdominal muscles, flesh, and some fat rocking them all into small dimples. Chet bared his mouth guard as he tried to stomach the punishment. His arms began to grow heavy and began to lean forward from the onset of stomach ache when a straight right parted his gloves and crashed with a thwap! sound into his jaw dead center on the chin. The button as it’s called. His lips curled up and his eyes remained winced shut. Disorientation took its toll on his mind and deep down his tough military training was struggling to bring his focus around double time. Carlos shuffled back and forth with a good bit of personal rhythm on his foot work. He only needed to get an inch more between Chet's guard to deliver his dropping shot. “Come on fucker, loosen it up” was what he thought when he struck at the body again but thick forearms met his gloves and stopped the start of the assault cold. Perhaps desperate to not have his strategy over turned, Carlos tried to land a solid right uppercut to the jaw flush. Chet leaned in time to dodge it connecting at all and as the right glove sailed upward past his field of vision, time seemed to hang for a moment. He had an opening and took it. Dipping down he brought up his left hand into a similar uppercut and it struck Carlos flush under the jaw and his head seemed to quiver. Thump! The stern expression folded into one of surprise and pain and as his eyes began to open a right hook leveled off on the side of his face and jaw. Carlos turned to look off into nothing as he dropped to the carpeted floor below.

Chet rolled his gloves one over the other and pumped the right one out in front of him several times in bravado. “Yeah, how’s the rug taste es-say” he pronounced the word ese' with emphasis on the a sound on purpose. More mockery. Carlos got his head clear of the hooks effect and striking the floor and in seconds he was back on his feet but his vision wasn't fully aligned. The protocol for a knockdown was standing 8 count once up then glove tap and back to action. Carlos didn't make eye contact with Chester while he counted off the 8 through his mouth guard. The sarcasm of his tone over each of the numbers was apparent though. It was tough to be the first one down. He knew better to underestimate Chet's punches but he was too focused on making the other man look foolish and tagging the face was all he cared about. Giving him, a black eye was priority one. Seven. Carlos broke off his thinking and readied his gloves for the tap. The final number called and the tap came. He jabbed out and struck brown gloves instead of the face or eye area. Chet looked to land a punch to Carlos's stomach are after blocking the punches and the timer indicated only ten seconds left in the background put some urgency into his plan of attack. He had to instead fold his elbows in close to his ribs to defend against a barrage of punches to his own body. Carlos caught him twice to the abdominal area. The round bell went off. Walking back to their chairs, they sat down and each pulled off a glove to be able to get water and wash out their mouths. The mouth guard forced the inner wall to produce a lot of saliva and some of it was lying in a small thread on the carpet. Chet could see it in the lamp light. Once the guard was out he taunted “Oh man, you really dropped like a busted elevator Chicano.” laughing he waved his gloved hand at Carlos then grabbed his crotch. Sticking out his unnaturally long tongue he wiggled it mockingly. “Just wait Chester, I am going to plant you like a daisy this round.” Sticking his glove back on, he grabbed his own crotch and jarred his erect penis below. Staring across the room at his opponent’s deep farmer's tan, thick pectorals and sparse chest hair was making him hard. Almost as if Chester knew, he poured water over his chest and down his stomach. “Whoops” They locked eyes now and dark brown and deep blue held each other transfixed. Chet banged his gloves together just after the ten second indication. Carlos did the same. This round would begin with them looking right at each other’s faces, generally a smart boxer would look at the chest of his opponent to read shoulder and arm movement. This wasn't as much a boxing match as it was an exercise in foreplay. Jamming in their mouth guards they both stood up and raised their hands in defensive posture. The timer used a variation of recorded voices instead of chimes after the first round was over. A man's voice which was probably taped and not electronically created acted as the bell “Round Two! Fight !!” They moved right into the center of the room both rotating each glove in tight little circular patterns. Watching each other’s faces and then like a snake striking its prey, both threw an opposing punch at almost the same instance. Chet's straight right and Carlos's left jab glided past each other and met the opposing sides glove and both were blocked. Rock, Paper. Scissors style.

Daniel hadn't been employed long as a room cleaner (also known as guest service technician) by Mister Lakewood the owner of the Two Owl's Motor Inn. It was a shit job that paid nine thirty and hour but it was steady work. These winter months the place should just be closed but they were in a good spot for passing highway traffic. So, he got part time hours now. The second floor ended near an ice machine and there was a small supply closet located here. Daniel watched the snow falling past the bright orange halogen lights as he took out a small joint from his pocket and a red Bic lighter. Sparking it up he took a couple of puffs. He pulled out a tucked away cleaning cart from the back of the small cinder block room and pushed it off to one side. Moving into the small room he finished smoking the weed while taking a seat on a milk carton. Lakewood wouldn't leave the comfort of the main office to come checking on his progress and there was only some old man renting a room on this floor. What was the rush. He was just twenty-four years old and at times he acted a bit younger. Finishing his illegal break, he closed and locked the door tight. He was at the first room door and was fishing in his coat pocket for the keys when light caught the corner of his eye. He saw a set of squares made of light down in the parking lot and then he noticed the two new cars. Looking along the row of doors before him now, he spotted room 16 was the source of the light. Pulling out a small pad from his coat pocket, he examined it to note that the only occupied room was 22. So, who was using 16? Sticking it back into his pocket along with the keys he had just taken out, he moved slowly along the wall to draw closer to the window and see if he could spot anyone. There was a small metallic edge to the window frame that would allow him to wedge his smart phone into the gap and use it to see into the room without sticking his face into the window and risking being seen by the occupants. He did this a couple of times before during the summer, got nice footage of a newlywed couple fucking each other. Maybe there would be some hot woman laying on her bed waiting for someone to come in and warm her up on a cold winter's night. Daniel grinned as the though caressed his mind and after fitting the edge of his smart phones underside into the gap in the window, he tapped a few icons and the video camera filled the screen with an unexpected sight. Two men boxing each other. Crouching down, he pulled a milk crate from the cleaning cart's lower shelf. He used this to stand on when cleaning light fixtures and tops of shower rods. Sitting now on the crate he tapped the red circle to record as he watched. By the looks of things, it was a military type Caucasian guy fighting maybe a civilian Hispanic one. He knew the haircut and posture of a military man; his late Father was in the Army. It looked like the Hispanic guy had just been knocked down and was back up on his feet. The solider guy was saying something and holding up both of his brown gloves each time. A count of eight. Daniel liked boxing a lot, he had often watched it on bar televisions at home or with his Father growing up. This was cool and very strange all at the same time. Why were they boxing in a hotel room? Did Mr. Lakewood know? Then they tapped gloves and were looking to score a hit on each other. Both shot off opposing punches that were blocked by each other. It was so fake looking but Daniel could tell they weren't playing around. The Hispanic guy pounded hard with his right hand into the solider boy’s glove knocking it into his face and throwing him off a bit. The cold wind was starting to get to him but he wanted to see the rest of the fight so he pulled his coat closer to his body and watched on.

Just after Chet's brown 12-ounce glove was knocked purposely into the corner of his mouth he felt the familiar sensation of a hard-left hook burying itself flush just below his ribs. It rocked his torso and he took a small side step from the force. Lashing out as Carlos pulled up from the lower position, Chet struck his gloves hard enough to push them aside and open his face which accepted the incoming set of blows reluctantly. He strained his neck muscles as the incoming hits pounded into his mouth and chin area. These forced him to back pedal and almost lose his footing. Chet drove forward with a smashing right to the chest and a two popping jabs to the face near the left eye. Angered at losing control of the match, Carlos pulled his gloves tight to his face, his forearms close together to shell up and form a barrier to block any further incoming face shots. Chet knew what this was all about, force him to go to the body and expose his own face. Playing possum. There was a sure-fire way around this ploy, low enough ducking, and a good solid blow to the stomach dead on. Carlos eyed this lowering of his opponent’s shoulders and his ready counter for Chet's taking the bait was all set. Soon as the dark brown hair flat top was at wrist level He moved counter clockwise to dodge the ramming straight right that would have collided with his upper abdominal muscles. Although Chet's left glove was up and protecting that side his right temple was open as was part of the side of his face there. Twisting at the hip, Carlos first struck his temple with a short-range right hook. The blow caught him completely flat footed. His stance wavered and his gloves parted a bit. He was still extended on his right foot too far. The next punch was a wider right hook, called a roundhouse. It pivoted off the hip and powered from the legs. The black glove banged solidly into cheekbone, jaw bone and loose flesh there. Chet's head snapped to the side with such force that his mouth guard flew loose from his mouth. The extension of his own straight right till the second hook by Carlos were mere seconds. Chet wobbled and fell onto his side and when the side of his head hit the carpeted floor, it released a long projectile spit wad. His wincing face struck the carpet and its friction placed a small burn on his cheek. Carlos tapped his gloves together rhythmically. “You are fucking done blanco.... you look it.” It sounded like “U Fugger Un Anco...u ookit.” through his plastic guard. Much like he himself had been right up from the knockdown earlier, Chet shook his head twice and made a motorboat sound with his jowls. Like some cartoon character clearing small birds and stars away from their head. He sat up with his arms over his thighs for a moment, then he grabbed his mouth guard up off the floor. It had struck a nearby wall and left a wet mark. It was bloody now. The blood tax was paid. This was a term some of the boxers he met in these “unofficial” locations would use to express an interest in one of the opponents getting a bloody nose or lip. Chet's cut was inside his mouth, made as his face met carpet after the guard flew free. Standing up he walked over and smacked the big button of the timer to pause it. This was ok with Carlos, it was what they did when someone lost a guard. He dropped it into the ice bucket full of water that Carlos used for his corner and cleaned it off. Getting his glove off he took it out and shook it a couple of times. Still not saying anything. He put it back into his mouth and looked at Carlos. He was going to hit the button again to resume the round and move to tap gloves but a puff of steam rose past the light reflected in the window. The room itself reflected there but in a thin visage. Chet stepped side ways to use Carlos as a block for the window. Pulling the guard out again with a wet brown leather glove he spoke “We have someone watching us asshole.” Carlos motioned behind him with a nod of his head and then tapped his chest with his black glove. “Let me do the honors.”

Sitting in a small, poorly lit backroom that was nothing more than a glorified closet space. Henry Lakewood, middle aged owner of Motor Inn sat here crammed into a folding chair. The door was ajar just enough for him to hear if someone came in, but no one beyond that lazy shit Daniel would now of night and season. Sitting here, he had his pants undone and unzipped. Old khakis with several worn spots near the belt line. His button down white cotton shirt was off completely. The small desk in front of him held a few small television monitors but only two were active. The bottom one was of this very office and a view of the front walkway. The second one was of the room where Carlos and Chet were having their little boxing match. Beside the TV's was an Apple laptop open to a chat room with web cam feeds of their room as well. He was made aware of the use of his Inn for this little “bout” via an online chat service. The man was only known as “FightGuy4All” and he arranged to have these little matches be hosted. The owner of the hotel or motel who subscribed to the site would be given their pick of boxers, removal of any large furnishings like beds or couches and other objects would be taken out. The two guys fighting would have no clue they were being watched via cams hidden throughout the room. The hosting boxer would signal the other one with a sign in the window that read a specific number.

They thought this number was linked to the type of action they were going to have. FightGuy4All had in fact set it up to mean dual things. One was type of match. The other was the chat room and cam feed the online watchers would join to watch the action. They were having a 6 tonight, which meant it was a fight to see which one would be fucked by the other. Short for sixty-nine. The two men were none the wiser and the room was re-sorted out. If a knockout occurred there was a bonus for the hosting Manager. Lakewood couldn't wait for a KO to happen and he had thought it just did when Chet had been dropped hard by a great roundhouse punch. He wanted to see the jar head getting his ass rammed by Carlos, he had a thing for Latino guys. Rubbing his gold and black rimmed briefs he reached in and took a hold of his cock while watching Chet take a sitting break and shaking off the effect of the blow. “Yeah, yes you had your lid loosened with that one huh jar head fuck.” he spat the words at the screen. “Take the lid off this fucker Carlos baby.” Looking at his laptop screen he read a couple of comments that were saying basically the same thing. Chet got his bell rung like it was church on Sunday. Then after getting his guard back in he walked to the middle of the room and without sound to accompany the visuals it wasn't clear what happened next. Carlos said something in return. Then Chet moved off to the far side of the room past the door and darted off to the left side of it. Carlos slipped his right glove off and with a nod to Chet, whipped the door open and rushed outside.