I tried something for the first time since I moved to Sweden (I had done it in the U.S.).

I went to a boxing class.

The class started at 6 pm, so I stayed at work, and then ambled over to the company gym, where the class was being held. I was nervous and apprehensive, not least because I had forgotten a padlock for the gym locker and I am extremely paranoid abot being robbed (since I was, in May this year). I was also nervous as I didn't know how this class worked, didn't know anyone there, and felt my usual self-inhibited feeling that I get in new situations.

I followed everyone else's lead, and took the same equipment they did-a set of blocking pads, a set of gloves, two enormous rubber bands, and a mat. I saw a few people I know turn up, and I waved to them. It became rapidly clear that this was a partner event, and I was partner-less.

But I was determined to stick it out. I had had a no-good, very bad, rotten day. I was stressed, exhausted, hungry (as I had not eaten for 24 hours), and angry. I needed this.

I was introduced to a woman who was also partnerless.

"Hi, I'm Caisa." she said.
"I'm H." I replied.
She was my height, a bit heavier, with thick blond hair pulled into a messy ponytail. She blew a strand of hair out of her face.
"How was your day today?" she asked.
"What?" I replied, confused.
"Your day. How was it today?"
"Oh. Right. Honestly, it was pretty fucked up."
She nods grimly. "Me too. I had a bad day yesterday too. I am feeling very angry and would like to beat the shit out of you. In return, you can beat me up."
I look her square in the eye and can tell she is not fucking with me. "Sounds good, Caisa. You're on."

The instructor comes out, and I realize immediately he is an American. I am instantly relieved, for some stupid reason. He addresses us all, unaplogetically, in English. I feel enormously pleased.

We start running. And stretching. And running some more. And then it is time.

I strap on the gloves first, and Caisa takes the block pads. In time to the music and with a set pattern by the Instructor, I start swinging. I connect my gloves to her pads in a rapid fire tempo and with utter strength and anger.

And it feels so fucking great. I am literally beating the pads. In my mind, I see the things that have really been getting to me. Company X wants redundancies? WHAM! into the pad. My Dear Mate wants to move away? WHACK! right into the shield Caisa holds. Those fucks in Company X want to tell rumors about me and drag me down? SLAM! My family giving me grief? CRASH! My partner unit doesn't give me orgasms-EVER? THUMP!

I just hit harder and harder. Punches, uppercuts, hooks. I am pissed. Sweat is pouring down my back, down between my breasts, making a rivulet between my thighs. I feel awesome.

We switch, and Caisa has indeed had a rough day. She beats the hell out of the pads...and I find myself beginning to scream encouragement to her, and she hits harder.

We switch again, and she starts the screams.

It all begins to sound like sex.

"Harder! More! Come on! You're almost there! Come on! Harder! Hit me! Do it! COME ON COME ON COME ON!!!"

As I hit I begin to scream and moan with exhaustion and anger. I find I am so angry that I continue to visualize the things in my life getting me down. Sweat is pouring freely. My thighs are pounding. The other boxers in the class, men and women, are also screaming and grunting.

Afterwards, exhausted, we lay down to stretch. Caisa looks at me.

"That was fucking great." she replies, red-faced, sweaty, and looking rather post-orgasmic with her messy bed hair and breathlessness.

I couldn't agree more. And had a round of self-relations in my car before driving home.

Fighting. Sex. Both of them irresistable.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 10:16 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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