This isn’t a true story; it’s a fantasy but a good one (in my opinion). I’m sorry about the long build but it adds to the story.

My name is Joe. I’m a boxer, a pretty good one too. I’m slim; have a toned body and a fair six-pack. I have fairly short black hair and what I’m told are striking hazel-brown eyes.

Recently I’ve been in a slump: losing in most of my fights. About a month ago I was sitting the changing rooms after a fight. I was down in the dumps because I’d lost again. I was wiping sweat from my face with a towel when Tyler, another boxer that I’d become quite good friends with despite the fact we didn’t talk much outside the gym, came in. Tyler was tall, muscular and he had a six-pack that was more chiseled than mine. He had dark brown hair and grayish-blue eyes. Back then I never noticed his looks…

“You need some cheering up,” Tyler said, putting a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“It’s ok, honest. I’m fine…” was my mumbled response.

“Come on we’ll get some beers, watch some sports. A guys night in,” he said.

I contemplated it for a while before I replied with, “Yeah, alright. I am in a bit of a crap mood.”

I changed and walked with Tyler to his car. The conversation on the way to his place wasn’t really that meaningful: it passed the time.

He lived in a fairly upscale flat, the floors were laminated and the light yellow walls really gave the place a modern feel. He had a cream coloured leather couch and chair around his wide screened, LCD Television.

“Beer or larger?” Tyler called from his kitchen.

“Beer please, Tyler” I called back.

Tyler put football on the TV. I’m not really interested in football, Manchester United and Leeds were playing, but I sat and relaxed with my beer.

“He wasn’t offside, Ref! ” Tyler shouted.

“Right, course” I mumbled.

“Sorry, never thought you wouldn’t like football, what should we do?” Tyler asked.

“Maybe we could train, I hear you’ve done well recently,” I replied.

“Sure, why not?” he replied. He started to move some furniture out of the way to make a small training ring next to the large window where the light of a setting sun streamed in.

Tyler threw a pair of boxing gloves my way. I pulled off my T-shirt and pulled on the gloves. He took off his shirt and I took a look at his toned arm muscles and chiseled six-pack. Something about his looks made me feel weird but good weird. I shook it off, I told myself I was probably nervous, I didn’t realise how well he’d trained.

Tyler looked at me and asked, “Are you ok fighting with that bruise on your arm?”

“Yeah it’s fine” I replied

We both stepped into the makeshift ring. Tyler started hitting hard and fast. I countered a few times but to no avail. Tyler showed no signs of fatigue. Damn, I thought, he’s too good for me.

Then it happened: he hit my bruise hard, I fell to my knees bashing noisily onto the floor.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to hurt you,” Tyler finished helping me up and put an arm around my shoulder.