How Did I Ever Here

A little guy's journey through life takes some unusual twists and turns.

(Comments are welcomed - Be kind this was my first attempt at writing)

Prolog

Awareness came slowly. The darkness dissipated and was replaced by the brightness of the overhead lights.

Where was I? I turned my head sidewise, realizing I was on my back in the middle of a boxing ring. I had been sparring with Kris the owner of the gym I belong to. It was my - attitude adjustment - she had said. I slowly got to my feet, noticing that my gloves, wraps and mouth piece were placed neatly on the apron of the ring. How long was I out? Where was Kris? Shaking my head, I climbed through the ropes, left the room and headed for the locker room. I was aware that the gym was completely empty and most of the lights had been turned off.

As I entered the locker room, I passed a large full length mirror. I surveyed the damage. My body was covered in welts along my sides. My face was swollen; I was going to have at least one black eye by morning, but all in all, not as bad as I thought. I just felt like I got hit by a truck.

I took off my gym shorts, kicked off my sneakers, pulled off my socks, grabbed a towel and headed for the showers.

'I guess I'm going to have to find a new gym,' I thought as I turned on the shower as hot as I could stand it. Turning my back to the wall, I let the water run over my back. God it felt good.

I let my mind ponder the question, how did a guy from Southern California end up in Bentonville, Arkansas getting his ass kicked by a woman?

*

Chapter 1: Life in Southern California

I was born in a small town just north of San Diego. My parents, William and Maria Carpenter were both good looking and extremely fit. My father was a retired Marine. He had met my mother shortly after returning from Vietnam. It was love at first sight for both of them. They married in 1966; I came along about a year later. It was a loving household and life was good.

Fat didn't stand a chance in our house. Mom was a dietician at the local hospital and was an aerobics instructor with classes three nights a week at the local recreation center. Dad never truly retired from the Marines. Every morning started at 5:00 with 30 minutes of calisthenics and a five mile run through the hills behind our house. I was eager to join my Dad and did so starting from age of 7. I slowly built up my endurance and fitness to the point where, most mornings, I could keep up with him.

At this point I should let the reader know a little more about myself. I just turned fourteen. I am 5'1" tall and weigh about 90 pounds. Something happened within my body that the doctors couldn't explain to my parents. My body just seemed to stop growing. I was perfectly normal in every other sense, healthier that most kids my age. I was just going to be short. My mom was about 5'8" and my dad was 6'1". I know they loved me but I had this nagging feeling that I was a little bit of a disappointment, especially to my father. Every guy wants his son to be just like him. Well that just wasn't going to happen in my case. I was not going to be a leader of men, a star football player, or a captain of industry, being a shrimp.

In 1981, three events seemly unrelated, changed my life. First, I got knocked out in my first, and only boxing tournament; I discovered girls; and I lost my virginity.

All through grammar school everything was fine. I was always one of the smallest kids in my class, but everyone knew me and liked me. I never had a problem with bullies. Just after the New Year started however my dad, during our morning run, suggested that I learn some basis self-defense skills and maybe take up boxing as a hobby. He explained that since I would be starting high school in a couple of months, I would be in class with a whole group of kids that were strangers and that some may see my small stature as a sign of weakness and try to take advantage of me. Also, I would be a freshman in a school with almost three thousand kids three quarters of which would be older than me.

"I want you to know how to protect yourself, he said, not so that you can go out and pick a fight with anyone. Just the opposite, I want you to be able to use your intelligence to be able to avoid a fight, to defuse a potentially explosive situation. However there will be times when fighting may be unavoidable, that's when your training and conditioning will pay off"

When our run ended, instead of going in to shower and start our day, he led me into the garage where he had built a small boxing ring. Once in the ring we went through various self defense techniques that he had learned in the Corps. He also showed me how to throw the basic types of punches, jabs, hooks, upper cuts, and crosses. Then he said he had to get ready for work and left.

Each morning, we would go through the same workout. We cut our run to four miles to give us a little more time in the gym. He bought a heavy bag which he hung from the rafters. I ended each lesson with fifteen minutes on the heavy bag. At the end my arms were exhausted, but I felt great. I was in the best shape of my life; still slight of build, but strong and confident.

One day, he asked me if I thought I was ready to be in an actual boxing match. We had sparred together, but with him being so much bigger and stronger than me, he had always just been on defense, blocking my punches, feigning his own and never actually hitting me for fear of hurting me.

"I think you are ready; but you'll never know what it's like to be hit if we just do what we've been doing. I think it's important to find out if you can stand up to someone after they hit you. It's better to do that in a ring, in a controlled fight where every precaution is taken to avoid the fighters getting hurt, than to find out in the school parking lot or in back of the gym. I looked into an amateur boxing tournament that's taking place this weekend in San Diego. It has a sub novice class for first timers. You will be fighting in the lightest weight class, but you could still be out weighted by as much as fifteen pounds."

"Ok Dad, let's go for it."

The morning of the tournament we drove to San Diego. The tournament was set up as a one day elimination contest. You fought the first bout around 9:00, if you won, your second bout started at 11:00. The winners fought in the semi-finals at 2:00 and the finals were at four.

I won my first two fights on points, primarily by sticking and moving. I was smaller than my opponents but much faster. I remember the feeling of confidence I had as I stepped into the ring for my semi-final bout. Once again my opponent was taller and bigger than me. My dad stood in front of me, giving me my last minute instructions. Then, the bell sounded the referee called us into the middle of the ring to give us our instructions. I was in the red corner and wore a red shirt with my shorts; my opponent was in the blue corner wearing a blue shirt over his shorts. We touched gloves, went back to our corners and waited for the bell.

From the beginning, this bout would not be the same as my others. My opponent was more skilled than me, punched harder and most importantly was just as quick as me. By the end of the first round, my nose was bleeding and I had a little swelling under my left eye. Dad told me to just do my best, protect myself, and try to get inside and hit his body as often as possible. I did as best as I could, but each round got progressively worse. So that by the end of the third round I was clearly out matched and way behind on points.

"Do you want me to stop the bout?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, I won't quit, I can still win with a knockout."

He just looked at me, smiled and said,

"Ok, you have to go for the knockout by drawing his guard down, he's protecting his head. Try hitting him in the solar plexus, pointing to his chest just below where his ribs met. If you can hit him there with a good shot, it might be enough to disable him for a few moments and you can finish him."

The bell sounded for the final round, we touched gloves, and he was smiling confidently which angered me all the more. The round went as before, me absorbing punches trying to get inside, him throwing punches trying to keep away to protect his big lead on points. With about a minute to go in the round, he threw a right hand that missed, he was off balance, and I saw my opening and threw a straight right at his chest. It landed with a thud, but was a little off target to the left. It still stunned him; he bounced off the ropes and retreated a couple of steps. Sensing weakness I went in for the kill.

What happen next I really don't know. My dad told me during the ride back home that as I moved in he threw a looping overhand right over my jab. It looked to him like a baseball pitcher throwing a fastball. It landed flush on my jaw; my legs crumbled and I landed flat on my back; out cold. He said the ref didn't even bother to count. Instead he immediately waved for the ringside doctor and my dad and took out my mouth piece. I was out for about two minutes. When I started regaining consciousness, I saw my father's face and over his shoulder, the face of my opponent, who looked like he was going to cry. I remember thinking to myself,

'What the hell is he crying about I'm the one who got knocked out.'

Dad helped me onto my stool, while the ref was raising my opponent's hand in victory. As soon as I convinced them that I was ok, my Dad and I left the ring and went back to the locker room. I got dressed in my street clothes and we headed for home.

It was a quiet ride the rest of the way home, until I tried to apologize for losing the bout. My dad pulled the car off to the side of the road and looked sternly at me.

"You never have to apologize to me for not succeeding in anything you do. The only time I want to hear an apology from you is when you haven't tried your best. I'm very proud of you. You knew that your opponent was more skilled that you and that you were probably going to lose, but you didn't quit. You showed real courage; the true spirit of a man. That's all I can ever ask of you."

That made me feel really good, despite the aches and pains I was experiencing. Then he said, almost in a whisper,

"Now we just have to face your mother."

After we got home, after the examination of my face and upper body by my mom, after the cold compress, I was left alone in the family room while my parents adjourned to their bedroom. There was a lot of loud arguing, followed by a long period of silence, then more talking. At dinner, everything appeared to be back to normal.

The next morning during our run, my dad seemed to be thinking of how to tell me something. When we go back to the house I began hitting the heavy bag, then stopped and turned to him and said,

"Is it alright if I continue my training with you? I just think I'll give up on the actual boxing matches."

I could see the relief in my Dad's eyes.

The next day was a school day. I got to my classroom and all the guys gathered around me asking how I got the black eye. When I told them that I got it in a boxing match, they assumed that I lost and started laughing and making jokes about getting my ass kicked. I tried to tell them that I won my first two bouts but they were hearing none of that. I left the group and went over to the windows. That's when a couple of the girls that were in our class came over to me. They looked at my eye and started to fawn over me, mothering me. One even leaned over and kissed my cheek just under the eye, saying "a kiss to make it all better." I don't know if it made my eye any better but it did have an effect on another part of my body. It was a new experience for me; and I liked it, a lot. The teacher walked in shortly thereafter and classes began. But when I got home that day I laid on my bed and thought about what happen. I made a decision that afternoon that girls were going to be a big part of my life from then on.

In school, I started hanging around with the girls when I could. I found out what they liked and disliked especially about boys. Our end of term dance was coming up soon for the eighth graders. We were all expected to attend. The talk among the boys was that it was going to be boring with the girls on one side of the gym, the boys on the other, with records being played by one of the teachers. There would be stuff to eat and drink, but nothing cool ever happened. When I was talking with the girls they were all excited about the dance, hoping to dance with some of the boys. Then they laughed and said that will never happen; none of them probably know how to dance. They just seemed to accept me as a friend, one of them, harmless.

I went home from school that day and waited for my mom to get home from her hospital job. I think I shocked her when I asked her if she could teach me to dance. At first, she just looked at me, then a smile came to her face and she said she would. We went into the kitchen, she tuned the radio to one of her music stations and while we waited for a song she asked what kind of dancing I wanted to learn. I told her,

"Slow dancing, where you get to hold each other."

"Ok, can I ask why this sudden interest in slow dancing?"

With a blush on my face I said," I think I should start thinking about girls. I sort of like talking to them and it seems they like a guy that knows how to dance."

With a chuckle, she started to explain a simple box step and how I should hold my hands and how my partner would expect me to lead her around the dance floor. With that she took my hand, put it on her waist, took my other hand and held it up and led me throw the steps. Awkwardly at first, I began to dance around the room with her. She encouraged me to hear the beat of the music, look at her and smile like I was having fun. I was; my mom is a beautiful woman. Soon, I was leading her around the room, this was fun. Suddenly she moved back from me with a start and announced that the lesson was over that she had to start dinner and I went to my room.

I came out for dinner after Dad got home. We sat quietly around the table, there was a certain amount of tension in the air. Later that night, dad came into my room, closed the door, and fumbled his way through my "the Birds and the Bees" lecture and left in a hurry. I continued to practice my dancing in my room by myself for the remainder of the week.

The dance was Friday night and I was ready. When I got there, the guys and the girls were already standing around, each on their own side. It looked like an invisible wall was standing between them. I went over by the guys, said hi to my best friend Sean Brady and grabbed a soda and some chips. We were talking for a while when the music started, a fast dance. Some of the girls moved onto the dance floor and danced in a group, while the guys just stood around and looked on and then went back to their conversations. Several songs later, a slow song came on; now it was my chance to shine. So with my head held high, I walked over to where a group of girls was standing and asked if anyone cared to dance. One girl nodded her head, and as I lead her to the dance floor, she looked over her shoulder and shrugged. We started to dance, with me in the lead, always keeping a respectful distance between us. I think she was in shock that she was dancing with a boy from class, because I was the one that had to start the conversation, but soon we were smiling and laughing at the guys who were all looking at us. When the song ended I thanked her for the dance and escorted her back to her friends.

We were standing there talking as a group, when another slow song came on. Another girl, the prettiest and most popular girl in the class, looked me in the eye and asked me to dance. How could I refuse? We went out on the floor and danced, it was wonderful. That seemed to be the pattern for the rest of the night. Although I did dance some fast dances with a group of girls, I danced each slow dance with a different girl until I had danced with all those girls that wanted to dance.

I only had one minor setback during the evening; it was when one of the more physically advanced girls asked me to dance. We got on to the dance floor, started to dance and suddenly she pulled me in close to her. Our bodies were touching and she had her head on my shoulder. That lasted for about a minute until I felt the hand of one of the older female teachers on my other shoulder and heard her telling us to break it up. I excused myself and headed for the men's room. I washed my face and tried to calm down. When I came back into the room I received a few cheers from the guys that were watching our dance. I also noticed my partner talking with a small group of girls who were all giggling and glancing my way.

Soon the dance was over and my dad picked me up. School ended on Wednesday of the following week. We said our goodbyes; some of us were going to see each other over the summer, and others we would see in high school, while others we might never see again because they were going to private high schools.

That summer was a typical summer in Southern California; it was hot, but not too hot, dry and sunny, perfect for baseball. My best friend Sean and I would ride our bikes every day down to the ball field where we would meet a bunch of neighborhood kids of all ages and play the Great American pastime. We'd choose up sides and play all morning; sometimes into early afternoon. I wasn't the best kid there but I was sure handed and played a wicked second base. I didn't hit for power, but I did get on base a lot.

One particularly hot day, we played an extra long time and by 2:00 we were all hot and tired and went our separate ways. Sean and I went to his house. His Dad's company had built all of the houses in our community. His house was at the top of the hill and was on the highest level lot in the area. The house was a ranch, which from the air must have looked like a wide letter V. On one side of the lot, the hill continued upward, on the other the property seemed to just drop off out of sight. Sean had a large built- in swimming pool in his back yard which was completely private. The only way to see into the back yard was if someone was standing of the very tip of the roof of the neighbor's house. A strategically placed group of trees took care of that problem. So after a long hot game and an even hotter bike ride up the hill, we dropped our bikes, ran around the house, took off our clothes and jumped in the pool. We were all alone, my parents and Sean's parents had gone on a long weekend fishing trip off the Mexican coast and Sean's older sister Edel was working and would not be home before her shift ended at four at the local MacDonald's.

Sean was the tallest guy in our class and would eventually be our quarterback on the football team. He was well muscled and looked like an athlete. We became such good friends because of our parents being such good friends. I've known Sean forever. We were the odd couple of our school. We'd walk down the hall and the contrast was apparent. Sean was just under six foot tall, with broad shoulders and a long loping stride. I was just over five foot one inch, with the body of a long distance runner.

I got out of the pool and ran over to the diving board and started to bounce up and down. Sean was standing at the other end of the pool when he shouted,

"Geez, you're hung like a horse"

That was true; the one part of my body that seemed to grow was my cock. Flaccid I was a good six inches, erect I was over eight. As I bounced up and down on the board my cock began to come to life, when fully erect, on my body it looked obscene. I dove into the water, swimming for a couple of minutes while my erection went down. Sean and I were good friends, but not that good! We climbed out of the pool, grabbed a couple of towels out of the pool storage locker, and settled on a couple of lounge chairs in the shade and just relaxed.