Leda was twenty-one when we first met, just a year before she graduated from Blake Mitchell University. She was skinny, not slender, skinny, and I usually don't go for that body type.
But when I looked at her working a heavy bag at the Amazonia Boxing Club, I had to have her. I think it was her jet black hair, cut short that mixed with vivid purple eyes that caught me. Leda was small breasted, but that didn't turn me off, either. Her entire body, her whole being, radiated physical and sexual aggression, which she did not seem to be in complete control of.
A mutual friend told me Leda had fallen in love with boxing at age twelve, not long after she lost her father. Fighting was one of the few steady things in her life. Spending her teen years in aunt's house, Leda discovered bisexuality and piercing. When not in the ring, she wore a thin silver ring in her right nostril.
"Go for her," urged my friend, Sam one Saturday afternoon at a bar a block from the Amazonia. "Leda's into women her own age and does older men."
"Trying to say something, Sam?"
"Yeah, that you're forty-four. Fuck her till she calls you daddy!"
Sam's logic was irrefutable. I sent Leda a challenge.
"You're gonna fight me!"
"Why not?"
Leda's voice sounded threatening, but she smiled. "I didn't think you were so much...older!"
The night before the match I rinsed my hair to give gray strands a more paternal glow.
"Are you afraid of older men?"
"No way!" There was a healthy excitement in the way she fired back that answer. "I'm not worried, you wouldn't knock me out, anyway!"
"Oh, no?"
"Like to see you try, old man!"
WHAP!
My glove hooked perfectly on Leda's chin. She went stiff, arms dangling, mouth open in vacant surprise. Leda swayed and, eyes shut, fell against me, her face on my chest.
Yanking off my gloves, I gathered Leda's rag doll body in my arms and carried her to her corner, placing her gently in a folding chair.
Slumped against the turn buckle, Leda was a regular sleeping beauty. I waited a minute to see if she'd come around. When she didn't, I got my water bottle and flung its contents in Leda's face.
Sputtering back to reality, Leda jumped in her chair, blinking rapidly and spitting out water.
"I guess I can knock you out..."
She stared at me, the memories of the last few minutes replaying in her mind.
"You asshole!"
I handed her a towel, which she used to dry her face while she quietly cursed me.
"Ready to fight me now?" I asked when she pitched away the towel.
"Fuck yeah I am!"
Leda began eagerly pulling on her black gloves.
And she liked fighting. Leda was pissed at being sucker punched unconscious, so she hit hard, but not recklessly. Anger gave her focus.
I considered forcing her into a corner to finish things off, but watching her dodge, block and counter punch was beautiful. Instead, I let her come after me so we could wrap our selves in an embrace of punches. The exchange sped up until...
BAM!!
The impact of my right lifted the skinny girl off her feet. As she arched and crashed to the canvas, I saw Leda's eyes close as she slipped back into dreamland.
I made a quick cell phone call. Emma the Ref would meet us in the recovery room.
I couldn't decide how to carry Leda there. Over the shoulder like a sailor with a guney bag or in my arms like a groom with his new bride?
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