This is it! This is the ultimate, the FINAL challenge. The one I have to solve to prove myself that I can overcome myself. That I beat myself through beating others. They have taught me all my live that this is the ultimate way that men behave like, through which they success. I want to be respected. And that's what I am right now.

My body is heavily trained now. The adrenaline is pumping blood through the well shaped muscles. I can physically feel it. I had like half an hour of pre-contest sparring to get my body warmed up and ready for the contest. Now the machine's running in full perfection.

And a machine I have become. I have made one out of myself. All these strange sexual phantasies I had about men and TG-stuff: It's all just blanked out, banned now.

'I'm a machine!'

All the rumors my collegues whispered about me: Gone. - They just faded away, got forgotten through these endless, countless hours of training. And I feel kind of free.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! - Did you now this sound can become like a mantra for one? Well, it can.

I look up when the referee pronounces my name. "And in the left corner..." - I hear him say my name... But I don't really hear it. My blood's pumping so fast through my veins that I've got a whistling sound in my ears. It feels like cement.

"And in the right corner..." - I don't even care about the name of the dude. All I know, all I have to know is that he is my first opponent in this tournament. That I've trained for like hell over the last month. Day after day, week after week. Tirelesly. And that to prove to myself and all my comrades from the gym.

I gotta get him down!

I recall all the bad words, the rumors they had said and told about me over the years out there. I mobilize every bit of the firy hatred and longing for revenge that so often seems to burn up my guts.

"Gentlemen, FIGHT!"

He's like half a head smaller than me. His moves are pathetic. But I won't hold back, cut him no slack. I have to prove to myself that I can be, no... that I AM a real man. I HAVE to. And in this moment beating him down seems to be THE way to accomplish that mission, that dream to finally fit in.

So my fists nail him, rain down on him. Compared to my standards he's quite poorly trained... Obviously... I don't care... - I just do what I was trained to do. Over and over again my knuckles hit his face, his stomach, his ribs. Accurate and powerful...
Pressing the air out of his lungs... I can hear it, feel it in my face...

"If you are to slow they'll gonna knock you out, boy!" the coach used to yell at me. "Look at your punches! What are you, a sissy?!" That word. The word I fear so much...

NO! That's not what I am! It can't be. That's -WHAM!- not -WHAM!- what -WHAM!- I -WHAM!- am!

So I listened, followed, learned... Ran with the pack.

If you look into an abyss long enough, the abyss also looks right into your soul...

He gets up again. For a second a look of surprise shows on my face I guess. I can't believe it. How could he stand punches like these for the second time and come up once more. But human stamina is an amazing thing to watch, just believe me.

But I don't care... I just start to punch even harder... Like a lokomotive... an automaton...

To finally get this 'fucker' down for good...

And to preserve my own illusion...

It has been a long time since then... - Such a long time... - And I was cheating myself...