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 1967; 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 thirteen. 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 corp. He also showed me how to throw the basic type 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 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 on 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 conciseness, 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. Then something happen that neither one of us expected. I started to hold her close to me and she being about six inches taller than me had my head on her shoulder. I started to get that tingly feeling, the start of an erection. I think mom must have felt it on her leg, because she suddenly moved back from me with a start and announced that the lesson was over that she had to start dinner.

I went to my room, locked my door, undressed & got on my bed and started playing with my cock. It just seemed to be the right thing to do. I had never done it before, but had heard some of the other guys talking about "jerking off" and started experimenting. Soon my cock was rock hard, there was moisture coming out of the tip; I thought I was peeing at first. Suddenly I got this feeling like I was going to erupt. I grabbed a couple of tissues from my night stand. Wow, I went off like a fountain, cum shot about two feet into the air and landed on my chest; spurt after spurt, until finally my orgasm subsided, leaving me a gooey mess. I laid there, thinking about what had just happen, was it my mother that had set me off or could she have been just any girl. If this was the start of my sex life I was really going to like it.

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, said sure, 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.