I remember something that happened to me in junior high school in North Miami Beach, Florida, over forty years ago. After school, these jocks, big smiling guys with sinewy shoulders and arms, singled me out, cajoling me into a fight with this other slim guy (I was about 5'10" and under 150 at the time), a friend of theirs, a stoner with long scraggly hair and buck teeth. I refused. I didn't like fighting at the time and didn't know how to fight. A few days later they pushed this kid into me in the hallway. The kid had a straight pin ready in his hand and jabbed it in my thigh. Thus provoked, I fought back. Actually I didn't do badly ... weed definitely slowed my opponent down ... but some other guys (upstanding jocks who ran for student government and sometimes looked out for brainy sissies like me) intervened and pulled us apart. There was nothing the least bit erotic about the fight for me, though in retrospect it became a focus of a few masturbatory fantasies, not at all because of my opponent, rather entirely because of the leering, muscled guys looking on and licking their lips, touching their bellies under their sweatshirts, pushing me to punch the stoner and take some knocks in return.