Solcar - 3. Baltimore 1970

Colton/Solcar felt the wind pick up and fall leaves whirl around him; a rainstorm was coming, and he needed to be back home soon. The kitten had been alone for a few hours and probably needed some affection. Maybe just one more story, each page of the small leather-bound book was making him relive the pain he had experienced before, but he felt compelled to continue reading. Hell, after five thousand years, he should be able to handle the hurt, and the book appearing now was a portent of the end being in sight.

•••

“Brady! You done yet?” shouted the equipment manager at his assistant.

“Almost, sir. Ten more minutes.” The tall redhead replied with a bright smile plastered on his face. “I have a good feeling about this season, sir; I just know we’re going to beat the Reds.” Hell, he was due for a break, and his team winning the World Series would definitely count as one. The last four years had brought one disappointment after another.

The star pitcher for the Oklahoma State Cowboys had managed to throw one of the worst games of his life; after winning all their previous contests in the tournament, his team lost the 1966 College World Series crown to Ohio State. All due to his horrendous performance.

The following year, his girlfriend dumped him after walking into his dorm room and finding him on his knees, sucking his catcher’s large Latin cock. The guy held Brady’s head tight against his groin as his seed poured down the pitcher’s throat. At least the girl had kept quiet, and the fact he was a homo had not become public.

In 1968 the Cowboys were headed to Omaha for the third year in a row. His roommate and lover for the past two years still fucked him at every opportunity but broke off their relationship at season’s end. He was returning home to San Juan to marry his high school girl; his time with the young pitcher was fun, but he wasn’t a faggot like the white boy from Iowa was.

The Baltimore Orioles drafted Brady Anderson and assigned him to the Miami Marlins, their Florida State League affiliate. The sting of the College World Series loss and subsequent breakup remained, but he was playing baseball. Management told him they would call up to the Big Show if the team made it to the World Series, and he had found a new man. Life was looking up.

The pitching coach for the Marlins was a retired Major League left-hander who took a personal interest in the rookie. The Cuban-born man was not as tall as his protégé but was powerfully built, with a large muscular chest covered in dark hair that made the new kid on the squad drool. He was divorced and soon discovered his new pitcher was a willing substitute for his ex-wife. The kid loved to get fucked by the furry man’s uncut cut and had felt his ass drip cum a couple of times while on the mound. Then, for the fourth year in a row, his life was turned upside down. In a game against the Vero Beach Dodgers, the unlucky youngster tore the ulnar collateral ligament in his elbow, and his pitching career was over. The Orioles’ organization was known for taking care of its own and offered the kid the position of assistant to the equipment manager in Baltimore. He accepted quickly; the longing to play was always there, but his new job allowed him to remain close to the game.

Back in Florida the following March for Spring Training, Brady resumed his relationship with his former coach. What started as purely physical became emotional. When the Cuban ex-player was promoted to Assistant Pitching Coach for the Major League team, the young man’s life seemed to head in a better direction finally. The smooth, bottom boy would be able to have his man near him year-round.

“Papi, I’m home,” shouted the youngster as he walked into the apartment he shared with his old coach.

“In the kitchen,” came the reply from the older man. He too had become emotionally attached to his sexual partner; Brady was no longer strictly a receptacle for his sperm but an integral part of his life.

“Yummy, you’re making picadillo. I love that stuff. We finished packing everything, and we’re ready for the trip to Cincinnati tomorrow. How did your appointment go? What did the doctor say?”

“Sit down, baby. You want a beer?”

“Sure, Papi, sounds good. So did he figure out why you always have a sore throat?”

“Yes, he did. It’s related to my chewing tobacco for so long.”

“Okay, so all you have to do is stop the chew, and you’ll be fine, right?”

“I’m sorry, baby, but that won’t work, I have cancer, and the doctors don’t expect me to live very long.”

The subsequent victory over the Cincinnati Reds was just a hollow win.

•••

Walking into his apartment on 8th Avenue, carrying a pizza he had picked up on the way, Solcar found his pussy spread out on the blue jeans he had left on the floor. He smiled as she stretched out and purred, but his eyes retained their sadness. Fucking tears, he thought as he wiped his face once again. How could the pain of those five years have been reduced to less than a thousand words on two pages in the small leather-bound book?