She Blamed it on my PTSD - Sex Stories

She Blamed it on my PTSD

... California State Long Beach and as a legal resident of California, I was accepted. As a California resident in 1975 the tuition was free. On August twenty second I packed up my 1972 Chevy Nova with everything I owned which was mostly uniforms and some jeans and boots and tennis shoes. I applied for unemployment and got six months, just like that. Money was money.

I was there a week, living in a dorm and I heard the sound of baseball. I kept walking until I got to this really cool stadium from the twenties or thirties and they were taking bp (batting practice). I walked toward home plate and they had a turtle so no fowl balls would get out. A turtle covered home plate with a mesh screen.

I was wearing a UW Huskies baseball team tee shirt and my name was on the back.

One of the coaches looked at me and said, "You played there?"

I said, "I did, but I'm here now."

He said, "What happened?"

"Parents and brother died, my lottery number was three (it was but the draft had stopped by 73, but I didn't want the pity thing much)."

He said, "What year of eligibility are you? How old are you?"

"Freshman and twenty one."

"What position?"

"I'm a catcher," I puffed up at that I was proud," probably some third in a pinch, I can pick it at first too."

By now bp had come to a halt. Players had crept forward and the Head Coach had been listening and he said, "No family?"

"Grandmother in Phoenix. I've not seen her since I was six."

"Do you have any of your ...

... stuff?"

I shook my head, but then said, "If you have a new mitt and some balls, I could get it mostly ready by noon or so tomorrow. But I got no cleats and I'd get them ready too."

He got this little smile on his face and said, "Okay, I'll bite, how would you do that."

"For the mitt I'd need an A-2000 Wilson with a single hinge and four baseballs. I'd soak the mitt in cold water for two hours with the baseball in the pocket with a belt or shoelaces tied around it tight. Every thirty minutes, tighten 'em up. Then at ten or so I'd lay them over the register and turn up the heat."

"If you have Rawlings kangaroo shoes size eleven, I wear twelve and a half normal shoes, but you take the laces out and soak them too for a couple of hours, so they get real soft you take em out and lace them up as tight as possible and they mold around your feet, stretching you no. Then you carefully take your feet out and dry them on register too."

"Who taught you that? My uncle Les. He caught in the bigs for thirteen years. Browns, Orioles, Red Sox and White Sox. Managed the White Sox in 66 for half a year."

"Les Moss?"

I nodded.

"Do you mind if I call him?"

I shook my head no.

"Do you have his number?"

I pulled out my wallet and fished through it and found the number in Longwood, Florida.

He turned to one of the coaches and said to him, "Get him the shoes and the mitt. Baseball's too."

Looking at me he said, "Breakfast in the auxiliary gym, after you lift which ...