Gromet's Plaza Trashcan Stories
The Best Summer of My Life
by Trashy Trashbag
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© Copyright 2009 - Trashy Trashbag - Used by permission
Storycodes: M/m; femboi; tease; drug; wrap; mum; bagged; trash; dumpster; mast; sex; climax; cons; X
jpn
WARNING Do NOT try this at home, the story is presented here as a fantasy only, to attempt this in real life will result in injury or death.
The Best Summer of My Life by Trashy Trashbag M/m; femboi; tease; drug; wrap; mum; bagged; trash; dumpster; mast; sex; climax; cons; X
 

One summer many years ago, I used to hang out in the parking lot of a local business once it had emptied after the workday. I was 18 years old, but I still had the playful spirit of someone ten years my junior, and I had nothing better to do. I know it seems weird, but I just liked to hang out in empty parking lots; I don't know why. Technically, I was committing a crime—loitering—but I didn't take that too seriously.

One day, I decided to hop back and forth across the chain barrier that separated the building's main drive to the parking lot, preventing access from the street. I think I was curious to see just how high I could jump and how many times I could hop across it. A minute or two later, I heard a deep baritone catch me unawares. "You sure do like to leap about, don't you?" the voice said. This was a surprise to me as I thought no-one was around.

I stopped in my tracks to stare at a pleasant-faced security guard of about 30 standing on the top step of a short flight of stairs. He had medium-length brown hair and a fit body behind the crisp material of his dark blue uniform. I could tell he was pretty chiseled. Two years earlier, I had admitted to myself that I was bisexual, and I instantly found this man attractive.

He eyed me up. He probably thought I was younger than my true age, being short and slight as I was. He said, "Don't you have any homework to do, young man? Shouldn't you be getting home?"

I gave him a shy look and replied, "Actually, I graduated school this spring. I'm 18."

The man arched his eyebrows, "Eighteen, are you? Ah, OK." It didn't take a genius to see that the man was attracted to me as well. Letting him know that I was legally an adult, despite my pixie-like appearance, visibly pleased him. After all, I was a long-haired femboi, and no doubt he approved of my looks.

"Well, I need to tell you that you're loitering," the man informed me.

"I don't mean to break the law," I said. "I was just taking a spin through here on my bike, it's a shortcut home, and I guess I had some nervous energy I wanted to work off." I pointed at the barrier and added, as an afterthought, "I, uh ... I like being active."

The guard just nodded at me, grinning.

"I'll leave if you want," I said. "I know I shouldn't be here." This stirred the man to action.

"Whoa," he said. "I didn't say I'd report you. You're not doing any harm. You seem like a really good kid. I was just curious as to what you were doing here. Stay if you want, but just don't be too bothered if I watch you." At this, he grinned again.

By now, my cock was hard, and that's one part of me that isn't small. I'm sure he noticed this as I was wearing bike shorts without underwear. I pulled my t-shirt down in a futile attempt to cover it. The man smirked again, as if he got a kick from seeing how bashful his presence made me.

"Would you like something to drink? I mean, a juice or something?" he asked. "You won't get in trouble. It's a hot afternoon, you might like to quench your thirst. My name's Rick, by the way." I thanked him for the offer, introduced myself (my name's Cecil), climbed the five steps to the door and followed him down one of the businesses' corridors. I didn't entirely know what this man was up to, but he was a security guard, so I wasn't too worried.

I sat down in the breakroom and he poured me a glass of lemonade. He gave me that grin as he handed it to me, saying, "It's pink lemonade—to match your shirt." I blushed.

"Now, don't take this the wrong way, Cecil," Rick said. "I don't want to insult you but ... er, you're a bit of a fairy, aren't you?" He was looking at my shapely, smooth legs as he said this, finally letting his gaze rest squarely on the bulge in my spandex shorts.

I shrugged. "Nah, I don't mind. I know what I am," I replied in my high tenor voice. "I've been pretty girly all my life, from the littlest age, and two years ago I decided just to be who I was—what other people think doesn't bother me."

"Good for you," Rick said.

"Luckily, I haven't had to put up with much bullying," I said proudly.

"I'm glad to hear that," said Rick. "It's great that you're proud of who you are." He looked at his watch and said, "Well, kiddo, time I went back to work. "

"Will I see you tomorrow?" I said enthusiastically.

"Yes. Be here by the barrier at 8:00 p.m. tomorrow." Rick let me out, giving me an affectionate pat on the back as I left. I went home, had dinner, got straight into bed, shut out the light and masturbated to the thought of Rick, imagining him out of his uniform.

The next evening, as the sun was setting, I met Rick at the barrier. I was wearing a tight-fitting tank top, PVC hotpants, and high-top sneakers with bunched-up ankle socks. I knew I looked like a real treat and, as I'd expected, Rick looked visibly pleased upon seeing me.

"Great to see you again, kid," Rick said in a friendly voice. "You look thirsty, have another glass of our house specialty pink lemonade," he said with an attractive chuckle.

"What grade is this lemonade—1, 2, 3, or 4?" I joked, referring to the classification system for white wines I had once read about.

"I'd say it's a number 1," Rick replied. "It's pretty darn sweet ... just like you," he added, smiling sweetly at me and rubbing me under my chin.

I just grinned at this. I had no idea how to reply, but I was loving this attention. Rick sat on the breakroom couch next to me and said, "Well, the janitor's off tonight, so I'm afraid I have extra duties to take care of. I could use a hand collecting the trash and bringing it to the dumpster. Could you help me out with that?"

"Sure," I said. I gathered the trashbaskets in the offices and emptied them into the large barrel that Rick wheeled around. By the time, I'd emptied all the trashbaskets, I started feeling giddy. Rick pulled the bag free from the barrel, tied it up and threw it into a caged dolly which already contained four bags of trash. There were three other dollies in the janitor supply room too, all containing more trashbags.

By the time we got to the large dumpster in a fenced-off area outside the building, I was feeling really mellow and a bit lethargic. I continued to help Rick with the trash, throwing bags of it into the dumpster, but five minutes later I blacked out.

When I woke up, I was lying in the dumpster, on top of and surrounded by bulging bags of the trash I'd helped Rick to dispose of. I could hear the creaking of plastic bottles and styrofoam containers and the rustle of paper every time I shifted. I felt very constricted and it took me a moment to figure out why. I was concealed in stretch wrap. Rick had apparently wrapped me up in the clingfilm while I was unconscious and tossed me in the trash.

I heard footfalls approaching and I called out, "Rick? Rick, is that you?"

"It's me, kid," he called out. "Don't worry."

I felt better just hearing his voice. After all, I had hoped for some kinky activity with Rick and now I was getting what I'd fantacized about. There was no reason to be anxious. I heard a ladder being placed against the dumpster, and Rick was climbing it to enter the dumpster through the top. I heard a familiar shuffling, rustling sound and I thought that Rick was about to place another trashbag or two into the dumpster.

He reached the top and I just stared up at him in disbelief from my stretch wrap cocoon. Rick wasn't carrying a bag of trash—he was a bag of trash. His head, legs and arms were free, but he was wearing the trash bag like a leotard, with the open end of the bag ending just under his neck, and the bag was stuffed with wastepaper. It's clear that he was naked within the bag. What was I saying about kinky? This was the last thing I'd expected.

Rick jumped into the dumpster, landing beside me, pulled his trashbag up a little bit and started pawing at my plastic-covered body. He wasn't saying a word. He just gently slapped my behind and rustled around in his own trashbag. Five minutes later, he started masturbating. I couldn't see him wanking per se, but I could see the bag moving in a certain spot, so I knew that's what he was up to. I just continued to lie there, mummified by the stretch wrap, watching him get off in his trashbag. I grew incredibly hard, but there was nothing I could do about it. This was the first time I'd ever experienced sexual denial.

I lied there, panting from sexual desire, yet feeling that this was the strangest scenario that I'd ever encounter in my life. I don't know if it was watching Rick masturbate, the plastic covering me, the trash, or a combination of all three, but I did feel incredibly turned on.

"Ahhh," Rick moaned, having achieved. "Come in a trash bag, what could be better than that?" He grinned at me and then said, "Let me help you out here, kid." He started ripping at the plastic around my groin. I was enjoying the sounds of plastic film as it tore under the assault from Rick's fingers, and once he freed my penis, he grabbed hold of it and gently pumped it till I shot a load in the air like a rocket. The orgasm I experienced was explosive.

"What did you drug my lemonade with?" I asked a minute later, once I'd calmed down enough to speak again.

"A couple of Valiums," Rick said. "I'm sorry about that, it won't harm you. I just couldn't think of a way to approach you about this. So I thought it was better to just knock you out and spring it on you." He laughed. "I didn't mean any harm, Cecil."

"It's a really, really weird fetish, Rick," I said. Then I smirked coyly and added, "but I really, really like it."

For the rest of that summer, I continued to be wrapped up in clingfilm and thrown into that glorious dumpster along with dozens of trashbags. Sometimes, I would wear a trash bag while Rick poured the contents of the trashbaskets into it and then throw myself into the dumpster, and Rick would join me five minutes later, wearing his own bag of trash. And, at least once a week during our play sessions, we'd make love in the dumpster.

I never saw Rick again after that summer—I think he'd moved to another part of the country. But it was without a doubt the best summer of my life.

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03.05.09

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