© Copyright 2009 - Garbage Lover - Used by permission
Storycodes: Solo-M; bagged; dumpster; garbage; messy; cons; X
It's October. The air is crisp and cool, perfect for a dumpster explorer like me. It's about 11pm on a Sunday night, and my trashy journey begins. I lock my front door behind me and step out into the night air in my old doc martens, some grubby old cargo pants and a retro-styled t-shirt with Oscar the Grouch on the front.
It's trash night, and the streets in my neighborhood are lined with garbage cans, overflowing with black and white garbage bags, some spilling their contents onto the street... cups and papers blowing in the night breeze. I sniff the air to see if I can catch a whiff of all that lovely garbage... not close enough, so I walk down the street for a closer look. One particularly lovely looking pile of white bags catches my eye. I walk to it and begin feeling the bags. They are heavy with kitchen waste, my all time favorite. Looking closely, I can see the stuff inside, looks like old salad and macaroni, mixed with used napkins and paper plates, a can or two, plastic bags... you know, your run on the mill garbage. I like these bags, so I heave a few out of their cans and place them closer to the curb for "pickup".
I continue down the street, looking for good bags. I come upon a mountain of heavy black cinch sacks, a select a couple that seem to be the end result of a back yard barbecue. They stink so beautifully to me, and I feel my heart racing at the thought of what I am going to do. The smell of the garbage invigorates me - it smells both comforting and exciting at once. The breeze blows by me again as I sniff the bag, the smell is like taking a hit of crack, I actually feel my brain tingle as I smell the stinky trash. I've never inhaled crack, but I've sniffed many bags and this one in particular is going to be a lot of fun. To the edge of the curb it goes....
When I feel like I'm good and have found enough smelly bags, I grab my beat up old SUV and drive down the street, grabbing the garbage bags that I chose for my adventure. The smelly load fills the back of my truck and I am ready to head on over.
I drive through the suburban streets, winding through little roads with more garbage cans waiting at the curb... the end result of modern life, bagged up and waiting to be buried for eternity. But I've got enough. Or do I? My obsession gets the better of me, and I stop the car and grab two more trash bags and stuff them in the back. Must have about 22 or 23 bags in there by now. That should do. The street lights flood in the windows and the sexy plastic shines.... I've got enough now.
A few more minutes of driving and I pull up to her... .my beautiful favorite dumpster. She's an 8 yarder, box style, with sliding plastic doors and lids. Painted in BFI blue. I pull up next to her and look inside - there's already a nice pile of office trash in black cinch sacks with red ties inside. But I need it to be just how I like it in there. So I open the truck and begin tossing the bags I found onto the pile. I step on the side of the dumpster and peer inside - a huge mound of dirty trash in bulging plastic bags awaits me now.
I reach into my car and get my special dumpster kit: a shoulder bag with my ipod, a couple bottles of Dos Equis, a flashlight and a towel. Then I climb up and with a graceful dive, jump into the bags and begin making a little nest. I'm in the center of the pile already with the dripping bags all around me. I simply can't wait to be comfortable, so immediately tear of my clothes and shoes, and put them in my kit bag. Crack open a beer: the taste is smooth and refreshing. Love those Mexicans.
The process of becoming garbage is well on it's way now. I stand up and grab one of the office bags, carefully untying it and emptying the paper and coffee cups and dirty paper plates onto the pile. A nice empty used bag. I step into the used bag and the greasy plastic slides against my bare skin. I smell pesto... wonder what they ate at the office party 2 days ago. I rip a hole at the corner of the bag and slide the bag up to my crotch. Same with the other leg. I'm wearing the used bag now, and I begin to get really excited. I rub my cock with the greasy bag a little. It's really happening now! I pull the bag ties over my arms for a perfect fit. Like a garbage bag overall pantsuit or something.
I sit down in the pile and slowly finish my beer, all the while listening to some of my favorite music. Relaxing stuff, on the ambient side. The breeze blows a bit stronger, whipping the plastic bags and spreading the stink around. It's a complex smell, so many elements I can barely name them all. But I'll try: pasta with pesto, old fruit, leftover meat (steak?), wet diapers, paper, coffee grounds. All of it takes on a singular garbage smell, yet my nose is so trained that I can tell you what each main part is...
I can wait no more. I grab a heavy bag, a black one. Maybe it was from the barbecue. Since one of the lids in my bin is closed, I rest it on the lid, draping over me. I am underneath it as it drapes over the side of the lid over me. I reach into the bag and grab the knife. Then I open the bag I'm wearing as wide as I can. With a broad slice, the full bag rips open and showers me with garbage. Old hot dogs and buns, wet paper, soda cans, watermelon rinds, eggshells and much more. Some of it falls into my bag, sliding against my skin. Wow.
I stand up and the garbage runs down to the bottom of the bag, and I mush it against my crotch. Feels incredible. After smearing it around inside a little, I lay bay down and begin to writhe around in the bags, breathing in deeply the lovely stink, stroking my cock with the bag I'm wearing and staring at the beautiful night sky.
It's incredible. I feel my inner garbage animal emerging. I grab bags with my feet and tear them open all over me, spilling their random contents all over me and the other bags. The sound of the bags rustling, and the stinky air escaping as I roll over them thrills me. I grab handfuls of apple peelings mixed with old pudding and stuff my bag even more. Banana peels, whatever I find that will feel good in there.
My bag is full around me and every movement makes a squishing sound. I pull bags out from under me and dive deep into the garbage. I pull bags overtop of me and now I am one with the pile. I feel every drip on my skin, every bag slowly sliding down against me.
I feel so happy and dirty and comfy that I just lay there, put the ipod back on and doze. Hours go by. It's about 3AM now.
I awake with a start: suddenly I hear that terrifying sound of a diesel engine. I jump up and out of the waste and peek over the edge of the dumpster. Not a garbage truck: just an 18-wheeler making a late delivery of some sort.
The panic subsides. Another night of successfully turning myself into garbage. My dirty soul is at rest for a little while now. Another few minutes and I will towel off, go home, shower and wonder why it is that I must do what I do. But I must become garbage every once in a while. I must.
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