South London Garbage Girl

Sandra was not a stupid woman. On this night, she was just drunk - QUITE drunk and not totally in control of her mental or physical facilities. She'd had an entire bottle of wine with co-workers on this Friday night, celebrating a pay raise. As she normally didn't drink, that much wine went straight to her head.

One of her colleagues, who'd only had one small gin and tonic, offered her a ride home, but Sandra shrugged it off. "No, no, no," she slurred. "I wanna walk ... wanna walk. Need the fresh air."

"Don't be silly," her friend said. "I'll drop you off."

"Nah, nah," Sandra repeated, insistently. "I wanna walk, got to walk."

Her friend gave up, knowing that Sandra was headstrong and resilient, so she would be alright. She only had a mile to walk, so if that's what she wanted to do, let her be getting on with it then.

Sandra observed the street before her. It twisted away in a curve, for about a quarter of a mile, before snaking back to the place where she wanted to be. However, an elevated brick wall, running parallel to the train station, continued straight ahead, cutting the journey by a fourth of a mile.

In her inebriated state, Sandra deduced that the brick wall, as it appeared to be a shortcut, was the smart route home. She hopped onto the wall from the fire escape of a nearby building and trotted along it, six-and-a-half feet above the ground.

Then the inevitable happened: She lost her footing and fell off to her left. She screamed as she fell and landed in something soft that made a FOOMF! sound when she made impact with it.

Because she was momentarily stunned, Sandra didn't realize it for the first few moments, but she had just landed in the dumpster of a small business. What sort of business was not exactly clear, but Sandra soon realized three things in pretty short order. One, she was inside a big dumpster that she couldn't get out of, because it was a very large dumpster, more vertical than horizontal, and was only half full. Two, the side doors to the dumpster were both locked and she wasn't tall enough to reach the top opening, even when standing on the bags of rubbish. Three, no matter what business produced this garbage, it was definitely garbage and she was in it.

"Ewww," Sandra moaned in disgust. "Bloody hell, this smells awful! I should've let Amy drive me home after all."

She started shouting for help. She screamed "HELP!" several times, for about five minutes, but it seemed that no-one was around.

"Oh, typical," Sandra muttered to herself. "The most closely watched and monitored country in the world, and yet nobody can hear me or saw me fall in here!"

Sandra started jumping as high as she could to exit via the top opening, but the rubbish beneath her impeded her movement and made it hard for her to jump. She eventually tripped on one of the bags during one jump and went "foompf" again, head-first into the garbage.

"Ooooh!" Sandra wailed in despair. She felt something leaking into her pantyhose, and she jumped back. "Shit, I'm filthy!" she exclaimed. She ran a finger across her leg and smelled it. It was coffee, from a styrofoam cup that was half-full of the beverage.

She started to examine the rubbish surrounding her, feeling the plastic bags for any recognition of what they contained. She could feel some dry trash here and there: paper, plastic bottles, cans and the like. But there was also plenty of squishy stuff which could only have been food waste. She also noticed two large sacks of yard waste. The business obviously had a garden which had been tended to very recently.

It was a warm night, which meant the grass clippings were giving off a strong, fermenting vegetable type of smell. And she could make out the unmistakable stench of sour milk and of take-away food that was rapidly growing rancid.

Sandra sighed, exasperated, and said to herself, "Well, I'm not getting out of here until daylight, so I just have to deal with it. But, fuck me, I'm not best pleased!"

She layed back on the binbags, looking at the stars through the opening at the top of the dumpster. As the hours passed, radiational cooling caused the night to grow cooler. Sandra was wearing only a thin top, and her legs were growing cold too. The chill she felt overcame her revulsion to the garbage she was laying precariously on top of. She came to the decision to bury herself in it a bit, in a desperate attempt to warm up.

She lifted a few bags up and crawled into the space created by their removal. Then she covered herself up, legs to neck, with the same bags of garbage. She slept fitfully for about four hours.

When she awoke, the first stabs of light were in the dawn sky and she started feeling a bit strange. She was beginning to get a tingly sensation deep in her crotch, just as if she was getting erotically turned-on. She couldn't understand it.

"What the hell?" Sandra asked herself. But the tingling sensation grew stronger. After a few moments, Sandra could no longer resist it. She crawled out from the bags she had buried herself under, and layed back on top of the garbage. Then she pulled down her pantyhose and started fingering her vagina. Despite herself, she was enjoying a good session of masturbation.

"I don't believe this," she thought as she worked her fingers up into her body. "I'm covered in garbage and yet I appear to find this SEXY!" She layed back on the rubbish and continued to masturbate, moaning in ecstasy, still not quite believing this was happening.

Meanwhile, by the building's back exit stood Arturo Gutierrez-Williams, a good-looking Latin American, as he collected the nightly collection of rubbish. He worked third shift at the building as a janitor and attended university in the daytime, which never left him much time for sleep, except on weekends such as this one. Arturo loved Saturday mornings because they meant some serious shut-eye. He yawned, rubbed his eyes, placed three bags of rubbish on his trolley, and pressed the button that opened the door.

Arturo was 37 years of age and had grown up in Cuba. But for 26 of those years, he had lived in England, as his mother was half-English and had roots there. Although he still lasped into Spanish whenever he felt surprised, threatened or frustrated, he spoke fluent English with a strong south London accent and with only the tiniest trace of a Hispanic voice. He also preferred to go by the more English name Arthur.

He hummed a pop song that he'd heard on the radio earlier that night and wheeled the rubbish to the dumpster. Suddenly he heard light moans and movement inside the big container. He went to get a small ladder to peek inside the dumpster from the top, to find out the source of the sounds that were originating from inside. He thought a red fox had gotten in there, lured inside by the garbage, and could not get back out. He would have to call the RSPCA if that was the case.

Arthur climbed the ladder and looked inside the dumpster from the top. Sandra reacted immediately, gasping and hastily pulling up her pantyhose. Arthur was shocked. "¡MIERDA!" he hollered. He climbed down the ladder a few steps and shouted, "Lady, what the bloody hell is your game? What are you DOING in there?"

"I ...," Sandra began. "I fell in last night. I was walking along the wall and I fell in here and, of course, I couldn't get back out. I've been in here all night."

"OK, so ..." He couldn't bring himself to question her as to why she'd had her pantyhose down and was fingering herself. "Alright, so you need to get out. I'll open the side doors." Still shocked by what he'd just witnessed, albeit very briefly, he opened the padlock on the side door to his right and slid it forward.

Now he was eye-level with Sandra, who looked embarrassed but also ... hold on! Was she actually looking at him seductively?!

"Alright, love," Arthur said flatly. "Time for you to make your escape."

Sandra smiled and said, "D'you know, I've been in here so long I think I've started to enjoy it." She tittered at this.

Arthur grimaced. "You have GOT to be joking. C'mon, lady, please don't muck about. It's the end of my shift and I'm very tired." He could hardly believe his eyes, but Sandra was fluttering her eyelashes at him.

"You could use a rest," she stated.

"Yeah, that's exactly my point," Arthur said. "Now seriously, let's be having you or shall I contact the police?"

"You could use a rest," Sandra repeated, and plopped her hand up and down on the binbag next to her. Arthur laughed from the surprise he felt.

"You must be mental. Seriously, ma'am, I think you've had too much to drink and right now you think you're having fun, but trust me, you're somewhere you wouldn't want to be if you were sober."

"You saw me masturbating," Sandra said, smiling sweetly at him.

Arthur's jaw dropped. "¡Madre de Dios! Well, I thought you were a fox."

"Oooh!" Sandra squealed delightedly. "Did you now? Well, you're pretty foxy too!"

"That is NOT what I meant," Arthur stated, irritated. He had to admit that she was a nice-looking, fit young woman, even while covered in garbage. "Look, there are showers inside the building. You can use them if you like. But you have got to go home. And so have I."

"And so you shall," Sandra said. "But why don't you join me in here first?"

"Lady, my job is to put the binbags in the skip, not to put MYSELF in the skip. Nor is it my job to allow others to be in the skip."

Sandra took off her blouse and bra, revealing pert and large breasts, and pulled off her pantyhose and skirt. She threw these items of clothing at Arthur. "Perhaps you could lend me a uniform to go home in, as I can't walk the rest of the way in those soiled things."

Arthur stood there speechless. Only one part of his body moved. He had rarely seen such naked female beauty. "Er ... ah ..." It was all Arthur could say.

Sandra held out her hand and said, "Well, do be a gentleman, would you, and help me out?"

Arthur sighed, rolled his eyes and said, "I really don't believe all this. Wait, please. I'll be back in a mo'." Arthur ran to the building to collect a milk crate. At an even six feet, Arthur was tall, but not tall enough to get the leverage he needed to get a proper hold of Sandra through the side door of the dumpster. He set the milk crate down, stood on it, leaned half his body in through the side opening and grasped Sandra's hand. "All right, lady, on the count of three, yeah? One ... t..."

Sandra screamed suddenly, shocking Arthur so much that he lost his footing and flew into the skip, landing beside Sandra.

"¿Qué cojones…?" [What the fuck ...?] Arthur exclaimed, wild-eyed, nervously looking around the inside of the dumpster as if he was in an oven that was to be turned on momentarily. "Why'd you scream like that?"

"I thought I felt a cockroach on me," Sandra said.

"¿LA CUCARACHA?" Arthur cried. "¡Oh, mierda! ¡Carajo! I'm getting the fuck outta here, lady. This is too much."

"No, no, it wasn't. It was just a bit of paper here that scraped up my leg," Sandra exclaimed. "There're no cockroaches in here."

"I don't care, I'm getting out of here," Arthur said resolutely. "And you're on your own. Honestly, I've never experienced such craziness before. The whole thing's mad."

Arthur was in for a surprise. Sandra, as it so happened, was a black belt in judo. She grabbed him from behind, as he was getting a foot on the ridge of the dumpster's side, and pulled him back. Arthur hollered as he hit the bags of garbage with yet another "foompf!" Then Sandra locked him in a hold.

"Alright?" Sandra said. She kissed him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. Arthur struggled.

"You do realize that this can be classified as rape?" Arthur stated. "As in you raping me." Sandra just laughed merrily.

Despite himself, Arthur felt himself growing again. After seven seconds, he stopped struggling and let himself melt into her. He wrapped his arms around her, stroking her pantied ass and continued to tongue-kiss her. He then wriggled out of his trousers, pulling them down to his ankles. Sandra dropped her panties and she went down on him. Arthur could feel only soft plastic beneath him and this seductive garbage vixen on top of him, sliding in and out, in and out. It was a combination he never would have believed to be so erotic.

After ten minutes of vigorous sexual intercourse, Arthur and Sandra lay side-by-side on the pile of rubbish, looking at the now light-blue sky through the top of the dumpster.

"I'd be having a cigarette right now, if I smoked," Arthur said.

"Who needs cigarettes when you've got rubbish?" Sandra laughed.

"I should have clocked off by now," Arthur said. "I'd better go do that." He climbed out of the dumpster, ran toward the building to collect a trash bag, helped Sandra out of the skip, and wrapped the bag around her. He then led her into the building, pointed out to her where the showers were, and washed her clothes in the sink. When Sandra returned to the main office, clad only in a towel, Arthur said, "I've hung your clothes over a radiator. They'll take an hour to dry."

"That means we need to kill some time." She winked at him, and pointed out the window at the dumpster. "Shall we?"

"You just had a shower!" Arthur laughed.

"So, when my clothes are ready, I'll have another one." She tittered. "C'mon, the sun is shining, it's mild out. It's Saturday, it's only you and I here. Who's going to know?"

Arthur walked out the back entrance of the building with Sandra, headed yet again for the dumpster. He threw the three bags of rubbish that he'd brought out earlier into the dumpster, and as Sandra eagerly hopped back in, he thought to himself that from this point on, servicing the garbage girl of South London would be an unwritten duty of his job description.

 

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17.12.08