Trashy Trashbag

Linda pulled her Toyota Yaris into the drive leading to the back of the daycare center where she worked. It had taken her two years to work up to the manager position, an incredible feat when you consider that she wasn’t overly fond of children. She originally took the job because it was a choice between working at the daycare center or the local doner kebab joint. She figured it would be easier dealing with children than drunks and bovver boys jonesing for transfat-saturated meat products. The job was easier than she’d anticipated, though she still winced whenever one of the children hollered or yelped. ...

During free time like I have available to me today, I celebrate the invention of the trash bag. Just how great is it that we have this product: a bag made of soft, slick plastic which we not only pack our trash into, but can wear and sleep in. I love trash bags on their own, for the shiny, slick look of them and the lovely way they fit against my body. The plastic caresses me gently at first, and then, after five or so minutes, it fits me like a second skin as my naked body heat causes it to cling to me. It’s wonderful to have a bag-like sheath of polyethylene to slip into, allowing that plastic to take us to never-boring sexual flights of fancy. ...

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. ...

There is nothing quite like hopping into a full dumpster, playing around in the rubbish and burying yourself under the bags. That is the ultimate way of satisfying a trash or garbage fetish. But how to go about it if you’ve never done it before? Many trash bag/trash can fetishists start out with trash bag play, fantacize that they’re trash or garbage, and may even put some rubbish into their bag with them. I wore trash bags from a young age and I would—and still do—stuff them full of newspaper and other trash. And this is a great and enriching experience for any trash fetishist. ...

Of my trash fetish: Sexual deviancy or latent normality? One autumn night after my bedtime in 1982, at the age of 13, I started rolling up wads of tissues and throwing them around my room. I went through an entire box of Kleenex and after I was finished, my bedroom floor was a sea of wadded-up tissues. My room had just been “trashed.” And I got off on it. It was one of the most orgasmic experiences of my entire puberty. I must have made more noise than I realized, however, because my mother came into my room, turned on the light, looked around with amazement and asked, “WHAT are you DOING?” ...

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.” ...

I remember meeting him on the train going into work. He was dressed like some kind of goth: a black leather trenchcoat worn over a black t-shirt, black spandex tights, and black leather workboots. He also had gorgeous, fluffy dark hair. He sat in the seat across from me, flashed me a quick smile, and began reading a broadsheet newspaper. He would rustle the paper quite noisily everytime he turned a page. I don’t think he was doing that to annoy me, however. ...