Solo

I regained awareness slowly. I was lying down on some type of small bed. I couldn’t see or hear anything, but my body was still shuddering with the remnants of an orgasm, along with vague, half-remembered fantasies. I was covered entirely in latex, and that was delicious, but it was time to get up. I reached up with a sweaty hand and grabbed the reversible tab of the zipper, pulled it down. I wiggled myself free from the latex sleepsack, somewhat reluctant to leave the latex cocoon. I slowly sat on my cot, feet touching the cool tiles of the floor. I took off the eyeless hood of my smooth head - not a single hair there - and darkness remained. It was always pitch black. I couldn’t remember when I had last seen light. ...

Reincarnation - The Life and Times of a Trash Bag You open your eyes following passing away. You see a mysterious ethereal creature reminiscent of a human standing before you. The being speaks to you in a low-pitched booming voice, “Human, you died just now, and this is the afterlife. Unlike what you believed, reincarnation is real. However, we are short on bodies to reincarnate you into, so this will be brief. Due to the lack of bodies on earth which are not currently occupied by souls, including animals, you will need to be reincarnated into a non-living item. At this time, we can only go by what’s available, so we bid you good luck on whatever item your soul inhabits. You will have a consciousness, albeit with limitations. Good luck and live a fruitful life.” ...

Compulsion* _This was going to be more fun than anything I’d tried before now. It would lend a whole new meaning to the term “Dumpster Diving”, at least for me. If I were objective, looking at myself from the viewpoint of a dispassionate, disinterested observer, then I’d have to conclude I was certifiably insane to carry through on my plan. Maybe I was crazy, but it wasn’t going to stop me._Why did I do it?* What was it in my head that drove me to become human garbage, to be tossed aside as unwanted trash? Most of the time I felt normal, but every so often that compulsion came upon me. Maybe it was the feel of the smooth, clingy plastic against my hand when opening a fresh kitchen trash bag. Or maybe it was some kind of guilt complex. Whatever the reason, I had to wrap myself up in a neat package inside one of those bags, preferably surrounded by other bags of equally unwanted refuse. ...

Rope’s not my thing. I’m more into the potential for humiliation and getting caught. Why does one always have to be hobbled or tied when on an adventure? So here’s the tale of how I got myself into a pickle, just to get my jollies. The whole idea of what my aroused mind wanted to do seemed like too much work for me, so I managed to convince myself one step at a time. ...