Putting Out the Garbage (Episode 1)

(An original and ongoing illustrated erotic story, originally from ManningEngels.com).

I find my best friend’s new boyfriend very attractive.

I have to keep saying that to myself, to see if it’s really true.

I don’t want it to be true, so I test myself.

Is it still true today, like it was yesterday? Or last week? Or the first time I met him at that club, two months ago?

Or have I gotten over it, and come to my senses?

hqdefaultNo, I haven’t. Damn. It’s still true. I fancy him like crazy.

And that’s messed up, because Janie has been my best friend for ten years now and we’ve never mucked around with the men in each other’s lives. That’s just part of the deal. We’re sisters. We don’t do that to each other.

But if I did deeper, and I’m really honest, I have to admit the real reason I think it’s messed up.

He’s a garbage collector. At age 33.

And he talks like a garbage collector. Fuck, he even looks like a garbage collector too. Even in a suit, he somehow still looks like one.

So: I have a massive, gut-clenching crush on a 36 year old garbage collector who didn’t finish high school.

I have to stop myself fantasizing about him jumping on and off the back of a truck, in overalls! And whenever I can’t help myself and I do it anyway, I kinda forget what he looks like. It’s like I’m actually turned on by him being a garbageman.

And that’s messed up.


Friday night. I am going to meet Janie and Paul the Garbageman, and we’re going out to dinner. It was supposed to be a double date but my husband Graeme decided not to come, he wants to watch the game instead, but I haven’t told Janie yet because I don’t want her to cancel. Just the two of us girls, out with her new boyfriend. (Yeah, that should be fine.)

Graeme comes in to the bedroom while I am getting changed to go out. I am naked. All I have done so far is put on perfume. Various outfit choices are laid out on the bed. I don’t want him to see them.

‘Hi. What time are you heading out?’

‘In about half an hour.’ I stand forward so I am between him and the bed.

‘Hmmm.’ He moves closer and puts his hands on me. He smells like Scotch. ‘That’s a nice perfume,’ he says.

It’s one I don’t normally wear. He always said it was a bit girly.

‘Thanks. I didn’t think you liked it.’

‘Well, I like it today.’

His hands are still on my lower back, and it’s pretty nice, so I kiss him. I want him to leave, so I can try on all the outfits.  But I want him to stay and kiss me too. So we kiss for a while and I get a bit carried away.

‘You’re a sexy thing this evening!’ he says with a smile.

‘If I wasn’t going out, you’d probably be naked by now, too,’ I reply.

He laughs and kisses me some more, and then his hand drifts down to my pussy and he finds me wet. It’s lovely having him touch me there, gently, just for a moment.

‘Sure you don’t want to ring and cancel?’ he says.

‘Hmmmm….I’d love to, but I really should go. Janie is really keen to make sure her friends like this new guy.’

‘Paul?’ he says, moving back. ‘He seemed all right to me. What’s she concerned about?’

‘I think she’s worried he’ll feel snubbed, because of what he does for a living,’ I say, putting on a bra. ‘I think he’s in waste management or something.’

$T2eC16R,!)kE9s4Z+lr1BSF101(OYg~~60_35‘Yep, he’s a garbage collector!’ says Graeme.  ‘And when I talked to him, he didn’t seem ashamed at all. He said he makes pretty good money.’

‘Oh. Well, Janie said she really wanted me there, so I’m gonna go. Maybe we can hang out later?’

‘Sure, darling. Have fun.’ He gives me another kiss and then walks out into the kitchen to cook himself a steak.

I’m pretty sure this crush on Paul isn’t subconsciously about trying to make Graeme jealous. But if it is, it’s failing. Graeme doesn’t get jealous.

I put my new pair of sexy knickers on as soon as he is out of the room, and then I quickly slip into the knee-length pink dress, in case he walks back in and sees my choice of knickers.

On my way out to the taxi, I remember why I don’t normally wear underwear like this. Damn thing has already ridden half up my ass. But I wear it anyway.


I walk into the restaurant and I see Paul. He is wearing acid wash jeans and trainers and a blue polo shirt and he looks like the sort of guy you’d see hanging around drunk outside a sports bar. My eyes drift down and I look for his stomach poking out over the top of his belt. But there isn’t one.

men-drinking-beerEven so, his fashion sense is terrible. I am not attracted to this guy any more. Finally. I’m over it.

Janie comes up and kisses me. She is wearing a dress so similar to mine at first I think it must actually be the same, but then I notice hers is backless.

‘Hi! Where’s Graeme?’

There really wasn’t much of a pause between the ‘Hi’ and the question. She’s smiling, and patting me on the arm. Paul is at the bar, looking at the football on the small screen behind it. He hasn’t said hello yet.

‘Gray couldn’t come. He’s had a big week. He says sorry.’ (He didn’t at all).

‘Oh.’ She looks disappointed. ‘Well, do you still want to have dinner? We could just have a few drinks instead if you like?’

I want to have dinner. I booked this place because it has booth couch seats. So I can sit next to Paul. Why hasn’t Paul said hello to me yet?

‘Oh, it’s fine.’ I say. ‘We can still grab a bite to eat. Hi Paul.’

‘Hi.’ He leans over and kisses me on the cheek, absently. His breath smells like beer. His cologne smells like urinal cake. OK, so definitely not attracted to this guy.

‘Well,’ says Janie, ‘Let’s have one more drink and then we can sit down.


‘Yeah, sure,’ he says. He’s still watching the screen. The Raiders are winning by a field goal. Graeme would be pleased.

Janie rolls her eyes. ‘OK, I’ll get them, then. Champagne?’ she says to me.

‘Pint of New,’ says Paul. No eye contact. What a jerk.

She goes to the bar and I stand there awkwardly for a bit while he watches the game.

‘How was your week?’ I say lamely.

‘Huh? Oh, it was OK.’ That’s all. But at least he turns to look down at me. Which means, it’s my turn to talk again. But what to say? How about: “Did you collect any really nice garbage this week?”

Finally I opt for: ‘what sort of route do you take? You know, when you are, um, doing your job.’

He smiles. ‘People always ask that. I do the west side.’

‘Oh. We live in Glengarry. Maybe you do our street. Richmond Terrace?’

Again, the smile. ‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘The route programmer just tells you where to go.’

‘Oh.’ There’s a roar from the TV and he looks back up. Quick, Lara, think of something else to say. ‘So how did you get into waste management?’

(Oh, man. Note to self: Kill me).

He doesn’t smile this time. ‘I had this friend, and he was doing it so I tried out. Just sort of happened.’ He shrugs.

‘Well, gotta pay the rent right?’


Then, I remember he told last time that he owns his house. I really should just shut up now.

Janie comes back with the champagne and I inhale it.

‘Cheers,’ says Paul and quaffs his half-full pint, spilling some on his shirt collar, before taking a sip of the new one. I watch on in horror, and then notice Janie staring at me.

‘You were thirsty!’ she says. I realise I have just drunk almost the entire glass of champagne.

This guy makes me nervous.


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