And just like that, I think I am saying yes. My feet are at least. They lead my body, boner first, towards this man, who I am probably about to fuck, and who I don’t even know his name.
Standard gay experience.
Before I know it, I am inside the office again, door shut, heart racing, dick throbbing and my brain swirling.
Chapter 5–Bin Cursed
There are so many reasons I shouldn’t agree to sleeping with this ghost.
Reason one: he is literally a bin-dwelling spirit man.
Reason two: he is, without a doubt, the most insufferable, smug cunt I have ever met.
Reason three: I cannot control my erection around him.
Reason four: Thecursewould be sleeping with him, notme, and that makes me feel disgusting.
Reason five: I literally melt when he calls me Janitor Boy or Handsome. And–nope. I don’t have the time or the strength anymore for those kinds of feelings.
But ultimately none of these reasons matter. As I stack them up, the rational side of my trash-and-dickmatised brain gives a counterargument I can’t refuse or argue my way out of. I need this curse to be broken. Maybe a therapist too. Probably both.
But, how can I break the curse when I can’t even say anything to him?
Here I am, sitting across from him in the janitor’s closet, blanketed by fluorescent lights. He had joined me, sitting on the floor. His legs are crossed, resting on his boots. They’re a pair of grimy, steel-capped workers boots, but through the grime and muck I can make out a faint tan colour. The kind tradies would wear.
The bin behind him had not yet been emptied by me–I planned on dealing with it tomorrow. I push down the thoughts of me stickingsomethingin the trashcan. Right now, I need to deal with this, whateverthisis.
I can’t handle our silence. It’s the most uncomfortable silence between two people–sorry, one person and one spirit–who are one hundred percent not on a date.
This is not a date;I keep telling myself. We’re just… hanging out.
We had talked at length about what specifically triggered my curse. When I told him that all forms of trash did, it had me fucked up. Because how can you tell someone what turns you on when that someone also turns you on? He’s the manifestation of the perfect bin-juice scented sex doll I could ever dream of.
“So…” he says, his eyes focusing on me, like he’s trying to see more of me. “How did it occur?”
Déjà vu. My conversation with Claudia comes to mind, but I dismiss the thought. “I figure it was my witchy ex and his funny way of getting revenge.”
Silence. Then, he bursts out laughing–a genuine belly laugh.
“OK, wow. Fuckin’ relatable. What did you do to your ex to deserve this?”
I wince, and my brow furrows. “Nothing. Don’t laugh; it’s not funny.”
“It kind of is. Must have been something big for him to do this to you.”
I shake my head. “He said I didn’t value him. Said I treated him like garbage. Said he would make me finally respect the discarded objects of the world.”
He inspects me. He sees me, and that brief flick of validation and genuine interest in me makes words fall out.
“So now my body—well mostly my dick—reacts to trash. The worse it smells and looks, the harder I get.”
He looks at himself–the grime covering his skin and looks back at me with a grin. “I must be a walking filthy sex doll for you then or something, ha-ha!”
He laughs, obviously joking around, but little does he know…
I changed the subject. “I would rather not think about that right now.”
He doesn’t skip a beat. His eyes trail down me, and he chuckles. “You might not, butheis positively about to burst through your pants.” He points at my crotch, and I look down. My throbbing erection flexes upward.
