Chapter 4 – Binfluencer
Iget through the rest of my shift by avoiding the kitchen and my coworkers, and I one thousand percent avoid any contact with trash, bins or any empty mugs, in case I spontaneously ejaculate all over the damn place.
I don’t know what I’d do if he were to appear again and offer to kiss me.
Hell, I don’t know what I’d do if he calls me handsome again; I'd rather not find out.
Although avoiding the problem had proven to be difficult when I am the only janitor rostered for the entire building.
I keep myself busy doing small, odd jobs around the office, fixing some light bulbs, reporting a broken air vent and even mopping up that mess in the front foyer area that Claudia wanted me to.
I had avoided further encounters with the bin-man. Being outed again for my trash kink-sorry, curse-is not on my agenda to repeat for today. Nor is running out of the building from the shame. I’m not repeating yesterday twice. This is what we call progress, people!
I had shaken off the mixed feelings of horniness meets shame meets fear of a ghost man coming out of a bin entirely.
My shift’s getting close to being over - I think I can survive the rest of the day.
I’m feeling confident, even though I am in the executive bathroom right now restocking the toilet rolls; some would say this isn’t good, but to me this is far better than taking out the bins right now.
As I finish up and leave, I hear the familiar clacking noise of stilettos behind me as I reach the foyer. I spin around. It’s Claudia.
“Oh, there you are.” She looks spooked. “I thought I was going crazy before when I walked into the closet with you there.”
I blink and almost gulp. Claudia’s my only friend here, and though she doesn’t know my full secret, I have told her about most of my sex life failures. Maybe it is time to let her in on this too?
“Oh, did you see the man standing in the bin as well?”
She pauses and looks at me like I’m crazy. “What? No… but I got such a migraine-inducing energy blast as I walked past that room again. A full-body shiver, third eye aching.” She rubs her temples.
I fumble a replacement toilet roll, and it lands on the floor, rolling to the other side of the room, bouncing off her shoe. My heart skips. I’m relieved. She didn’t see the bin-man, but now I am confused, more than ever. “Energy blast?” I ask her.
She shrugs and casually states that she is sort-of-psychic, as if it were a normal everyday thing. I go to laugh, because, what the fuck? But who am I to judge? I have a freaking trash kink curse, and I’m hallucinating a bin ghost man. Anything’s possible.
She notices that I’m stifling a reaction to her revelation, but she continues to talk like it’s the same as announcing something inane like she changed coffee shops. “I am on the low sensitivity scale, trust me I have been tested. I’m sort of like a spiritual Wi-Fi extender.” She taps her temple.
Tested? Wh… what?
She continues. “I mostly feel vibes. I have occasionally seen ghosts, or what I suspect are ghosts. One time I channelled a dead pigeon, and the heartbreak I felt made me coo-sob into the cinnamon scroll I was eating.”
“…OK.” It’s all I can say as we both sit on a bench in the foyer. “So, why are you telling me all this? Not that I don’t believe you, it’s just…” I shrug.
“I’m telling you this because you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or something worse, like you got railed by one.”
My entire face ignites, and I stammer out my response. “I have not–he didn’t–that’s not what happened!”
I cover my mouth and look at her with what I think are dinner plates for eyes.
Claudia narrows hers. “Oscar.” She says gently, pausing for a few seconds.
“You’ve been acting odd. Odder than usual.
You know I love you, but I’ve seen you talk to yourself.
I see you flinch at bins, and the other day you wouldn’t take my smashed coffee cup to the kitchen.
” She points down the hall, and I look and swallow hard, wiping my brow with my forearm.
“And you’re sweating like you just ran a marathon through a haunted landfill.”
So… specific. As usual. I say nothing but look guilty.
She shuffles closer, and the quietness between us is palpable. It is that trusted quietness between friends. I could sit with Claudia and just exist; she always makes me feel comfortable. She never judges me. So, I decide now is the right time to explain my predicament.
“I think.” I start and then shake my head. “No, I know I’m cursed. I’ve been for years. Looking at trash causes me to… uh.”
“Get aroused?”
It’s poised like a question, but she says it like she knows she’s right. Which…She is. Now that I know she’s sort of psychic, all of those odd questions she sometimes asks me now make sense. “Yes.” I hang my head.
“Well, we all have our proclivities. You could find much worse things attractive. Actually…” she paused and held onto my hand, stroking it with her thumb. “You’re a janitor. I’m sure it makes your job hard… no pun intended.”
We share a laugh at the irony. And it’s welcome–it dispels the worry I had about her reaction. I’ve not exactly had great experiences telling people about this part of me.
Claudia’s face turns a little sombre as the joke dies down. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did it happen?”
“That part I don’t know for certain, but I suspect it was my witchy ex who’s hell-bent on revenge for dumping him.” I lied at the end. I didn’t want to say it was he who dumped me. Or the reason.
“Gay men can be so petty, especially witches.”
We pause, and then she presses me about what has been going on in the office. I tell her about the first encounter with the bin-man yesterday, and today’s visit too.
“Whatever is following you in the office… it isn’t malevolent.”
I arch an eyebrow. “How do you know?”
“Just the vibe I am getting. He sounds powerful, and hot too… like some sort of bin ghost thirst trapping Adonis. And as if he asked you to kiss him!”
She makes him sound so delectable. Desirable. Like I said, she never makes me feel like I’m being judged.
“He is pretty cute. If ghosts had the internet, he absolutely would be a Binfluencer.”
Claudia snorts, and it makes me laugh along with her.
“I don’t judge, but if your spectral boyfriend wants to manifest again and spend time with you, I say give him a chance.
After all, you could do a lot worse. The men of the mortal realm are all bumbling, incompetent fools and lack any awareness of how unfunny they are and how utterly useless in bed they are. ”
I nod numbly. Yes, they are.
The day passes uneventfully, and I finish my shift without a hitch.
In the locker room where I change in and out of my janitor uniform, I glimpse myself in the mirror. My hair is a mess, my glasses are grimy, and my face is flushed.
All day, I’ve done nothing but think of him.
This curse has wrecked my life. It’s cost me jobs and ruined any prospects of a relationship. It stains my dignity beyond anything bleach could remove.
But today?
I find myself smiling stupidly. For the first time in five years, someone finally said they might understand it. Might even fix it.
Even if that someone is a bin-haunting, smirking chaos spirit who thinks I am handsome. The word rattles in my brain as I slip into my casual clothes. I walk out of the locker room and into the office again. Everyone had gone for the day, and it is just me, alone.
Across the room, the janitor’s closet creaks open, and my heart flutters. What the hell, even my pants tighten! Like a salivating dog from a Pavlovian response.
A familiar voice purrs, and that makes me smile. “I told you trash will find you.”
And there he is.
He’s out of his bin and standing on the floor.
His bare legs, shiny with bin juice, are exposed from the jean shorts he wore, and this time he wasn’t wearing his flannel overshirt.
His bin-juice-soaked boots leave stains on the carpet.
A normal janitor would be livid, but me?
I am nothing but an animal in heat at the sight of it. Of him.
The grin on his face spreads like an oil spill. His form flickers–he is no longer the completely translucent form he had been during the day. He is exactly how he had been when I first saw him. Not quite solid. Not quite ghostly.
Half a man. Half a trashy mess. And oh, so fuckable. Covered in bin juice. How is it possible that a spirit, man, whatever, dwelling in the bin has me so frazzled?
Fuck, I want this man more than I even know. My dick definitely does too; I can feel it pulsing and flexing, daring to push through my jeans. I shudder as it rubs up against the zipper.
Yes, I go commando. Ever since I had been cursed, I had gone through too many pairs of underwear and hadn’t really had time to keep up with my washing. So I just went without one day and never turned back.
“Ready to break that curse?” he asks, his eyes fluttering at me, coaxing me inside the janitor's closet.
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.