The old man’s back ached terribly as he strained to gaze out the window. He could hear his grandson downstairs, arguing with the exotic girl the boy always seemed to have trouble with. Inevitably, she’d be departing any second now. Then it happened. The exotic girl strolled to her car and he caught that rear-view perspective for which he’d so patiently been waiting. Her jet-black hair fluttered in the wind. That coupled with her impish physique to bestow on her a wild country-girl quality. The vision sparked a thousand memories from the foggy recesses of his mind. He knew how pathetic it was, waiting to catch the odd glimpse of a gorgeous young girl. A final thrill on his pathway to the cemetery.
But this had not always been the way of things, for his life had been full until his wife had so tragically died. He’d always been devoted to her and when she passed away in so many ways, he too slipped off this mortal coil. For this elderly gentleman, the women of the world were everything. Whether it was the scent of a lady passing him in the street or the enraptured enthrallment of holding his own wife in his arms, his was a life filled with adoration of the opposite sex. The old man’s grandson, bearing that seemingly permanent mask of defeat peered through the doorway.
“It’s okay boy, I’m awake.” The elderly bed-ridden grandfather spoke in a hushed whisper of a voice, the delivery of which withered with each passing day. “What was the ruckus?”
His grandson spoke of his on-going frustration at being in love with an exotic girl who would only refer to him as her friend. They spent a lot of time together and she did say he was her favorite person. The girl turned to him when life was hard and he adored taking care of her, but the boy just couldn’t progress the relationship. The old man listened, looking back at a reflection of himself, albeit six decades past. There was one anecdote that could transform his grandson’s fortunes. Earnestly he told the boy to listen well, as he would recount the tale of her three wise fellows.
An abundance of sensual magnificence can be witnessed and experienced eternally glittering and frolicking throughout this dowdy landscape, but no one living creature is as treasurable and striking as the supersonic female beauty. Looking into the eyes of this rarest of women is to stare into precious pellucid diamonds. The touch of her skin feels like that warm kiss of summer sunshine after a long teasing springtime. Her voice is the sweet sighing breath of an angel. She holds herself in a way that says the world is hers and who’s to say it isn’t?
But instinctively she learns her power as a woman begins with coordinating three fellows who each facilitate her privileged life. Good Boy, Bad Boy and Garbage Can.
She starts her day at lunch with Good Boy who, whilst always a gentleman has no interest in hearing about her other boys. They split the bill; he kisses her and departs the moment she remembers she has to telephone Bad Boy. Good Boy commands the relationship on his own terms, not hers and he bids her farewell and takes his leave.
Later on at dinner, Bad Boy smirks as he leaves her to pay the cheque, but she is delighted when he calls for the taxi—-though she ends up paying for it. An hour later he’s causing trouble in her apartment and she gets him out the door but Bad Boy bangs on the window and kicks the door. Ultimately, she lets him back in and surrenders into his arms as he plants a gaudy but passionate kiss on those full lips. Defeated, she is thrilled to completely surrender herself into his sweaty, tattooed arms. It’s the ecstasy of experiencing reduction.
He carries this supersonic beauty to the bed and the sweat, the toil, the unorthodox hindmost penetration all combine to drag her to the threshold of pain and guilt. Therein lays the element of pleasure. Thoughts of other boys are banished by the
overwhelming joy gushing through her body. Eventually, she begins to drift away in his arms. Her final waking thoughts are of the privilege that is hers and only her, for she gets to witness a gentle side to this wounded animal the rest of the world just doesn’t understand. She’s tamed the wild beast.
Morning arrives and an all-knowing smile flickers to life on her face. Eyes closed, she rolls over and prepares to once more submit to a coarse examination by Doctor Bad Boy Md. However, no punishing joy is forthcoming. Her eyes snap open. He’s gone! She cries out for him, but Bad Boy slipped away in the night and what’s more he’s cleaned out her purse.
Horrified, humiliated and hurting, she attempts to collect her thoughts. Best to ring a friend. No point in calling Good Boy who has no interest in her trials and tribulations with Bad Boy. The last time she phoned him pleading for the chance to open up about her problems with Bad Boy, Good Boy claimed to be busy watching the Three Stooges. He promptly hung up.
“So who does she call?” the old man asked of his grandson. Before the boy could answer, Grandfather gazed at the ceiling and said, “Good old Garbage Can.”
Garbage Can is a very decent fellow. He’s always there for the supersonic beauty. Outwardly he accepts that they’re only friends but not so deep down he harbors a desperate desire to make her his girl. He cares about her and appreciates being the one person she can really talk to.
The beautiful girl feels she’s being honest in telling him she can’t make a commitment to anybody but hopes they can remain friends for the next forty or fifty years. She really needs time to think. On the phone, the beautiful girl can barely speak through her blubbering and tears but fear not, Garbage Can takes the afternoon off work and races to be by her side.
She cries on his shoulder, so appreciative of this friend who has always been a rock for her to lean upon throughout the trials and tribulations that come with being the victim of one such as Bad Boy. Of course he can take her out. She’s in the mood to be spoilt.
They visit the finest French restaurant in town. It’s expensive but he doesn’t mind paying. Displays of generosity coupled with a enormous capacity to listen to her sorrowful driveling is the key to winning the beautiful girl’s heart. She must know he is the one, mustn’t she? Whilst engaging in the rare luxury of an embrace she curses Bad Boy’s disgusting behavior.
Garbage Can nods and agrees though his attention is solely focused on her beautiful not to mention ample breasts pushing up against his chest. This could be his moment. She must surely, finally, realize that Bad Boy is nothing but trouble.
Invigorated, he spends the evening spoiling and flattering her. Beautiful girl adores the attention as it can only help to inflate her self-esteem. She knows she’s awesome, but it doesn’t hurt to have the company of a decent man like Garbage Can who really makes her laugh. He’s such a clown and full of compliments.
Having dumped all of her trash into Garbage Can, who is overflowing with confidence in their relationship, she feels refreshingly fumigated and grants him a kiss on the cheek—-but only after he drives her home.
Garbage Can can’t stay the night with her as the inflatable mattress is at her sister’s apartment and she really needs her space.
It’s not him. It’s her…
He’s undeterred and departs feeling pleased with the progress he’s made. He even got a quick hug to treasure and he’ll be dwelling on that when he’s alone in bed tonight. Meanwhile our supersonic beauty has curled up on the sofa with her self-improvement books. Maybe Bad Boy will ring her to apologize for his crude, illegal behavior. Maybe not. She doesn’t care though a phone call would nice. There’s a lot to talk about. She’s finished with him and he must accept this.
Suddenly, she hears someone pounding on the door. She drops her female empowerment manual. It’s Bad Boy!
“Open up woman, or I’ll kick the door in,” he garishly demands. True to his word he begins kicking and hammering; a demon on the doorstep.
The beautiful girl reluctantly opens the door, whereby he scoops her up in his powerful arms. She fights him off with a five-second burst of punches and kicks, but, then, ultimately, she surrenders. As they pass the sideboard, she scoops up the medicinal oil and smiles as she hands it to him. They enter her bedroom, her arms finally hanging limply by her sides in a gesture of total compromise.
“Do you get what you are? What you’ve become?” asked the Grandfather bluntly. “You’re a garbage can and you’ve got to be the good boy. Don’t run around after her, don’t let her dump trash in you and certainly don’t play second fiddle to any scum bag she’s also seeing.”
“She’s expecting me later,” growled the grandson in a low, frustrated voice. “Needs a hand to clean out her basement.”
“If she calls you and starts talking about other men, hang up. Have pride in yourself and demand respect. I hear you pleading on the phone with her every day and I watch you running around after her like a damn fool.”
These final words describing him as a fool were too much for the boy and he began to pace around the bed, all the while maintaining a fixed glare on the old man. Suddenly he stopped pacing, muttered a few words of appreciation and went back downstairs. The old man smiled and closed his eyes, confident his grandson was going to be the Good Boy. He’d marry her the way he’d married his own sweetheart, so many decades ago.
His final dream was of a thousand supersonic beauties sauntering towards him on the beach. One by one, the beauties disappeared, as the old man’s breathing ceased and he slipped into eternal darkness.
Meanwhile the boy took off his shoes so he could replace them with a bigger pair of boots. He settled on a massive pair of Doctor Martens that made him feel a head taller. The boy stood up straight and then stormed out the door, all the while wearing a curious smirk on his face. The boots on his feet felt great and he’d need them. Sure he’d need them.
How else was he going to kick the beautiful girl’s door in?