25 July 2010
	Reconsider Baby.
	I've been feeding a good to look at woman for the past few weeks.  She (the woman) lives inside a large dismantled hydraulic trash compactor behind a closed Kmart near my house. With regards to the trash compactor: It is a Rumpke RSC-30.  I do not know anything about commercial trash compactors and I especially don't know anything with regards to the compactor brand name painted onto the side of the unit, Rumpke, I just know that the woman I've been feeding currently resides inside the unit.  I talk to myself often (aloud and to no one in particular) usually saying things like, "I've got a big dick," or "She's got a big hole," but lately I've been saying things like: "Time to get my rocks off in the Rumpke." "I'm gonna get some rump in the   Rumpke." "She's gonna suck my lumpke's inside the Rumpke." Indeed! Sometimes when I'm talking aloud and to no one in particular I'll mix it up: "I'm gonna get some rump in the Rumpke 'cause I've got a big dick." "She's got a big hole time to get my rocks off in the Rumpke." "My lumpke's are inside the Rumpke she's got a big hole." I digress. I've yet to hump the woman that resides inside the RSC-30.  On Monday and Friday I park my car on the other side of State Road in the parking lot of Pollo Tropical restaurant so as not to attract unnecessary attention to her residence.  She likes hamburgers and spaghetti and chocolate milk and cold drinks.    She doesn't have any money and she showers at the Orthodox Indian church off O'Conner Avenue seven blocks away. Three knocks and then one and then five more knocks brings the woman out of the  RSC-30. She says: "I've missed you." I am always amazed at how fresh she looks and I have to remind myself that I'm meeting my date at a trash compactor. I say: "Spaghetti and a salad and a large sweet tea." Before I finish saying sweet tea there are tears flowing down her cheeks. She says: "I've got a special present for you."       I don't really know this woman.  She's attractive and thin and I figure she's about five feet tall.  I've read that mental disorders run rampant among the homeless and though she lives inside a large industrial trash compactor (to me) she feels genuine and lovely and fragile.  I say: "I love getting presents." When I follow her inside the RSC-30 Rumpke, battery powered flashlights are illuminating the corrugated rear metal wall of the trash compactor and there is an old dual speaker cassette player lying atop a cardboard box. She says: "Don't say a word."   She's pressed the play button and while the music is coming from the speakers of the battery powered dual speaker cassette player she unzips her pants and lets them drop to the floor. "What a nice surprise," I say. While she's unbuttoning her shirt she says: "It's your special present." So as not to appear ungrateful I say: "Great music." Her panties are at her ankles and when she kicks them off (her panties) she says: "It's Elvis." It sounds like a stripper song.  I didn't know Elvis sang anything like what I'm hearing and while I'm watching her dance I'm hearing Elvis and while I'm hearing Elvis I'm watching her unlatch her brassiere and when her brassiere hits the metal floor of the Rumpke RSC-30 trash compactor one of the flashlights blinks on and then off and then on again and while she's dancing and while Reconsider Baby by Elvis is coming out of the dried out cassette speakers I say: "Time to get my rocks off in the Rumpke." "I'm gonna get some rump in the   Rumpke." "She's gonna suck my lumpke's inside the Rumpke." "I'm gonna get some rump in the Rumpke 'cause I've got a big dick." "She's got a big hole time to get my rocks off in the Rumpke." "My lumpke's are inside the Rumpke she's got a big hole." NOTE: Reconsider Baby by Elvis Presley, 1960. EXTRA:  The Rumpke RSC-30 industrial hydraulic trash compactor is surprisingly spacious and its thick corrugated metal walls block a great deal of outside noise. BONUS: She had to rewind the cassette tape and restart her act as the player simply stopped working during her most excellent performance.  When she pulled on her cotton briefs they were inside out and unfortunately the elastic band that would normally hold the panties up tore clean off.    EXTRA BONUS: We balled one another atop an old ironing board she found alongside the road.  There was an excessive amount of spray starch cooked onto the cloth cover of the ironing board and her ass got burned badly while I hammered her on it in the missionary position. SPECIAL NOTE: I went back to see her on the 23rd of July and knocked our secret knock onto the side of the Rumpke trash compactor but she was gone. As a kind of tribute to her I ate a plate of spaghetti (with meatballs) inside the trash compactor and while I chewed I took frequent sips of cold Gustafson Farms chocolate milk and I remembered how she danced to Elvis at the rear of the compactor (illuminated only by flashlights).  The ironing board that we drilled one another on was still inside the RSC-30.  Sadly, she had left it behind.  I've got the ironing board in my garage as a sort of keepsake.  PRIVATE MESSAGE:   Stupidly, I always expect the worst from people.  Instinctively I sprayed my blistered cock with two 36 ounce cans of Raid Yard Guard Outdoor Fogger when I got home (after pounding you those seven and a half memorable hours) and I'm sorry that I did that.  I have no doubt your cunt was as fresh as a 16 year old gal at Skate City on Friday night in Bellevue, Nebraska.  Please don't give up on me.  Let's meet at White Castle on 13th Avenue this Friday and we'll drink all the cold drinks you can drink and we'll eat all the cheeseburgers you can eat, too.  TIDBIT:  I hung the elastic waist band from her panties over the rear view mirror of my car. 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