This is a work of fiction. All persons are intended to be age 18 and above.

I was dumpster diving – I admit it.

But nothing so uncouth as crawling through a dumpster like a raccoon, looking for discarded french fries or cheeseburgers. I was exploring the massive and relatively clean dumpsters behind a technology store in an upscale retail outlet, a pastel palace with stores that called to mind a SoHo shopping district, that lay within a pricey and somewhat snobbish “neighborhood.”

I won’t say the name of the technology store but it’s a two-word title virtually every American recognizes. The items they throw away are commensurate with the locale – very expensive, very modern and very desirable pieces of technology such as a 98-inch OLED flat panel television, discarded because of a slight scratch on the bevel; Bluetooth ear buds for the latest phones and tablets; even digital hand-warmers missing a simple USB charging cable one can buy at any retail outlet for less than $5.

It was all useful merchandise that would fetch a decent price on Marketplace, and I was determined to get my hands on it, even if that meant crawling into a dumpster at 3 o’clock in the morning when the private security guards were back at the guard shack, guzzling coffee and struggling to remain awake.

Typically I parked my car one street over from the outlet at a closed apothecary shop and walked to the service access behind the store where the trucks unload. The guards usually came through every hour, so I loitered off-property until I saw them complete their rounds, then hurried to the dumpster and recovered my treasures. Sometimes it took multiple trips to collect my haul, but that was fine. I was pulling close to 3 large every month selling these wares online.

That is, I was – until I got caught.

It happened early one Sunday morning, a steamy night when the security staff were usually lax. I must have gotten sloppy because I never heard him coming. I was busy stacking boxes of inexpensive HP printers – I saw them on sale at Walmart for $49 and figured I could sell them for $25 apiece – when out of the darkness a voice bellowed, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

My gut dropped into my shoes, the way it does when you’re on a roller coaster and you top the very tallest crest then drop like the proverbial rock. For a moment, I had a crazy vision of innumerable YouTube videos of raccoons standing on their hind legs in bewilderment after being caught scavenging hamburgers from fast-food dumpsters. I was one of those raccoons, hip-deep in cardboard boxes of printers. I was that stupid.

“Come out of there,” the voice commanded. Christ, it sounded like the voice of a Navy SEAL, deep and burly (if voices can be burly), and undeniable in its authority. I think I’ve been caught by God, I said to myself, as I pulled myself over the edge of the dumpster and landed on my feet, facing him. It was not God.

It was a kid.

What I could see of him, anyway. And when I say “kid” I mean “adult man,” but a young adult man, no older than 21 or 22, if that. It was hard to make out his exact features because a street light behind him cast a near-blinding glare so that I was staring at his eclipse, with his exact features shrouded in shadow. What I could see was patchy whiskers on his chin, tufts of blond hair sticking out from under his security service ball cap, and a thin, boyish frame weighted down with all the items security guards carry in those nylon mesh storage belts. But when he spoke, his voice was surprisingly deep and authoritative. He must be a hit at all the local karaoke bars, I remember thinking.

And I also remember thinking that he was pretty damn good looking.

“Sir, you know you’re not supposed to be taking that stuff,” he said, pointing to the stack of boxes I had placed next to the dumpster. “You want a printer? You go into the store and buy one when it opens this morning.”

There was no sense arguing with him. He was right and I knew it.

“Except that’s not why you’re taking them, is it.”

I nodded. What could I say?

“Are a few printers worth fucking up the rest of your life?” he asked, his deep baritone rising ever so slightly. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Yes, he was right, but being lectured to by somebody half my age irritated me.

“Or maybe I should just call it in and let the cops deal with it,” he said, reacting to my eye-roll. My eyes had adjusted somewhat to the lighting and I could see him more clearly. What I saw was definitely very interesting – a cute button of a nose like you’d see on an anime character. His cheekbones were sharp and clearly defined. And he had a strong jaw, very Nordic in its prominence. His utility belt added width to his hips and slimmed his waist, giving him the proverbial hourglass figure.

In other words, sexy as hell.

I felt myself growing hard down below as my conscious brain recognized the fact that I was standing here in the dark, just me and this incredibly attractive young man, and not one other person in the universe was anywhere nearby, and maybe there was a way I could finesse an unplanned benefit from this strange intersection of circumstances. Let’s be honest: Guys his age were perpetually horny, and they were also easily entertained. Maybe a sexy respite from a long, boring graveyard shift was the perfect solution to his problem. To paraphrase the lottery commission, “You can’t get laid if you don’t play.”

When I snapped out of my scheming and returned to the present, I could see he was staring at me with a look of exasperation. “Yeah, I think I should just call this one and let the cops sort it out,” he said.

I feigned worry and said, “No! Please! Don’t do that. I’m really sorry about this – is there anything I can do to make it right? I have a reputation in this town and I don’t want it ruined by having my picture in the online arrest mugshots. I’d be willing to do just about anything to keep that from happening.”

He nodded and said, “You can start by putting these boxes back in the dumpster.”

I quickly complied. I wasn’t too upset – there were only three, which meant I was out only $75. Not a huge loss.

After the last box was back in the dumpster I brushed my hands together and asked, “OK, now what?”

He pointed to the other end of the access drive and said, “You’re free to go. I’m not going to jack up somebody’s life over a few printers. Just don’t come back, you got that?”

Oh. Well, that was disappointing. I was hoping he’d demand a special kind of “favor,” if you know what I mean. I had to think quickly. How could I steer this back to a direction more to my liking? I stood there, shuffling my feet nervously while my brain worked like a mechanical calculator, sorting the various options, until finally a glimmering of a plan came to mind.

I started by thanking him for his leniency, but then I asked, “Is there some way I can show you my gratitude? Maybe buy you a cup of coffee?”

“No. I’ve got coffee.”

“Breakfast? There’s a Waffle House within walking distance.”

He shook his head. “My shift doesn’t end until 8.”

So I swung for the fences.

“Well then how about I give you a blowjob?”

He looked as if he’d just swallowed a live cockroach.

“What? You want to suck my dick?” he hissed, his face screwing into a disgusted frown. “Fuck, man, you can’t just go up to people and ask if you can suck their dicks. That’s against the law – solicitation, or prostitution, or something. I don’t know. And besides, that’s gay, and I’m not gay. Not gonna let some dude suck my cock!”

“Oh, I didn’t think you were gay,” I said, holding up my hand – palm out – as I began my counterargument. “It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if you had some cute blonde back at your apartment, just waiting for you to finish your shift so she can slobber all over that big dick of yours. But – “ and my hand became a point, “your shift doesn’t end for five more hours, and I know how it is with you guys.” I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “You’re walking around with a semi-permanent hard-on that’ll go off like a hand grenade if it’s touched by so much as a stiff breeze.

“And I also know,” I continued before he could find another reason to say no, “that there’s one thing no woman can ever understand, and that’s what it feels like to be a guy. Like it or not we guys know how to make another guy feel good – because we’re guys! And I promise you – I swear-to-God promise you – that if you’ve never had your dick sucked by another guy then you’ve never had an actual blowjob, because a guy will always do it better than a girl. Always! So what do you say, man? I guess it’s something you never thought about before, and the idea seems weird, but what the hell! Live a little! Take a chance! Tell your comfort zone to go fuck itself and go out on that limb. Take a chance at finding something new you might like.”

I realized I was laying it on thick, but as I talked to him I could see his opposition faltering, a slight hesitance creeping into his expression. That pretty little face of his, what I could see of it, anyway, was going from disgust to uncertainty. I made a show of looking around the dark service access to make sure we were alone, which we were.

“There’s nobody here. Nobody will ever know.”

His eyes narrowed momentarily, and then he also gave our surroundings a glance.

At that point I knew I had him.

He turned back to me, his eyes growing ever narrower. A kind of anger – was it self-loathing – had crept into his voice when he said, “If you ever breathe a word of this to anybody, I swear to God –”