Daniel Guy's Blog

Denise was leaving for work, just as the garbage truck stopped outside her flat, and a young female garbage collector, dressed in bright green uniform, dragged the green garbage container to the back of the truck and locked it into place. She watched the bin lift and tip, and the trash tipping into the back.  As she was about to wheel the bin back, she noticed, half-buried in the pile of stinking garbage, the body of a male, sealed tight in black tape and shiny black plastic trash bags. As Denise was locking her front door, the woman looked across and grinned and then called over. ‘Good morning, Miss. I am assuming this one of yours?’ She pointed at the back of the truck. Denise walked over. ‘Yeah.  That was the guy you saw me with a couple of weeks ago.’ ‘You mean the guy with the cream colored Porsche?’ ‘Yeah, that one. Granted he was wealthy but he said he was allergic to my cats and he was lousy in bed, so he had to go. Did I did wrap him up p

COPYRIGHT (C) 2002 by DANIEL GUY Part One It was a bright, clear Sunday morning as Siona arrived at her therapist's large country house, twenty minutes after she had phoned him to make the emergency appointment. Her therapist was called Dan, a good-looking man with black hair and sympathetic brown eyes, who led Siona through to his consulting room, at the back of the house and invited her to sit in on the large black leather couch. She was comforted by the fact that even though she had only been in therapy for three weeks, Dan didn't seem bothered about being disturbed at home on a Sunday. She sat down and lit a cigarette. "So tell me, Siona. This nightmare you had last night. What exactly was it about?" Siona was still shaken by the dream but was able to recount it clearly. "It was terrifying. I was sitting in a strange room. I was drinking something, but I don't remember what it was. I started to feel weak, like I was very ston

by Daniel Guy. I glance over to a street market and catch sight of a stall of cheap, gaudy coloured toys.  A beautiful young Indian girl reaches up and lifts from a hook a pink plastic doll, wrapped in clear cellophane.  She inspects it, feels the small soft rubbery body through the protective wrapper, runs hers thumb over its face, chest and groin and then squeezes it hoping the toy will squeak. I gasp audibly.  For some strange reason I feel incredibly aroused, imagining that I am that doll, tied and naked inside the clear semi-inflated protective bag, gripped tight by this gorgeous princess.  The bulge in my jeans is clearly visible so I walk away, looking around at the people in the street to see if they have noticed.  I try to walk nonchalantly, deciding that as I am dangerous in this present state, I must find a place to de-spunk.   Then I remember.  I have promised my partner to save my sperm till Wednesday.  We haven’t fucked for seven day