Naked Lady At the Dump

An urban legend, maybe.

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The bags were full of men's clothes; Shirts, T-shirts, jockey shorts, socks. Wally was going to wonder about this for a long, long time.

Ten minutes earlier she had pulled up at the landfill's front booth in the mini-van that had seen its better days. She wasn't anything special to look at, blond, forty-is, no make up, gray T-shirt. Nice jugs, though.

She rolled down the window and Wally leaned out the window of his booth. "How far out into the dump can I take this?" she asked him.

"Sorry, ma'am," Wally replied. "Ya can't drive out into the dump itself... Not safe. But that dumpster over there," he pointed to a five-cubic-yard dumpster about thirty yards away, "will be emptied into the hopper next if you want to just toss the bags in it."

"So it WILL be buried today?" she begged.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "Are you trying to hide a body?" He chuckled as he said it, realizing he might have offended her: The boss was always getting on people's cases about "tax-paying citizens complaining about the rude public employees." The only thing worse was letting something that belonged at the recycle plant into the haz-mat landfill or vice-versa.

Fortunately for Wally, the lady giggled at his joke. "No, but I really, really want to be rid of this stuff."

"I'm sure it'll be under a bulldozer this afternoon."

"Thank you," she said and shifted the van into reverse.

Wally leaned back on the swivel chair, idly watching as she pulled up next to the dumpster and turned off the motor. She hurriedly pushed the sliding door open and grabbed a black plastic trash bag with each hand and spun to toss them into the nearly full bin. Nice view of her butt Wally mused, regarding her designer-turned-garage-sale jeans. Like the van she was past her prime but still running. Yeah, he'd do her... if he had the opportunity.

She was almost spinning on her cheap rubber sandals as she tossed five bags onto the trash already stacked above the open top of the dumpster. After the last one she stood looking at the pile as if contemplating a masterpiece at a museum. Then she grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it over her face and off her arms, not wasting any motion to toss it into the dumpster behind the black bags.

Without wasting another second she pulled the shoulder straps of her bra onto her upper arms and shrugged them off, letting her breasts swing free as she spun the garment around to unhook the clasp in the front. Wally's eyes almost popped out of his head. The double D's bounced when she threw the bra into the dumpster.

She stepped out of her sandals as she unbuttoned the jeans and stood on one foot to pull them off one foot and then the other and toss them after the bra and shirt. Then she repeated the same maneuver with the red bikini panties and picked up the shoes and tossed them after the rest.

She turned back to the sliding door of the van with her eyes focused on the ground, giving Wally a full frontal view of her milk-white tits, slightly rounded belly, chubby thighs and the untrimmed patch of pussy hair that, well, the carpet matched the drapes, as they say. Without looking up she raised her right fist, pumped the air with it twice and raised it in a clinched fist salute like she'd just thrown a touchdown pass and yelled "Yes!" through a wide smile.

The view didn't last. She reached into the back seat and pulled out a yellow housedress, which went over her head and down her body as fast as the T-shirt had come off. She shoved the sliding door shut and hopped into the front seat, started the van and took off up the dirt road toward the main gate leaving a cloud of dust.

"I just GOTTA see," Wally said out loud as he started toward the dumpster. Really, it wasn't his business, but he really had to satisfy his curiosity.

The last two bags she had tossed were in easy reach on top of the other garbage. Wally ripped one open. The bag was full of men's clothes; Shirts, T-shirts, jockey shorts, socks. He ripped the other bag; tailor-made silk suits, men's sport jackets and golf shirts.

The third bag had more men's clothes, all good stuff, nothing worn out or hand me downs like the woman had been wearing. The fourth had more of the same, new men's clothing from top of the line designer shops. The guy that wore this shit must have spent some mega bucks.

Wally reached for the fifth bag and tore it. Men's shoes. Italian men's shoes, loafers and patent leather, black and brown and not a scuff or worn heel in the lot.

Wally was going to wonder about this for a long, long time.