The Ice Cream Man

I don’t know what it is about ice cream, but it makes a lot of women horny.

Over the years, I’ve developed a few theories about why that is so. Maybe it’s simply because all that sugar kicks off a rush of other hormones inside the female body.

Or perhaps it’s the way ice cream is consumed that triggers such an intimate response. After all, it’s the one food where you lick it, and the more slowly you lick it, the more you savor all those wonderful flavors on your tongue.

Either way, the entirety of my operation is designed to trigger an immediate response in my customers. As soon as people hear that music playing, they come running, eager to get some of my sweet treats. And me? Well, I’m more than happy to oblige.

It’s usually the littlest kids who come flocking to my ice cream truck first, chubby little fingers clutching onto a wad of sweaty coins and folded-up bills. If there’s a father around, he’ll usually be right there with his youngins, giving them an education on the best items to order and how to eat their ice cream properly. But that’s a pretty rare occurrence, especially these days.

Far more common are the mothers. They wait until their rugrats have raced off with their ice cream and then come sauntering up to my truck as if they only casually noticed that I just arrived in their neighborhood.

Some go through a whole internal guilt complex thing where they need to come up with some elaborate story about someone inside the house that they’re buying the ice cream for even though it’s obvious that it’s for them.

But single moms - and the moms looking for a little something special that’s not on the menu - get right to the point. They’ll order their ice cream and then stand there, making a big show of licking it to see if I’m paying attention. And if I am, then comes the inevitable question of how often I plan on being in the neighborhood.

They’re checking to see when I can make a booty call, of course, but the name of the game when it comes to forbidden desserts is to always speak in double entendres.

They’ll inquire whether my cones have “gone soft” or are firm enough “to last” until the very last lick. Most of all, they want to know if I make “special home deliveries” or if I just give away my goodies to everyone.

It’s not right for every woman, but for some, an ice cream man like me is the perfect opportunity to get some loving on the side. After all, I show up out of nowhere, fill their mouths with a delicious reward, and then disappear without making a fuss.

Where else can they find a guy like me? Everyone else either wants too much or can’t give enough. It’s only the ice cream man who shows up right at your doorstep with exactly what you’ve been craving.

But it’s not just the yummy mommies who come calling for what I’ve got to offer. Every once in a while there’ll be a young woman who has reached that magical point in her life where she is eager to discover what she can get in exchange for her blossoming beauty.

Now, before I continue on with my tale, I want to make something abundantly clear. I ain’t no kiddy diddler.

The ice cream man pulling up in your neighborhood is one of the unforgettable joys of childhood. It’s one of the last, clean, innocent things that kids get to enjoy before they grow up and start worrying about additives and calories and all that other stuff, and seeing those big smiles on their faces warms my heart.

So yeah, when some 8-year-old kid comes running up to my truck, the only thing on my mind is seeing their eyes light up with delight. But that being said, there comes a point where kids cross into young adults, and when you see a girl who’s 14 going on 20, we’re no longer talking about someone dreaming about Disney princesses and rainbow unicorns.

At some point, every girl becomes a woman, and where that line gets crossed depends on the individual. I’ve known 25-year-old women who had squeaky high-pitched voices and the mentality of a seventh-grader and 16-year-olds who had the bearing and poise to get served a beer in a bar without being carded. Some flowers blossom earlier than others is what I guess I'm trying to say.

And that summer I met my assistant Candy, I damn sure wasn’t about to ask her for her birth certificate. She knew she was a woman, and I did, too. And that’s all I’m going to say on that particular subject right there.

The first time I saw her, she had on a crop top and a pair of short shorts that were doing wonders in showing off her firm, long legs. After the little ones had run off with their SpongeBobs and Chipwiches, she came sauntering up to the window, sunglasses poised on the top of her head.

“Hey there,” I said, giving her the same big smile I give all my customers.

“Hmm,” she said, her eyes scanning the menu as I helped myself to a nice look at all that cleavage on display. “I think I’ll have a Creamsicle.”

“Great choice,” I said, as I always do. It might sound silly, but people love it when you reinforce their decisions, especially if it’s a special treat like ice cream.

She set the money on the counter as I got a Creamsicle out of the side freezer, but I didn’t hand it over to her right away. Instead, I held it just above her outstretched hand.

“What’s your name?” I said, looking her squarely in the eye.

Another thing that customers love is when you call them by their names.

“Candace,” she said, the corner of her lips turning up in a smile, an immediate green flag. “But all of my friends call me Candy because I’m so sweet.”

“Well, maybe you and I can be friends one day,” I said, giving her a big wink as I handed over the Creamsicle. “I’m always looking for a sweet companion.”

“Hmm, maybe,” said Candy, unable to resist a grin.

“Careful now,” I said. “That Creamsicle has a very intense flavor.”

“Oh, I think I can handle it,” said Candy, looking me straight in the eye.

“Well, a lot of girls say that,” I said. “I’ll be back here next Tuesday at this time. We'll see then.”

Candy kind of shook her head at that point before turning and walking off, giving me a lovely view of her shapely posterior. She was definitely a cutie, and I love flirting with my female customers, but I didn’t have any expectations at that point. One of the many benefits of having an ice cream truck is that they come to you - you don’t need to go chasing after them.

My interest levels shot up a couple of notches the following week when I pulled up in her neighborhood and Candy was out on the front lawn of what I assumed was her house. She was wearing a bikini and ostensibly running through the sprinkler along with a couple of girlfriends also in swimsuits.

After the little kids came and got their ice cream, Candy waltzed over to my truck, her two friends in tow. There was no doubt at that point that Candy was a knockout, with a flat stomach and boobs that were swaying and jiggling around in a most enticing way.

Her poor friends, however, just couldn’t compete in the looks department, and a part of me wondered whether she’d specifically asked them to join her that day in order to make her look even more spectacularly attractive by way of comparison.

Honestly? Even if her friends had popped off their tops, I doubt I would’ve spared them so much as a glance because Candy was looking so fine.

She knew it, too. There was a mischievous grin on her face as she waited for her two friends to order before stepping up to my window.

“Well, hello there, Candy,” I said, giving her my flashiest smile. “Ready for another Creamsicle?”

“Nah,” said Candy, licking her lips as she looked up at me. “I want something more intense. Something that’ll really satisfy me.”

“I’ve got just what you’re looking for,” I said, my pulse starting to race as I realized that the game was well and truly afoot.

“Are you sure?” said Candy, arching her back to make those titties of hers look even more appealing. “Because I want the biggest, longest ice cream you can give me.”

“Hmm,” I said, grinning to myself. “Let’s see what you think about this.”

I then did my usual big flourish of taking a cone off the stack and flipping it right-side up, Candy’s eyes tracking my every move. I then switched on the soft-serve machine, letting it swirl nice and slow into the cone until it reached the top.

The next part took quite a while to learn how to do, but I continued to let the ice cream flow as it got taller and taller, and then I shut off the machine at exactly the right moment so that there was that all-important pointy bit sticking up from the top.

“Think you can handle all this?” I said as I carefully handed it to her through the window.

“Watch and see,” said Candy, sticking out her tongue and then sensuously licking off that upturned bit without sending the rest of the ice cream toppling over and onto the ground.

My cock stirred into action as I stood there and watched her studiously use her tongue to lavish slow, firm strokes all around the base of the ice cream, pausing to lick her lips after every bite.

Her two friends were chattering away about some kind of nonsense, but I completely tuned them out, my focus entirely on watching Candy give that ice cream professional-level attention with her tongue.

When the ice cream was level with the top of the cone, Candy used one finger to push the cone into her mouth. She then tilted her head back and began sucking the ice cream from the cone completely hands-free.

Finally, when she’d drained every last drop, she reached up and took the cone out of her mouth and then extended her tongue, making a big show out of scooping out any remaining bits.

My throat had gone dry by the time she grinned and turned the cone around to show me that it was completely bare inside and that she’d gotten all the ice cream out without so much as cracking the cone.

I was truly impressed, but little did I know that was just the beginning.