I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream

Women replaces her love for men with ice cream.

*

Lydia loved ice cream, her fourth favorite love. Brad Pitt, her cat, was her second favorite love. George Clooney, her vibrator, was her third favorite love, and lately her first favorite love. Men, in general, of course, was her first and very favorite love. Only, she didn't have a man in her life, not anymore. Now, she was alone and lonely.

Robert, her man, left her for another woman, nearly a year ago. She never saw it coming. She thought everything was fine. Then, when her birthday came and went, and he didn't send her a card, didn't even call her to acknowledge her birthday, she knew something was wrong.

She tried calling his cell phone, but it was disconnected. Then, she drove over to his apartment and he was gone. Gone, gone, gone baby gone, he was gone and gone for good. Yet, where did he go and why did he leave her without so much as a good-bye? After all she did for him, how could he mistreat her like that?

There was always cold beer in the fridge. She cooked for him, cleaned his apartment, and even did his laundry at her place. She had the sports channel on her big screen, plasma TV and no rules about his feet not allowed on the couch. She never nagged him about getting a job. She even gave him money and allow him to drive her new car. She was good in bed, a real vixen. She gave great blowjobs. She even swallowed. What more could a man want? Not her, that's for sure.

She thought they had something real and everlasting. She imagined him asking her to marry him one day. She even saw the children, a girl named Angelina or Jennifer and a boy named Brad or George.

How could he do that to her? How could he just pack up and leave without even saying good-bye to her? Why would he do that? She's such a fool. She's such a sucker. No doubt blinded by his good looks and his carefree manner, Robert used her and she let him.

She discovered later that he went back to his wife and they moved to another city to start their life over again. She'd never do that again, hookup with a married man, one who said he was separated and he was but not for good, apparently. Now, alone with her bad self, all she had left was Brad Pitt, George Clooney, and Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Even though she had four men in her life, none of them were real and not one of them, except for George Clooney, could give her what she wanted and so needed, an orgasm, although Ben & Jerry's came close with some of their flavors.

She was depressed. The more depressed she became, the more soothing ice cream she wanted, and the more delicious the ice cream she ate tasted. After a while, her clothes started getting a little tight and, at first, she figured the dryer was shrinking them, before she realized the ice cream was expanding her. Then, when the nurse weighed her at the doctor's office is when she received her first reality check.

She had gained an enormous amount of weight. Officially, she was the heaviest she had ever been. Over what, a broken heart and over him? He wasn't worth the unhappiness and the weight gain of her.

She needed a man to replace her love of ice cream but what man would want to be with her now? She was fat, fat, fat, so fucking fat. She stood in front of the mirror naked and took a good, long, hard look at her at herself. Turning side to side, looking to see her cottage cheese thighs and her double wide ass in the mirror, she now had to lift and suck in her stomach to see her feet. No doubt about it; she was fat alright.

She started crying and the only thing that made her feel any better was to sit in front of the television with Ben & Jerry and Brad Pitt, while watching soap operas and living her life vicariously through the actresses on television or taking George Clooney to bed. All through the winter and all through the spring, day after day, she ate her ice cream, while watching her soaps, and replacing the batteries in George Clooney. To add insult to injury, she heard a news report about Ben & Jerry's ice not using natural ingredients.

"No! Say it's not true? How could they?"

Stated right there on their carton that it was all natural, what she thought was all natural wasn't. If her beloved Ben & Jerry lied to her about their ice cream being natural, what man could she ever believe? Then, when George Clooney stopped working, even after replacing the batteries, what man could she ever trust to sexually satisfy her? She hated men, all men, imagined or real.

Now at her lowest point, borderline suicidal, as if an angel was playing her song on a magic harp of gold, she heard it. As if fate had shaken her by her blubber, it was a turning point in her life. At first she thought she was hearing things. It was off in the distance, but as it neared, she recognized the familiar song. It was the ice cream truck. A bit early in the season for the ice cream truck to be around, she went to the window, brushed away the cobwebs, and there it was parked at the corner with a flock of kids standing around it.

So very depressed, the winter had morphed into the spring and it was now summer. Where did the months go? Confined in her house, as if it was her prison, rather than to go out, she even ordered her groceries online and had them delivered.

After having been so sadly depressed with the loss of her boyfriend, her love, and her lover, she lost track of time. It was summer already and she didn't even realize it. She's never had a summer without any summer loving and now here she was alone and lonely.

Pushing her dark clouds aside, she looked for a silver lining. She thought long and she thought hard. Maybe she could do something more construction with her love of ice cream than just eating it. Maybe she, too, could buy her own ice cream truck and sell what she so loved to eat. Maybe, while selling ice cream, she'd meet a nice man, someone who shared her love for ice cream and who wouldn't care that she was fat, so long as he could have all the free ice cream that he could eat, until he was just as big as she was.

Only, she hated the ice cream they sold on the ice cream truck. None of it was any good. Except for those plastic tasting Nutty Buddies, they didn't even have ice cream cones. The popsicles had freezer burn and the chocolate covered ice creams had melted and refrozen. They only had the soft serve that poured out so much like diarrhea from the machine that was laden with cockroach eggs from their ice cream truck sitting unattended in a garage, until they operated it the following day.

"Eww."

None of it tasted the way that ice cream should taste. If she wouldn't buy any of it, why would she sell any of it? It was all just sugary junk for the non-discriminating palette of kids.

Always, the servings were too small for the money paid and always it was just the same not so good tasting stuff. After even Ben & Jerry lied to her about their all natural ingredients, maybe she could make her own all natural ice cream and sell it. That was when she realized the need that she could fill, an adult ice cream truck. There really wasn't an adult ice cream truck, one that more fit the palette of those discriminating adults who appreciated a high quality frozen dessert. That was when she caught the entrepreneurial bug and decided to make her own homemade and handmade ice cream with all natural ingredients.

Seriously, how hard can it be? It's just frozen milk with sugar and flavoring added. She'd buy a big machine to make it and a truck to sell it. She'd make it fresh. She'd make it all natural. She'd have several unique flavors, dark imported Swiss chocolate, real vanilla bean ice cream with or without chocolate chips, strawberry ice cream with fresh strawberries and not freeze dried strawberries, real pistachio nut ice cream with pistachios imported from the middle east, and dark Arabian coffee ice cream made from freshly crushed coffee beans. As oxymoronic as it sounded, no ice milk for her ice cream truck. Testing the market, she'd make those, before branching out to other confections.

She spent the year learning how to make ice cream, practicing on her neighbors and friends, and experimenting with flavors, before perfecting what she needed to sell to succeed. After quitting her work at home consulting job and spending a good portion of her savings on ingredients and ice cream making supplies, buying a truck, even a used truck was too expensive of a purchase and was just not in her budget. Instead she bought a motorized bike that she pedaled to push an ice cream wagon that was covered with a big umbrella and that was decorated with Lydia's Homemade Handmade Adult Ice Cream. The umbrella would protect her should it rain, so long as there wasn't hurricane winds, but she could always close her umbrella on windy days.

Because the bicycle, a tricycle, actually, with two, big, hard rubber tires in back, had a battery charging it, motorizing it, and propelling it. Fortunately, the chore of pedaling an ice cream cart around wasn't as much work as trying to push a heavy ice cream cart by pedaling it with a regular bicycle. Still good exercise, she'd never make it up some of the steeper hills without charge of a battery motor.

Nonetheless, pedaling the bike ten hours a day, seven days a week proved to be just the exercise she needed to not only lose the weight she had gained but also to tone her obese body. Moreover, because she made all that ice cream and sold all that ice cream, she soon lost her appetite for eating ice cream. From making her ice cream with all natural ingredients, her love for ice cream was now replaced by fresh fruits and raw vegetables.

Because she always hated the annoying music on ice cream trucks, she bought a bicycle bell and amplified the sound by playing it through a speaker. It wasn't loud enough to be annoying, but it was loud enough that a car could hear her and customers knew she was coming or was in the vicinity.

Hoping to dissuade the children from swamping her, she advertised her ice cream as adult confections and charged adult prices. Six dollars for an ice cream cone was more than most children could afford and even a price that was a bit high for adults. Yet, once they tasted her ice cream, once they saw the generous portions they were given, they were hooked and she soon had regular customers.

Then she saw him, Robert, her old boyfriend, the bastard who left her to return to his wife. How dare he approach her? She was angered by the sight of him.

"Lydia, hi. I didn't even recognize you. You look wonderful. You've lost so much weight," he said staring at her in the way she used to hunger over Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia ice cream in the freezer section of the grocery store. "Do you think that you and I could--"

How did he know she had even gained weight to lose? He left her before she put on all that weight. He must have been watching her from afar and keeping tabs on her. Maybe he had talked with some of her friends. He's such a dirty bastard.

"Could what?" If he had been holding one of her ice cream cones perched high with ice cream, her stare surely would have melted the ice cream all over his hand, in the way that he coated her hand with cum from the many hand jobs she gave him. All the times she sucked his cock, not once did he ever reciprocate with eating her pussy. "Get back together, so that you can leave me for your wife, again, or for someone else?"

"Lydia, I--"

"The only thing I'll do for you, Robert, is to sell you some ice cream. What flavor would you like? No, matter of fact, I don't want your money. For you, all my flavors of ice cream are free," she said opening up the vanilla ice cream tub, reaching in her oversized scoop, and pulling out a generous portion, while he waited and watched her.

With the skilled hand of someone who has scooped out hundreds of gallons of ice cream and with the steady coordination of someone who has filled thousands of ice cream cones, she let her vanilla ice cream fly.

"Plop."

Right between the eyes, the ice cream hit him square in the face. Before he could react in time to wipe the frozen dessert from his eyes, she had readied the pistachio nut.

"Plop."

The pistachio hit him hard in the forehead and the ice cream dripped down and melted in his eyes, again. Then, as if hitting him with a punch, the strawberry whacked him hard in the nose.

"Plop."

Blinded by a face full of ice cream, she saved the Swiss chocolate ice cream to cover the crotch area of his snow white, summer pants and the Arabian coffee for his backside for when he retreated and turned to leave.

That's when she became better acquainted with Jim. Jim had become a regular customer and it wasn't long before they started making small talk, along with eye contact, and flirting, while exchanging sexual innuendoes. With his love of ice cream, he was just as big as she was in shape and in size, that is, before she had lost all her gained weight. Ready to step in, should she need his assistance, Jim had been watching the whole thing unfold.

"Another satisfied customer, I see," he said with a chuckle, while waddling up to her ice cream cart and watching Robert leave, just as Lydia launched the Arabian coffee and hit Robert square in the ass.

"Sorry that you had to witness that, Jim. He was my old boyfriend, who dumped me for his wife," she said forcing herself to smile for the sake of customer service. "What can I get for you today?"

"Strawberry, of course, my favorite, only I'd like in a cone, if you don't mind," he said covering his face with one hand and his crotch with the other.

The sight of Jim standing there like that protecting himself made them both laugh and cemented their friendship. She discovered later that he was an unemployed Account Manager, when the company he worked for took their accounts across the border to do business in Mexico. Doing better than she thought she would selling her homemade and handmade, premium, adult, all natural ice cream, she hired Jim to operate a second ice cream cart. Readily, he agreed to work for her. How better to share his love of ice cream, while paying his rent?

Only, a funny thing happened to Jim, as it did to Lydia. Just as he started pedaling his bike and pushing his heavy ice cream cart uphill, his love for ice cream dwindled with his lost weight. Instead, he developed a need for exercise, eating right, and staying fit. Within a short while, Jim was looking hot and so wasn't she.

Of course, it was a natural progression that Lydia and Jim, after setting aside their love of ice cream, would concentrate more on their need for sex. It was Jim, who, after a long, hot day of selling ice cream, pedaled his cart over to Lydia's place. She was in the shower and Jim could hear the water running from outside her apartment door. He reached for the key, hidden over the door molding and let himself inside.

Not yet romantically involved, they had become good friends, as well as co-workers and it was no big deal for Jim to let himself inside her place, generally to drop off the money earned from the day selling ice cream. Not wanting to startle her, he called out to her.

"Lydia? It's just me," he yelled from her living room.

"Hi Jim. I'll be right out," she said from behind the closed door of the bathroom.

Something magical happened when Lydia emerged from the shower wrapped only in a towel. With her hair tucked in a towel, too, when she released her wet hair from the second towel that was arranged on her head and flipped back her hair, in a cascade of water droplets, Jim looked at her, as he looked at Jennifer Beals so many times, when she played Alex Owens in his favorite movie Flashdance.

Just as it excited him to watch Sally, played by Susan Sarandon in Atlantic City, the clip where Lou, played by Burt Lancaster, watched her, from his apartment window, wash her breasts with fresh lemons to remove the smell of fish from working all day at the fish market, he imagined Lydia lathered up in strawberry ice cream, his favorite flavor. He imagined licking the ice cream from her naked body. He imagined her tasting so sweetly delicious that he couldn't help but eat her.

"Jim, where are you going?" She watched him get up from her couch and walk to her front door to leave.

"I'll be right back," he said turning to look at her, while imagining her naked body covered in strawberry ice cream.

"I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream," he sang as he left her apartment to immediately return, still singing, his favorite song. "I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream."

Only, this time, when he returned, instead of carrying the cash receipts for the day to give her, he was carrying a bucket of strawberry ice cream taken from his ice cream wagon to paint her. Lydia was already in her bedroom getting dressed.

Purposefully and without hesitation, he walked down the hall and opened her bedroom door. With her head down and her hair hanging in her face, Lydia didn't see him open her door. She didn't hear him come into her room either, over the sound of her hair dryer. With her breasts hanging down perpendicular to her body, he stood in the doorway watching her blow drying her hair.

She had a great body, with big tits, a flat toned stomach, shapely legs, and a round, firm ass. His dream woman, she was perfect, she was beautiful. When she did finally realize that she wasn't alone, as if a deer caught in headlights, looking as if she was wondering if what she was seeing was real or imagined, she stood looking at him through her mirror, before turning to face him. She was naked and, a man not to be denied, he was excited.

He looked at her in the way that he looked at a six topping banana split, with a hungry lust. Imagining her lathered in strawberry ice cream, he wanted to eat her. He wanted to lick every hole and crevice where there was melted ice cream from her curvaceous and voluptuous body. He wanted to savor every mouthful of her. He wanted to suck her ice cream caked tits and lick every drop from her nipples. He wanted to finger her melted ice cream dripping pussy, before going down on her to eat her strawberry layered muffin.

"Jim! Get out! I'm naked," she said grabbing at the towel to cover herself, but dropping it in her nervousness, before grabbing it up again and clutching it to cover her naked body.

This was his chance to heat up his soon to be frozen naked dessert. He stepped into her room, closed the bedroom door, walked up to her, and ripped the towel from her body. With an arm wrapped around her waist, he pulled her close. Holding her with one hand, while still holding the bucket of strawberry ice cream in his other hand, he kissed her full on the lips. When he offered her his tongue, instead of pushing him away, instead of slapping his face, and instead of kneeing him in the balls, she accepted it.

With a gentle hand, he pushed her back on the bed and reached his hand in the bucket of ice cream. As soon as he touched her skin with the cold strawberry ice cream, it melted enough for him to cover her naked body from neck to toe. As if creating a piece of strawberry art, she had enough ice cream on her naked body to make her the most delicious dessert he ever had.

Slowly, methodically, hungrily, he licked her where no ice cream man should ever lick his boss. With each lap of his tongue, he received enough ice cream and enough of her to satisfy not only his sweet tooth but also his sexual desire for her. He grabbed a handful of her homemade ice cream and filled her mouth with it.

"I've been lusting over you for weeks, Lydia. I've had nightly dreams of covering your naked body with strawberry ice cream and licking you clean."

"Oh, yeah? Well two can play that game, Jim," she said getting up and disappearing in the kitchen and returning with a pint of Arabian coffee. "Take off your clothes."