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Disclaimer: I don't own 'em... never did... never will... will never earn a penny... no infringement intended... please don't sue me... life is complicated enough these days.

This is a companion piece to A Few Words About Ice Creammissy elliott msn avs

Dropping By For Dessert
by Ginger

Did you ever wake up one morning and just say 'fuck it?'

I'm sure you've heard this before but I mean it literally when I say:

I have the job from hell.

It's true. The home office is in hell, but I happen to work at the Delaware branch. And, while it's one thing to be miserable, day in and day out, it is quite another to be miserable AND BORED, which is exactly what I was. Nothing was happening at work; nothing had happened for weeks. It was beyond intolerable.

So, one morning a while back, I awoke with the following thoughts in my head:

There is no way in HELL that I am going THERE today.

SOMETHING has GOT to happen today.

The trip was easy and uneventful and I arrived even earlier than anticipated. It was only once inside the dreary (but, thankfully, clean) motel room - you know the type, just like the thousands of others that line the nation's highways and byways - that I stopped to contemplate where I was, or what I planned to do there. I plopped myself down at the foot of the bed and looked around the room. I briefly toyed with the idea of searching the place but figured there was no point. He was far too clever to leave anything important lying around. Besides, I wasn't there in search of anything, in particular. Fair enough, I thought, but that led me to a very important question:

What AM I doing here?

I glanced over at the dresser, on which there stood one item, sole evidence that anyone currently occupied the room.

It was Mr. Potato Head wearing a cowboy hat.

I tried to be annoyed but it was no use; I smiled instead. Now I am about to confess something that I would never share with a shrink, for fear of what his or her analysis might be. But, between you and me, that was the moment at which I decided upon a course of action. And it did not come as some profound revelation, or with a sudden seismic shift of values, priorities or loyalties. I just thought to myself, I'm here so what the hell?

He made me wait.

So long, in fact, that I had actually drifted off when I was roused by the sound of a key in the door. I prayed that I had remembered to lock it behind me. I had. The moment the door opened, I sensed his hesitation. You could practically smell the adrenaline. I sat up and spoke softly, hoping to quell his anxiety.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever show up."

He flicked on the light. The look on his face alone was worth the trip. He set something down and, to my delight, kicked the door shut behind him. He asked me what I was doing there and I gave him some cute remark about neglecting me. His reply was adorable. I wonder if he had any idea how well he was doing?

"Very clever, Miss Parker..." he observed as he looked over at the chair in the corner, "to fold and pile your clothing in that manner. The last items off," he cleared his throat, "will be the first items back on." I laughed. He had to know how well he was doing; nobody is THAT cute.

What the hell is he looking at?

The guy must have a death wish, I thought as I followed his gaze to the item he had set down on the table. I speculated on the contents of the bag. It could have been anything, the way he eats. Willing myself not to become irritated, I reasoned that it must be something perishable and, knowing the boy as I do, it came to me. I sat up straight and smiled.

An idea THAT good doesn't come along everyday.

He acknowledged his breach of etiquette with a sheepish look. Again, adorable. I answered it by motioning to the bag. He replied with a grin so... no, adorable doesn't quite do it this time... so HOT that it took all my willpower to hold my present position.

Better to make him come to me...

Which he did, although he took his time about it as he prattled on about there being only one spoon. He gently sat down on the bed, with his back to me, and opened up the container of ice cream. Always with a flair for the dramatic, he took a long, deep breath before turning around and handing it over to me.

Vanilla... oh well.

You should have seen the look in his eyes as he watched me take a spoonful and slowly, suggestively lick it clean.

"Mmmm... It's very good."

Yeah, I tossed one of his favorite lines back at him, the big goof. I followed with a pithy remark about keeping one foot on the floor. It was an allusion to popular culture so, of course, he didn't have the faintest idea what I was talking about. I could hear the little wheels turning in his head but he didn't ask. I gave a fleeting thought to the poor waitress or truckdriver or crossing guard who would later field the query. Or maybe he'd just look it up.

"Come closer... have some ice cream."

He looked like a boy with a brand new puppy (I guess that makes me the puppy) as he scrambled up on the bed to move closer to me. Then he did something odd - he went for the spoon. Man, I thought, he just isn't getting this.

Some genius.

I shook my head no then fed him the impossibly large spoonful I had intentionally scooped up. He did manage to get almost all of it into that pie hole of his.


I again found myself waving him off as he reached up to wipe his chin. I had always wondered why - looking the way he does - he hadn't managed to get more since his escape. I now found myself marveling at the fact that he'd managed to get any at all. A girl could go from puberty to menopause waiting for this guy to make a move.

Patience has never been my strong suit.

Those big brown eyes of his turned into saucers as I leaned toward him. My God, he smelled good. That much I already knew, having managed to get within sniffing distance more than once over the years. But now, I was actually in a position to really appreciate it. You know how they say that angels smell sweet, like freshly baked sugar cookies? Well this little cherub smells like... hmmm... how can I explain it? Pure... like a child who's just been bathed... like...


That sounds completely nuts, I know, but I swear it's true.

I felt compelled to announce that I was going in, just in case he wasn't clear on my intentions. I do believe he stopped breathing for a time as I made contact, capturing the fugitive drop of ice cream and retracing its path back up to his mouth. I finished with a playful flick of my tongue over his lips and thought of all the times those lips were fashioned into a smirk at my expense. I sat back and smacked my own lips in satisfaction.

He wasn't smirking now.

"And to think, I've never really been a fan of vanilla."

But then, I suppose it's all a matter of how it's served and, let me tell you, this beats the hell out of pie a la mode. I knew immediately that I wanted more.

And I knew exactly how I wanted it served.

So, the next order of business was divesting him of his shirt. I used that prehistoric line about making himself comfortable. It was lazy of me, I know, but I couldn't help feeling like I was the cheetah and he was the gazelle at the back of the herd.

You know, the one with the bum leg.

So I guess I wasn't trying all that hard. And apparently I didn't have to because he had his shirt off in no time, tossing it aside.

"Would you like some more?" I tempted.

He nodded excitedly and opened his mouth. Silly boy.


He jumped as the spoonful landed smack in the middle of that beautifully muscled chest of his and began its journey southward toward... mmmmm... Whatever else you might say about them, the people I work for did raise themselves one hell of a specimen.

"How clumsy of me."

He shot me one of his looks. I shrugged. He looked down again then back at me.

"Well?" He intoned and looked at me expectantly.

"Well, what?" I replied innocently.

"Aren't you going to get that?"

Glory hallelujah! The boy was catching on. Still, I wanted verbal confirmation.

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