“Fuck me", Bat gasped, "It’s like an angel shat ice cream coffee rainbows in my mouth.”

“Cold?” Christian asks softly and bends to lick and suckle all the ice cream off me once more, his mouth hot compared to the cool of the ice. Oh my. It’s torture. As it starts to melt, the ice cream runs off me in rivulets on to the bed. His lips continue their slow torture, sucking hard, nuzzling, softly—Oh please!—I’m panting. “Want some?” And before I can confirm or deny his offer, his tongue is in my mouth, and it’s cold and skilled and tastes of Christian and vanilla. Delicious.”

“Derek’s like, “So . . . what do you want to do first?”“I don’t know.”“Feel like ice cream?”“It’s, like, three degrees out.”“That’s why getting ice cream would be badass.”

“We were like the Beatles, Dad.''I know you think that, sweetie''Seriously. Mom is John, you're Paul, I'm George, and Ice Cream is Ringo.''Ice Cream,' I said. 'Resentful of the past, fearful of the future...everytime we saw Ice Cream sitting there with her mouth open, we'd say, Poor Ice Cream, resentful of the past, fearful of the future.”

“My favorite salad dressing is vodka. And my favorite ice cream flavor is coffee, though I prefer it melted and hot enough to burn flesh.”

“I like ice cream with my cake. But in moderation, and not like five gallons with a cupcake. For that much ice cream, I’d need at least two cupcakes.”