Laura's Solo Honeymoon - The Ice Cream Shop Boy #1 (Erotic Romance) (2 page)

He got a devilish look in his eyes and leaned over the cooler toward me. “Open wide,” he said.

He made eye contact just as the chocolate ice cream went into my mouth.

“Mm,” I said.

He slowly withdrew the plastic spoon. “That's my favorite,” he said, no longer shy about making eye contact.

“I can see why.” I looked down at the vats of ice cream in the cooler. Funny, I didn't want any of them. I didn't want ice cream at all. I wanted Shawn. I wanted him to put his hands on me, kiss me, press his body into mine. I wanted to slip my hand down the front of his jeans and make him forget all about that nasty fight he'd had with his girlfriend.

His voice sounded deep and thick as he said, “Do you know what you want?”

I looked up at him, saw the lust in his eyes, and flat-out asked him, “What time are you off work?”

Without hesitation, he said, “Seven.”

“Then I'll come back at seven.”

“Seven-fifteen,” he said.

I nodded, then turned, and left.

I walked down the street, and when I was about a block away, I swear I finally took my first normal breath. The funny thing was, I hadn't even gotten any ice cream, except for the three tastes!

Instead of further shopping, I scurried back to the B&B, back to the privacy of my room, where I gave myself a good talking-to about what was going on.

First of all, I was not into casual sex. I'd only been with one man, Lars. Until quite recently, I'd assumed I would be with him forever, and his penis would be the only one I'd ever see, the only one I'd ever touch.

But then he'd dumped me, in front of all our friends and family. And I was free.

Now it was like … like life was an ice cream shop, with all these flavors, only the flavors were
men
, not ice cream. I didn't have to commit to one flavor for the rest of my life. With his fair skin, Shawn was vanilla. Lars was a mocha, but I could even have chocolate, if I wanted, and I was pretty sure I did. I wanted to try
all
the flavors.

Lying on the floral-print bedspread in the twee room full of antiques, in the room I was supposed to be having honeymoon sex in with my new husband, I thought about entertaining a different man.

“Shawn,” I said, enjoying the sound of his name on my lips.

Then I giggled like a teenager and buried my face in the pillow.

Next, also like a teenager, I phoned my best girlfriend Renee (my maid of honor, not my skank of a bridesmaid who was now with that scumbag Lars) and told her everything.

Renee squealed and told me, “Go for it! Eat that ice cream!”

Of course I didn't need her permission, but it was still nice to have.

I watched TV in my room and read fashion magazines to pass the time before going to meet Shawn. The room itself was adorable and very soothing, with its pale pink walls. I wished I had the courage to paint my apartment back home, brightening up the boring apartment-beige walls. I wondered if my neighbor Charles had brushes I could borrow.

I checked the time again, but it still wasn't seven.

I wasn't quite full of marshmallows and candy, so I decided to have a light dinner, quite early, in the B&B's dining room.

As I ate, alone, I started to feel strange about going to meet Shawn, this young guy I didn't know. My uneasiness only grew as I ate my dinner, by myself. I was a revolting person, unlovable, and that was why Lars had been cheating on me. Going on a date with some guy, some
boy
, way younger than me was only going to make me feel worse about myself.

I resolved myself to picking up one of the dog-eared paperbacks in the lounge and taking it up to my room as soon as I was finished eating.

Something very unlike me had taken over when I'd flirted with Shawn earlier that day. Now, I had to forget all about him and his scruffy unshaven face, and the next day I would pack my suitcase and skulk out of town, and never come back.

A man said, “May we join you?”

I looked up to see the older gay couple who owned the B&B, hovering around my table.

“Sure guys,” I said, and they joined me, each with a glass of red wine and rosy cheeks.

“We were just talking about our favorite person,” one of them said.

“And who is that?”

“Dolly Parton.”

This made me giggle, and I thought they were having me on, but they were absolutely serious. I asked them more about their love for Dolly, and they told me about their last trip to Dollywood.

After I finished my salad and chicken, I followed them up to the attic, to the topmost room of the B&B, where they kept their Dolly Parton memorabilia.

The room was a totally campy, absolutely fabulous, over-the-top shrine to the busty country singer.

“You
really
love her,” I said as I admired the treasures they'd collected over the years: dresses, jewelry from charity auctions, signed photographs, and even one of her wigs. “Why do you love her so much?”

The two fellows looked at each other, then laughed. One of them said, “She's the embodiment of love. She's a modern-day goddess, like Aphrodite, but real.”

The bearded one, Al, whacked his partner playfully on the arm. “Don't be corny. Laura here will think we're silly.”

The fellow with the smooth head and face, Bryan, said to me, “Would you like to try on Dolly's wig and her dress? It has magical properties.”

I laughed and backed away.

Al said, “It starts to work right away. The magic. Only takes a few minutes. Come on, be a sport, you're on vacation!”

Bryan said, “You can kiss your broken heart goodbye.”

They both looked at me intently.
Oh my God.
They were serious. These two Dolly-loving men wanted me to put on Dolly Parton's wig and dress, and let her goddess powers permeate me.

Al said, “We let my sister try everything on right after a really bad breakup, and she snapped out of it immediately. She's married now.” He nodded, assuring me his story was genuine. “What do we say?
Keep working on love.
They have three kids, and they still make love every day.”

Bryan rolled his eyes. “Not every day. Nobody makes love
every
day.”

“That dress doesn't look my size,” I said, eyeballing the mannequin.

“It's a stretch-knit under the sequins,” Al said. “You can just slip it on over what you're wearing. The magic starts to work in only a few minutes.”

I had slipped out of my orange dress earlier, and was wearing a plain, gray, scoop-neck T-shirt over black leggings.

Since I had no plans for the evening, not anymore, and the two men had been so kind to me, listening to my tales of woe about Lars and the bridesmaid, I had to say yes.

I put my arms over my head like a little kid, and Bryan lowered the dress onto me.

They wouldn't let me look in the mirror until after I'd donned the puffed-out platinum wig, and some jewelry as well, “to bring out the sparkle” in my eyes.

Everything had a distinctive smell to it, a perfume, and I wondered if the guys had sprayed the dress and wig, or if that was the scent of Dolly herself, of her pheromones. Her goddess powers.

The guys led me to a full-length mirror and turned me around for the grand reveal.

Dolly!

I was no longer myself, but the sexy goddess of country music herself.

In the dress, my waist looked smaller and my bust looked bigger. Even my too-wide hips looked perfection proportioned.

My hair was dark, reddish-brown, but I looked as natural a blonde as … well, as Dolly Parton!

I turned, this way and that, admiring myself, and planning to do a little wig shopping of my own one day.

“That's enough,” Bryan said, and he gently lifted the wig from my head. I mussed up my chocolate-hued hair, which looked brighter and more appealing now.

Al unclasped the necklace and lifted it from my neck. Had my collarbones always been so lovely? Had I ever actually looked at myself?

Bryan unzipped the dress, and I stepped out of it, stepping forward toward the mirror. It was as though I'd just stepped out of the darkness and into the light.

The power of Dolly was all over me, like a warm hug from a goddess.

“Thank you,” I said, beaming, and the guys grabbed me for a big group hug.

I ran up to my room and put on the green dress, the other one Shawn had found “memorable.”

Al and Bryan had sent me up to my room with fresh-baked scones as dessert, but I hadn't touched them, because I wanted to save room. I thought Shawn might be hungry and want to get some dinner. Men his age were always hungry, and they were
always
ready to go.

As I got ready for the date, I kept thinking about sex. Earlier that day, I'd entertained the possibility of kissing him, maybe a little necking, but my fantasies had seriously escalated.

I could sleep with him! Sure, it was a little fast, but I was on vacation, and I wasn't committed to anyone else.

Thinking about getting him undressed and touching him all over made me smile. Maybe it was the Dolly Parton Goddess Experience, but even my dirty thoughts were giving me tingling feelings. I didn't know I could feel so much excitement in my private area
just from my own mind
.

I pictured Shawn in his blue jeans, then I imagined squeezing his firm butt, pulling him into me, and that rising action happening inside his pants. This line of thought made me light-headed, but in a pleasant way.

When I freshened my makeup, I didn't need any blush at all, because my cheeks were already pink. I applied some mascara, nervously glancing at the pink clock in my room. The B&B wasn't far from the ice cream shop, but it was nearly seven by the time I'd finished my hair. I'd used a ton of hair spray to tease it out and puff it up, in honor of Dolly.

Worried I might miss him if I delayed any more, I tore myself away from the mirror, checked the room to make sure it was clean and presentable to guests (just in case!), and ran out of the place as fast as my feet could take me.

When I got to the ice cream shop, the door was locked and the Closed sign was already up.

I nearly turned around, but I got a whiff of the Dolly perfume on my skin, and I found the courage to tap on the glass.

Shawn looked up from the counter he was cleaning, and gave me a huge smile. I saw something else on his face as well. Relief. He'd been worried I wouldn't come.
What a sweetheart.

He unlocked the door, let me in, and locked it again behind me. “I just have to close down the till,” he said.

“And then what?”

His cheeks went pink under his light beard. “I don't know. Maybe a walk?”

He moved back over to the prep space behind the counter and beckoned me to join him. As I stepped off the carpet and onto the tile of the staff area, I got a thrill from doing something I knew I wasn't supposed to do.

The area between my legs began to tingle again, just like it had when I'd been having dirty thoughts in my room, calling attention to itself. The sensation was so distracting. I wasn't used to feeling that way, down there, except for when Lars and I were fooling around, and the truth was, it had been a few years since I'd felt the tingles.

Shawn pushed some buttons on the cash register and said, “Help yourself to some ice cream, or anything you see.”

I stared at his lovely butt in his tight-fitting blue jeans. “I'll wait,” I said.

He turned, caught me staring at his butt, and laughed.

“Come sit on this old thing,” he said, patting a white cooler next to him.

I hopped up and looked around. There were a few paperback books on the cooler, including
Catcher in the Rye and a slim one called Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

Shawn started counting the quarters in the cash register drawer, and I let the toe of my left shoe slide up the back of his leg.

He turned and gave me a you're-so-naughty look.

I did it again, and he dropped the coins into the drawer and said, “There's no way I can count with you watching me.” He turned and stepped close me, then used his hands to part my knees so he could stand even closer.

I petted him on his tousled brown hair and said, “Is your hair always this long? Or are you protesting against haircuts?”