Why I Don't Eat Ice Cream Anymore

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By kirashadowca

When I was little, I spent a lot of time at the park. My mom was a stay-at-home mom, so she'd take me and my friends there almost every day during the summer and if we were lucky, she'd buy us each something from the ice cream truck.

It was one of those lucky days when this story takes place. I was 6 or 7, and my mom had taken me and three girls from the neighborhood to play at the park. It was sunny and warm and pretty much one of those absolutely idyllic days you see in the movies. Everyone was in a good mood, my mom included. When we heard the ice cream truck approaching she gave us all some money to buy treats, opting to hang back and chat with a friend - after all, we weren't leaving her sight, so nothing bad could happen.

The ice cream truck wasn't the one we usually saw, but that wasn't unheard of; there were quite a few that drove around town, and they'd all compete to hit the park crowd. This one looked kind of run down, but when you're 7, it doesn't matter: ice cream is ice cream. My friends and I raced to get in line and were delighted to be the first ones there. The ice cream man seemed just as excited to see us.

"I have a special treat for you pretty girls today," he told us as we handed him our money, silencing our requests for our usual favorites. We all were skeptical, but he kept insisting that his "special treat" would be much yummier than any ice cream we'd had before, so we all shrugged and agreed. Like I said: ice cream is ice cream. The man disappeared back into the truck for a few minutes, and we could hear him giggling - now I'd find it creepy, but at the time we all thought it was funny. A few minutes later, he handed us what looked like ordinary ice cream sundaes. "I promise they're extra good, so don't waste any!" he told us with a wink.

As we started walking back to my mom, the ice cream truck left quickly. That was when I remember thinking something was off because the trucks would usually stay around much longer, getting as much business from all the kids as they could. That didn't stop me from eating the ice cream, though, but as I was eating it I noticed that something tasted… off. Soon, my friends were all complaining that our ice cream tasted funny. My mom had also noticed how quickly the truck had left, so she insisted on tasting mine, just to be safe.

I'll never forget how quickly she marched us out of the park that day, or how horrified she looked. At the time, I didn't understand why she was so upset, until years later she told me: the ice cream had tasted like semen. The ice cream truck guy had masturbated into our sundaes. (Horror story part two: realizing your mother recognizes the taste of semen.)

The police questioned my friends and I about the man in the truck, but none of us were able to give a good description. I think they must have tested the DNA in the ice cream, but I don't really remember much from the whole investigation because my mom shielded me from all of it. I do know, however, that they never caught the guy.

So, creepy ice cream dude, let's not meet again.

(A/N: Link to original story~

http://www.reddit.com/r/LetsNotMeet/comments/2tclji/why_i_dont_eat_ice_cream_anymore/)

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