Chocolate Sauce & Chaos: My Erotic Ice Cream Fantasy

(And Why I’d 100% Do It Again)

Photographer: JC Stark

Let me tell you what I did the other day: I got covered—head to toe—in ice cream, chocolate sauce, and whipped cream. 🍦🍫

And not a tasteful drizzle either. I’m talking child-on-a-sugar-bender meets Rule 34 of the internet levels of messy. It was cold. It was sticky. It was absurd. And it was glorious.

I’d gone to visit one of my favorite photographer friends—the kind of creative collaborator who understands that what we’re doing isn’t about “modeling,” it’s about playing.

I told him I wanted to do something ridiculous. Something I’d always been curious about, but never fully explored.

“I want to be a sundae,” I said. “Make me dessert.”

And he did.

And I have never been so simultaneously turned on and reminded of Augustus Gloop in my life.

Let’s be real—when I look at the photos, they don’t exactly scream sex kitten.

They look more like a grown toddler who just backstroked through a chocolate river.

But there’s something about the sheer joy on my face—that is what gets me.

It wasn’t about looking sexy.

It was about feeling free. Feeling delighted. Feeling alive.

And strangely enough, the sensations were erotic in ways I didn’t expect.The coldness of the ice cream against my skin made me gasp—sharp and immediate, like a jolt of electricity. But it wasn’t just the shock of temperature. It was the drip. The way it moved.

Thick ribbons of chocolate and cream began to trace their way down the contours of my body—over the slope of my breasts, along the arc of my belly, slipping slowly into the warmest parts of me. It pooled in creases. Slid into crevices. Teased places rarely touched by anything but breath or fingers.

And when it dripped lower… between my thighs, down into the soft, secret places of heat and hunger—I moaned. Not performatively. Not for the camera.

It was a visceral, involuntary sound—part pleasure, part disbelief at how turned on I was by this ridiculous, sticky, delicious chaos.

It reminded me of the other kinds of sensation play I’ve come to love—hot wax. Electroplay. Long cold plunges at the gym where I hover in a 52° bath for 40 minutes and leave feeling high on my own nervous system. There’s something about temperature extremes that bypasses the mind and drops me directly into sensation. Into surrender. Into pleasure.

Food play, it turns out, is no exception.

And this is what I love about exploring kink:

It gives me permission to chase curiosity instead of outcome.

It invites me to explore sensation—not just touch, but texture, temperature, absurdity.

And it reminds me that someone, somewhere, is absolutely into whatever weird, wild thing I just tried.

Seriously. Rule 34. If it exists, someone finds it hot.

And honestly? I love that.

There is something out there for everyone.

And I find that incredibly liberating.

So no—these pictures won’t be appearing in a lingerie catalog anytime soon. But when I look at them, I see joy. I see my inner child covered in chocolate. I see my grown-ass self giving her full permission to play.

And I already can’t wait to do it again.

The photographer reflects on the struggles of his job as he covers me in cold ice cream