I was like a kid waiting for the ice cream man's arrival every Saturday, and I meant that very literally. The neighborhood's very friendly ice cream seller would pass by six times a week, Monday to Saturday, and my house at the far and somewhat secluded end of the street would always be the last one he goes to on Saturdays. Getting off his truck, we would always be shirtless, exposing his sculpted torso that would melt any frozen delight. He'd also strike a bodybuilder pose, pausing in place until I nod to signal him to come inside for my weekly dose of fuck. It's not like he has much of a choice about this odd routine. It's what I had programmed him to do after I did a little bit of hacking.
It was completely by accident when I discovered what the beautiful ice cream man really was. He was at the end of his round that weekend, parked near my house. Even before then, I would wait for this wonderful sight and have studied his patterns. Which is why I found it odd that he'd be parked for hours on the same spot, without even getting out.
Like a curious cat, I went out and walked to his truck and saw him rocking back and forth on the driver's seat. I was almost ready to call emergency services when I realized he was mumbling error messages like a robot. That's when I saw a disconnected cable that went from his back to the USB port of the vehicle, or at least that's where it was supposed to be. Given my fetish and my job as a robotics engineer, it didn't take much for me to put two and two together. Nor did it take long for me to get into the robot's programs and add my own. Whoever owns the machine most likely already knows the sex functions I added but probably didn't mind. After all, I fixed his or her buggy programs to make sure the ice cream android doesn't get compromised that trivial way again.
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