Ode to Liv, Part Deux: Helena Antonaccio’s Ice Cream

A voluptuary fantasy of Florentine pink...

A voluptuary fantasy of Florentine pink...

In Minneapolis, I eat raspberry sorbet at Sebastian Joe’s and opt for Berthillon when in Paris. But a more powerful glace of the mind lingers in my memories, pink, alluring and poised to melt: The ice cream cone in the hand of June 1969 Playmate of the Month Helena Antonaccio (click here to view). Note, dear reader, that her centerfold predates the tufted full exposure of Liv Lindeland in 1971, and lingers in the cross-legged adolescent world of peek-a-boo; yet there is something about her that warms the cockles of my heart (and other regions): the innocent/dirty frozen dessert in her right hand, the teasing extended tongue, the sweet baby flesh and delightfully healthy aureoles. They invite culinary fantasies as well.

I remember reading that issue as a teenager with my friend Alyssa, fresh from her father’s stash bought at auction, camping in their backyard, seated on an inflatable mattress the unmistakable texture of soft tissue. You were with me in spirit, Helena, innocent and fleshy, bearing me aloft into the night, licking raspberry sorbet in a voluptuary dream.



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