#1972 Elvis
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
ellie-24 ¡ 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Underrated interview imo
203 notes ¡ View notes
hooked-on-elvis ¡ 10 months ago
Text
[Trigger Warning] ELVIS MEETING HIS FANS, WITH A GUN BEHIND HIS BACK: TRUE OR FALSE? (July, 1972)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
July, 1972 on Elvis' Beverly Hills home, 1174 Hillcrest Drive.
Tumblr media
INTRODUCTION: Some things need to be clear beforehand. Elvis was threatened quite a few times over the years, specially since he began performing live on stage again, in 1969. Death threats were sent his way occasionally. Whether the threats were intentional or just a way of messing up with a famous person, some of those sounded pretty serious, thus not only Presley's personal security men or the local police department, even the FBI worked in investigating some of those incidents. Things got to a point when there were moments the threats warned about bombs being placed at his concert sites at the same day a show about to take place. Nothing came out of any of those threats, fortunately but, once those things happened, naturally Elvis was concerned for his life, therefore he was absolutely entitled to carry a gun, out of precaution, safety, "just in case" situation. It's fair to mention the Manson murders had only taken place a few years earlier (August, 1969) and, as we all know, actress Sharon Tate and her friends were murdered inside her home, tragically, which happened to be at Elvis' Beverly Hills neighborhood, so, yes, Elvis Presley was usually carrying a gun throughout the 70s, often, if not all times.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Now, where this story on that one specific picture came from? Elvis' stepbrother, Billy Stanley. Billy is standing behind Elvis on the picture above.
Fans discuss Elvis' personal life over and over - and almost nothing can possibly come to conclusion because we weren't there to witness anything and some of the sources the stories come from are not so reliable as they seem to be, but still it's fun to collect different accounts on things that happened in the King' life. On January 10th, 2024, a fan shared the first picture (on top of this post, Elvis walking alone towards his gate with the left hand behind his back) on a Facebook fanpage. The fans passionately discussed the "gun" rumor. Pamela Freiberg, owner and administrator for "Elvis in the 70s" Facebook group, directly asked Billy about this "rumor" that was published in books and articles over the years, and he confirmed the story to her.
Pamela's comment on the group was: "Billy wrote to me ... here are the words .... 'There's actually a series of photos from this day. I was outside and saw a guy that was trying to look like Elvis. When I saw him, I thought Elvis would get a kick out of this. So, I went inside and told him about the guy. Elvis picked up his pistol and we walked to the gate. He didn't want anyone to see the gun, so he put it behind his back. As we were walking toward the gate, he motioned for me to take the gun, which I did and tucked it behind me in my jeans.'"
Some believe him, some not. One can wonder 'why Elvis would have his left hand on the gun, when he was right handed?', for instance.
Sandi Miller, one of the most recognized Elvis fans, who met Elvis in the 60s and today calls herself a "gate girl", — those passionate fans who met Elvis by standing at the gates of his homes, waiting for him to come outside, whenever he was there, to talk to them, something he would do frequently — who even was (to a certain extent) very close to Elvis, a friend even, since she dated Charlie Hodge for a time, was there that day on July, 1972. She commented on the thread in that one Facebook group too, trying to defend Elvis. She said, "He did not have a gun in his hand!! He often carried guns but not always and not usually when he would come out to visit with fans...more likely that he'd have his little derringer In his boot."
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Elvis, July, 1972. Sandi Miller: "Same day but after he visited with everyone…then he and the brothers got in the car and left - he stopped again when he came back also."
Tumblr media Tumblr media
— Sandi Miller's accounts on this July, 1972, moment. Those pages comes from the book "Elvis - Behind the Image" by Bud Glass. I do not know if it's the Vol. 1 or Vol. 2, tho. Excerpts from Sandi Miller's journals, where she wrote down details of the meetings with Elvis in the 60s and 70s, were used to both volumes of "Behind the Image" publications. Many candid pictures in those books are also hers. By the way, many of the candid pictures of Elvis in his gates we see around the internet were actually taken by Sandi.
Arrived around noon and there was already quite a crowd at the house. In the crowd of fans was a guy that resembled Elvis somewhat in you just glanced at him. He had heard that Elvis sometime came out to visit and had hoped to meet Elvis. One of the girls (fans) pushed the speaker and mentioned that there was an Elvis look-alike standing out there.... whoever answered the speaker apparently knew already because the answer was "We know". Just then a door opens up and there comes Elvis walking up the drive with his stepbrothers right behind him. It was fun watching Elvis' face as he talked to this guy, and add to see them side by side. After visiting for a while, Elvis said he had to get back inside because they had to leave for an appointment shortly. They shook hands and Elvis went back into the house - he drove out not too long after and once again stopped for photos before leaving. The man at the gate commented that Elvis had "made his day".
Personally, I don't see the fuss about this. I believe Billy. I believe Elvis was carrying a gun indeed, but he obviously didn't intend on using it unless he felt threatened, and we know stories about passionate fans who lashed out their idols, some even murdered them in fact (John Lennon was one of the icons, assassinated by a passionate fan). There's plenty of those stories. Let's just imagine ourselves as famous people. We hear there's someone trying to look like you, standing outside your house. Wouldn't you felt at least a little bit uneasy? I know I would never walk out there by myself. Elvis was curious if the guy indeed looked like him or not, maybe even because he had a twin brother who died at birth, Jesse Presley, so if I was him I would've been dying to see this look-alike person, but I would've been careful about meeting him too. You never know.
Tumblr media
Elvis and his look-alike fan, Larry Blong. July, 1972, Beverly Hills, CA.
Tumblr media
Fortunately, things went smoothly. Elvis saw the guy, shook hands, and the fan had the time of his life meeting his idol. That is all we need to care about. ♥
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
59 notes ¡ View notes
elvisbee ¡ 5 months ago
Text
ꨄ
THIS picture.
Tumblr media
244 notes ¡ View notes
claire-elvisgirl ¡ 11 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
1972 at 37 yo. And it's one of my favourite photos too! 😍😍 he's so fuckin hot!
alright y’all, i saw this post and was in inspired to start something!
reblog this with a photo of elvis at your current age! i’ll go first♥️
Tumblr media
elvis and his cousin gene smith in 1951 at age 16!
(fun fact: my grandmother is 10 years and 8 days older than elvis, while elvis and i are 72 years and 22 days apart!)
@mooodyblue @kiankiwi @arianatheangel-girl
114 notes ¡ View notes
suraemoon ¡ 10 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
modeling some jumpsuits ⚡️
180 notes ¡ View notes
leopardandstuds ¡ 9 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Elvis in Oakland, CA on 11/11/72 - an amazing outfit!
78 notes ¡ View notes
p0lksaladannie ¡ 1 year ago
Text
Unused footage from Elvis On Tour. Putting on a ridiculously big tie. He’s such a goofball 😂 The way he looks at himself in the mirror and then sings “A hunk-a hunk-a burning love” cracked me up.
151 notes ¡ View notes
yourwizardofaus ¡ 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media
Elvis in San Antonio, TX, during filming of Elvis On Tour on April 18, 1972.
143 notes ¡ View notes
be-my-ally ¡ 1 year ago
Text
Sobering Up
Honestly this has some p… uhhh wrong things in - like being told you’re being ‘softened up’ or ‘hysterical’ but it's all in somewhat good fun? Idk reader gets turned on by it, lets not look at the reasons why that is too hard yeah? 
This spiralled out of my control very quickly from a quick oh I’m gonna do a sweet little cuddly soft hungover fic to no. They are gonna argue. 
written for the prompt "Why are you doing this?"
warnings: 18+, arguing, kissing, discussions about alcohol, smut, reader refers to elvis as daddy twice but not actually while uhhh doing anything sexual.
in my head - 1972/3 elvis x fem!reader - I'm picturing blue suit msg elvis; not in the blue suit but that whole look :)
wc: 3.7k of silly little smut
hopefully, those on their deathbeds, cough @whositmcwhatsit cough survive to read this. for the girlies always @thatbanditqueen @ellie-24 @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love apologies it is, as always, late.
He’s in bed when you stumble in, giggling still about something the girls said in the car. You’d said you were just going out to dinner, meeting some of the friends you missed while you were in Vegas with him. Elvis had pouted, and sulked, but your agreement to move in with him permanently had been enough to make him reluctantly agree. Still, he’d rolled around on the bed, huffing and whining that he wanted to come too, and it wasn’t fair to be leaving him all on his lonesome, even as he’d watched you carefully apply your eyeliner, dark eye shadow weighing down your lids. He’d brushed a finger down your cheek when you’d leant over him to reach for something on the bedside table, and told you you looked beautiful before flopping back, lamenting the fact he was not coming with you. Muttering to himself that it wasn’t right for you to be going out looking like that without him. But you’d threatened him thoroughly enough that he’d sworn up down and sideways he would stay home with the boys, even if he made it clear he was regretting his agreement when the time came. 
It’s later than you’d expected now though. You’d all stayed late at the restaurant, putting your seemingly limitless wad of cash he’d handed to you on your way out to good use, before, drunk on the free-flowing cocktails and champagne it had been suggested you go out dancing. It had occurred to you to call, but honestly you figured there wasn’t much difference between one and three am if Elvis was, as you had expected him to be, knocked out asleep. You fall against his bedroom door as it swings open, throwing your bag and coat towards the chair in the corner. He flinches at the thump of them hitting the floor, feet away from where you were aiming. 
“You’re drunk.” He says flatly in greeting. You glance over at him, giggles catching in your throat at his tone. He’s sat up in the bed, book open on his lap, embroidered EP on the chest of his pyjamas just peeking out, he looks sleepy, and if you weren’t quite so tipsy you would have felt guilty about keeping him up waiting for you. As it was the image of him sat in bed waiting for you was enough to make you giggle even more, 
“No, El, no - I’ve only had,” You pause, getting the giggles all over again, “only had a couple.” He shakes his head, kicking the coverlet off of his knees and pulling back the sheets. You can’t catch your breath and you couldn’t tell anyone what it was you were finding so funny, just that you couldn’t stop laughing. 
“Not sure what’s so funny little girl.” His tone is enough to send you over the edge again, just as you were starting to calm down. You trip over your feet when you try to come closer to him and you’re annoyed enough at your ankle twisting in your shoes that it cuts through your laughter, 
“Fucking goddamn heels,”  You try to kick them off, suddenly furious when the strap catches on your ankle and you have to bend over on wobbly legs to fiddle with it enough to unclasp and come off. “Fuck - ow!” You don’t notice Elvis getting out of the bed until he’s grasping your arm, 
“ ‘Nough of that now - your momma would be washing your mouth out if she’d heard that.” You grimace a little - she would have, but still; it hurt! “C’mon now darlin’, let’s get you sobered up a little, get you to bed.” He’s got a firm grip on the top of your arm, and you can tell he’s not altogether pleased, but he’s got a hint of amusement in his tone still. He directs you into the adjoining bathroom, you try to pull back a little but all it results in is his fingers tightening their grip.
“No - wanna, daddy, wanna - thought we could….” Even drunk you’re shy, “…want you to touch me.” He looks at you coldly, and you flinch back, “We haven’t in, in ages.” If you’d been sober you never would have dared to bring it up. He huffs, puffing his chest up, as if about to argue you with you but then he seems to deflate, as if knowing he had no defence. 
“Well if you weren’t out all hours of the night we could have.” He leans forward to turn the taps in the circular shower, water immediately pulsing out; his water pressure was something you had only dreamed of. You pull away, already feeling that it’s nowhere near the temperature you would prefer but he just tuts at you, stripping you of the skimpy little dress you’d gone out in. You go dazedly where he tugs you, he rolls your eyes at your little lace underwear, 
“Who’d you put these on for?” He flicks the lace at your hip as he pulls them off of you, forcing you to lift your feet when he taps your leg. 
“Yo-ou! Who else?” He hums back at you, and you squirm, too drunk to really defend yourself and a little confused at what was going on. You’re normally still a little shy to be fully naked around him, but today you’re just trying to keep your eyes open, hands rubbing your eyes rather than wrapped around your middle. A moment later he’s practically shoving you under the shower head and he holds you there until your flush starts to come down a little and you’re blinking at him a little more together. The spray wasn’t cold, he wasn’t a monster, but it wasn’t hot either. 
“El, Elvis, ba-by, let me out- it’s cold, I’m fine now, I swear - I’m uh, uh, not even tipsy.” He frowns for a moment, as if considering, and you wrap an arm around yourself, he rolls his eyes. He hands you a washcloth, instructing you to wash your face, and you do as he says while doing the best you can to keep your hair from getting wet.
He pulls you out, pyjama arm rolled up to his elbow to stop it from getting damp and he grasps a monogrammed towel, roughly rubbing the soft cotton over your skin. He grasps each arm to dry it, manhandling you around as he brushes the towel over your body. You’ve sobered up enough not to say anything, catching on that his silence isn’t a good sign, although you’re definitely, despite your protestations, not of completely sound mind. He leaves you stood there, after draping a robe around you, to fetch your pyjamas, and in the time that he’s gone you’re rapidly sobering enough to be teary at the thought that he’s mad at you. 
He comes back, tutting at your tears, dressing you in a skimpy little babydoll set and pulling you over to the bed, pushing you under the covers. You can’t take the silence any longer, now that you’re aware of it. 
“Please - Elvis, daddy, I’m sorry,” He hushes you, louder than your words.
“I ain’t discussin’ it with you now darlin’,” He glances over at the clock on the nightstand, “It’s way past your bedtime.” You frown up at him, you might have been a little bit later than usual, but you weren’t a child; you weren’t out past your curfew or bedtime. Your eyebrows scrunch together and he tuts as he smooths out the crinkle in between with a finger, “Your face’ll stay that way.” You scowl for a brief second before smoothing out your expression. You change tacts - pleading at him with your eyes and pouting. He’s having none of it though, pulling the covers over you tight. You watch him pick up the robe and towel, throwing them into the bathroom and moving your shoes so they’re not a trip hazard in the night, before climbing into bed behind you. You hear him reach for his pill bottle, and you want to ask for one yourself but you can already feel your eyes closing, before he pulls you to him. You sniffle into the pillow as his arm tightens around your waist; 
“I don’t wanna hear you’ve got a headache in the morning.” He murmurs against your cheek as he leans over to press a kiss to your temple. He says it as a statement and you nod in reply even as your eyes start to tear at the tone. His hands belie such harsh words though, gently scooping you into him. Quickly you succumb to the darkness creeping around the edges of your vision and you’re fast asleep before you could even protest your innocence. 
———————
The world is spinning with each breath you take when you awaken in what you think is the morning, your heartbeat causing the edges of your vision to pulse. You feel dizzy enough that the idea of sitting up threatens vomit and you are, for once, more than a little glad that Elvis keeps his bedroom so dark and cold. You’re not alone in the bed, hangover waking you far earlier than you normally would be, Elvis still snuffling behind you. You’re in a bit of a daze as you try to wriggle out of his hold and swing your legs around, desperate for the bathroom. You go, blindly, with no concept of what time it might be not in your little oasis of dark. 
When you get back he’s half-awake, palm open and pill in his hand, sat propped up a little atop his mountain of pillows. You take a second to appreciate his open face and sleep-mussed hair, regretting that you feel too awful to even really initiate a kiss. He opens his eyes when he feels you climbing back into bed, smiling as they fall shut again; 
“Come on honey, here ya go, forgot to have it last night didn’t ya, wanna - need to go back to sleep for a few hours baby,” You shake your head, 
“El- I don’t think, I’m still pretty blitzed, I - I’m really not sure,” You push his hand away a little, “I don’t even know what’s in it,” He huffs, eyes closed but palm still outstretched, slurring his words slightly, 
“You don’t - you saying you don’t trust me hon-ey?” He frowns, “You should - should trust me, I - it’s all in, all in my PDR’s, in, in the supl’ment -I, baby, I wouldn’t risk ya.” His eyes blink blearily open before they slip closed again, shaking his hand out at you. 
“Of course I trust you but, I -“ He blinks his eyes open again, tone hardening even despite the way all of his words are running together, 
“Just take the damn pill. I ain’t gonna hurt you.” You look at him, before resigning yourself to it, taking and swallowing the pill, relieved that the quality of sleep might mean that when you wake up later you might be feeling better. You snuggle down into him and he wraps his arms back around you, a furnace amidst the cold bedding. 
———————
He’s grumpy in the afternoon when you finally wake up, your mini argument the night before not helping his mood from where he was already furious. He storms about the room and bathroom, flinging clothes and stomping around, but clearly having not been up for long - still in his pyjamas, hair fluffy and a mess. You come around to him talking to himself, 
“Fuckin’ woman, out all hours of the goddamn night with god-knows who, not listenin’ to me, not trustin’ me.” You’re immediately defensive, even as you try to deal with your dry mouth and throbbing headache. 
“I do, I do trust you.” You manage to croak out. He spins around to stare at you, 
“Oh, you trust me.” He laughs, and then pauses, “But you didn’t want me around last night!  You just too busy wanting to show off for everyone?” You choke back tears - your head is still pounding and you hate how unsympathetic he’s being, like he’s punishing you for a night out with your friends, how he’s making you feel like you’ve done something wrong. You push yourself to be sitting fully upright, still blinking away sleep. 
“Of course I’d want you there! I told you that! But, I just wanted one night, it’s tricky to go out - you know that.” You know he’ll need more reassurance later but for now you were hopeful that would be sufficient to quell his feelings for now - although as he scoffs in response you have to assume you were wrong. You quickly try to distract him again so you can concentrate on the part that was, no doubt, angering him the most. “But, I do trust you.” 
He stops in his tracks, stalking back over to perch on the bed, 
“You got-a funny way of showing it then little girl,”
“I just didn’t know if it was safe to mix!” He frowns, shaking his head, 
“Of course it was - I was givin' it to ya wasn’t I?” You nod, but still despite the warning bells in your ear, you can’t seem to let it go. 
“Well yeah - but I still didn’t know for sure it was safe.” 
“Well it is. Unless you’ve got…got… psychosis.” He laughs, a little meanly, shrugging, “Although maybe you do huh, it would ‘plain a lot.” You shove the covers off of yourself, furious, 
“You don’t hafta be so mean to me!” His eyes flash and the little thrill of fear it causes makes you stumble as you go to pull a dressing gown over your shoulders. He comes up behind you, his large hands resting on your shoulders, leaning over to brush his lips against your ear. 
“I ain’t bein’ mean to you honey. If anything it’s the opposite - I’m just tryna to tell you it’s not, not, becoming for a pretty little girl to be out behavin’ like this. Comin’ home in a state.”
“I wasn’t out behaving like, like, anything!” You’re indignant on this point, voice raising. 
“Shhh baby,” He strokes your hair, smoothing the back of it. “It’s ok now, c’mon calm down. There ain’t no need for the hysterics.” You cringe, as if that wasn’t your least favourite term to be called as a woman - you understood what it meant to call a woman hysterical, and the amount it annoys you is enough to make you see red, shrugging his hands off of you and spinning around to face him.
“Listen! If I wanna go out and have a few drinks I can, I’m a big girl and I don’t need you, or anyone else,” He frowns, “policing what I can or can’t do. I don’t know why you have such a problem with it!”
“I’ve just told ya why darlin’ - because it’s not right for a pretty little thing like yourself to be doing by yourself.” He smiles, like he’s finding your annoyance amusing now, making you screech back at him. 
“I wasn’t by myself! You just mean without you!” The rest of his sentence suddenly registers in your mind, and you step back in slight incredulity,  “So. If I wasn’t pretty I could get drunk whenever I wanted?” 
He shakes his head, “You’re twistin’ my words, that wasn’t what I was -“ A thought suddenly occurs to you, and you interrupt him to ask, 
“Anyway how’s it any different to your pills?” He splutters at you for a second, cheeks flushing red. 
“Goddamn it you silly - stupid girl.” He’s stepped even closer to you and you have to look up to maintain eye contact. “They’re prescribed.” He’s glaring at you, eyes ablaze, cheeks sucked in as he chews on the inside and gritting his teeth. It emphasises his cheekbones even more and you feel the anger in your stomach start to turn to fluttering butterflies of arousal. No. Oh god, his hair is so fluffy. Focus. You’re annoyed. You remind yourself. Tilting your chin up in an effort to not to get distracted by the peek of his chest heaving under the open collar of his pyjama shirt. 
“Why are you doing this E? Why are you being like this? You haven’t gotta treat me like this.” You go to push past him, he grunts as you shove his side. 
“Don’t.” His voice has gotten lower, in anger or annoyance or arousal you can’t tell, but it’s deliciously gravelly. “Just listen to me for chrissake.” He grabs your arm, turning you and pulling to practically fling you back on the bed.
You wriggle around, not able to stop yourself from wanting him to catch you. He does, crawling onto the bed, caging you within his arms. You roll over, little shorts and shirt riding up, and he catches you with his hand swinging down on your exposed ass. You flinch as he smacks it a second, and then a third time - you yelp and he laughs, as you feel a handprint raising on your skin. He rolls you back as you mewl at him, forgetting your earlier resolution to be as stand-offish as possible instead holding his arm as tightly as possible. Allowing yourself to be tugged into him and tucking yourself under. He noses at your cheek, whispering into your ear, 
“That’s it baby, just had to soften you up a little bit didn’t I,” You whine back at him, not wanting to agree but suddenly so turned on you couldn’t bring yourself to disagree. “That’s my good baby back now,” Elvis leans down, petting you gently, little sweeping strokes down your arm and stomach. “My little baby, huh,” He mouths at your neck and cheek and you can’t help but lean into him. 
“Uh-huh,” He huffs a laugh across your skin at your loss of words and attitude, 
“Gonna make it up to me? 'pologise for being so difficult earlier? For not trusting me.” It’s a question phrased like a statement and you frantically nod your agreement. He kisses down your throat and you struggle to put a hand out in an attempt to grasp at his chest, 
“Let me - I’ll - I’m sorry, sorry for earlier.” He bats your hand off of him though, tilting your head with a hand on your neck, the other coming to wrap around your torso, finally kissing you properly. He grips you just right, thumb moving in little firm circles right over your pressure point. 
You let yourself be devoured, hips pushed back down when they jump up in response to the actions of his tongue and lips. He pulls back, his pouty spit-slicked lips glowing in the lamplight of the bedroom. He moves his hand lower, brushing the little French knickers of your set up and to the side.
You feel your pulse jump as he barely rests his hand on your now exposed cunt, the anticipation almost too much to bear. “Let me show you all the tricks I’ve learnt as a gee-tar player honey.” You’re quick to agree, practically begging. His fingers slide over you and you can’t help but move your hips in time to his gentle roving circles. You continue to squirm when he leans back down to suck a bruise onto your collarbone, forcing a loud moan out of you. His fingers are long and slim and undoubtedly he knows exactly how to use them, teasing expertly over your clit to make your eyes fall closed. 
He has, for once, only got his little pinky ring on and in some ways it feels strange to be feeling his hands without the cold metal of his rings. But there’s no doubt of whose hands they are as he coos into your ear. He uses his fingers to spread you apart, pushing the little shorts even further to the side, fingers sliding in the slick in between. 
“Don’t - don’t tease me - s’not nice.” Your hips thrust closer to him as he laughs against the side of your face, breath huffing across your cheek. He lifts his hand away, hovering just over top of you. 
“Thought you were ‘pologisin’ to me - thought that meant you’d let me do what I like?” His voice is lyrical in your ears, sing-songing as he teases you. He’s circling almost painstakingly gently, moving closer and closer, dancing over your skin, 
“God - yes, you’re right - whatever you say - just god, Elvis. I need you.” 
Finally, he dips one of his nimble fingers down into you, a second rapidly joining when you moan in pure pleasure. He presses them into you, other hand still grasping your neck while he continues to circle your clit with his thumb. 
“Told you darling,” His fingers speed up, “see - now you’re seeing sense aren’t you.” Any argument has been truly fucked out of you. Your knees come up as he speeds up even more, your legs spreading further seemingly of their own accord. His hand comes down from your neck, trailing over your throat and you reach up to anchor yourself to it, clutching at his forearm - a lifeline amidst the sensations. 
He crooks his fingers just right and you feel yourself start to quiver as your potential orgasm builds. You have to close your eyes entirely, although the way his face looks - focussed with absurd concentration -  atop his flushed visible chest makes it harder to draw yourself away. 
His other hand trails down, stopping to affectionately squeeze a nipple on the way, the slight pinch sending more arousal flooding into your stomach. He finishes you off with seemingly minimal effort and you can tell he’s growing a little smug with it. You shudder around his hand, core muscles crunching as you try to blindly, desperately, tug him down for another kiss. He gently continues to pet you through your orgasm, only pulling out and away when you start to gasp at the sheer lack of breath. 
He lets you relax for a few moments, wiping his hand on your shorts and thigh. He draws you back in for another filthy kiss, open-mouthed and pressing his lips to any part of you they can reach. 
“Lord, gosh - El that was…” You don’t have the words to articulate what you mean so you settle with, “Sorry, again, - about last night.”  He sits up properly at those words and gestures down at himself, unbuttoning his shirt as he does. 
“Come on then, show me how sorry you are baby.” He waves a hand at the bulge clearly evident in his silk bottoms, “Give him a kiss, s’ok honey, want you to - to say sorry properly for leaving us at home.” 
205 notes ¡ View notes
simplyelvis ¡ 2 years ago
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Elvis Presley performing at The Coliseum in Richmond, Virginia, April 10, 1972.
396 notes ¡ View notes
hooked-on-elvis ¡ 2 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
"ᴇʟᴠɪꜱ ᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴜʀ" (ᴍɢᴍ, 1972) — ᴅɪʀ. ᴘɪᴇʀʀᴇ ᴀᴅɪᴅɢᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴏʙᴇʀᴛ ᴀʙᴇʟ
193 notes ¡ View notes
nikidontsurf ¡ 2 years ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Elvis performs "That's Alright Mama" at Madison Square Garden in New York, June 10 1972.
188 notes ¡ View notes
presleypictures ¡ 2 years ago
Text
Tumblr media
Elvis with Sergio Mendes and Paul Anka in Las Vegas, 1972.
176 notes ¡ View notes
suraemoon ¡ 1 year ago
Text
Elvis Outfit Spotlight V2
Baby Blue for the MSG Press Conference, 1972
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Worn: June 9, 1972 for a press conference in the Mercury Ballroom at the New York Hilton, ahead of his performances at Madison Square Garden
186 notes ¡ View notes
claire-elvisgirl ¡ 1 year ago
Text
Just look at his opened legs...they seem to say "come here" 🤤🤤🤤
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Underrated interview imo
203 notes ¡ View notes
missmaywemeetagain ¡ 1 year ago
Text
Posting these for absolutely no reason at all…nothing to see here…certainly nothing to anticipate… ✨🧣✨💛🧣💛😈😇
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
(And thank you to @thatbanditqueen for helping me procure these!! 🥰)
100 notes ¡ View notes