#Merry Memphis

[merrymemphis]

Art Bar

The Art Bar is located at the top of the trippy red staircase inside the Concourse. Having worked there in the 80's when it was Sears (I'm old), I continue to be amazed at this building's transformation and the enchantment it holds. Even parking brought joy in the form of elaborate exterior illumination. These trees were lit!

December 2, 2023

Caitlin caught a second wind and decided to join me on the quest for merriment. I decided to ditch my thoughtfully planned out calendar and just wing it. It was getting late on a Saturday night, so we thought we shouldn't veer too far from home.

One of our criteria for the bars we visit is to go when there is no band. Don't get me wrong, I live for live music, but sampling holiday cocktails is important business, and we need to stay focused.

The detriment to this criteria on a Saturday night in Memphis, is that it is difficult to find a bar with no band.

"Let's try Art Bar," Caitlin announced. So we went.

Immediately upon entering the Concourse, you could hear and FEEL the pulsating thump, thump, thump, and the rousing conversation overflowing from the second level where Art Bar was located.

We were hesitant as we climbed the twisted glowing stairs knowing we were not really up for a big party. The higher we climbed, the louder it grew.

As we approached our destination we could see the overflow of happy revelers spilling out of the entrance to the bar. Caitlin's immediate response was, "No."

I coaxed her in by promising only one drink, and that there were two seats open at the bar.

She started to follow me in. I sat down at the bar and turned to look for Caitlin.

She was gone. I just knew she had bolted.

Sad I was going to miss an opportunity to check off day 2, I paused, looked over my shoulder, and then I saw her - laughing and already chatting it up with someone she knew.

Not only did she know one person there, but she knew three persons there.

So let's get to the point of why we are here. While it was very busy, and the bartender, Brook's, hands were full, I took in the moment, the scenery, the vibe, to just sit and watch and observe.

The Art Bar was living up to its name because Brook was an artist. I watched as each cocktail was crafted right in front of me. The details were noted - the barware, the glasses, the movement, the special touches - all there, and all part of what made this place so enchanting.

Despite the number of patrons, Brook made the point of acknowledging me, and let me know my precise position in the order of service. This was appreciated and understood.

The wait gave me ample time to be complimented on my super cool new hat, and Caitlin ample time to catch up with friends.

When my time to be served arrived, I requested something special and seasonal - whatever recommended.

I watched Brook create a masterpiece. It was like a beautifully orchestrated dance - in a glass - with alcohol - topped with an artistically designed garnish.

It was good. REEEaallly good. It was definitely a cocktail you wanted to slowly sip and enjoy. It was creamy with a bite.

I asked Brook the name of this magnificent creation. It was called, "Creme de la Calypso. ...a spin on the Aviator."

Another holiday hit!

I kept round two simple, while Caitlin ordered off their menu of seasonal cocktails. Perfect! The have a seasonal cocktail menu!!

Caitlin ordered A TIME TO BE OLIVE.

Ok. We already had one drink, so we were finding this menu to be very entertaining. We seriously did not have enough time or stamina to sample all the cocktails that had peaked our curiosity. We are responsible people, so we will go again soon, and start at the top.

One other cool thing to note - There is more to this bar than you first realize. Keep looking. There are cozy spots around every corner.

We thoroughly enjoyed our time at Art Bar. While there was a frenzy of activity we still felt at home. People were friendly - all there to have a good time. It was a great mix of excitement and chill. Looking forward to the next visit.

Hope to see you tomorrow for day 3 of our Cocktail Countdown when we visit Forest Hill Grill!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Photo by Merri Cyr

* * * *

“Life has its own rhythm and you cannot impose your own structure upon it, you have to listen to what it tells you... It’s not earth that you move with a tractor...life is not like that. Life is more like earth that you learn about and plant seeds in… It’s something you have to have a relationship with in order to experience...you can’t mold it, you can’t control it.” –Jeff Buckley

[Memphis Muse]

[stastrodome]

There's a ceramic monkey / In the TV room of Graceland / Who's hoping that Santa is generous / And the snow stays off your car

[getoutofthisplace]

Dear Gus & Magnus,

I had a free hotel certificate about to expire, so we loaded up and went to Memphis this morning. We hit the zoo this afternoon and had a lot of fun. Magnus, who has refused to sit in a stroller for the last six months or so -- did a good job of walking on his own even though it was a lot of steps. That was nice because it let Mom and I relax a little bit as we walked along. Moments of relaxation are so very rare these days that when they happen, it feels absolutely blissful. As I walked through part of the "China" exhibit, Magnus had me laughing at something he said, then he ran away to catch up with Mom and Gus and I was so damn happy watching the three of you.

I love how curious you both are about...well, pretty much everything around you. Gus knows the specifics of most of the animals before we have time to read the signs that label them. And Magnus has no fear about approaching any of the animals, which is on brand, but also a little terrifying.

Dad.

Memphis, Tennessee. 10.21.2023 - 1.30pm.

[be-my-ally]

Snowballs and Kisses

Hello darlings!! Merry Christmas! I hope everyone celebrating has a wonderful day, and everyone for whom it is a usual monday has a better than usual start to the week!! 

I have been MIA the last few weeks on here, but never fear I have been busy behind the scenes and hopefully more things and fics will be finished very soon!! I cannot wait for my little new year break, and *finally* catching up on all the stuff I've missed!! In the meantime as a ittle teeny tiny Christmas gift please enjoy this timeskip for my Splashing Around ‘verse to Christmas Eve 1960 and my shameless OC self insert of what I’d like to gift Elvis. 

a/n not totally accurate weather references: it didn’t actually snow in memphis in the latter half of 1959 but, this is fanfiction after all and it *was* very cold november 18th 1959. (I also cut a whole 4k of angst that will come out at some point as a separate chapter, Anita getting a poodle, and the colonel dressed as santa because honestly i just wanted to write and read fluff, but here's a warning that there may end up being more festive fics posted…a little late). 

warnings: 18+, smut lite; gentle fingering and references to cumming in pants. UNEDITED

Graceland - December 1960 

The excitement of having Elvis back at home for the festive season was only slightly tempered by the knowledge that it was his first Christmas at home without his mother. He’d not really tried to celebrate properly in Germany; sure they’d done the best they could, and he raved about the gift of a fully dressed tree for weeks,  but it hadn’t been the same as it would have been at home. 

This year though, Elvis seemed determined to restore the festive spirit. Perhaps even further than just restoration - an attempt to make it as bright and jolly as possible in response to both his mother’s passing, and missing the last two. He’d bragged to anyone who would listen about how excited he was to give out presents, his plans for even more lights than ever before; signs and lawn decorations.

While Louise was excited, it had left her in an almost constant state of anxiety, Christmas wasn’t just about the gift-giving… but it was a large enough part of it that it’s where her mind immediately went. From the moment he suggested they hang at Graceland that first year, from the first time they’d all pored over the letter to Frances, and his promises to “have a ball next Christmas”, giggling and whispering about what fun they were going to have the following year. From all of those times Louise had been preoccupied with what to get him and whether her secret plan was good enough for Elvis of all people. 

That first year he had reiterated to them all and was absolutely adamant no-one needed to gift him anything and wouldn’t hear of anything being sent over to him. But his frequent calls and mentions of the upcoming holiday belied his actual feelings and besides, Louise wanted him to feel special. Wanted him to know they’d been thinking of him as much as he must have missed being home. It wasn’t until the 27th of November and the slightest of snowfalls had occurred, tiny little snowflakes, delicately falling down when the temperature had dropped just enough for the rain to crystallise when a flash of inspiration hit her. She couldn’t send it, so instead she’d waited patiently, adding to her bundle throughout the months. Now that it was almost time to give it though she was second-guessing that two year decision. Was it too juvenile? It’s just so tricky to buy for the man who literally has anything he could ever wish for. As the festive period hurtles on she resigns herself to having to hunt for a back-up gift…maybe a nice sweater. Maybe that will do.  Or maybe it’s best to have options. 

Elvis’ melancholia about the holiday doesn’t seem to stretch into Christmas Eve, and he encourages them with all the enthusiasm he’s ever had. The party starts from mid-afternoon and stretches long into the evening and night with all the makings of an excellent time from the music to the food until eventually they all find themselves around the extravagant tree to exchange presents. It’s a little chaotic, so many people about and frequently someone’s having to dive from room to room to fetch people or hidden gifts. Louise finds it almost dizzying when she finally manages to take a seat on the long sofa, catching her breath from being sent to find someone. She was already finding herself struggling to think whenever she glanced over at Elvis - he looked outrageously good in a white shirt, black trousers - well, he looked outrageously good all the time at the moment - but there was something about the feeling in the air of the day that made it all the harder to act natural around him. Elvis had been quiet for a moment, but now he was sat on his armchair across the room, looking for all the world like a king on a throne ready to bestow his generosity on the peasants. Except, that’s not the feeling in the room at all; it’s jolly and wonderful, picture perfect - all of them slightly tipsy on champagne and vodka cocktails and finding the evening all the more entertaining for it. He announces he wants to give the presents that he’s bought everyone before he opens his own, and Louise dips her eyes when he hands her a little bow-tied box. No-one else’s comes with a ribbon and she strokes it, feeling a glow emanating from her stomach and chest as she imagines his nimble fingers tying it on, totally ignoring the fact that she knows someone else probably wrapped it for him. Still, she tugs it off to hide from the others - not wanting to be teased about how such a little gesture has made her blush so strongly - and tucks it into her palm, fully intending on slipping it into her shoe or around her wrist in a moment, knowing she’ll keep it forever - wear it in her hair like a declaration.

When she looks back up everyone has a similar box and she opens it quickly in case they’re all the same - she doesn’t want to ruin her surprise. There, nestled in a little velvet box is a ring, a huge, gaudy red stone in the centre, almost too big for her finger.  Louise is transfixed, staring at it, barely a thought in her head as she tries to wrap her head around the way it sparkles in the light. Despite the size of the gem, the band was more than a little small when she tries to slip it on, and she quietly puts it back into the box, not wanting to draw attention to her apparently larger than expected fingers. She glances around, suddenly coming out of her shocked obliviousness. Her face falling when she realises that everyone around her is unboxing similarly precious jewellery. She’s resigning herself to having to sneak it off to get it resized and hating herself a little for it, wondering if there are exercises she could do or maybe a special diet to shrink her fingers to size, when she suddenly realises all the other girls are turning each-other around, kissing Elvis on the cheek in thanks, or asking him to clasp their new necklaces. Louise looks back down at her box and the others. What does a ring mean? It’s been gifted with such casualness that it can’t possibly mean anything can it? When she looks back up Elvis is staring right at her, and she makes eye contact with him - her wide eyes meeting his laughing ones. He winks, and turns back to Red. She tries her best to distract herself from it, ooh and aahing over everyone else’s and keeping quiet about the little box clutched tight in her hand. 

Half hour later Elvis is admiring his own little haul, when he catches her eye again, 

“You forget about me Lou?” Louise cringes at being called out so publicly, 

“Of course not!” She looks around the room, at the large group gathered there, “No, uh, why don’t you, well I’ve gotten you something else….It’s a sweater. It’s not great really, but I… your real gift I’ve made you, but,” She swallows building her courage, unsure why she’s so nervous suddenly when she’d been so excited for so long; the whole idea just seemed juvenile and silly now. “… you’ve gotta follow me for it.” He stares into her eyes for a second, before nodding and standing up, gesturing at her as if to say ‘lead the way’. 

He grins at the boys when they walk out, making a salacious movement as if to suggest her gift may not be all too family-friendly to accompanying guffaws of laughter. She ignores it, even as her tummy churns; should she be offering that? Is that what he wants these days?

“Don’t laugh.” She asks nervously as they walk into the little pantry. Elvis looks bemused to find himself there, leaning against the wall of the tiny space 

“I won’t” Louise nods, shutting the door, only to hear Elvis giggle, “You tryin’ to get me alone, doll?” 

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“One hell of a christmas present! to be locked in a cupboard with a pretty little gal.” 

She rolls her eyes, wiggling past him to get to the freezer, 

“Close your eyes.” He obediently does so, and she reaches into an old box of ice-cream to pull out a Tupperware, “Hold your hands out.” And she puts it in his cupped fingers, “Ok…open.” He blinks down at the Tupperware.

“Um. Well, thanks, I’m uh, sure this will be useful.” Louise rolls her eyes, impatiently tugging off the lid herself, “Oh.” Elvis goes silent, staring at the three perfect, teeny snowballs balanced in the tub. Each resting upon a little piece of paper with Louise’s very best cursive handwriting spelling out the date; December 12th 1958, 18th November 1959, and 20th December 1960.  

The silence stretches as Elvis stares at the box, and Louise starts to ramble nervously,  “I was starting to panic this year, but at least I’d thought to pick some up back in January — it snowed so heavy on the 5th.  I think it was, or maybe the 15th? I’ll have to check my diary… so I mean it isn’t entirely accurate that it’s all from the 20th - but I mean, I had to have something and well I know how much you loved it when, when your mother… and I wanted you to know I’ve been thinkin’ of you non-stop while you were away. So, here, the first snow from the garden from every year you missed.” Elvis is still staring at the box, one finger poking each little round ball. 

“This really snow from two years ago?” 

“Uh-huh… I mean I don’t know what you’re gonna do with it now, but it really is… been in that box in the freezer this whole time…I hid it from everyone. Every time someone said they wanted some ice cream I panicked.”  

“Lou.” 

“‘M sorry this is really stupid, god - what are you gonna do with some snowballs, I should’ve gone in with the other girls, got you something really good… I just - well, I thought you’d like it and I know you misse-”

“Baby, I don’t, I don’t know what to say. I… I didn’t think anyone would think of me like this, like mama did, ever again. I - well, thank you, Lou darling, this is, well, its the best damn gift I’ve ever gotten.” He grabs her arm, tugging her to him - pressing a hard kiss to her forehead, the force of it surprising her.  “I’m gonna show everyone - c’mon - quick before they melt.” He runs out of the kitchen, leaving Louise to follow meekly behind. 

He shows them off like he’s a new father, proudly holding them up in the box, delicately picking one of them up and sighing at it, holding it up at the light for everyone to marvel at. It’s a little ridiculous in some ways - everyone in the room had been gifted something hugely lavish, and yet the thing  everyone was talking and gossiping at was a snowball. 

Hours later the party finally winds down enough that Louise realises she’s one of the last few stragglers of a night so late it’s turned into Christmas morning. How she’d ended up in this position she’ll never know, and she questions it herself as she stands quietly in the doorway, watching Elvis fumble on the piano. Just his fiddling is beautiful, little snippets of remembered carols, before he hammers onto the keys, singing along to Santa Claus is Back in Town. Louise can’t help the breathy gasp that escapes her and he looks up at her, smiling almost teasingly, perfect glint in his eye as he pauses for a second to run a hand through his hair before he continues for another verse and a half. He stops almost abruptly, standing up to stretch before turning to her. She’s trying to find the words to explain how beautiful it was, how perfect he sounds - how she can feel it throughout her whole being, but before she can express those sentiments he’s in front of her and grasping her hand. 

“C’mon,” He tugs her over to the armchair he’d been sat in earlier in the evening, “Over here hon, that’s it - you’re the last.” Elvis throws himself onto the chair, holding onto her, pulling her stumbling body against his. “You’re the last of my girls left…” He sighs melodramatically and Louise giggles uncontrollably back at him. She’d had an illicit two glasses and a half of champagne earlier in the evening; Elvis had playfully wagged his finger at her as she’d accepted it from Red although she’d seen him have more than a few drinks himself. She can feel the bubbles still settling into her tummy and head, fuzzing her thoughts a little and making her giggly and affectionate. Still, she wasn’t so tipsy she couldn’t call out his overdramatic behaviour. 

“They’ve just gone home for the night. They’ll be back tomorrow I’m sure.”  She shakes her head. He ignores her, crying out, 

“I’m all alone!” He tugs her by her elbow, catching her as she stumbles into his lap, pulling her onto him, flattening her wide skirt. It wasn’t really the fashion anymore but while she’d been momentarily hesitant about her holiday dress she wasn’t self-conscious, and she liked how it made her shape look. Some might suggest the bow and petticoats were juvenile, but it made her feel more adult than the tighter styles that were starting to become popular with her peers, more herself than playing dress-up. 

She snuggles under his arm, head pillowed on his chest, cheeks pressed against the little buttons of his shirt. He pretends to choke at her hair brushing his nose, using his free hand to flatten it under his chin and she grins, shivering against him as his breath tickles her skin. They stay cuddled for a few moments, sinking into the kind of happy exhaustion that seems to only occur on holidays. It feels different than before, although Elvis is more similarly carefree than she’d seen him in a long time. He’d grown up a lot over the years she hadn’t seen him, or so it felt, and his adultness didn’t match the image of him playing and fooling around that she had in her head. It’s an awful feeling, she thinks, that even with him right there, surrounding her, she still longs for a little more of the playfulness of the past.

Suddenly though Elvis shifts, interrupting her thoughts and murmuring against the top of her head, 

“Y’hear that?” Louise stops breathing, and all she can hear is the solid thump-thump of his heart against her ear, he waits a second but she can’t work out what he’s referring to and doesn’t respond, he gasps “There it is again! Do you hear it?” 

Louise shakes her head against him, frowning a little, “No?” She tries really hard to listen out, but other than the faintest hint of the music from the boys in the other room she can’t hear a thing. “The music?”  

“No! No, listen.” He puts his finger to his lips, shushing her,

“I really don’t hear anything Elvis.” He wraps his arm around her waist a little tighter, tugging her up so she was sat more upright on his knee, her face close to his. He whispers into her ear, 

“I think I hear hooves…” Louise frowns, 

“Hooves!?” God, it would be just her luck that he’d gone and bought her a horse or something, and she’d have to act grateful even though she was terrified of them.  

“Mmhmm, that’s right.” His hand rises up to brush across her back gently, fingertips dancing around her side, “Hooves. Hooves and bells.” He pauses for dramatic effect, jabbing his finger into her side in a tickling poke. His voice dips lower, as his arm squeezes around her, “Someone must have been a good girl this year.” 

Louise grins when she realises what he’s implying and couldn’t bring herself not to play along. 

“…You think it’s Santa Claus?!” 

“Hmm, definitely…who else would it be, on the roof with hooves and bells on Christmas eve?” She giggles, both in response to his kind-natured teasing and his fingers poking her side with an exaggerated motion.

“Oh, I wonder what he’ll leave in my stocking…” Elvis hums against her hair, 

“Mmm. Coal.” 

“Nooo!” She giggles back to him, “You just said I’ve been a good girl!”

“You’ve been a very good little girl.” His voice has hit that low pitch that immediately sends a jolt down her spine, right into the pit of her stomach and she swallows, trying to keep up with the joke. 

“Well, I’m, uh, I’m sure I’ll like whatever it is.” 

“Mmhmm….” His hand brushes up her leg, “Bet ya I’ll like what’s in your stockings more…” 

“Elvis!” She shrieks, playfully batting his hand away, he pulls it off of her, smoothing down her skirt, and resting it onto her lap for a moment. Louise feels her breath catching as he presses a kiss to the side of her head, brushing her hair out of the way and shifting her on his thigh so that she’s facing him. It’s almost a struggle for her to meet his eyes, she felt so desperate for his attention - but there was nowhere else to look that made her feel any less heated. His hair, god even his eyebrows were Elvis-enough to make her squirm. It’s only a second of him kissing her jaw, before she’s gasping for him, and before she knows what she’s doing she’s grabbing his hand and shoving it back on her thigh. 

She’d kept herself for him, even as it felt that she’d been playing before, doing it for someone who would never notice or care - ostensibly in general, but really if she was truthful - for him. She’d touched herself, hadn’t been able to resist the temptation, especially after his deep voice came through the phone - but the other boys, the boys in school, the ones with blue collar jobs and careers, had all lost their appeal whenever she imagined kissing them, and her imagination interposed the image and feeling of him, his slippery body in the pool, the feel of him in front of her on the bike. He was thinner now, even still, than he was before, puppy fat replaced with lean muscles. His face shape changed just the tiniest bit, perhaps unnoticeable to some, but so very obvious to her, cheekbones and chin more angular than before. But his lips feel the same as they did before he left, and since his return home - she’d expected they’d have lost their eager nature, but still she can feel the hint of desperation as he presses them against her jaw.

She gasps, rocking against him as he roves down her neck - a place no one else has ever touched, tiny points of pressure feeling like a heat was expanding across her neck and chest, matching the clench of her thighs. His hand gently strokes up her stockings before he hitches her up, capturing his mouth with hers and shoving her underlayers up to her waist in the abrupt movement. Louise moves with him, desperate to stay in contact with his lips and she moans in upset when he starts to pull away. 

“C’mon baby,” He whispers, “C’mon, Lou-Lou let me - let me say thank you,” He’s barely audible as he speaks against her lips between pressing bruising kisses onto them, “I just - wanna, wanna make you feel good, Lou doll.” She gasps out her agreement, eyes falling closed and her head falling into his shoulder as his fingers find their way to rub against the silk of her underwear. He shifts her again, balancing her so she can rock against his thigh and his hand, whilst also rubbing her leg against his covered crotch. Louise is almost surprised at the heat of him against her thigh, but her curiosity has no chance to be satisfied when he hooks a finger under the leg band of her panties, totally distracting her from anything but the feel of him under her and attempting to stay somewhat upright. His finger feels softer than she’d imagined, and yet, in comparison to her own the pads feel foreign, rougher and surer than hers ever were sliding into the wetness they find there.

“God, you’re so soft baby, so fucking soft in here, perfect for me, you been waiting on me, honey?” 

“Uh-huh, waited, waited so long for you Elvis - didn’t, I didn’t want anyone but you.” He groans in response, his fingers moving faster. Until he’s forced to stop, tangled in the fabric and he growls in frustration. Louise feels it go straight down her body, and her thighs clench, trapping his hand even more. He pauses for barely a second to manhandle her up, just enough to roughly tug her panties down enough that it’s now entirely her bare skin rubbing against his hand and clothed thigh, the fibres of his trousers almost giving her a friction burn with her rapid movements. He continues as he was a second earlier, but now with far easier access he’s able to swipe his fingers across her clit, taking her to the edge almost immediately. She has no idea if this was something he’s always done well, or if this is a trick he’d picked up while he was away, but whatever the reason she was grateful. She doesn’t even consider how they were still, essentially, in public, too distracted by his slender fingers to be concerned about her now partial nudity. The only noise to break up their combined breathy moans is the layers of of taffeta rustling between them, as she continues to rock against his thigh, but this all changes when he delves his thumb into her wetness, bringing it back up to stroke circles on her clit, gently but repeatedly running it over her. 

“Oh, Elvis?” She cries out,  

“What baby? You’re so - I can feel you’re close,” His own breathing is getting heavier, and he holds her steady with his other hand grasping her thigh while his thumb continues to stroke her, 

“I don’t - I don’t…” She doesn’t even know what she’s trying to say, and before she manages to turn it into a complete sentence she’s shaking on him as she rides out her orgasm. He sees her through it, continuing to stroke her with the same pressure before rapidly shoving his hand down his own pants, roughly rubbing himself off to quick completion. She watches him closely, unable to do anything but stare as his own eyes slide closed, head falling back against the couch and mouth opening as he gasps out a high-pitched moan. It was about enough to make her shudder again against his thigh, the look on his face, his mussed hair, open collar and the noises of sheer pleasure. Louise finds herself bouncing on his chest as he breathes rapidly from the effort, and he holds her tight for a few moments while they both regain use of their limbs. Louise feels almost a little shell-shocked and she only really comes to her senses when Elvis shifts, wiping his hand on his trousers with a grimace and patting her thigh, 

“Gosh that was, I, um, thank you El,” He grins at her, clearly pleased with his success, and he pats her leg again, 

“Thank you, honey, for just about the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me earlier baby, it was just - I’m gonna treasure them snowballs forever, you’ll see.” She grins back at him before an unstoppable yawn takes over her face, “C’mon lil girl, time for bed.” She gulps, thinking about all the people on the house - worrying what will happen next, 

“D’you…where am I gonna sleep?” Elvis frowns, little furrowed line marring his previously relaxed face, 

“With me?” 

“Oh,” Louise swallows, “Um, I think my parents will be expecting me - you know, Christmas morning’s all about -“ 

“Don’t worry honey, I’ll drop you home at the crack of dawn,” He winks, “-gotta make sure the house is all in order in any case anyway.” Elvis pauses, “Or, or you could invite your mama and pops over. They’d be more than welcome…nothing my mama liked more than a full house - especially at Christmas.” He’s looking at her with that earnest little boy expression again and it takes everything in her not to just suggest she should stay forever, it was so absurd that he’d want her to stay, instead of the other way around. 

“Well…maybe I could stay. And, well, I mean, I could come over in the evening? If you swear you’ll make sure I get home in time -“ He’s quick to interject, 

“Cross my heart darling,” She hums at him, and he motions the crossing of his heart across his chest, solemnly holding eye contact, “I swear.”

“Ok then, I’d love to stay.” 

Somehow, and (despite his promises) to Louise’s surprise, she’s dutifully shaken awake and dropped off home, albeit not by Elvis himself, only a few very short hours later. Coming up the driveway of her childhood home it feels almost inconceivable that she should have spent the day and night how she has, and she wonders for a brief moment if she hadn’t knocked her head or something and just hallucinated the whole affair. She’s so in her thoughts that she doesn’t yet notice, as she traipses past the lounge and kitchen where she can hear her mother singing to quickly change, a new set of boxes under the Christmas tree. Elvis’ script on the gift tags declaring “To Louise, a very good girl, from Santa.” 

taglist: (it's been so long that I've lost the list for this verse - lmk if you want to be added, or taken off!)

@lialocklear @ellie-24 @vintageshanny @thatbanditquee @lookingforrainbows @whositmcwhatsit @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain @peskybedtime @powerofelvis @dkayfixates @shakerattlescroll

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Prima Nocta (or the right of the first night) Part 1

Warnings: so so so so many for thematic material. This is dark. Quite dark. This is freshly divorced and verrrrrry bitter and disillusioned Elvis helping himself to the bride of the newest Memphis Mafia initiate. Hugely unreliable narrator, belittling and objectifying of women, dub con because of that, sanctimonious chauvinism, reference to his marriage going very south. no actual sex yet but definitely 18+.

Notes: this got so long from just lead up that I figured it was worth publishing on its own and seeing if there’s interest for a part 2. Sorry for going bonkers on this one, sometimes you just gotta tap into the villain side of yourself. Also, this was inspired by many talks with my previous mutuals about THAT picture of Elvis holding a gun to George Klein’s head at his own wedding…I’m using it for solely for vibes, sorry George

Series: Sky High Lovin -reading Honeymoon might make this even better but not necessary

Dedicated to: Sweet Christi with the wayward mind and all my thanks to Ally and Jane and Elise for spitballing this into existence.

There was a time, not so long ago, when Elvis enjoyed life affirming events like weddings, believe it or not. He enjoyed facilitating days to celebrate love and loyalty and vows before God, promising everlasting devotion. That is, until he learned that “till death do us part” meant about as much to most as a “bless you” did when someone sneezed.

It makes surveying the pink and white festooned hotel ballroom something of an eyesore for him as he lounges back, dressed in black velvet, a sore thumb of ominous derision amidst the pastels, viewing the merry reception through moody, tinted lenses. The familiarly charming table accents of champagne and flowers and paper mache hearts twist his own into something a little furious and decidedly bitter.

A man’s wife betraying him and leaving him and stripping him of his pride and his joy and all his best intentions for her and your child will do that to a man.

Couldn’t even make it a whole decade before she found fault and spread her legs for another and turned his child against the father that loved her.

Sorry for being away so much baby, I was just singin’ myself hoarse to buy you that fuckin ring and car and hair and face and keep you in the style you’d married me for.

Cause it was obvious as all hell that honoring and obeying hadn’t been first and foremost in her mind when she promised forever. Forever to riches and fame, maybe, but not forever to him. She has those now, and he hasn’t got the family he’d prayed an Old Testament God for.

Rather like the pretty lady currently allowing her rodent of a groom to feed her their wedding cake, fake giggles and batting lashes adding to the nauseating act of pretending she can stand being in his company for longer than a couple hours.

Forever, my ass.

Elvis watches her through his shades and with each passing minute the anger burns brighter and his justification steadily builds for the liberty he’s about to commit.

The groom is here for Elvis’ paycheck, the lovely bride is planning to suck that idiot's cock till death doth them part (or a good four years) for the status of being a Memphis Mafia wife, and even the guests now stuffing their faces with pasta and alcohol are here for what Elvis’ money buys.

Loyalty is dead and what’s left is the goddamn food chain, like they’re the animals school tells them they’ve evolved past. In the recent months since his divorce, Elvis has felt a near Devine calling to bring this wicked devolution of morals and motivations to light, to humiliate these homosapiens until some level of shame is regained by mankind. If this is a pack of animals that surrounds him, he is King of the Jungle, and it is a careless and heartless king who lets his subjects run amuck.

He has no appetite for pasta, the hours of frivolity pass him by and he remains aloof, crouching in wait in his chair, running off righteous indignation and primal sufferance. Good things come to those who wait.

That’s what the bride is thinking, Elvis suspects, as the reception winds down and her luxurious honeymoon full of sunbathing and spas, good food and rich wine and the obligatory playing hooky to get out of sex draws nearer. Just a little more time letting fuckin’ Ronnie feed her cake and paw at her, then she’ll be on her way, securely locked into her future of privilege. He’s got nothing against Connie, uh, Sandra, -oh hell what was her name? he consults the gold embossed invitation at his elbow,- He’s got nothing against the newly minted Mrs. Kemp, nothing in particular, except that she’s a woman. And Elvis has a bone to pick and a point to prove with the whole, whorish lot of them.

Elvis opens the limo door for the bride himself, gallantly ushering in the happy couple before joining them as arranged, the whole merry band of his boys piling in after.

The new Mrs. Kemp, unlike some of his boys wives, had had the good grace not to whine about the lack of privacy and alone time to be found in and around Graceland’s inner circle. As a result Elvis allowed her to choose the more expensive flowers and gold embossed invites and french vintages, even if he knew why knew she’d been disgustingly eager for any chance of her intended husband being distracted from her. Elvis is certain, thanks to first hand accounts from fuckin’ Ronnie himslef, that the groom has sampled the bride already. It’s the way of things in this decadent decade, and she’s no fresh outta the nest baby chick. The fact Ronnie could give no further details about his encounters with his betrothed beyond the mechanics of thrusting above her till he blew his load, made Elvis despair of humanity and suspect Mrs. Kemp had a serpentine pragmatism about this entire arrangement.

Oh my buddy my pal, he thinks to himself as the limo flies through the never dark streets of Las Vegas towards the airstrip, I gave my wife everything and that wasn’t enough, how can you compete? God gave Eve the whole of Eden ‘cept for one measly apple tree -and what did the mother of all mankind do? She took, she ate, she damned them all with her disloyalty.

Ronnie is a damn fool, and while Elvis’ warnings were not needed during the engagement and this marriage has progressed to a limo ride and honeymoon, Elvis is not to be thwarted in his determination to save Ronnie the slow disillusionment, the slow death of any pretense of love in his wife’s eyes, the crumbling of all faith in anything such as Elvis has endured. Better to rip the bandage off now, five years is a long crucifixion.

As the limo parks on the tarmac and the gleaming hulk of the private jet looms over them in the night sky, no doubt Ronnie harbors some pathetic hope Elvis has forgotten his promise.

Elvis proceeds his guests up the jet bridge, cane thumping and carefully harnessed excitement radiating through him as he enters the opulent space, watching with benign magnanimity as the newlyweds board his jet, the boys providing a rollicking group to ferry the new couple to their honeymoon destination.

This was Elvis’ treat, he had insisted the jet drop them off before he heads back to wherever it is he’s supposed to be tomorrow. He’s not lost his appetite for spoiling folks. Only this time, he is gonna get repaid in currency a little more tangible than ephemeral, transient, fleeting loyalty. And Ronnie, kiss-ass, weak-spined fuckin’ Ronnie wasn’t man enough to hold out more than a few minutes when Elvis told him his new bride was the price for being inducted into the inner circle, the intitiation to prove his loyalty to The King.

Predictably, after some pathetic and scandalized objections, some monetary threats by Elvis and some judgmental snickers by the guys, fuckin’ Ronnie had caved and betrayed his loyalty to his own wife before he’d even walked down the aisle to marry her.

“B-b-but d-did the rest of t-the g-guys h-h-have to do this?” Ronnie had protested while they were shootin some pool, leaving the gals the other rooms to wedding plan, “Is it a-a-always this w-way?”

It hasn’t always been, no. Because Elvis hadn’t always been so astute. He had allowed his taste for pleasure and innocence and childish notions of fidelity to cloud his perception of women and the men they married. Elvis once was blind, now he saw, and now there was a currency of wedding nights established in the jungle.

“No one’s forcin’ ya to stay in this group.” Elvis had pointed out while lining up his pool cue with the ball, “you’re mighty welcome to go right on out that door, never receive another check from me or a glimpse of Vegas again, you’ll lose that girl, too, cause she sure as hell won’t be stickin around when all your bells and whistles fall off and it’s just you she’s left with. She don’t want ya Ronnie, she wants what I give ya, which makes me her provider, don’t it?” he reasoned before making his shot, the clatter of the balls deafening against the green felt as the older members of the mafia held their breaths in sick fascination with this new form of hazing. “And now, if I’m her provider,” Elvis had straightened up his posture to watch Sonny mark the score on the board, “that makes me a husband of sorts, an authority, a protector. A sugar daddy. Don’t it? You gonna tell me I should throw you guys a damn weddin’ and honeymoon, buy ya the house you live in and the cars you drive, the clothes she wears and the food you eat cause you hang around me an’ promise to protect me if the time comes? Bodyguard my ass, I could turn anyone to chopsticks before you even woke up long enough to realize a threat. Face it Ronnie, there’s a totem pole in this here life, and no one blames ya for bein’ a few notches down than most in the scale of things, but it don’t give ya much leverage bein’ down there. I give you that leverage. And I’d like to compensate myself for my generosity with a lil marital privilege. Jus’ once, just first night rights.” he took a swing of his coke and watched Ronnie closely, licking the sugar off his lips with deliberate swipes of his tongue, “Or would ya prefer I just wait and fuck her in six monthes when she comes knockin’ on my door sayin’ she just got lost in this big ole place?”

Fuckin’ Ronnie was a coward and a cad and he essentially agreed that he’d rather Elvis fuck his wife on the wedding night and be done with it than always be watching his back, suspecting her of carrying on an affair. Ronnie was a little bitch, Elvis surmised. Gone was any protest that he couldn’t do that to her, that she was a good gal, that Elvis wouldn’t do that to a friend.

Kings had no friends. And tonight Ronnie was oh so close to being officially inducted into the Memphis Mafia, he’d do nothing to jeopardize that . Elvis figured he’d wait until the plane took off to sample the goods, make her husband squirm guiltily over it while his new bride puzzled over why he was so tense.

Out of consideration for her downer of a groom, Elvis handed her a drink, playing the gracious host and taking her mind off her husband's stiff bearing and sweaty pallor.

“Don’t mind him, honey,” Elvis whispered hot and wet in her ear as he handed the drink off, “Ronnie boy here’s just scared of flyin’. You’re not scared are ya, honey?”

Honey….he couldn’t recall her name, Mrs. Kemp’s name, his fatigue and apathy too strong. He stood straight and dug in his pocket for a pick-me-up as he watched her smile and blush under his attentions,

“No sir, Mr. Presley, I’m not scared.” she smiled, “One could think we’re sat in a living room, it's so spacious here.” she added a compliment.

“I’d like to show ya the rest.” he says sitting down next to her, his arm heavy and warm around her shoulders and his gaze intent on her, knowing the effect this has on an ignored woman.

He recalls using that same line on his young bride during their honeymoon, eager to show his own new wife everything he had to offer. Beauty and luxury and care and a damn good fuck in front of the mirror back there. And it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough.

He can feel Ronnie tense further against the back of his hand where he clasps the bride’s shoulder, knowing that the “rest” of the plane beyond this lounge is a conference table, a toilet and a bedroom. Ronnie has had the privileges of being part of the TCB and now he’s about to pay his admission fee, and Elvis smirks at the thought that the man will never ride aboard this jet again without thinking of getting cuckolded by his boss.

The Bride is trying to make sense of Elvis' sudden shift of mood along with her husband’s. Both of them seeming to have swapped bearings, changing from the reception as if the jet’s air pressure had doused Ronnie’s merriment and finally revitalized Mr. Presley from the rather sullen attendee he had been. Elvis can feel her hesitancy to agree in her body language and the way she keeps looking over to Ronnie, as if to figure out his nervous ignoring of her and the way Elvis makes up for it in touches and attention. Beneath them the jet rumbles and takes flight, her little gasp at the heart swooping feeling of take-off a taste of what’s to come, of what he’ll pull from her body, willing or not . He’d rather lure her, try that first, the other can always be resorted to.

There’s an unspoken agreement to wait on this lil tour till the jet reaches cruising altitude, and Elvis spends the wait rubbing her arm and watching her try to make conversation with her groom who finds discussing the latest baseball stats with Red far more interesting than recalling the beauteous memories of the last few hours with his now introspective and mildly panicked bride. It’s funny to hold a woman whose mind is racing, Elvis can almost feel the frantic thoughts and conflicting emotions battering her frame from the inside out like a caged bird against its bars.

Elvis allows the minutes to trickle by and work for him, the soothing sweep of his hand slowly melting her rigidity, the continued abandonment of her husband's attention going from hurtful to frustrating, the innocuous chatter of the fellas talking and laughing around them, the cool air of the jet’s cooling system kicking on, and his warm and broad chest already pressed against her, now beckoning like a little haven for her to cower inside until the confusion passes. He clocks all these developments as the minutes go by, fully aware the boys are making small talk with their minds as preoccupied as Ronnie’s about when Elvis will make his move, their anticipation mounting while her guard drops, finally accepting his closeness without question. The jet rumbles and her drink kicks in and with the wedding fever abated it leaves her drowsy, unmoored.

Elvis waits for the perfect moment to pounce and is rewarded for his patience. The cool blast of the AC has made her begin to curl towards him and he’s met her halfway and it’s not till her head almost nods weakly to lay on his shoulder that her sensibilities prick her and she jerks it back up, another little gasp. It makes his repeated,

“Lemme show ya round, honey, got all sorts of remarkable stuff up here”

sound like a gallant cover for her lapse of decorum. Predictably, she shakes herself upright and gives him a polite nod of thanks, their first mutual, unspoken communication acknowledging something the rest of the room isn’t privy to. Her loyalty is slipping and all it took was a few minutes of heating her up with his embrace, a few whispered teases and buying her a whole damn lifestyle. To her credit she looks to Ronnie as she rises, asking him to come along in a coaxing voice Elvis knows is her trying to get her new husband to even look at her.

Elvis watches her try and fail at this from the curtained doorway leading to the back of the jet, thinking it makes a striking picture. A bride still dressed in white, bending over to try to catch her husband's eyes as he watches TV in his rumpled tux, the entire plane’s worth of masculine attention directed on her, except for the man who swore to worship her. Perhaps the disillusion will go both ways tonight, maybe women aren’t all merley bitches in heat, maybe some start out intending to be faithful and good and content.

Elvis has yet to meet a woman faithful and good and content once he puts his mark on them, they spend the rest of their lives day dreaming and closing their eyes when their husbands are in them and clogging his phone lines, kidding themselves that they’re special. He’s saving her the sin of coming to his room in a couple of months or years and saying she got lost while dropping her silk nightwear down her frame, an old and familiar expression of invitation on her face. She might not know that’s in her future otherwise, but he does. And he’s gonna save her the wait. When she wants something she’ll come to him now, not her husband, and he will have the discipline to make the right choices for her.

Elvis holds the curtain aside and beckons her with his fingers, and she would be angrier that he has the nerve to summon her away from her husband if she weren’t so humiliated at being ignored by the man. Frustration at their man makes women very susceptible to comfort, Elvis knows this intimately, and in their strong desire to be understood and soothed, they’ll spread their legs for the first person who tells them they deserve that attention.

She ducks under his arm, into the shade of the conference room with an attitude written on her face. Elvis drops the curtain behind them, the prey corralled. Nothin so easy as a woman scorned, nothin’ quite so hungry and quite so fierce. He hopes she’ll take out some of that miffed little ‘tude out on his back with those fancy nails his money bought her. It makes him smirk in anticipation and he can tell she finds that unsettling, her huffy bearing faltering once she notices him just watching her move round the glossy table top, suddenly aware of their seclusion and the fact she left her groom behind for a tour of the jet. She’s beginning to doubt her choice, doubt her loyalties.

Honeymoon off to a damn good start, she thinks sourly.

It’s innocuous, standing at opposite ends of a conference table with a man who is your husband's closest friend and at whose house you’ve eaten multiple dinners. There’s nothing wrong with it, but she feels her skin prickle none the less like she’s in danger, like those eyes observing her through shaded lenses are not fully human, not fully beneficent. She curses Ronnie for humiliating her, for his weird mood these past weeks making her feel isolated, for her past making her paranoid of this assessing male gaze.

She’d met a panther in the woods on an Appalachian bike ride once. They’d stared each other down as he had crouched and observed, his eyes fathomless and intent, the muscles of its body undulating in readiness beneath sleek black fur. Her mouth had dried out exactly the same as it does now when her shy smiles aren’t met with anything besides those assessing eyes and that crooked smirk that holds no fondness for her, no pride in his jet, no amusement at her awe of his wealth. A smirk of pure and smug knowingness.

Then he calls to her and the warmth of his voice melts her fear. “Check out this icebox, honey”

Her face lights up like a kids in the yellow glow of the refrigerator light as she bends over to look inside, white stain skirt hugging her perfectly and he gathers that all that athleticism has done her good, she could probably ride a man for hours without tiring, judging by the firm curve of that ass.

“See anyhtin ya’d like?” he asks her casually, laying a light hand between her shoulder blades as she reads rows and rows of labeled refreshments.

“Oh, uh, no, no, the drink was enough for now. Thank you Mr. Presley.”

He used to correct folks when they called him that, and used to punt the honorary title to his father. But nowadays he finds “Mr. Presley” might be closer to “your majesty” than mere “Elvis” -in which case he’s stopped putting little floozies at ease by asking them to call him by the name his mama gave him. That’s a name used by a wife back when he was happy and respected and alive.

“C’mere, I wanna show ya this television back here.” he beckons again, removing the heat of his hand from her back and she breathes easier with him taking the lead, she’s able to watch his imposing figure unobserved as he leads her past the conference table and into a small hallway with a large, showbiz style mirror.

Elvis swaggers right on by the marvelous monstrosity with its low counter and doused bare bulbs, but she can’t help herself. A flicker of childish glee taking over as she flips the switch on the wall and makes the bulbs buzz to life, brilliant as a spotlight in the inky gloom, illuminating them from the knees to the ceiling in a gaudy reflection. The sudden blast of light makes him pause on his trek to the bedroom and he joins her in looking at their reflection.

“Hell, honey,” he drawls amused as he takes in her fresh little wedding set and his decadent black suit, “we look like cake toppers.”

She laughs at that, a sweet unaffected thing that is music to his ears, and no doubt a screech to Ronnie’s. Elvis finds his grin growing at that thought and she mistakes it for joy. She laughs again, aborted little chuckles tapering out.

“There’s a tv back here, too?” she asks, embarrassingly at ease with entering a bedroom in the company of Elvis Presley.

Interestingly she doesn’t even glance at the bed when he ushers her in, she’s peering at the walls and the built in furniture for a peek of a screen.

“Mhmm, keep lookin, it’s hidden.” Elvis follows her and shuts the door behind him, a quiet click she doesn’t hear as she’s got her back to him, busily creaking open dresser doors and clapping in commendation upon finding the tastefully camouflaged TV set.

“How wonderful!” She praises and his heart does something funny and nostalgic over unpretentious enjoyment of what he has to give her.

One day it’ll be old hat to her and she’ll be like all the other wives, naggin’ and bitchin’ over keeping up with each other, forgetting about what it was they ever wanted, consumed with one upping each other and dominating the pecking order, spending Elvis’ money not for pleasure but for bragging rights. For now he watches this young woman bounce in her heels over a hidden TV set and makes a pact with himself to be nice, to gentle her into this ruination.

Then he recalls she married Fuckin Ronnie, and that twists his gut in reminder she’s a practical gold digger like all the rest. And he doesn’t mind that about her, he just hates the dishonesty of pretending she’s in it for more, and her ignoring him for a tv irks him as disingenuine.

“Wanna kick back and watch somethin, doll?” he asks her and sees the exact minute his words make her back and shoulders stiffen beneath white silk.

“Uh, on this one?” she’s scared to ask, scared to sound like she’s accusing him of suggesting it, scared to suggest it and give him ideas.

“They got the damn game on the other.” he answers her smoothly, coming up behind her and reaching round her to power it up.

“Elvis.” she dares to sound reprimanding when all he’s done is stand behind her and punch a button, she’s the one who walked into a bedroom with a man who isn’t her husband.

“Gonna be a long flight, three more hours I reckon.” he is patient with her.

“Y-yes.” she hesitantly agrees, watching the screen flicker to life, “And I wanna spend it with Ronnie, exc-“

Liar! He doesn’t let her turn around, he puts his hands on her shoulders and keeps her facing the TV, keeps her away from the closed door she’s not yet noticed, he nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck telling himself, gently, gently, tempt her, tempt her. “Doesn’t seem like Ronnie is eager to spend it with ya.” he mourns low and sympathetic in her ear and she gasps at his brutal honesty, at the fact he’d have no tact to pretend he didn’t notice.

“Elvis, t-this isn’t right.” she parrots her mother or her favorite tv show or some rote set of rules she doesn’t really embrace.

“What ain’t right, honey?” he rumbles, keeping his hands on her, moving them from her shoulders down her arms, then swooping them up again and fingering at the sides of her neck, delighting in the shiver her body yields up to him.

If he hadn’t been so aloof before, she figures she might not feel so electrified by his sudden, all consuming touch. But it’s not just that, he’s kept his distance from her since she started dating Ronnie and in her star struck insecurity she’d made no move to become friendly with him.

Now this, this intentional hovering and the petting that tastes like something she’s only ever heard about. It’s Elvis, Elvis petting her in her wedding dress on the way to her honeymoon destination and that’s simultaneously about as predictable and uncredible as can be. Elvis, who’s been the ephemeral host for countless of lovely parties, Elvis who’s been the presiding specter over all their schedules since she became part of the group, Elvis who has been the magical name on the credit card used for everything she ever wanted. Elvis Presley, the man who achieved all there was in life by 21, and has been bored by it ever since. What did she expect him to be, a fatherly figure?

“Did you like your weddin’ honey?” he asks her after her raging thoughts consume the time she should have spent answering and protesting him.

The hands descending to her hips and squeezing there hint a warning prompt even as his gentle tone reminds her of all he has done for her, his inexhaustible benevolence -which it seems something has finally exhausted. She begins to panic, no need to see those panther eyes when the heat is radiating off of him, sexual intent potent from his aura alone, no need to feel a crude gesture or have it spoken out in clunky declarations of desire. Ingrained self doubt takes hold of her for one brief moment before the scratch of his sideburn rubs against her cheeks and the hot press of his lips against her neck tells her it is not vanity making her project on him, Elvis Presley really is trying to seduce her mere hours after her vows, a few yards away from her new husband and his friends.

“Mr. Presley!” she resolutely stiffens in his embrace and tries to turn and leave his hold of her and he lets her so far as she’s spun round and facing him, her stern tone wobbling out when she’s met with the hypnosis of his expectant stare, “Y-yes it was lovely, thank you.” she stammers out, fear and primal instinct kicking in and guiding her to cower and simper her way out of this, her boldness having bounced off him like shotgun shells off cement. Nothing but damaging to her. “T-thank you for all you did.” she tries again, her tone unsure as his face remains unreadable, his eyes burning and unblinking behind his shades, lit with white hot something in the glow of the tv screen. “You’re very generous.” she admits, tacking on every obeisance she can think of while resolutely ignoring the feel of being held to his chest, near eye level with the gap of his shirt and the chains glittering on his skin. “I need to rejoin my husband, sir.” she begs, begs that she doesn’t want this, denies she’s ever hoped for this.

Idly he wonders if she’s being honest, then he watches her swallow thickly as she catches a whiff of his scent.

Suddenly he crushes her to him, her mouth smashed to the metallic, skin warmed nest of his chains, pinning her there with a hand to the back of her head as his other reaches for the hem of her skirt and drags it up and over her ass, palming it even as she shrieks in shock, “Tell me, Mrs. Kemp,” he growls in her ear, “did you go after Ronnie cause he was near me, or did ya come for the money and stay in the hopes I’d pay attention to your little self? Was you countin’ on me gettin lonely some night an’ sendin’ your husband on an errand so I could get my fill of his wife? Is that what keeps ya from gaggin when he’s on top of ya? Is that the hope?”

Elvis’ fingers find the band of her lacy panties -honeymoon lingerie his money bought her- and he snakes his hand in, down the warm curve of her ass and along her crack, dipping between clenched thighs to rake through predictably sopping wet folds. She gave the whole resistance act a good try, but her womanly body responds to dominance, and Elvis is dominance incarnate. It’s in her weak nature to drip for him, plain and simple, and so he swipes and dips and drags his fingers through her as she fights against his chest, pounding her fists impotently against the velvet of his coat.

“Shhh, shhh honey, I know, it ain’t your fault.” he is magnanimous, gracious as King Solomon. “This, honey, this is what hope tastes like.” he brings his glistening fingers to her snarling mouth and shoves them in against her tongue, savoring the way her choke distracts her from the obvious defense of biting him, “Taste that? That’s how hope tastes, and there ain’t anyhtin’ more harmful than hope. Makes a purgatory of your life. Doesn’t let ya be satisfied with what ya got, won’t let ya get dissatisfied enough to wanna change anythin. You just hope and hope and your life goes by, while you’re hopin.”

She whimpers around his fingers, wilted white silk in his arms, dress bunched up obscenely in the screen-lit room. He strokes her cheek with his spit wet hand, the ring faces of rubies and diamonds and priceless gems caressing her tears away, lulling the creature back to her basic instincts, hypocrisy and futility purged away beneath Elvis’ healing hands. “I ain’t gonna let you go on hopin for years and years,” he enchants her with whispers, rocking her now as she whimpers in catatonic fascination, “I’m gonna gift ya with knowledge.”

Everything she’s given up while fighting to get herself on a jet like this, married to a man of means, with a house and a steady future and a predictable timeline stretching out before her -security at last! -all of it crowds her mind, the devil and the angel on her shoulders whisper in a traitorous debate. Of course life isn’t how she wanted at eighteen when she expected to marry for love, yet of course her mature self is pleased with this match. Those can both exist, and she planned for them to exist in a tidy world where Elvis Presley wasn’t an option, because he’s not. He’s not offering himself, doesn't even have enough dreams of his own to bother with lying about it to buy them both a minute of reprieve from the disillusioned hellscape that is life in one’s thirties when you comforted your starry eyed twenties by telling yourself it gets better. Then to no one’s surprise -it didn’t. The one last insupportable piece of this maturing puzzle that would cement her growing up forever is tasting this then going back to Ronnie. It’s out of the question and she doesn’t give a shit what he’s going through right now, or what Ronnie thinks about her angering his boss, what she needs is the peace of mind that comes with not knowing.

“You can take your knowledge and shove it.” she snaps out of the pliant heatstroke his embrace caused her and shoves him away, only succeeding at making room between them because he’s so surprised by her sudden surfacing out of the trance.

One final thrash of the prey and he watches with amusement as she stumbles in haste across the flickering room, yanking open the closed door and steadfastly booking it to the front of the jet. Headed to the shelter of a man who promised to protect and defend her and cherish her and swore it all while counting his bonus for selling her out.

Elvis watches her till she and her crumpled white dress fly past the brightly mirrored hallway and disappear from his vantage point through the doorway. He picks at his nose and thinks about what he might like to take on this little experiment, and having procured a few items of use saunters after her at a leisurely pace. He sets them on the conference room and table and watches as she pulls back the curtain and steps into the lounge, her whole being vibrating in a way that is not subtle or discreet about what just occurred between them.

It’s warmer in the lounge, just pulling the curtain back wafts warmth into the ice box chilled areas of the plane that Elvis frequents, it makes her tremble with relief. She’s back in public, back where he won’t try anything. Ronnie, to her angry bewilderment, is still glued to watching the TV like he didn’t even register her absence. But his mere existence will still work for what she needs. She needs to belong to someone and sit beside that person for three hours while his boss cools off.

She is not prepared for the way everyone in the lounge spins round to look at her once registering her presence, looking with absolute surprise as if her reemergence was the surprise, not the lengthy plane tour to the back bedroom. It makes her seethe inside, they thought she’d go through with it, damn animals that they are, all “what happens on the road stays on the road” and carefree chauvinism inherited from their boss. She has to remind herself why she wanted this life in the first place, has to recall the perks and the wages and lavish reception.

Red and Joe now flank Ronnie and her seat beside him is taken up by those two manspreading oaf’s. Desperate, she decides to play at being cute and makes to sit on her husband’s lap, spinning round to find Elvis watching hehe from the curtained doorway as she tries to lower herself down to perch.

“Babe, I can’t see the damn screen with you like that.” Ronnie has the churlishness to complain and she wants to scream at his denseness, the way pushes at her lower back to tip her out of his lap.

To save herself the humiliation of face planting on the plane floor she chooses to stand of her own accord and catch herself from the shove. She sees Elvis’ lush mouth frown behind the cigar he’s lighting up.

“Don’t be an ass to her Ronnie, she’s your wife.” he reprimands and she gets a funny feeling of appreciation for being defended in all this. Her loyalty teeters towards the man she has to remind herself she needs to escape from. “Or have ya forgotten, ya unchivalrous bastard?”

That’s a little harsh but the memory of Ronnie not giving a damn about the fact she was almost assaulted -that’s harsh word for that too, her traitorous mind supplies- reminds her that she isn’t happy with him at all. But in fact, come to think of it, she isn’t pleased with any one them, and there’s no where to go on this damned plane. It starts to make her skin crawl, the realization that she’s surrounded by men who would either not believe or else not care if Elvis went through with the forceful attentions he was showing her back there. Who would believe her if she said he forced her?

“Ronnie I’m tired and my seat’s been taken!” she argues with him, “I just wanna sit down. Lay down, even!” she begs, thinking of how best to clear the couch of anyone but him so that no one takes liberties and sits down beside her.

“Then go lay down in back where there’s a fuckin’ bed? Why’d you come out?” he snaps.

“Cause-“ because Elvis Presley tried to take liberties, that’s why, but she feels strangled watching how all the men await her answer with a little too much investment, the way Elvis is still watching her behind tinted shades and a haze of cigar smoke.

“You get all bitchy when you’re tired, go lay down and take a nap, honey. I’m watching the game.” Ronnie suggests her worst fear and it infuriates her how he’s changed just since he slipped a ring on her finger.

“Ronnie please-“ She whimpers and would give anything to know why Joe is leering up at her with a sly grin. There’s no time to think on it as Elvis’ ringed fingers close around her elbow and tug her back towards the curtain.

“C’mon honey, ya heard your husband, let’s get ya situated.” he coos and her fingers turn to ice from the shock of it all.

“I don’t wanna!” she protests, “Ronnie!” she tries one more time while being backed away from her husband by his boss.

“Oh for fucks sake just do what he wants!” Ronnie begs with something akin to frustration but the red hot blush sweating up his neck suggests he’s humiliated to be caught saying it.

“Beg your pardon?” she hisses in disbelief, feeling Elvis’ hand clamp on her arm just a little more, maybe to keep her from marching up to Ronnie and smacking him.

“Just, just give him what he wants. Just tonight.” Ronnie spills the beans far sooner than needed and Elvis wants to roll his eyes at how fast they went from taking her for a nap to admitting to something far more sinister.

The bride’s head swivels from viewing her husband to Elvis and back to her husband and the room full of men who’s thrumming interest in her makes her wanna bolt straight out of the plane now she knows why. It’s sickening yet so strongly in character for them she doesn’t waste many moments in disbelief, it all makes sense in a horribly predictable way. Every one of these fella’s grinning at her discomfort are pathetic in her eyes, as pathetic as men who’d prefer to watch naughty movies than better themselves as lovers. Somehow in the mess of it all, Elvis alone stands out as something a little less deplorable. Even if it’s just his brash and demented honesty she admires.

“Y’all planned this?” she asks dully, scanning each lip licking face, ending with her husband’s sullen one, “This was all planned out? You offered me up? You goddamn, two faced bastard-“

Elvis loops his arm around her waist to prevent her from launching at Ronnie and clawing him to shreds. His chest is searing her through the silk on her back and his hands grab at her more than they need to in order to restrain her. It makes her pulse pound and fury swirls inside her, battling with the cold dread of weakness and helplessness.

“Ronnie made a little deal with me.” Elvis is drawling in her ear in so soothing a way it almost counteracts the nauseating confirmation, “And now, we can watch you runnin’ round this plane for hours to get away from me like a Junebug in a bottle but that ain’t gonna change how this night ends. How bout ya just be sensible, hmm? Just cause he’s a lyin’, no good sunnuvabitch don’t mean you gotta turn bad yourself, ya know? He gave ya instructions, ya can still be a good lil wifey and honor and obey him, can’t ya?”

“Why?” she persists, but feebly this time, not knowing if she’s asking her husband who keeps his face averted towards the screen or the man whose hands are mapping out her body in full view of his friends. “Why y’all gotta do this?”

“I told ya honey,” Elvis murmurs, rucking the hem of her skirt up passed her knees, “hope’s a dangerous thing. I don’t allow it in my house. An’ you’re part of my house now, ain’t ya?” he pets at the damp plushness of her inner thighs as the men stare and she struggles to find a way to empower herself while caught in such a feeble position. Hurting Ronnie, twisting the knife a little more like he’s done her is all she can think of at the time. “Don’t you belong to me, sweetie?” Elvis is prodding once more and his cheek is clammy and hot against hers, the cigar smoke pungent around them.

“Yes sir.” she agrees while sneering at Ronnie’s reddened face.

“That’s more like it.” Elvis’ voice gentles to something a little less frightening than before but all the more terrifying for how sure and smug it sounds. His hands grab at her breasts and she can’t help the whimper she lets out from the presumption, no doubt it’ll only get worse. “Since you’re so eager to stick close to ole Ronnie and include e’rbody in our private business, I reckon it’s only fair we conduct this lil interview on the conference table, hmm?”

When she cranes her neck to look behind him and past the curtain, she can see the shiny table top littered with items it didn’t hold when she made her hasty exit passed it; scarves and a strange sort of plastic wand, that stupid police flashlight and a box of cigars are clumped at its foot in an ominous hodgepodge.

Admitting to being frightened by it would strip away her last bit of autonomy in this and so in a bid to act unbothered she slips out of Elvis’ hold and walks on her own two feet into the room, turning her back to Ronnie before shifting herself to sit on the cold, hard surface of the table.

“Is this what you had in mind, Mr. Presley?” she asks him meekly and makes sure to let her legs fall apart just so. She thinks she’s going to have some control in all this, the silly little thing, thinking he’s a man with regular tastes and base preoccupations, easily distracted from the purpose of this like any other. And the purpose is not pleasure -though he intends to draw it from her till she is broken from it- but purity of intention and nature. A lie dressed in white no more, but a wanton woman giving in to her true nature. Only he has the power to bring this out in every one he meets, and to purge it all the same.

Elvis Presley eyes her, as do all the men in the lounge just past him, until with an approving little hum and smile that is almost pleased, he steps towards her, yanking the curtain closed behind him and leaving them (somewhat) alone together in the dimly lit room, full of anticipation.

And maybe dread.

[vintageshanny]

Elvis Top Three - Christmas Songs

I know this is a narrow category and there will be a lot of duplicate answers, but I’d still love to hear what everyone’s top three Elvis Christmas songs are! Depending on your reasons for celebrating (or not celebrating), I feel like people’s taste in holiday music can vary a lot. Also, these don’t have to be straight Christmas songs. If there’s a song of his that you particularly love listening to at the holidays, feel free to include it! ❤️ Also, as a little twist, what’s one holiday song you wish he would’ve recorded?

Santa Claus Is Back in Town - I expect this one to come up a lot! Bluesy, sexy Christmas music? Yes please! Elvis can come in me down my chimney any time! 😍

Merry Christmas Baby - I’m a sucker for Elvis singing anything bluesy, and this is no exception. I love this song, and I love the casual sounding vocal he recorded where he makes random noises and ad libs. It’s as if you’re just sitting next to him singing carols together.

I Believe - This is probably a weird choice, but I love his performance of this. The vocal is beautiful, and the hopefulness of the lyrics is soothing to me.

One song I wish he had recorded is O Holy Night. This is probably my favorite Christmas song, and I’d love to hear him belt it out with his beautiful range.

Let’s hear your answers! Anyone feel free to participate! 😘❤️

@whositmcwhatsit @be-my-ally @thatbanditqueen @ellie-24 @vintagepresley @lookingforrainbows @prompted-wordsmith @iloveelvis @argeriant18 @loving-elvis @alienelvisobsession @ab4eva @manebioniclegali @deke-rivers-1957 @rjmartin11 @elvisalltheway101 @devilsflowerr @missmaywemeetagain @cryingabtab @dreamingofep @animalloverthingsss @velvetelvis @everythingelvispresley @arrolyn1114 @claire-elvisgirl @vintage-leisure @blighted-star @queenncreole @basicpresleygirl @lllsaslll @elvissbabygirl @powerofelvis @ashtag6887 @sissylittlefeather @dkayfixates @peskybedtime @burnthheparaphilia @thetaoofzoe @mercsandmonsters @wildhorseinkansas @presleysweetheart @all-hookedup-on-elvis @i-r-i-n-a-a @pebbles403 @msamarican @ladelinee @jhoneybees @from-memphis-with-love @aliypop @theresalwaysep

[hooked-on-elvis]

SOMETIMES FANS COULD BE A LITTLE INCOVENIENT ALRIGHT... EP TREASURED THEM ANYWAYS.

To illustrate the story, pictures of Elvis with fans in 1957.

CONTEXT: Graceland, Memphis, Tennessee during Christmastime 1957 -- One day, Elvis and his gang were driving down the gates on their way to the Rainbow Skating Rink. Arlene Cogan was sitting on the passenger seat next to Elvis, who was driving his big black limousine while other friends were on the back seats and a few more on the line of cars following them close behind.

Elvis eased the long limousine into the swarm of fans around the front gate. He stopped directly by a girl in a wheelchair and rolled down his window. He reached out his hand to her and she touched it. "How you doin', darlin'?" he said with a big smile. She said something but all the talking around her drowned it out. People began shoving pieces of paper through the window at him. The caravan of his cars behind us stopped, headlights in a curving line down the hill. Elvis didn't carry a pencil or a pen. People gave them to him and he wrote his name and handed them back. Every kind of piece of paper came through the window. Torn out pages of books. School notebook paper. Department store bills. Novels. Pictures. Candy wrappers. Autograph books. And everybody was asking questions about Elvis' tours, his movies, his girlfriends, his Christmas plans - everything. Girls kept telling him how "gorgeous" he was. Elvis looked across at me. He shook his head. "Can you believe all this?" he said. Girls even stuck their arms through the window for him to write his name on. Elvis was not annoyed in any way. He just loved it all. "If it wasn't for these people," he said, "I wouldn't be where I am today. I'll never forget them." A bare, dirty little foot came through the window. It nearly hit Elvis in the face. There was a pen stuck between two toes. Elvis took the pen, wrote his name on the bare leg and shoved the pen back between the toes. The leg withdrew through the window. Elvis rolled up the window. "Thanks," he said. "Merry Christmas." Fans stayed pressed up against the window. From the other side they stared curiously at me and tried to see who else was sitting in back. Elvis eased the limousine forward through the crows and out on the highway and headed north. The caravan of headlights followed him. "It's unbelievable," he said. "It never ceases to amaze me."

Excerpt "Elvis, This One's for You" by Arlene Cogan; Chapter 4: "A Call From Memphis"

[elvisabutler]

give you my heart

summary: christmastime at graceland is hectic. you and elvis enjoy some quality time alone with each other by the fire after everything is said and done. some important conversations happen. fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: t to be on the safe side, i used the word cocked. pairing: elvis presley ( big daddy variation ) x female reader word count: 1846 warnings: elvis as santa. reader as mrs. claus. talk about elvis's health. basically the reader kind of taking the place of ginger alden if you're curious the time frame my mind went to. talk about marriage. brief mention of elvis's mother. potentially excessive talking to a baby belly. author’s note: merry christmas to those who celebrate and happy holidays to those who don't and happy sunday to those who neither of those apply to. also happy hanukkah. anyway! so this is the tame piece i mentioned last night. special thanks to my lovely ladies of graceland for convincing me to write both pieces. the beginning few paragraphs are the same as the first dirtier fic so no you're not imagining that. you know the drill, imagine austin or real elvis, i'm not picky because i know who i imagined. might maybe have one more christmas-y/holiday themed fic up my sleeve but that's likely for right after the holidays. and yes i am posting this at 6am, i don't understand why my brain wouldn't let me go back to sleep either. also if you want a tag for my later fics, or any of my fics in general just give me a heads up, i'm actually gonna try and start using one.

Christmastime at Graceland is always a bit of a packed house and one that is a- in your own opinion, bit of organized chaos. Between Priscilla bringing Lisa Marie, between every member of the Memphis Mafia- former and current- bringing their basic families and Elvis's own family it was a bit much to handle. Not for the first time you are so deliriously thankful for your fiance still having a relatively cordial at least nowadays relationship with Priscilla. You're pretty sure you would have been lost for the first two Christmases you had hosted and even for this one had you not had her to fall back on.

You're able to handle it though, flitting through rooms like a hummingbird, the swell of your stomach rounding out the red dress lined with white fur causing you to bump once or twice into the children running around and twice into Santa himself, causing him to run his hand across it, murmuring apologies to you and to your little one who gives him an answering kick that has him grinning even more than he already was under his fake beard. Your pregnancy, while giving you more energy than you thought was possible, sometimes also drains you more than you'd like during social engagements. Elvis warns all the adults ahead of time, tells them that things might be cut short if you're looking like you need to relax. You manage to make it a respectable three hours, even if by the end you find yourself sitting on one of the couches, rubbing at your belly enough that despite you moving to stand up shakily in your heels he's showing everyone out in record time.

Lisa and Priscilla are sound asleep upstairs as you find yourself curled up under a blanket on the rug in front of the fireplace with Elvis behind you supporting your back. One of his hands is rubbing small circles against your skin, watching as your child occasionally reacts with a kick that has him huffing a laugh against your neck and has you rolling your eyes. This is all you've really wanted today, for honestly the entire week as preparation for this soiree truly went into overdrive. Elvis might be taking a break from touring and from everything else to focus on his health a little and to focus on you and the child growing in you but he's a bit of a workhorse who doesn't know proper sleeping hours even on his best behavior. You're used to it and it makes times like this, makes these simple moments special.

You're both tired from today's festivities, him from running around after the kids and passing out gifts and you from just entertaining. Any other night after being as pulled apart from one another as you had been lately would have ended in some form of sex but it feels almost like too much effort for the pair of you. The baby within you keeps rolling about, the excitement from today and from Elvis's touch proving to be a combination to drive you a bit batty. Elvis wants to stay behind you, wants to be the rock you lean against but at the same time, he can't help the overwhelming urge he has to talk to your stomach, to kiss at it and marvel at how his girl, his future wife is growing another little one for him, an active little boy he hopes but he's alright giving his lil Yisa a little sister. He doesn't fight the urge after a while, after the fourth kick from your child has you huffing a little out your nose. With an agility you forget he has off stage he moves his body almost like a predator and you find his mouth placing a soft kiss to your belly as he speaks.

"Now ya listen here, it ain't nice to make mama hurt like that. Know ya jealous ya ain't out here enjoyin' the season but next year, lil one. Gonna be in our arms or running around the room. Or maybe you'll be in our arms when we get married. Have ourselves a Christmas wedding." He looks up at you, looking younger than his years. "'Less ya wanna be my wife sooner than that. Ya already got the ring and my big baby."

Your hand moves to his head, thankful he had taken the Santa hat off ages ago and you allow yourself to run your fingers through his hair. It’s a little sweaty still, but you figure it’s from the heat and the former hat. Elvis’s eyes flutter shut a little at the motion, the action being something comforting no matter who’s doing it. A smile plays on your lips before you shrug. “Your very big baby, wondering how much bigger I’m going to get- if I didn’t know any better I’d say there were two in there.” You pause and motion to the belly his head’s now resting on. “I’m not fitting into any wedding dress, sweetheart. Can’t have a wedding till this is all gone.”

Elvis laughs a little and rubs at your belly again, marveling at the kick he receives back, this time down toward the bottom of your stomach instead of toward the top. Maybe there was something to be said about your joke about there being two in there. He shakes his head before he speaks. “We can, ya just don’t wanna have everyone lookin’ at ya and realizin’ I’ve already got ya full of me ‘fore were married. ‘Sides, there’s always a courthouse one. Can do that for now, no fuss ‘n later on we can have the big ceremony with everyone.”

It’s not a bad thought, you think, allowing both of you the privacy of being married before everyone else knows, a truly rare thing that you figure would only serve to help your relationship rather than hinder it. Still, you’re wondering where all this is coming from, Elvis had been content to put a ring on you right before you found out you were pregnant and you had told him you wanted to have a Christmas wedding- a fact that had delighted him to no end at the time- but you hadn’t realized just how big you’d be around Christmas thus forcing you to put aside your plans.Your teeth worry at your lower lip before you say anything. “Just me dressed up in something nice, you dressed up in something nice and we just march down to the courthouse and say our I dos? No fuss.”

“Aw hell-” He starts, rubbing at his neck as he places another kiss to your stomach, murmuring something else before moving to sit up even as you want him to stay in your lap, just allowing you to stroke his hair. This had to mean business if he was turning down the chance to get it. “Look I know my mama's looking down on me right now and reminding me not to mess the one up. Already cocked it up a little giving you the little one early. Figure she'll come haunt me if I don't do what ya want me t'do. And I know you wanted a Christmas themed weddin’ but darlin’ I want ya to be my Mrs. Claus already. Want that ring on your finger to be our wedding ring. I’m bein’ impatient but hell- I don’t even want them questionin’ when you’re pushin’ out our baby whose it is. Just-” He pauses, and moves to cup your cheek, an action that causes you to nuzzle into his hand. “I wanna be able t’call ya my wife already. Wanna be your husband already.”

Not for the first time lately or even today you find your chest tightening at the love you feel for the man in front of you. He’s not perfect- God, don’t you know it and there’s a part of you in the back of your mind that’s prepared to eventually join Priscilla in being his ex-wife once you get married but it’s times like these, these simple times where he bares his soul to you that you’re reminded of why he’s the man you fell in love with.You bring your hand to rest over his and pull him into a soft kiss. “You’re that impatient, huh, big boy? You promise we wouldn’t make a fuss? That I can still have my wedding next year with you and I bouncing the baby between us during the ceremony?” 

He nods solemnly. “If that’s what my baby wants, if that’s what my wife wants, already told ya, mama’ll come haunt me if I don’t do what ya want. I’ll make it so we’re in and out and I’ll get Joe or one of the boys to take some pictures and that’ll be it. No fuss, no fans, nothing but you, me and the- well the little one inside ya but that can’t be helped.”

You giggle softly, running your free hand across your stomach as if to comfort the baby and to just help ground yourself to think.It’s a perfect plan, you think, and you’ve got just the outfit that could work. “They’re probably open on the 27th, you know. If you’re real serious about making me your wife as quick as you can.”

The grin that forms on Elvis’s face makes him look like a giddy school boy or like every silly picture of him just doing this full face grin that to this day amuses you to no end. You had said the right thing by agreeing and his excitement feels a little contagious as he nods his head. “I was serious as anythin’, darlin’. Gonna- Gotta make the plans tomorrow mornin’ when everyone’s awake and gotta tell ‘Cilla she can’t leave just yet- gotta have Lisa and her, just to witness. Oh- This might be the best Christmas present you’ve given me. Don’t think ya ever gonna top this one.” He bends down and places another kiss to your stomach. “Your mama is perfect ya know that, so lucky t’have her as ya mama.”

You shake your head, marveling a bit at the joy and the silliness in the air before you grab at Elvis’s face and place another kiss to his lips. “They got a real silly daddy but I’m marrying him early as a late Christmas gift so guess I‘m just as silly. Can we take this upstairs, jolly ole Saint Elvis?”

Once again, Elvis stands up quicker than you forget he can sometimes and pulls you up and close to him as he peppers your face with kisses. “Of course, gotta make sure my wife is comfortable. What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t? Can’t get started off on the wrong foot. Come on, let’s get to bed.” He pauses and takes a moment to look you up and down. “Love ya.” 

You shake your head and laugh at the way he looks at you. “Love you too, you impatient man.”

taglist: @ab4eva, @aconflagrationofmyown, @butlersxbirdy, @eliseinmemphis, @blurredcolour

[merrymemphis]

Memphis Whistle

My first experience with Memphis Whistle was during the pandemic when Memphis allowed cocktail delivery. I ordered from them a time or ten, and was extremely grateful that such a place existed. It was a great concept, and fortunately for imbibers, resulted in the opening of their brick and mortar location at the east end of Young Avenue in the Cooper-Young neighborhood inside an unassuming Midtown bungalow.

We were super excited to make Memphis Whistle our first stop on the Cocktail Countdown.

December 1, 2023

As we approached the building, the door swung open, and we were immediately greeted with a great smile from Anderson welcoming us to Memphis Whistle.

I could tell from the moment we entered, this was my kind of place. It was dimly lit, moody, candles - perfect ambiance. The bar stretched across what may have originally been the den and dining room. It was a Friday night, so most of the seats at the bar had been claimed.

We were hungry, so our plan was to forgo the bar and be seated to enjoy our cocktails with dinner. It was busy, so we were happy we didn't have to wait.

Our table was a cozy 2-top placed under the candlelit mantle of the home's former fireplace. The room was filled with other merry-makers wanting a little sustenance to compliment their beverages. It was an intimate setting allowing for a good feeling to be there amidst the laughter and conversation of total strangers.

I was happy to see Anderson return to our table as our server, and speak to us as though he was genuinely invested in our having a great evening. Of course, with the point of the visit to be liquid in nature, I started by requesting a festive drink, of his choosing. He explained the concoction to me, and I was giving the choice for it to be blended with gin, or bourbon. I chose bourbon. Caitlin chose gin.

Per Anderson's description, the cocktails were made with a shrub of pear, cardamom, and allspice; then blended with the liquor. For those of you, like me, that had no idea what a shrub was in the world of cocktails, this explanation comes directly from Memphis Whistle's website:

"What is a shrub, you ask? They are a fruit and vinegar based drink that dates back to the time before refrigeration when fruit was preserved in barrels of vinegar and imbibed as a health beverage. Memphis Whistle infuses our shrubs with herbs and spices to compliment the fruit. (We jokingly refer to this as offsetting the toxins from the booze) We pair our shrubs with the alcohol to perfectly match the fruit."

As we waited for the delivery of our libations, we absorbed the atmosphere and noted the jovial, yet chill vibe throughout the establishment.

When Anderson returned, drinks in hand, I asked him what the concoction was called, so I could mention it in my blog. He said that because of the pear infusion, it was being referred to as, "Appearantly."

Brilliant!

We ordered dinner, sharing a massive bowl of Gator Sausage and Chicken Thigh Gumbo, and an equally massive Cheese and Sausage plate - both amazingly delicious, and deserving of their own blog.

We eagerly enjoyed our delightful cocktails, which delivered the perfect holiday mood with its sensuous blend of spices, fruit, and booze.

For our next round, Anderson brought us another shrub based concoction that had been thoughtfully blended, and was equally divine. I am pretty sure he said it was mulberry with gin. Another holiday hit that made me feel warm and cozy inside.

We took our time with these as we savored the flavors - relishing the moment.

After we left, we sat in the car and agreed that the evening at been perfect. This had been exactly what we were looking for to enhance the season.

Joy and happiness "peared" with great food and drinks!

Looking forward to sharing our 2nd day of our Cocktail Countdown tomorrow after our visit to Art Bar.

See you then!

[soulmusicsongs]

Organ Soul in 20 tracks

Organ Soul: 20 Funky Cool Organ Tracks: A personal list of my favorite organ fueled tracks. Here is my personal selection of some of the best organ soul and funk songs.

Bailando en la Campiña - Los Orientales (Bailando en la Campiña - Los Orientales / Mosaico: Tres-En-1 -Tito Chicoma, 1974)

Bonanza - Václav Zahradník Big Band (Jazz Goes to Beat, 1970)

Chain Of Fools - Memphis Black (The Soul Club, 1969)

Dynamite - Fred Van Zegveld (Dynamite, 1969)

Feels Like The World - David "Baby" Cortez (Inflation / Feels Like The World, 1970)

Get Down - 35th Street Gang (Get Down , 197?)

Goobah - Soul Continentals ‎(Goobah / Bowlegs, 1968)

Isole Natale - Rosinha de Valença (Ipanema Beat, 1970)

Lock-Jaw (Part One) - Lee Sykes And The Highlanders (Lock-Jaw (Part One) / Lock-Jaw (Part Two), 1967)

Oh Happy Day - The God Squad Featuring Leonard Caston (Jesus Christ Greatest Hits, 1971)

The Other Blues - Sonny Phillips (Sure ‘Nuff, 1970)

Roll On The Left Side - Knut Kiesewetter Train (Stop! Watch! And Listen!, 1970)

Sound Beat - The Beat Fellows (Sound Beat / Hand In Hand, 1970)

That's Cancer - Wayne Carter (That's Cancer / Trock Rock, 1967)

Una Noche en los Pinos - Marco Merry Y Sus Golfos (Descarga 71 / Una Noche En Los Pinos, 1971)

Voodoo Moon - Jackie Mittoo And The Soul Brothers (Last Train To Skaville, 2003)

Whip It On Me - Billy Hawks (Heavy Soul!, 1968)

Who’s For The Young - Brothers Unlimited (Who’s For The Young, 1970)

Why Don’t You Play The Organ, Man - Memphis Black (The Soul Club, 1969)

You Mother You - James Brown Plays And Directs The James Brown Band – Sho Is Funky Down Here, 1971)

More Soul Songs

Organ Soul in 23 tracks

20 Cool Organ Tracks

Funky Instrumental Cool Organ Tracks

More Cool Organ Tracks

20 Funky Instrumental Cool Organ Tracks

10 Funky Organ Tracks To Get You In The Christmas Spirit

More Funky Organ Instrumentals

10 Funky Instrumental Organ Tracks

[searchingforgravity]

Merry Christmas Baby - Day 4 (Elvis/ Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: It's Christmas Eve in Memphis and you are alone once again. Living far from your family has never been easy for you. You think you'll spend another Christmas alone until you see a man with jet black hair sitting alone at the bar. You strike up a conversation and discover that you won't be alone on Christmas after all.

TW: Car sex, semi public sex, smut, oral (male receiving), dirty talk

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Word Count: 2874

A/N: Thank you for the request with this one, and happy reading! Also a note that Elvis isn't famous in this one.

"What'll it be, sweetie," the bartender asks as you approach the dim lit bar decked out in Christmas lights. "Just a vodka soda, thanks," you say and smile at her softly. She nods and heads off to make your drink. Sitting down at the bar stool, you sigh in anguish. Another Christmas Eve alone. Part of you curses moving away from home. You have no friends and you're barely getting anywhere in your career. You silently hope that things start to turn around in the New Year.

As the waitress brings your drink you sip on it, looking around the room. Except for the town drunk in the corner and a few girls drunkenly laughing at a table, it's pretty desolate. You decide that after this drink, you'll head out. You wonder why you thought it was a good idea to go out tonight anyway. Your eyes start to well up at the sudden pang of isolation you feel when you hear the bell ding, signaling that someone had entered the bar.

When your eyes instinctively go over to the now open door, you see the most beautiful man you've ever seen in your life. Surprisingly, he's alone. Almost as if feeling your eyes on him, he looks over and lands his gaze on yours. A rush of heat runs through you on it's own accord and you are quick to look away. You can hear the girls at the far table giggling louder and look in their direction. They are completely mesmerized by him as they swoon like school girls. You outwardly roll your eyes and sip again on your drink, although, internally, this man leaves you feeling just as wired as them.

"Hey there, handsome, what can I get for ya'," the same bartender asks the mystery man who decided to sit two seats down from you at the bar. "I'll just have a bloody mary, darlin'" he drawls. That accent, good God. You try your best to ignore this man that suddenly has you forgetting about your loneliness and thinking about things that aren't meant for public places. You distract yourself as you swirl your small black straw around the glass, the ice rattling gently inside. You almost choke on another sip of your drink when you hear a female voice approach right beside you. "Hey sexy, what are you doing here all alone?" she questions, her voice five octaves too high to be natural. She turns her back to you and flips her hair, nearly hitting you in the face with it. You internally groan at the arrogance of this girl as you decide to slide into the next seat over. She leans forward towards the man, making sure to put her breasts on full display. You hear him clear his throat gently as he puts his drink down, facing her. You look over and see her friends whispering quickly to each other, their eyes glued to the scene before them.

"What's a pretty little girl like you doin' out here on Christmas Eve? You away from home?" he responds without answering her question. "Oh yeah, me and my girls decided to come see Memphis for the holiday's. Maybe you could show us around," she breathes, leaning closer. A surprised cough leaves his mouth as he chokes on his drink. You don't have to guess at what this girl did to make him so flustered. "Sweet heart, I don't think I'm the typa man you want. And I'm just passin' through. Don't know my way 'round here much," he mumbles, shifting in his seat. She suddenly straightens up, embarrassed. "Oh, oh I see. I'm barking up the wrong tree aren't I?" She engages with him only for a few moments longer before returning to her seat. He's gay? The way you two looked at each other, you were sure there was some sort of spark. Your face falls slightly as you feel a wave of disappointment ring through you.

After about another fifteen minutes, the girls leave and you are almost done with your second vodka soda. You're about to call over the bartender when you are surprised to hear a voice from beside you. "Hey, watcha drinkin' sweetheart?" the mystery man says lowly, closer than you thought he was. You jump slightly at the unexpected question before looking to your left. You're immediately met with ocean blue eyes gazing into yours. "Oh," you whisper at the beautiful man beside you before collecting yourself as best you can. He has a soft smirk on his face that is making you feel like you need to take an immediate cold shower. You smile back despite yourself. "Oh, I was just about to close out. You don't have to get me anything," you say, thinking he is just trying to be nice since you're alone. His face falls slightly at hearing you say this.

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't. Was really lookin' forward to talkin' to ya'" He breathes as his eyes quickly travel to your lips and back up again. The way he's looking at you...he can't possibly be gay. "I ain't gay, baby," he states, as if reading your mind. "Just needed to give an excuse to that girl. Didn't wanna break her heart," He mumbles as he absentmindedly leans in closer to you. It makes you catch your breath, your heart beat speeding up. "There was someone else I was interested in," he almost whispers the next part, his knees slightly grazing yours at how close you are. You pull back slightly. If you are going to go home with this man tonight, and you are praying to God you are, you're going to make him work for it.

"What was wrong with that girl talking to you? She seemed nice," you challenge and you turn your attention back to your now empty glass, swirling around the melting ice cubes. The man calls over the bartender and gets another round for the both of you, making you roll your eyes, smiling to yourself nonetheless. He takes his time before answering, considering his response. "I didn't lie. I don't think I'm the guy she wants," you quirk your eyebrow. "And what is that supposed to mean?" "I don't think she'd be able to handle what I have to give. It's something for a woman, not a girl," he mutters as sips his drink. This almost makes you choke on yours at his words as you take a sip of your own. Heat flushes to your face as your mind momentarily goes blank. He definitely isn't the type to beat around the bush. You decide to test him further. "Oh, and what makes you think you can handle me?"

He laughs out loud at this, something dangerous forming in his eyes when he looks back at you. "Never met a woman I can't, sweet heart," he mumbles as he brings his hand to squeeze your knee, letting it rest there. "Is that a challenge, Mr.?" you question, suddenly realizing you don't know his name. "The name's Elvis, baby. And it is if you want it to be," he breathes, his words going straight to your core. You shift slightly in your seat and a knowing glint forms in his eye. He knows he has you right where he wants you.

After he gets the bill and pays for your tab as well, he leads you out to his car, opening the door for you. You are amazed to see it's a beautiful pink Cadillac. You wonder what this man does for work as he helps you over to it. As you go to get in, you see his eyes glance down your body as he softly bites down on his bottom lip, making your heart flutter and your stomach flip. "Watch your step, honey" he whispers as he grabs onto your waist, your balance slightly failing you. With your body now pressed into his chest, you don't want to pull away, and with the soft sigh that leaves his mouth when you do, it seems he feels the same.

When he gets in the driver's side, he looks over at you. "You sure you wanna do this? A pretty girl like you getting into a strange man's car," he muses with a hint of humor as his eyes rake you over again. "With a car like this, I think I would be okay with you being a crazy person," you throw back, making him laugh for the second time that night. His laugh is like music to your ears. You wonder how it's possible that a man this gorgeous can exist.

As he starts down the road to his place, a tension starts to settle upon the two of you. The same tension that was there at the bar; the one that made you want to rip his close off right there. Neither one of you bothered to turn on the radio, now growing tired of the Christmas music on every station. You allow your eyes to wander to his body as he concentrates on the road. Your eyes travel to his pants and notice a prominent bulge. While he's distracted you carefully trail your left had over to it, giving it a little squeeze. At the surprise of your hand on him, he swerves a little on the road before getting his bearings. "Jesus, baby," he grits out and you see his hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel. He tries focusing on the road as you gently palm him through his pants, eliciting soft moans from his lips.

"Don't tease me, woman," he grunts out as his hips buck into your hand, craving more friction. You make a mental note that teasing gets him hot and bothered, and you suddenly pull your hand away, causing him to whine at the loss of contact. He clears his throat to disguise his noise as his jaw set. "Don't play those kinds of games with me," he mutters as he slightly speeds up, needing to get home as fast as possible. "Why, what are you going to do about it, big man," you breathe as you trail your hand over his thigh making his leg jump. "I'll stop this car and fuck you right now if you don't quit," he grunts.

You choose not not heed his call as you let your hand trail back up to were he needs you most, his dick now hard as a rock. You whine teasingly as you gently palm him again. "Such a fuckin' tease," he groans in frustration as he pulls into the nearest empty parking lot. He turns off his car and immediately starts undoing his belt. "Here's what's gonna happen, doll. You're gonna suck me off, then ride me 'til you cum and you're not gonna tease me a God Damn minute in the mean time," he groans as you hear him pull the zipper down on his pants. You clench your thighs together and lick your lips in anticipation. He looks at you expectantly and you only nod, completely lost for words. He smirks to himself at this. "Good, now get your pretty mouth over here," he mumbles.

You lick your lips again as you see his erection poke out from his pants, making you release a small whine as you inch closer. His eyes snap to you as he hears this. He can't help but bite his lip. "Shit, I wanna cum and you're not even doin' nothin' yet," he groans as he pulls the seat back, allowing you to scoot closer. You crawl in between his legs and as you reach his cock, you steady yourself on his thighs before taking as much of him as you can down your throat without warning. He jerks up in surprise at this as a startled moan falls from his lips. "Fuck!" he shouts, looking up at the roof of the car. "What happened to you bein' a tease?" he gasps more to himself. You pull off of him to respond. "Just giving you want you want, Elvis."

You suck him off at a relentless pace, having him moaning and writhing underneath you, his hands falling to your head as he starts gently thrusting into your mouth. "Baby, slow down. I want it last a little longer," he grits out, his orgasm already building. You ignore his request and speed up your actions, bringing your free hand to play with his balls. His gives a surprised gasp as his head falls back. "God Damnit, woman," he grunts as he pulls you off of him. He takes a second to catch his breath and unexpectedly pulls you up to him, crashing his lips into yours. You freeze for a second before kissing him back eagerly. His fingers fumble with the button on your pants as you help him discard them on the floor. You do the same with your panties and finally your shirt and bra. He does the same with his shirt, bringing his hands to your breasts after as he leans forward, capturing your right nipple in his mouth and circles the left with the pad of his thumb. You groan loudly as you throw your head back, your hands tangling in his hair. He travels his lips back up to yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth, swirling it gently around yours as he lines himself up at your entrance. He pulls away gently to kiss at your neck, making your eyes flutter.

"Ride me, sweet heart," he pleads, waiting for you. You quickly come back down to Earth as you steady yourself on his chest, slowly sinking down unto him. You suck in a sharp breath as you come down all the way on his cock, his hands coming to rest on your hips. "Hell," he groans as he leans he head back on his seat, pure ecstasy overtaking his features. "Shoulda loosened you up," he groans as he brings his hand to your clit, rubbing in soft circles while staying still, allowing you to adjust to his size. Your forehead falls on his at the pleasure he's giving you, your labored breathing mixing with his. "God, don't stop," you whimper, your eyebrows knitting together. "I won't, baby. Not till you're nice and spent," he whispers back, kissing your cheek.

After touching you for a little while, you ease up on your iron grip enough to raise you hips, before slowly coming back down. You both moan at the motion. You quickly find a rhythm, bouncing on him at a steady pace. "That's it, baby," he encourages as his hands return to your hips, helping you. You let a whine slip from your throat at the sensation of him around you as you bury your face in his neck, nipping and sucking gently. He groans at this as he softly starts thrusting up into you, needing to take control. You don't have it in you anymore to fight him as you let him set the pace. Soft grunts leave him mouth every time he buries himself all the way inside you. "You look so good around my cock, mama," he gasps out, looking in between your bodies. You follow his gaze and see the steady pace of him burying his cock inside you and pulling back just to repeat the action, your pussy taking him so easy, it's like it has countless times before. "Oh God," you groan at the sight, picking up the pace. The sight awakens a second wind in you as you take him harder, softly slamming down into him. He throws his head back once more. "F-Fuck, that's so good baby," he whines as he matches your pace, his thrusts hitting deep inside you.

You start getting weak as you feel your orgasm approaching. "Elvis, oh God," you groan and he steadies you on his hips, understanding. "I want you to cum inside me. I-I'm on the pill," you whimper and he groans, picking up his pace as he kisses your neck, his thumb coming down to your clit. At this, you're coming apart, clenching around him again and again. He releases a string of profanities, releasing himself deep inside you.

You both just sit there for a moment, catching your breath. You lean your head to rest on his chest and feel his heart beating rapidly at the exertion, his chest heaving. "Damn," is all he says as he runs his fingers through your hair. "Me too," you breathe, causing a smile to play on his lips. You look around and the glass on his doors are completely fogged, making you smile to yourself as you kiss his chest. "Uh, do you want to me take you home, baby?" he asks, hesitation in his voice. You pause as you think of your response. "You don't want me to come over to your's, do you? It would be nice to spend Christmas with someone," you admit, hope in your voice. He smiles again as he kisses your forehead. "I'd love that, sweet one. Oh look, it's midnight. Merry Christmas baby," he mumbles. He helps clean you up before starting down the street to his place.

Masterlist

Tag List: @horrorgirl4life @father-of-2cats @flowersofcement @goldobsessionsworld @dark-raven031 @peaceloveelvis @tantamount-treason @looloolily

[eptodaytommorowforever]

Elvis Family And All My Elvis Presley Friends Here's The Unseen Till Now! Very Rare Candid Photo I Told You All I Was Posting On My Awesome! EP Blog For You All To Enjoy Tell Me What Star Muscian Singer Entertainer Would Pay A Visit To The Memphis Jail And The Warden? As Seen Here With Elvis Presley On The Morning The 25th Of December Christmas Day In 1970. And Give The Jail Warden Gifts For Him And All The Prisoners Inmates Only One A Great Humanitarian Thats Who Elvis Aaron Presley 1935-1977 Photographer Unknown.

Merry Christmas Everybody And Have An Elvisly Yours '2024 🎄🎄🎄🎅🎅🎅🤶🤶🤶

Quote; Elvis Presley ‘s “Own Words Here If You Don’t Share What You Have You Will Always Feel Empty That’s Why I Share As When I’m Gone I Want People To Have The Best Of What I Had “

[jules-has-notes]

2016 VoicePlay fall roundup — projects galore, frequent travels, and holiday cheer

As summer rolled into autumn, VoicePlay just kept rolling on their various creative fronts.

While the other guys were cruising in the northeast, Tony and Layne were hard at work back home, prepping and filming PattyCake's first Halloween video.

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California schemin'

Once the sailors were rested up, most of the guys headed for the west coast. They spent two days in Los Angeles filming collaboration videos, first with Kurt Hugo Schneider and then with AJ Rafael.

On the upside, their absence from Florida meant that they didn't have to take shelter from Hurricane Matthew. Unfortunately, Tony wasn't involved in the videos (for reasons that would soon become clear) and was supposed to be on a later flight than the others. He didn't make it out of Orlando before the airport was shut down.

From L.A., the guys hopped up the coast to San Francisco to perform at a benefit concert for the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation hosted by the Alpha Epsilon Phi fraternity at Stanford University. With Tony stuck at home, the fellas called in their old buddy Paul Sperrazza from Vox Audio to pinch hit as their baritone for the night.

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Squeeze me in

After a few days at home, the guys hit the road again. They started with three days of student workshops in eastern Ohio.

During the week, they set their social media followers the challenge of finding them among the crowds of students and faculty at some of the schools. (Can you spot them all? The kids make surprisingly good camouflage.)

New Philadelphia, OH — East Elementary // West Elementary

Zoarville, OH — Tuscarawas Valley Elementary School

On the final day, they worked with the choirs from two local high schools, who then joined them for a show at Kent State Tuscarawas the following night.

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From there, the guys headed south to West Memphis, AR for another concert and a workshop at the local high school the day after that. One crafty fan brought them homemade VP logo cookies.

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students at West Memphis High School

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Next they flew up to NYC to perform at a fundraiser for the Lupus Foundation of America.

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Then they scooted upstate to Rochester for a show at Nazareth College before finally heading home.

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Happy holiday-ween

Once they returned to Orlando, it was time to buckle down on rehearsals for their second year at Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party, so that they'd all be able to hit the stage running in November. (Layne did take the time in the middle of the week to have dinner with their old friend Jeff Thatcher and introduce him to Doris, though.)

The extra twist this year was that, on top of getting themselves and their backup guys ready to perform their holiday setlists, these performances would also be their next step toward formally acknowledging Tony's departure. He wouldn't be joining the other guys on stage in Tomorrowland this season. Instead, they would alternate between two replacement baritones, Erik Winger and J.None, who would continue performing with them into the new year, until the group could decide on a new permanent member.

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No trick, all treats

At the end of the month, Geoff & Kathy announced that baby Castellucci was on the way at long last. They shared a short video documenting some of their challenging road to parenthood on Geoff's personal YouTube channel.

and baby makes three… er, five?

WARNING: This video contains footage of Kathy receiving many injections in her belly and buttocks. As a result, she engages in some pain-induced swearing. Understandable, but probably NSFW.

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One of the pumpkins from the baby reveal was then repurposed to create VoicePlay's social media posts for the day of Halloween.

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North to South (Carolina)

After a week and a half at home, the guys moseyed up to South Carolina for a pair of shows in Aiken, this time with Erik Winger as their substitute baritone.

A group of fans, perturbed by some negativity they'd been seeing directed toward the guys in YouTube comments and on social media, had been conspiring amongst themselves to counteract that energy. They'd created a book of positive messages and images. The two friends who had volunteered to collect and deliver everyone's submissions also documented the presentation during the post-show meet and greet on the first night so that all the contributors could see the guys' initial reactions.

Ashley and Nancy present the book of fan love

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The second day also held a few surprises.

It can be nice to have fans in the service industry.

Aiken, SC show — pre-show chatting // post-show group hug with fan Ashley // prezzies!

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Sing, laugh, and be merry

And then it was off to the races. VoicePlay began their second annual residency in Tomorrowland for Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party at Disney World in early November. For nearly 100 performances over the course of six weeks, they once again entertained thousands upon thousands of visitors to the Magic Kingdom.

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Hardcore mode

In between MVMCP shows, the guys continued doing their other jobs. Among other things, that meant Earl was lucky enough to be playing Crush in the Nemo live show when iconic professional wrestler Mick Foley was in the audience.

Earl meeting Mick Foley // the VP MVMCP B-team — Tony F., Antonio, Deejay, Joey, & J.None

Having a full cast of replacement singers came in handy during the second week of Disney World shows. VoicePlay had also booked a holiday concert down in Delray Beach for the Friday before Thanksgiving. So, while Winger filled in for Tony on the road, J.None and the rest of Echo took to the Tomorrowland stage in full force.

Eli and Ashley even left a day early and took a detour to attend a Carrie Underwood show in Tampa on the way.

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VoicePlaying for Gamecocks

At the beginning of December, VoicePlay headed up to South Carolina with Winger once more for their last non-Disney holiday concert of the year at USC.

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Bubblicious

In early December, some of the guys finally got to meet the British music blogger who had been singing their praises for several years when his vacation itinerary brought him to the Magic Kingdom.

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Caroling we roll along

Their final video shoot of the year was also the final entry in their first set of PartWork videos, a gentle rendition of "O Little Town of Bethlehem". With the announcement of Tony's departure drawing closer, the other four guys were all featured in this video in their usual roles, and Geoff did double duty to cover the baritone part.

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VoicePlates

As a fun little end-of-year treat, their pal (and former 4:2:Five tenor) Danny Alan stumbled upon some holiday paper goods that bore a surprisingly familiar looking design.

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The guys finally took the last few days of the year to relax and rest in preparation for their hectic start to the new year, but those are stories for another time.

[longliverockback]

Faces at the BBC Complete BBC Concert & Session Recordings 1970-1973 2024 Rhino ————————————————— Tracks CD One: John Peel’s Sunday Concert (Broadcast July 5, 1970) 01. You’re My Girl (I Don’t Want to Discuss It) 02. Wicked Messenger 03. Devotion 04. It’s All over Now 05. I Feel So Good John Peel’s Sunday Concert (Broadcast November 29, 1970) 06. Country Comfort 07. You’re My Girl (I Don’t Want To Discuss It) 08. Too Much Woman (for a Henpecked Man) • Street Fighting Man 09. Maybe I’m Amazed 10. Around the Plynth • Country Honk • Gasoline Alley

Tracks CD Two: John Peel’s Sunday Concert (Broadcast May 23, 1971) 01. You’re My Girl (I Don’t Want to Discuss It) 02. Cut Across Shorty 03. Love in Vain 04. Bad ’n’ Ruin 05. It’s All over Now 06. Had Me a Real Good Time 07. (I Know) I’m Losing You 08. I Feel So Good

Tracks CD Three: Sounds For Saturday (Broadcast April 1, 1972) 01. Three Button Hand Me Down 02. Maybe I’m Amazed 03. Too Much Woman (for a Henpecked Man) • Street Fighting Man 04. Miss Judy’s Farm 05. Love in Vain 06 . Stay with Me 07. (I Know) I’m Losing You

Tracks CD Four: John Peel’s Sunday Concert (Broadcast February 26, 1972) 01. Intro • You’re My Girl (I Don’t Want to Discuss It) 02. Three Button Hand Me Down 03. Miss Judy’s Farm 04. Memphis, Tennessee 05. Give Me the Moonlight 06. Too Bad 07. Last Orders Please 08. Devotion 09. That’s All You Need • Country Honk • Gasoline Alley 10. (I Know) I’m Losing You 11. Stay with Me 12. Had Me a Real Good Time 13. Underneath the Arches 14. Every Picture Tells a Story

Tracks CD Five: In Concert (February 8, 1973) 01. Silicone Grown 02. Cindy Incidentally 03. Angel 04. Memphis, Tennessee 05. True Blue 06. I’d Rather Go Blind 07. You’re My Girl (I Don’t Want to Discuss It) 08. Twistin’ the Night Away 09. It’s All over Now 10. Miss Judy’s Farm 11. Maybe I’m Amazed 12. Three Button Hand Me Down 13. (I Know) I’m Losing You

Tracks CD Six: In Concert (Broadcast April 21, 1973) 01. Silicone Grown 02. Cindy Incidentally 03. Memphis, Tennessee 04. If I’m on the Late Side 05. My Fault 06. The Stealer 07. Borstal Boys 08. Angel 09. Stay with Me 10. True Blue 11. Twistin’ the Night Away 12. Miss Judy’s Farm 13. Jealous Guy 14. Too Bad

Tracks CD Seven: Top Gear (Broadcast March 28, 1970) 01. Wicked Messenger 02. Devotion 03. Shake, Shudder, Shiver 04. Pineapple and the Monkey (Broadcast March 15, 1970) 05. Dave Lee Travis 06. Three Button Hand Me Down 07. Flying 08. Wicked Messenger Top Gear (Broadcast September 19, 1970) 09. Had Me a Real Good Time 10. Around the Plyth • Gasoline Alley 11. Country Comfort Top Gear: John Peel’s Christmas Carol Concert (Broadcast December 26, 1970) 12. Away in a Manger – Rod Stewart 13. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen • Good King Wenceslas • Silent Night • O Come All Ye Faithful

Tracks CD Eight: Sounds of the Seventies (Broadcast May 3, 1971) 01. Had Me a Real Good Time 02. Love in Vain 03 . Oh Lord I’m Browned Off 04. Maybe I’m Amazed Top Gear (Broadcast October 6, 1971) 05. Stay with Me 06. Miss Judy’s Farm 07. Maggie May

Tracks Blu-ray Sounds for Saturday (Broadcast April 1, 1972) 01. Three Button Hand Me Down 02. Maybe I’m Amazed 03. Too Much Woman (for a Henpecked Man) • Street Fighting Man 04. Miss Judy’s Farm 05. Love in Vain 06. Stay with Me 07. (I Know) I’m Losing You —————————————————

Kenney Jones

Ronnie Lane

Ian McLahan

Rod Stewart

Ron Wood

* Long Live Rock Archive

[dustedmagazine]

Wreckless Eric — Leisureland (Tapete)

Wreckless Eric (Goulden) almost died a couple of years ago, first the COVID, then the lungs, then a heart-attack and finally a very long recovery. It’s the kind of experience that might invite introspection about life. Indeed, this first album since is a ruminating look back at the blighted seaside English towns where Goulden grew up, with their run-down amusements and cut-rate retail establishments, their environmental damage and their low expectations.  

In “Standing Rock,” an early single, he enumerates the failings of such places in fine detail, so that you can feel the crushing ugly ordinariness closing in. Yet, there’s also a bit of hope, a way out, in the same way Goulden got out, through music. In his cracked and wry tenor, he sings about, “John, Paul, George and Allan writing songs while people sleep/John, Paul, George and Allan being different and deep, in the town of Standing Water.” Not quite the Beatles, but close enough.

“Southern Rock” captures the longing, the restless grass-must-be-greener agitation of a young man in a dead end town, as Goulden listens to American music and imagines escape: “Listening to Southern rock in southwest England in 1971/dreaming about Memphis Tennessee and the California sun/San Francisco, New York City, California girls/I didn’t know where anything was in this god almighty fucked up world.” Goulden sublimely aw-fuck-it delivery makes nearly everything sound sardonic, but there’s a bottom note of pure yearning here. The song smolders most of the way, and then bursts into flame in a rollicking chorus.

Leisureland includes a lot of instrumental interludes that capture, in various ways, the places Goulden left and the sounds that lured him away. “Inside the Majestic” rides a drone of movie theater organ, its programmed drums shushing and shuffling like scuffing shoes.  “Esplanade by the Moonlight” incorporates the sounds of seagull and waves and spooky electro atmospherics. “On the Move” has automotive sounds rumbling through it, as a Casio beat rattles with suave, manufactured assurance. It’s not a new thing for Goulden — Construction Time and Demolition had its two “Mexican Fenders” instrumentals — but there are more of them than usual and they seem of a piece with its aim to conjure lost worlds.

It wouldn’t be a Wreckless Eric album without a couple of wry, sarcastic bangers. “Zoom (Glittering in the Sun)” careens with the scratchy, punchy, psychedelic garage bliss of earlier Wreckless Eric tunes (including the one you can hear in the Expedia ad), and “Drag Time,” is quite simply one of his best ever. It’s a swirling, circling, celebratory rush, with a truly sing-along chorus. (“Get yourself a one way ticket on the merry-go-round.”) You can hear Amy Rigby singing along as the sound surges in a dizzying crescendo. And so, the past circles back to incorporate the right now, and the merry-go-round keeps spinning and Wreckless Eric is still, blessedly, aboard.  

Jennifer Kelly