#southern wedding photographer

[mudwerks]

color pallette

[bestudios1]

Looking for the top wedding photographers in Southern California? Look no further! BE Studios is one of the leading wedding photographers and capture stunning images that fulfill your need. Whether you're dreaming of a picturesque beachside ceremony or a rustic garden affair, they will artfully document every precious moment, ensuring memories to last a lifetime. For more information, you can call us at 6198160768.

[vivwritescrappythings]

Unfair

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

an au about Joel attending a wedding simply inspired by Pedro's slutty little fit at the SAG awards.

part 2

tw: age gap (late 20s/late 40s), fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, alcohol, she/her pronouns, reader has hair long enough to twist around her finger, Joel is probably poorly written in this, and this whole thing is a little poorly written.

word count: 7.2k

MDNI

masterlist

–

Your mom was smiling as you zipped her into her gown, the chiffon and lace dress gorgeous on her as you fastened the eyelet closed at the top of the bodice. You could feel the lens of the photographer’s camera trained on you both, the woman having been with you the entire morning to document the process of the bridal party getting ready. 

The photographer was fluttering around the room, taking candid photos of you all making small talk and toasting mimosas. The posed photos had been earlier that morning, you all wearing your matching silk robes with your names screen-printed on the back. You didn’t know how much had been spent on the whole production–but it certainly wasn’t cheap. But, to see your mom glowing and her wide smile all morning, every penny must have been more than worth it.

Before you realized, you all wore dresses and bouquets of white flowers with magnificent greenery were being thrust in your hands. The wedding planner was ushering everyone out onto the stone walkway to the barn, women finally meeting men just outside the farmhouse turned wedding venue. The best man looked vaguely familiar to you as you placed your hand in the crook of his elbow to walk down the aisle, he must have been Shawn's eldest brother.

The officiant droned: he just repeated the same platitudes of what it means to love one another and be good spouses. You tried to stay focused, your eyes inevitably wandering. The ceremony space was picturesque: southern live oaks casting shadows in the late autumn sun as they married in front of the barn. It really couldn’t get more Texas than that, especially when you counted the number of cowboy hats in the crowd. 

You could feel someone staring at you for the better part of the ceremony, making you glance out of the corner of your eye as you tried to find the source. Every fiber of you wanted to turn and look in earnest, but you knew that you’d ruin the photos as soon as your body twisted and your happy, grinning face wasn’t facing the bride and groom on the best day of their lives. 

Your grip tightened around the bouquet in your hands as your skin crawled, your focus so jarred that you almost missed your cue to walk out. The cheers and clapping woke you from your reverie before the best man had to. Grasping him by the elbow, you walked back up the aisle between the celebrating wedding guests, the feeling of being watched now fading to the background.

—

When you finally made it to the renovated barn, you were starving and in desperate need of a drink. The photos had run long, the photographers getting you all in a variety of line ups and poses. It was almost time for the plated dinner to begin, guests settling at assigned tables after a cocktail hour and the live band playing quiet music in the corner of the half-inside half-outside space that would eventually serve as the dance floor.

The orange lighting from string lights along the ceiling was soft, mismatched Edison bulbs hanging along zigzagged wires from wooden rafters. It painted the guests and decor in gold tones, making everything look sepia like an old photo.

With your double shot vodka tonic in hand, you found your name written in gold calligraphy on the seating chart. Your mom and her new husband were sitting together at a small table at the front of the room, a faux-neon sign behind them that displayed his last name. Well, their last name now. 

You were at one of the front tables, the ivory table cloth nearly brushing the shiny wooden floor as you plucked your name card off your plate and sat down. There were only a few people you knew at the wedding, neighbors from the neighborhood you grew up in and a handful of your mother’s coworkers. But, they were seated elsewhere. 

Some of the seats on the opposite side of the sprawling white and green centerpiece were occupied with strangers in flamboyant cowboy hats and boots, an obvious sign they were from out of town. You smiled politely as you sat down, taking a long sip of your drink as you checked your phone for the moment of downtime. 

“This seat taken?” A deep, twangy voice made your gaze cut away from the screen and up to the right. You were immediately dumbstruck by how handsome the man was, his umber colored eyes reminding you of the sunlight hitting the tree trunks during the ceremony. A few of his dark brown curls were falling on his tanned forehead, the rest of his hair loosely pushed back. 

You floundered for a moment, lips parting and no words coming out of your mouth. Finally you caught up, blinking a few times. The place card in front of the ornate gold and white place setting next to yours was your saving grace. “Well, uh, if you’re Joel M., the seat is all yours,” you said, looking back up at him.

God, you hoped he was Joel.

He smiled, the lines on his face becoming a bit more defined as he extended a hand toward you. “Joel Miller, nice to meet you…” he trailed off, waiting for your assistance. 

You slipped your hand into his, his calloused palm engulfing yours as he shook it politely. You introduced yourself, neck craned back so you could look him in the eye. He released your hand and sat down, setting the glass he was holding next to yours on the table cloth. 

“So how do you know the couple?” Joel asked you, his gaze dragging over you. You tried not to squirm under the weight of it, your face feeling hot as you set your phone face-down on the table. The way he looked at you made you feel like a bug caught under a microscope.

“The bride is my mom,” you said, fiddling with the elegantly folded cloth napkins for a moment. You glanced at her briefly, watching her giggle at something Shawn had said. 

Joel nodded, a huff of a laugh following. “No shit, so you’re the stepdaughter?” he asked, an eyebrow raised as a smirk lifted the corner of his lip. One of your eyebrows lifted of its own volition, his reaction catching you off guard.

“Do I have a reputation?” A sip of your drink helped wet your dry tongue, your eyes trained on him over the rim of your glass. There was a spike of anxiety in your chest, the temporary fear that he’d heard something bad about you filling your mind. You held your glass in your hand as you crossed your legs at the ankle, waiting for his response.

Joel paused to take a drink, a hand scrubbing over his beard as he looked back at you. He shook his head, waving a hand in a way that was meant to be placating. “Shawn told me about you, said you just moved back to town a few months ago.” 

“Um, yeah, actually. Moved back from Denver,” you said, bashful that the subject of you even came up. You hadn’t realized that you were important enough in Shawn’s life to mention, especially to his friends. Of course, there wasn’t animosity between the two of you, just what you assumed was limited interest. Most men didn't bother to learn too much about their adult stepchildren.

You were both leaning forward as you spoke, the music and chatter of the other guests making the barn a little too loud to hear one another clearly at a distance. He was looking down at his drink, giving you an opportunity to study his profile. Joel was easily twenty years your senior, the dark beard on his jawline threaded through with patches of silver hair. 

“So—“ Joel started, getting cut off by the shuffle of the last people to their seats and an arm thrust between the two of you. The waiters serving the plated dinner made you sit upright in your chair, the soft fabric of your dress fluttering as you put some space between Joel and yourself. 

You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you took the first bite of your food, a sigh escaping you as your eyelashes batted against your cheeks. Conversation floated around your head, you caught polite questions about Joel’s construction business and half-assed replies.

For some reason your mother had put you at a table full of Shawn’s friends, maybe in an attempt to help you get to know him better.

“So you’re a contractor?” you asked after your hunger had been satiated. You’d gotten a refill on your drink from one of the waiters, nursing a fresh vodka tonic as you looked at Joel.

He chewed his steak methodically, nodding as he turned slightly to look at you. “Been building houses for years, my brother, Tommy, works with me,” Joel said after he swallowed, taking his cloth napkin off his wide thigh to wipe the corner of his mouth. 

“Do you like it?” you asked after a moment of contemplation, tilting your head to one side as you looked at him.

There was something about him that kept you smiling, your lips curved like a bow as you sipped your drink from the straw. You studied his features while you could, his aquiline nose and his full lower lip intriguing. Way too intriguing for someone who was your stepfather’s friend.

“Pays the bills, keeps the roof over me and Sarah’s heads.” Joel finished his plate, picking up his drink and leaning back in his seat. 

Sarah? Your eyes dropped to his left hand, not seeing a ring on any of the fingers. Not even a tan line. He noticed it, making your face burn as he chuckled. “Sarah? Your…”

“Daughter,” he cut in helpfully. Daughter, he had a daughter. You exhaled, relieved. But, did he have a wife? No ring, never mentioned her. He would’ve brought her up by now. She would've attended the wedding with him. You chewed the inside of your cheek for a moment, taking a breath as you rationalized.  

Your mouth opened to ask another question when glasses were chimed and dinner was cleared away. Champagne flutes were passed around, and to your horror you realized it was time for your toast. You stood in a fluid motion, adjusting your gown and your hair before heading toward the microphone next to the table with the bride and groom.

–

You spent the rest of the night getting drunk. Champagne became cocktails and cocktails became shots–all with your mother and new stepfather and family and friends from your childhood. Tipsiness made you remove your heels, kicking them off to the side to a forgotten corner as your aching feet pressed against the polished floor. 

The dance floor was cramped, the band having transitioned partway through the night to someone’s phone with a playlist hooked up to the speakers. You watched your mom laugh as she was spun around by her new husband, making you smile as you nursed your glass of wine. 

“You lost something.” Joel approached, pointing to your strappy heels with a lazy finger. 

You grinned, your teeth digging into your lower lip for a moment as you looked up at him. “Looks like you did, too–a few things actually,” you said, nodding toward his shucked suit jacket and tie. The top few buttons of his white shirt were open, revealing just enough of his tanned chest to feel dangerous. He was more disheveled than before, a chilled beer bottle held loosely in his fingers and his cheeks flushed.

Joel chuckled, taking a step closer to you as he took a long drink from his beer. You watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed, taking a sip of your red wine in tandem.

There was something about this man that had you all kinds of flustered, a giddy lightness in your chest when he focused his attention on you. “So why aren’t you out there dancing?” Joel asked, his warm eyes surveying the dance floor before returning.

You shook your head, a demure smile and a shrug. “Never was much of a dancer.” The last time you really danced was wasted at a frat party in college, the lights low and the music making the house shake. Far from a respectable barn wedding, and definitely not your mother’s respectable barn wedding. 

“That’s a shame,” Joel smiled at you, pressing just a bit closer, “a pretty girl like you should be out there.” 

You were surprised by the compliment, nearly choking on your wine as your eyebrows lifted. Joel was smirking, his whole body leaning toward yours. You were warm to the touch, your entire face burning under his attentions. It felt like you were in high school again, pining after some older boy that you assumed would never look at you twice–but here he was, looking.

“Do you always flirt with your friend’s stepdaughters?” you asked, hoping to come off as hard to get. Realistically, he already had you in the palm of his hand.

Joel pursed his lips, something mischievous flashing in his dark eyes for a moment. “Just the ones that look like you,” he said, his deep voice low. It was almost too quiet to hear over the music, making you shift forward so you could hear him better.

“Joel.” It would've been chastising if it wasn’t for your bright smile. He exuded an easy confidence that was magnetic, it had your nerves on fire as you selfishly hoped that he would do more than just flirt with you. Your gaze was on his lips for a moment, taking in the lines of his full bottom lip and tidy mustache before meeting his eyes again.

“The couple is getting ready to leave!” You both looked toward the door and watched the wedding planner usher guests out the barn doors. Sparklers were thrust in everyone’s hands, the photographer already positioned at the end of the walkway near the rented white Rolls Royce.

Joel’s hand found the small of your back, warm through the thin fabric of your dress as he guided you toward the door. The wedding planner handed him two sparklers, the long kind that wobbled under their own weight. 

The guests had divided into two lines, waiters lighting sparklers on either side of the column created. Joel handed you one as you stood at his side, your bare feet on the warm concrete. You held it out from your body, focused on the bright sizzle of the sparks as they made their way down the lines of powder.

Your mother and Shawn walked through the column of sparklers on cue, laughing and smiling while holding hands. They looked so happy. You could hardly imagine being that happy with someone.

She broke off for a moment to embrace you, making Joel thoughtfully pluck the sparkler out of your fingers so you didn’t burn her. 

Tears pushed at your eyelids, overwhelming joy for your mother finally breaking free of your chest. You whispered ‘I love you’s into one another’s ears and pressed kisses to cheeks as you clung to each other. The photographer’s camera was shuttering nearby, catching every intimate moment.

Finally you let her go, tearful and smiling as Shawn pulled her toward the car that would take them to their hotel. Joel’s large hand found the curve of your waist, bringing you to his side as you watched your mother get into the car. 

You were tipsy enough to allow it.

He was warm, smelling like cigar smoke and whiskey and cologne. You both were quiet as you watched the car pull away, your shoulders fitting in the space between his arm and torso.

“You wanna help me find my jacket? Think I left it around back when I was smoking a cigar with Shawn,” Joel murmured into your hair. His fingers pressed into your waist, his breath on your neck.

It was enough to distract you. You blinked your tears away, fingertips brushing at the corners of your eyes to make sure your makeup was still intact. “Sure,” you whispered, looking up at him after you’d composed yourself.

Your heart skipped a beat when Joel took your hand, tugging you along with him down the path on the outside of the barn. Both of you were tipsy, giggling and stumbling a bit over the paving stones that had been set in the tall grass. The lights faded behind you, the dim glow through the high windows of the barn and the solitary strand of Edison bulbs between the trees just enough to navigate by. 

It all happened so fast, you didn’t even know who initiated it. Joel’s calloused hands were cupping your cheeks and jaw, tilting your head up as your lips met his. He tasted like whiskey and the sweet wedding cake, making you sigh into the kiss as your fingers twisted in his shirt and pulled him close. 

You had to stand on your tip toes to kiss him properly, a few soft laughs escaping the both of you when the hard cartilage of your noses bumped and teeth clashed. 

He took steps forward until your shoulder blades pressed against the side of the barn. Joel crowded you in, one hand leaving your cheek to brace against the wood behind your waist as he swiped his tongue along your bottom lip. You could feel him smiling.

You always found French kissing to be weird, never knowing quite what to do with your tongue. Whenever a guy had initiated it you managed to cut it off quickly, moving on to some other method of making out to spare yourself the embarrassment of letting your tongue sit there like a dead fish.

Of course you’d seen people do it, always seeming like a lot more licking each other than kissing. Nevertheless, the second time Joel ran his tongue along the seam of your lips you found yourself parting them for him.

Suddenly, you understood. Joel’s tongue massaged over yours as he groaned softly. You wanted him to consume you, letting him take control as he explored your mouth. He tilted your head back more, leaning over you with his full height. You flicked your tongue along his, spine arching toward him in an attempt to get closer.

The horn of the hotel shuttle startled you as you broke apart, chests heaving and your lipstick smeared onto Joel’s mouth. 

“You staying at the same hotel as everyone else?” Joel asked, nosing at your hairline as his hands roamed over your dress. He bunched it in his fists, raising the hem above your calves and wrinkling the fabric.

“I am,” you breathed, twisting your fingers in his thick curls. 

Joel smiled against your earlobe, nipping at it. “Wanna continue this in my room? Got a king size bed and everything,” he drawled, pulling back to look down at you. There was a sparkle in his eyes, his smile was breathtaking.

You wiped your lipstick off his bottom lip with your thumb, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “You sure?” you asked, folding your arms over your chest in a form of protection from Joel’s possible rejection. 

He offered, but there was still a part of you that was worried.

He furrowed his brow, a smile still on his face as he looked down at you in the dark. “'Course I’m sure. Go get your shoes, baby, and I’ll see you on the shuttle.” Joel spun you toward the nearest door to the barn, lightly smacking your ass go get you moving.

You yelped, swatting at his hand with a glare. 

“Go on, before I ruin that pretty dress of yours in the dirt out here,” he told you, a smirk on his face as he nodded his chin toward the door. You rolled your eyes, acquiescing to his instructions.

—

It took Joel no time to get you down the hall from the packed elevator and to his room. He clumsily tapped his keycard against the sensor, stamping kisses along the side of your neck as you giggled in the cage of his arms.

Finally he got it to unlock, tightening an arm around your waist as he pushed the door open. Joel took wide, staggered steps on either side of your body as he ushered you inside. 

As soon as the door snapped shut he was already lifting the bottom of your dress, kisses turning into bites on the curve of your neck. “Jo-el,” you whined through giggles as you grabbed the forearm he’d locked around your waist. 

“Unfair that you’re this fucking pretty,” he mumbled, making your face heat up as you tried to protest. Joel shushed you by grabbing a handful of the meat of your thigh, groaning in your ear. 

“How’s it unfair?” you managed to ask, your head spinning from the overwhelming presence of Joel. His rough, calloused hands were groping at your soft flesh, his lips sucking marks on your neck like you were teenagers. 

The room was relatively untouched, his open suitcase on the stand near the large windows on the far side of the room. The curtains were slightly open, moonlight filtering in. “S’unfair that I didn’t meet you sooner,” Joel said, scraping his blunt teeth over the sensitive spot just under your earlobe. You shivered in his arms.

He separated from you just enough to shuck his suit jacket that he had haphazardly put on for the shuttle, tossing it on the little sofa in the room. You turned after stepping out of your heels, linking your hands behind Joel’s neck and pulling him in for another kiss. 

Joel smiled into it, his hands grabbing your waist and holding you flush against his body. “You still wanna do this?” His fingers moved to your spine and played with the zipper on the back of your dress, looking down at you as he waited for your answer. "Don't want you to feel pressured or anything."

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be,” you murmured, carding your fingers in his thick curls.

Joel just groaned, pressing you flush against him as he captured you in another needy kiss. He pulled the zipper of your dress down in one fluid motion, making a shiver prickle up the length of your spine.

“Let me see ya, baby,” he said against your mouth, pulling the thick straps of your dress down your arms. 

You let the fabric pool at your feet, your sheer, skin-colored bra and panties leaving little to the imagination. A wave of insecurity flashed over you, your skin suddenly feeling stretched too tight over your body as your face and neck heated up. 

You were too aware of the parts of yourself that you didn’t like: the dimpled flesh on the outside of your thighs and the hairs you hadn’t plucked away because the wedding was the last place you thought you’d find a one night stand. A wobbly smile formed, your instinct making you bury your face in Joel’s neck to hide.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear his praise. His massive hands ran down your sides, thumbing at the mesh of your bra and panties before he started moving you backwards.

Your calves hit the bed, making you squawk in an unflattering way as Joel lowered you to the mattress. “You’re so gorgeous,” he breathed, his lips trailing down your neck until he was kissing and sucking at your sternum. He nudged your knees apart with his free hand, his other forearm planted on the mattress to hold his weight off of you. He slotted himself in the space between your thighs as his tongue laved over your nipple through the mesh fabric of your bra.

The noise that came out of your throat was embarrassing. Your breath turned into a strangled moan, eyebrows pinching together. The sensation only made your arousal increase tenfold, spine already arching to press your tit against his mouth. 

Joel chuckled, soft brown eyes ticking up to look at your face. “That sensitive?” he said, more of a statement than a question. You found yourself nodding anyway. He thumbed at your other nipple, making it bud against the thin fabric and pulling another whine from your throat. He snickered.

“Don’t tease,” you huffed, wiggling your hips and lightly squeezing his sides with your knees. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” Joel muttered, a smile stretching on his lips as he rolled the pad of his thumb over your nipple again. He placed kisses along your stomach, making you suck in the soft flesh on reflex. His coarse facial hair tickled your skin, making you giggle a bit as he continued to work his way down your form.

“Just wanna taste ya, okay?” Joel asked, his broad shoulders between your spread thighs. His thick fingers hooked into your panties, manipulating your legs so he could pull them off and toss them somewhere in the room. He pressed your legs apart before you could snap them shut, a seed of worry taking root in your mind as you looked down at him.

You’d never been so self-conscious during a hook-up before, but for some reason Joel felt different. Your thoughts were preoccupied on how you looked from his vantage point, if you smelled alright and if anything looked weird.

“Been wanting to taste you all night, ever since I saw you standing up there during that damn ceremony.”

He spread you apart with his thumbs, eyes focused on your already wet pussy as a smirk stretched across his features. He just stared, making you want to crawl back into yourself. Then the feeling of his tongue on your clit makes you forget your worries, your face scrunching as you moaned. Joel hooked your leg over his shoulder, your heel pressing against his back as he pushed your thighs even further apart. 

You couldn’t remember a time when you’d been so soaked before, sticky arousal practically gushing out of you. Joel’s wide tongue licked long stripes up your cunt, careful to practically gulp down everything that he could. He was groaning as he ate you out, his big hands digging into your waist to pull you closer. The coarse hair of his beard was rough against the soft skin of your inner thighs 

“Oh–oh god, Joel,” you sighed, propping yourself up on an elbow so you could look at him. 

Your thighs were quaking, pressing against his ears as your hips twitched. Joel’s dark eyes were hazy and half lidded as he lapped over your clit, working with a focus you’d never experienced with any other man. He looked beautiful between your legs, belly-down on the mattress and still dressed in his button down shirt and slacks. 

One of his hands left your hip, snaking up your stomach to reach blindly until he cupped your breast. He pulled at the cup of your bra, revealing your peaked nipple. The bud was immediately pinched between his thumb and forefinger, making you arch your back as you let out another whine of his name.

Joel dipped down to shove his searing tongue inside of you as his nose bumped into the swollen bead of your clit. A bolt of lightning ricocheted up your spine, a gasp leaving you. It felt so good you could almost cry, your chest heaving and hips clumsily grinding toward his mouth. You were already starting to tremble, pleasure sparking in the pit of your stomach as he mouthed at you. 

And then he pulled back.

“Joel!” you yelped, starting to sit up as your gaze hardened into a glare. Your pussy clenched around nothing, neglected and empty with an interrupted orgasm.

He huffed a laugh, looking down at you as he knelt on the bed in front of you. “You’re right, baby, that’s my name,” he teased, his voice deep and smokey. 

He grabbed you roughly by the hips, pulling so you fell to your back again. “You fucker–” Joel cut you off by pressing the backs of your knees until you were bent in half, a brief show of just how strong he was. His calloused hands gripped the soft flesh of your ass, readjusting you again so the small of your back was propped up against his quads. You’d never been in this angle before, your pussy the highest point of your body as he pushed his forearms against your thighs to keep you still.

Joel’s hot breath washed over your cunt before he delved back into it, greedy as he started sucking on your clit. With the way you were contorted, you were completely helpless, any attempt to move your hips just made your thighs push uselessly against his arms. You were soaking, your arousal dripping down to your asshole as you whimpered pathetically.

He went at a leisurely pace, taking his time to tongue at you and lick long stripes from your perineum to your clit. Your hands were clenching in the white comforter on the hotel bed, your chest heaving. There was something about being completely at his mercy that made your head spin.

You wanted to be greedy, take everything he would give you; but, Joel was in no rush, languidly pressing his face into your pussy despite your best efforts to get him to speed up. 

It was overwhelming in all the right ways, your head spinning as you watched Joel lick at you like he wanted to consume every part of you. Joel cupped your breast in a hand, strumming his thumb lightly over your nipple to keep it stimulated as you gasped. 

You were delirious by the time he sunk two fingers into you, almost making you scream. Joel took a few breaths, his pink lips swollen and shiny with your arousal as he studied your expression. You could hardly think straight, strings of curses mixed with his name falling from your lips as you panted like a bitch in heat. 

The squelching sound of his fingers lazily pumping into your pussy filled the hotel room, loud enough to make your cheeks burn. You wetted your lips, trying to catch your breath beneath Joel.

“So fucking tight around my fingers,” Joel mumbled, the words muffled and wet because he didn’t pull away. It didn’t even feel like he was talking to you, communing with your pussy instead. The praise went directly to your head, making you tighten around his fingers. You threaded a hand in his hair, keeping his mouth pressed against you. “Tastes just as good as I expected.”

“Oh… oh my god,” you breathed, your climax building toward its precipice. 

Joel wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, just barely speeding up the rhythm of his fingers fucking into you. His thumb on your nipple followed suit, matching the motion as tears filled your eyes. Your fingers threaded into his curls, your brows furrowed as you pulled on his hair. He grunted against you, not letting up as he worked you up toward the edge. 

When you came it was a whole body event. Your legs trembled, hips burning from the awkward angle Joel had bent you into. Your back arched, breath pausing in your chest. Your cunt clenched around his fingers, sucked tight and feeling every inch of them inside you. The pleasure was white-hot as it coursed through you, leaving your nerves buzzing and your ears ringing as your body went limp.

“So pretty when you come,” Joel said, his thick fingers still deep inside you.

You were almost nonverbal, your response a delirious sob as you looked up at Joel with watery eyes. He caressed your cheek, gently stroking your jaw and thumb wiping over your lower lip. You kissed the pad of it out of reflex, the motion making his expression soften for a moment.

Then he started to massage the spongy spot inside of your dripping pussy, making your eyes roll back. “Too sensitive,” you whined, grabbing onto his forearm in a weak attempt to stop him. 

“Trust me, baby, I’ve got you,” he said in that syrupy tone, gaze still locked on your face as you squirmed. He took his hand away from your cheek, holding one of your legs to keep you still as he fucked his fingers into you. “You can do one more for me, right?”

The need to please him made you nod, taking in a deep and shaky breath. You couldn’t do anything but take it, your mouth dropping open and your back arching. The overstimulation made you tremble, your whole body squirming. Breaths kept huffing out of you, your brows pinched tight as you tried to relax. It was hard to think straight, hell, it was hard to even breathe. 

Joel pulled his fingers out of you for a moment to strum over your swollen clit, only touching you with just enough pressure to drive you crazy. He continued until you were straining against him, moaning and sobbing his name. It was like he was carved from stone, hardly giving you any leeway as he kept you in place. The pressure in you built faster this time, it was almost embarrassing how quick he was able to get you to the edge. 

“Joel, Joel, Joel–ohmygod,” you gasped, reaching for purchase against his thigh. His dress pants were soft under your fingers as you squeezed, your body practically vibrating. 

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmured soothingly, pressing a wet kiss to the back of your thigh as his fingers hooked back into you. 

Joel fucked you on them at a ruthless pace as his thumb rolled over the crest of your sex, your mouth opening in a wordless cry as you fell into your second orgasm of the night. You were completely lost, your eyes squeezed shut as your muscles spasmed against the restraint of Joel’s arms. White noise filled your mind, your body melting against Joel’s thighs and the bed as your legs fell open even further. 

He rubbed along the seam of your cunt soothingly, calloused fingers working you through the aftershocks. Your eyes were completely hazed when you looked up at him, splayed on the bed like every bone had been pulled from your body. He looked positively giddy, his wet fingers smearing on your thigh as he rubbed your legs in an effort to help you come back to yourself.

Joel let you off of him, returning your spine to the mattress as he leaned over you to give you a kiss. You hummed into it, smelling and tasting your salty-sweet slick on his lips and facial hair. “Please fuck me,” you begged between presses of his mouth, desperation easy to hear in your tone.

“‘Course I will, baby,” he said, getting off the bed to quickly undress himself. You shakily sat up, unclipping your bra at your back and tossing it aside. 

Joel was impressive, his body rippled with muscles beneath a layer of fat that told you he was eating well. Your gaze dragged down him, mouth watering as you finally saw his cock. It was big, the same tanned tone of his skin with a flushed tip. It jutted from a patch of trimmed, dark hair that was accentuated by the happy trail beneath his navel. You swallowed thickly, pussy clenching at the thought of him fucking you into the mattress.

You kissed him eagerly as he got back on the bed, part of you so desperate to please him. Joel was older than you, so much more experienced, you just wanted him to like you. 

He grunted, curling a hand around the back of your neck to keep you close. His other hand traveled down your body, massaging your hip with his thumb. You were putty in his hands, your own arms in a loop around his neck.

“Lay down,” Joel mumbled against the hinge of your jaw, nipping at the bone. You whimpered, fingers digging into the broad muscle of his shoulders as you complied. Joel ran a hand over you, sliding it down the valley between your breasts and over your soft stomach. 

The backs of your thighs were pressed against his quads as he took himself in his hand, sliding the blunt head of his cock along your pussy. You clenched around nothing, desperate and wanting. “Joel, please.” 

You couldn’t take waiting anymore.

He smirked, notching himself at your entrance and obliging you. Joel pressed and pressed and pressed until his hips were completely snug against yours. He split you in half across the width of his cock, moving slow to give you some time to adjust. It felt like he’d consumed all of the extra space in your body, you even felt him in your throat. 

You breathed brokenly, back arched and hips twitching as you struggled to find a comfortable position. You weren’t a virgin–weren’t anything close to it, really–but it felt just as overwhelming as your first time.

Joel bent over you, his elbows on either side of your head carrying his weight as he ground his hips against yours. His forehead pressed into your shoulder, a heated groan rumbling from his chest. It was hard to make sense of things, rattled breaths filling your chest as your mind whirred uselessly. He peppered kisses over your face, his lips wet and warm as he showered you in affection.

Then he moved his hips, the roll of them slow and syrupy and making you nearly choke. You grabbed at his biceps, an attempt to anchor yourself to him as he started to rut his hips into yours. He made room for himself with every press of his cock, molding you to the shape of him.

Joel collected your leg with a rough hand, pushing your knee toward your chest. He let it come to rest in the curve of his elbow, palm pressed flat to the comforter as he spread you open wider. Your hips protested as he splayed you apart, the discomfort easily taking a backseat to your pleasure.

You keened, mouth falling open as he sank even deeper inside of you. Your breaths came out in little mewls, matching Joel’s grunts as you met each thrust with a weak roll of your hips. His lips were at your throat, sucking more marks into the skin and his facial hair scratching against you. “Goddamn, you’re gonna be the death of me, baby,” Joel groaned into the curve of your neck, still keeping an even rhythm

You let out a breathy laugh–you felt the same way about him. He lifted himself to get a better look at you, dark brown eyes as warm as the summer sun as his gaze drifted all the way down to where his cock was buried in you. He grunted at the sight, pupils dilating like drops of ink in water.

His free hand lifted off its elbow, his weight shifting to one side so he could wet the pad of his thumb with a lick of his tongue. You were making sounds you couldn’t control, each thrust pushing a small gasp from your throat. Then, Joel dropped his hand to your lower abdomen, gently tracing the curve of your belly down into the soft thatch of hair you hadn’t bothered to shave.

A calloused thumb found your clit, swirling over it with a confident pressure in a way that made your eyes nearly roll back in your skull. Joel was pounding into the spot that made you see stars, merciless in his pace. “Joel… oh god…”

You could feel the flutter of your orgasm starting, your legs trembled against his arm and the curve of his waist. You chanted his name like a prayer, overstimulated tears starting to squeeze out of the corners of your eyes and roll into your hairline. He just soldiered on, grinding his thumb over your clit as he worked you higher and higher toward the edge.

A rattling gasp escaped your throat as you pulsed around Joel, your brows pinching and your body stiffening beneath his. You could feel the release from the soles of your feet to the crown of your head, your nails digging into his thick biceps as the flickering pleasure turned into a full on forest fire. You leaned up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down onto the mattress with you as you held him close.

“Fuck,” Joel moaned into your neck. His thrusts became sloppy fast, his discipline gone to the wayside now that he made you come on his cock. You felt him twitch inside you, his breath coming out in hot huffs against the curve of your shoulder. His hand grabbed your hip, pulling you down to match his frantic thrusts as he moaned your name into your skin.

You wanted to pull his head away from you so you could see how his face looked when he finished. The muscles in his abdomen clenched, his hips grinding tight to yours as he came inside of you. You moaned with him, the feeling of being filled up by him satiating a need you didn’t know you had as you dragged your blunt nails on his scalp.

Joel finally collapsed, the weight of his body pressing down on you as you combed your fingers through his hair. His hips were cradled by your legs, sweat slicking your skin wherever it was pressed together. You breathed against one another, pulling each other close as you basked in the afterglow.

You were sharing the same air, pressing loose kisses to each other's warm skin as you melted into each other for an unknown amount of time. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours.

“We should clean up,” you finally breathed, able to come back to yourself. 

Joel nodded against your neck, you felt it more than you saw it. You giggled after he didn’t move, still leaving you helpless and pinned beneath him. He seemed to make himself even more comfortable, arms constricting around you and face nuzzling closer to your throat.

“Joel,” you chastised, lightly shoving at his shoulder. It was half-hearted and meaningless–you were more than content to stay here all night if you had to.

“I like how you say that, Joel,” he said, mimicking your voice in an annoyingly high-pitched tone. It made you laugh, throwing your head back against the comforter as you shook it. 

He hissed, pulling away from you just enough to prop himself up on an elbow. “You clench around me like a fucking vise when you laugh like that, baby,” Joel muttered, swirling his fingertips over your skin. He didn’t move to pull out of you quite yet, the two of you relishing in the intimacy of your embrace.

A slow smirk crossed his face, his dark eyes flickering back up to meet yours. “Plus, what’s the point of cleaning up if I’m not done with you yet?”

–

Needless to say, you were sneaking out of his room when the dregs of sunlight started streaming through the hotel room windows, sore and exhausted, with his phone number typed into your phone and his hickeys all over your skin.

[queerasfact]

Golden Orchid Societies

Golden Orchid Societies were communities of women in the Pearl River Delta region of southern China who chose not to marry, or not to live with their husbands. Golden Orchid sisters may have been asexual, aromantic, women-loving-women, or had other reasons to avoid traditional marriage.

Golden Orchid Societies generally consisted of small groups of five or so women, who lived together and pooled their financial resources. Instead of marrying a man, some Golden Orchid sisters had a solo wedding, showing their desire to remain independent from a husband. Like other weddings, these weddings were family affairs, with a banquet funded by the woman’s parents.

Many Golden Orchid groups lived together for their whole lives, and saved up to retire as a community.

Learn more

[Image description: Liang Jieyun, 85, and Huang Li-e, 90, two of the last surviving Golden Orchid sisters; they are two elderly Chinese women, facing the camera and photographed close up]

[aconflagrationofmyown]

|| Honeymoon ||

-THE 60’s- A Sky High Lovin fic

Authors Note: Here at last is the long promised second installment of my Elvis Mile High Club fics, :) As this series is an anthology and not chronological, there are multiple references to the persona and style of 60’s Elvis where the other was of Big Daddy

Summary: If weddings are for the bride then it suggests that Honeymoon’s are for the groom -a stupid cliche you had dismissed until your dashing groom proves a little inexorable in his intent to “educate” his new bride on the long Learjet flight to Honolulu

Warnings: 18+ (sex, dubious consent) I am about to possibly over exaggerate these cautions but I find it necessary, particularly for anyone who is used to reading my work because this is by far the most dubious consent piece I ever ever written and the theme is entirely narratively sympathetic to entitled husbands and female objectification. So, as it’s me, of course there’s love and tenderness but it’s also got -repeatedly denied requests to stop during sex, innocence kink, possible male enjoyment of a recent virgin’s discomfort, nasty baby talk, worry about a man being unfaithful if you deny him, talks of teaching you how to take him, (possible grooming?!) assumed husbandly entitlement to a wife’s body, archaic views on gender roles… y’all, I ripped off Pricilla and went full Lana Del Rey and glorified breaking a woman into her husbands tastes, like, that’s the theme and it’s reveling in it so, enjoy but heads up 🥂 I’m a sucker for Elvis acting like an animal while talking like a true southern gentleman, so here we all are. Proceed at your own discretion

Copious thanks and credit for numerous lines and suggestions to my incredible coauthor @eliseinmemphis

There’s something very salacious in the simple act of walking across the tarmac amidst a swarm of reporters clicking away with their cameras, ready to print the image of your little figure pressed against his side, images for all the world to look at and know what occurred to you last night.

What you two did. How he made you his. On your wedding night.

He made you a woman, his woman and the whole world knows it now. There’s something so damn dirty about this, even -or perhaps because- of how traditional it is. The ring sits with a comforting weight on your finger as he holds your hand, and your belly aches from your husband drawing his pleasure from your virgin body, your thighs trembling as you try your best to keep up with his long strides in your kitten heels. It’s so proper, it’s everything he ever wanted, and it makes your cheeks burn beneath the generous layer of makeup.

He looks painfully handsome and happy this morning, impeccably polished in the bright sunshine and you wonder at his duality. The way he can clean up and regain his proud suavity when last night you had seen him mussed, tremblingly tender and near unhinged in his passion while consummating your union. A dab of pomade, a double breasted jacket and his wife’s little hand in his -he’s utterly in possession of himself now and is the fuckin’ American dream incarnate right in this moment.

He’s very proud as he introduces you to some of the familiar press faces, and very gallant as he guides you up the few steps into the Learjet, broad palm searing your lower back and you wish you two could have remained tangled up in sheets, honeymoon and travel arrangements abandoned indefinitely. Just you and him floating together in a sky of crisp sheets and tangled limbs.

The photographers crowd in after you, soaking up the shy way you cuddle in close as he tucks you into his side, sympathetic to your own desire to be alone but too happy to begrudge anyone a glimpse at his little prize. Uhem, bride. The amount of satisfaction he finds in you is palatable to all here, his arm around you holds you close and grounds you even as his face splitting grin proclaims that you were a tight but obedient fit last night.

Your eyes burn you’re blushing so hard and that makes him grin harder and it’s pavlovian that smile, you can’t help but grin back, harder and crinklier than his and that stokes his joy further and soon y’all are giggling over memories the photographers will never be privy to. Those are yours, frantic and tender and aching.

Even the ever hungry photographers are glutted by the loved up display you give them, and soon they are departing and the plane door is shut. Then it’s goodbye America, off to Honolulu.

The tiny jet crew and the couple of boys from his paired down entourage settle into their seats as the jet roars down the runway and lifts off, effortless, soaring and sleek. Beside him you are restless, shifting and jittery on the leather seat, though he is gratified to see the demure way you cross your ankles and the ladylike poise of your spine even surrounded by the comparative privacy. His perfect southern Belle, whose every thought and action and word is to reflect well upon him and keep his name from disrepute, he couldn’t have chosen better. Your mouthwatering submission last night proved it.

You squirm again. Maintaining the modest coverage of your pretty little shift dress, the one accented with navy bows that coordinate with his suit, requires you to keep your upper thighs pressed together tightly, squeezing the bruise of your freshly opened little flower as it pulses distractingly, as if in flustered shock at its sudden required usage. Throbbing, sticky and hot.

“What’s my lil lady doin all that fidgetin for, hmm?” he asks you, tone solicitous but his eyes glint, “Plush leather seats not soft enough for my baby’s bottom?”

You startle and blush, just as he knew you would, and it’s adorable really, the way you can still be bashful after months of foolin and despite the recent intimacy of the night before. And it’s downright precious that you are so sore and achy after he had been so painstakingly gentle when he took you. You had no clue how sweet he’d been, the amount of self sacrifice he had shown in his languid slide and shallow thrusts, tender kisses and gentle grip. Resolutely holding back the absolute wreckage he could unleash on your poor, widdle unsuspecting cunt.

“Just excited.” your body vibrates as you shake your arms to highlight your explanation, gesturing to the wide blue sky out your window and the decadent interior of the jet.

He grins down at you and kisses your cheek, reaching for the seatbelt fastened at your lower belly and he flicks it open with his thumb, the heat of his hand branding you like an iron for the brief contact. “Lemme show ya round then, baby.”

He folds your hand in his again and weaves you down the aisle between the padded seats and towards the back of the plane, the occasional stray crew member meekly ducking towards the cockpit. You two pass the music lounge with its built-in piano and electric fireplace, then the kitchenette with its circular bar and spherical burst of lights coming out of the wall like cascading planets, back towards the little bedroom. You marvel at the designs, the colors, the unabashed wealth of it all floating thousands of feet above solid earth.

Happy and giddy you tuck into his side and he holds you close, arm snug around your waist, satisfied to show his little wife all he has to offer her.

“Y'know,” he serves as your guide, supplying details and anecdotes, most of which you already know but would listen to, enraptured a thousand times to keep him free and easy with his conversation, “Frank n' i didn't really get along when i first started out. ‘Said my music was brutal n' ugly. But we get along now. met 'im in person right after i met you. Reckon' ya rubbed off on me 'cause now we're good friends n’he lent us this jet to defile as we saw fit." his tongue pokes between his teeth, amused at himself and you find there is something cutely self-deceptive about his rare fits of humble bragging. “He’s got a mirror down here, nice big ole Broadway style vanity with it, bright lights n’low counter.” you’re far back into the plane now, he holds back a dividing curtain and you step into the little hallway dressing room right in front of the inauspicious bedroom door, “Frank uses this setup to primp before goin down the ramp to meet fans or shovin off for the next concert, reckon it’ll serve for the lesson I wanna show ya.”

Curious as to his plan, you look to him, both his image reflected in the huge, bare bulbed mirror and his own dear face beside you, more than a little pleased to see what a striking couple you make in the reflection, with his tailored suit and your chic smock, an IT couple without a doubt. It makes you feel pretty, wanted, a little proud maybe. That you won out of all those other hopeful girls. He sees your pleased expression in the mirror, the way your hip cocks and your expression morphs to your best kittenish smile. You’re preening. You think you’ve made it, think you’re at the summit of what life can offer and he may be partial but he thinks you wear smugness rather cutely. Makes him wanna shake ya up, rumple you a little, remind you who gave you all this. That your new image and importance and identity are due to being Mrs Presley.

He scoots up behind you, wrapping his arms around your belly and pulling you close to him, his chin settles atop your head. “Likin what you see?” he asks slyly, staring at the reflected image that will be on every magazine and newspaper tomorrow, the King of Rock n Roll and his perfect little darling who thinks she’s a woman now that she took cock once.

He runs his hands along your body, broad palms gathering then smoothing out puckers and rolls in the fabric of your dress as he follows the curve of you, breast to thigh and back up, then back down, further this time. He squats a little behind you and his clever fingers hook in your hem line and begin to draw it up, little by little exposing more and more leg in the mirror.

“Oh, no I-“ your hand flys to the apex of your thighs, pressing the fabric against you and keeping a covering there as his gathering has pulled your dress nearly to your little secret place, “what are you doin Elvis?” you ask, a little unsure and bashful of him exposing you in this somewhat public place, even if the crew is nowhere to be seen and the curtain is drawn.

It’s obscene to rumple up the perfect couple, all the starch and pomade that make Elvis Presley and his new bride the envy of the world. And it’s worrying. He does not know you omitted underwear today, the feeling of the fabric chafing and holding in the heat of your tender pussy too much to bear while maintaining a proper face on the tarmac.

“Gonna show ya somethin,” he repeats, eyebrow quirked at your “no” and the nervous way you are almost cupping the last few inches of your dress over your private parts.

He keeps ahold of the fabric he’s gathered up so far and takes to running his knuckles up your side soothingly again, till he notices there’s no band or catch on your hips as he glides up.

“You hidin somethin from me, honey?” he asks, already knowing the answer and the reason for your flaming cheeks, “Keepin secrets from your husband already, denyin him his right?” he tuts and your pretty coal rimmed eyes fly open in denial as you shake your head and pull your hand away. “That's more like it.” He nods approvingly, and ever the showman he waits a minute, building the suspense as his hands continue to map out your clothed body as your breathing quickens. In the mirror both your eyes zero in on the barely hidden triangle between your legs. Then with a flourish and flick of his wrist he swoops the hem up and a rush of cold air hits your exposed pussy. You slump into him and await his verdict. “Darlin, what’s this?“ he asks you gravely, his eyes very dark in the mirror and there you are, pristine up top and entirely bare below, it’s -vulgar. Vulgar and salacious with a fully suited man behind you shaking his head in disappointment that you’d be so careless on your first day as Mrs Presley, risking flashing the photographers or the flight crew because you were too delicate to stand a little fabric. He expects more of you, and he knows you know that.

You mix your explanation with your apology, looking like an eager to please little foal on shaky legs, and he accepts it with another tut and a hum as he rolls your dress up methodically until its bulk is beneath your armpits. The shame you feel in being so exposed is your own fault, your own doing, you know that.

If you’d obeyed you would currently have some demure scrap of silk covering you in the full glare of the showbiz mirror. But now you are bare to his blazing eyes. Your handsome new husband inspects you closely in the mirror, his ringed fingers trailing over your hips and over your belly, swooping up your ribs and tickling the underside of your breasts. Back down he goes, hands gliding and palms warm and broad, spanning much of your abdomen in his reach, down and down till he is petting your mound. Your arms dangle listlessly at your sides, entirely unsure what your part in this is, except to submit to whatever he wishes.

“You say your lil pussy is tenda, hmm?” he understands your motive now, and coos solicitously over your discomfort, even as he smirks at the notion you’re sore from that pathetically gentle love making. It snaps something primal deep inside him, or at least, he thinks that’s what made the decision for him, the decision to enlighten you that last night may have been real nice, but it weren’t typical. He can’t have a wimpy wife, he knows you’re made of tougher stuff, just needs to be coaxed out of you. “A little discomfort ain’t no reason for ya to risk showin the world Mrs. Presley’s goods, is it?” he observes and you nod in abashed agreement.

“No it isn’t,” your tone is fervent and you are so eager to make amends, “I’m sorry Elvis, I wasn’t thinking, I’ll do better.”

“I expect you to.” he says, not unkindly but you gulp and nod anyway, unmoored by his effortless authority. “Now, let’s see about this lil owie, hmm? Spread your legs for me, c’mon wider, that’s a good girl.”

You moan as his hand engulfs you’re throbbing heat, cupping the wounded little place and pressing it firm but gently with his palm. He can feel the thud of your heartbeat down there and the sticky proof of your excitement at just being near him. There’s heat pouring out from you too, a lotta heat. Half of it arousal no doubt, but it’s angry down there like a woman gets during her menses. Puffy and sweltering against his palm.

It’s gonna feel indescribably good around his cock.

“Now we’ve opened ya up,” he explains softly in your ear, “she’s gonna get all fussy down there if she’s left empty for too long.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror with a worried look, unconvinced that emptiness is at all the cause of your discomfort. You feel like something got rearranged down there and needs to be left to mend itself in peace. Preferably in a hot bubble bath. The one luxury this floating palace doesn't have.

“You trust me, don’t ya?” he asks your fretful expression proddingly, “Don’t want ya to close back up all th’way. Go too long and then we’d be starting from scratch each time, you understand baby?”

That does make sense. You swallow your fear and shake your head agreeably. Why shouldn’t you?

He was so tender last night, so romantic and gentle and chivalrous. He had kissed away all your fear and worry into the fluffy bed, sending you careening into bliss and flinging you up to the stars before gently pressing in when you least expected it. It had hurt then, sure, a little pinch and an uncomfortably full feeling he helped soothe by tilting your hips with a courteous pillow beneath them.

Making love had been nice, unexpectedly nice.

And better yet had been the sight of your gorgeous groom, shaking in effort to hold back his vigor as he worked himself in and out above you, gentle and kind, slowly losing a grip on his decorum and letting out sounds of pleasure and praise. There had almost been a whine on his lips as he stalled suddenly and clung to your shoulders and spilled inside you, cementing your union. It had made you feel gloriously happy, and a little smug to see him come undone from the feeling of being inside you.

He earned your trust.

“I understand.” you assure him, the little kisses he is pressing to your neck making you brave. You’d like to see him come undone again. If that means he has to go inside you again then you’ll accept that. Maybe he was right last night, maybe it’ll be even better today.

“That’s my good baby.” he praises you, pleased and handsome over your shoulder, “Gonna turn you into the best little wife the world has ever seen.” he starts to drag his fingers through your bruised petals and you make a ugly little grimace at the soreness before seeing how unpretty it looks in the mirror, consciously changing your expression to demure acceptance. The shiny pink of your lipstick highlights the baby doll serenity of your gentle smile.

“Take me to bed, please, Elvis.” you try to play along with him, desperate to show him your excitement and desire to please.

“Aww now, we’re not goin’ to bed this time, darlin, we’re gonna have a lil lesson so you ain’t in the dark bout marital duties and all that.”

You stiffen in his arms, confused and wary. He keeps nuzzling at your cheek and neck. You had anticipated that there might be adventurous trysts once married, sure. He had proven himself fond of messing with you outside the bedroom during your courtship, fingers playing with you under tables and in hotel elevators. You had prepared for him gently making love to you on a picnic blanket under a Hawaiian moon. Maybe in the tub, or heavens -perhaps the kitchen if he was ravenous. But you’re concerned now that you haven’t grasped his entitlement fully, you’re still trying to understand what he means by “lesson” and why he led you to this vanity. You have a shaky feeling that your embarrassment at being flashed in front of the mirror is about to pale in comparison to what he has planned.

His hand goes from petting your sticky folds to rubbing and swirling, calloused fingertips worrying your bud till you’re nearly keening in enjoyment. He hasn’t looked you in the eyes in a minutes. You keep watching his face as his expression goes from intent to hungry, watching himself fiddling down there with your pink petals as he gets you primed. Primed for the two insistent fingers that plunge into you with no warning. It’s easier this time, having had a coke bottle up there, even just once, did the trick, his fingers meeting far less resistance than last night. He’s made his mark, claimed ya and stretched ya. Never the same again.

His movements burn for you, tugging and persistent as they are and you wince, can’t help it with the way his elegant digits are caressing your sore walls at a foreignly fast pace. You hope that maybe not looking at the rough act will ease your discomfort, like looking away from the needle poke when giving blood helps you keep from getting queasy. The sounds though, wet and squelching, are unmistakable despite the hum of the jet's engines. You watch his face, hoping he’ll look up and meet your eyes, but he’s transfixed by the sight in the mirror of his fingers disappearing into you.

“Gimme your hands, baby.” his sudden instruction startles you as you had flown far away in your mind, trying to reconcile the conflicting amounts of embarrassment and arousal you feel under his heated scrutiny. Who knew married life would cause such a upheaval inside?

“Yes sir.” you present them palms up, and he jerks his chin,

“Now baby, listen, you’re gonna replace my hands while I get myself ready, alright, gonna keep my progress for us. C’mon, hand on each side, pull your lips apart, gonna spread your snatch nice n wide so you can really see the mechanics of the thang. The act.”

The act? What act - you figured if this was going to happen to you at the vanity he would spin you around and set you on the counter, take you kindly as you sat. He had licked you in a movie set bathroom like that one time. Your brain scrambles in confusion and panic, supplying the only familiar acts and positions you’ve tried so far. A man can’t take a woman standing, he can’t, it wouldn’t fit, or at least, it wouldn’t be nice, surely and he wouldn’t be anything but nice-

“Now,” he’s speaking up again, “squeeze your arms a lil, gotta keep your dress nice and clear of the exhibit, ok?” he snickers at the way your dress is bunched beneath your underarms.

You make a respectful noise of acknowledgment, too nervous to say more. Your folds are puffy and slippery beneath your numb fingers as you pull your labia apart like he instructed. This feels new, keeping clothes on while being intimate. It feels…irreverent and dirty somehow. Just like standing here, your whole reflection lit brilliantly and his eyes still glued to that place between your legs.

You watch him pull away from behind you and start to methodically undo the buttons of his double breasted suit jacket, sliding it off his lean arms and folding it carefully over a towel rack, “Ya see, darlin,” he explains, as he undoes his cuff buttons and starts to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt, “it's only proper you know what it looks like when we're joined together. I’ve got no desire to keep ya in the dark bout somethin God says is a good thing. This isn't the olden days, I don't mind having an enlightened sorta gal. So long as you don’t turn into the bra-burning sort of enlightened.”

He meets your eyes then as he gives you a look from under his lashes, admonishing you to stay away from such nonsensical, feministic, man-hating company as his deft fingers pop open the button of his slacks and he pulls himself out, weeping, thick and ready. You had no idea he was already so fully excited, your legs begin to tremble anew. He looks larger like this, somehow, all poshly dressed and admirably sauve in the mirror as his cock juts out of his tailored slacks, a single indecorous vulgarity marring his pristine Ken Doll image.

You flush red hot at the sight of him

lazily pumping himself as he saunters back to you, his hand yanking and pulling to chub himself up and then a thumb swirling around the uncut tip. He’s leaking and messy already, a profusion of precum wetting his hand and you give a silent prayer of thanks that at least he will add to the slick, hopefully ease the slide.

He doesn’t waste time with romance, he takes his place again behind you and this time you feel him sliding between your cheeks and then your legs, the feel of his open fly and belt against your bare butt. Due to your obediently spread lips, it’s perfectly visible when he slides through your folds and pokes out the other side, a pink, blunt, oozing cockhead playing peek-a-boo in your garden. He bumps your clit again and again with it until you are huffily shivering in his arms.

“Elvis are you really gonna-“ you can’t bear the suspense of it, you have to ask him his intentions, if he really means to make love to you standing up.

“-really gonna fuck my new wife in front of this state of the art mirror?” he laughs, thinking he knows what your quibble is, “Goddamn right I am, be a crime to not avail ourselves of the experience.”

He punctuates his enunciated vocabulary with rough thrusts against your bud that have you shaking and coming…just a little. Just enough for him to be sure you’re ready to take him.

“Fuck me?” you repeat in a panicked whisper, “B-b-but I’m your wife, Elvis!” you object, wounded.

He gets confused, stalling with his hand as he lines himself up with your freshly excavated entrance, “Whadda ya mean, honey?” he asks kindly, reaching around to tilt your chin towards him, but you sense that there’s an impatient edge to it.

You tearfully explain to him how your mother and other women have told you very explicitly you that men don’t fuck their wives. They make love to them. You are very adamant regarding it, and he ought to know better.

“Why baby, that’s the single greatest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” he declares in fond amusement, smooching your tear stained cheek and resuming his rutting through your folds, “You gonna trust some ole ninnies over your husband? Baby, I gave ya a real nice wedding night cause I love ya and you’re my special girl and I thought it your due, but I ain’t gonna be saddled with a wife who can’t meet my needs when I need a quick fuck, ya hear me? Case in point is now, my dick’s about to fall off from all this chit chat.”

You suppose there’s a great deal about marriage that is far more complicated than movies and books and Sunday potlucks led you to believe. It’s hard balancing how to please your husband as you ought with retaining some dignity that will make him respect you. You can’t imagine Elvis ever not respecting you, it’s too ingrained in him and what he wants isn’t to humiliate you, it’s what he needs to be satisfied. And you so badly want to keep him satisfied, you know deep down you’d do unspeakable things to keep his attention on you, perhaps that is where your shame comes from. It’s less about his expectations and more about the fact you’d throw away all your mother’s teachings before causing him to go elsewhere for comfort and acceptance.

You turn your head to him and pucker your lips for a kiss of acquiesce, which he obliges. His hand is still firm on your jaw as he deepens it, and it’s heady and passionate and loving and -he’s breaching you suddenly. A squat and flex and tilt of his hips and then he’s snagged your hole and he is pressing up and up and up and you whine into his mouth as his foreskin rolls back in your canal, an extra friction against your raw walls.

“Elvis!” you beg, breath caught in your throat at the burning sting of him as your hand flies up to clutch at his arm, secure around your hips, “its it’s-” you flounder with a word to adequately describe the delicious pain of it as he goes deeper.

He mouths messy and moaning at your neck and you can feel his belly shaking against your lower back, his cock twitching at the feeling of getting dipped in your silky channel. It makes you cringe in discomfort.

“You’re so goddamn perfect and warm as anythin,” he praises in a slur of kisses and moans as he flexes up and up.

The farther in he goes the more it loses any snuggly quality and instead feels rather like getting slowly impaled. You shift your stance in front of the mirror, legs spreading of their own accord and eyes squeezed shut in concentration at just trying to breathe. It goes on forever and you start to try to go up on your tip toes, to get away from it, from him, to lessen the fullness and the deepness of his assault somehow. He persists. You try to scramble up him, leveraging your weight on his forearm till your little feet are nearly off the jet floor.

His answering chuckle vibrates your back, “Looks like you’re tryin to learn how to levitate, honey.”

You scramble harder in a vain attempt to get taller, to elongate your poor vagina somehow, to keep him shallow

“T-that’s all I can take, Elvis” you try to tell him when he’s only over half in.

It's an honest declaration, to your hyperventilating self he feels impossibly big and certainly every bit as deep as it felt last night when he took you discreetly beneath the sheets in the good ole fashioned missionary position.

Your eyes widen as he doesn’t stop, just goes on and on and on, as your breaths get more panicked, shallower with each inhale, on the verge of a panic attack until he stalls and starts to pet your belly and kiss your cheek in an effort to bring you back down. “Breathe babydoll, breathe for me. Calm down, satnin, you took this all last night. you can do it again, I knows ya can.”

You've long ago started to whimper when he didn’t listen, half in pain and half in fear that he isn’t stopping, that he isn’t being as nice as he was last night. Why isn’t he stopping? oh why, why, “I can’t, I think I’m not made for it.” you wail as you writhe helpless in his arms, a pounding ache between your legs and a strange flutter in your chest.

“No, no, don’t say that baby, please don’t say that, you’re perfect baby, just perfect.” he pleads a little frantic, rubbing his lips along your cheekbone to collect your tears, “Only need a lil breakin in is all, this won’t always be so rough. I’ll fix ya honey, I’ll make it better. Don’t you go objectin’ to the heavenly proportions God gave ya, or what he gave me neither. We were made for each other.”

Hearing the tender worry in his voice soothes you, even more than his comforting touches, knowing he isn’t indifferent to your struggle, he just wants what’s best for you as any good teacher would. You take a breath, a large breath and it feels like it made him sink deeper somehow. You bite back a sob.

“You can do it.” he says in your ear, his voice shaky from how badly he needs to be moving inside you, “Please baby, let me in, I’m hurtin’ real bad, if you could just see lil elvis you’d feel so bad for the poor guy. Let him in, you can take it, let him in, let him in his lil house. That’s it, that’s it just a little bit more.”

The man lied. There was nothing “little” about the more he gives you when he bucks up that last bit and buries himself fully inside, balls snug against your butt.

“Oh, i’hurts.” you moan, tears leaking through your clenched eyes, smearing your immaculate cat eye. “hurts -I-I can’t, Elvis.”

“You can.” he declares firmly, trying so hard to stay in control, to gather the last shreds of his gentlemanliness, “More like -you *are* doing it. Look, come on. Baby! I said look! Open those eyes and watch how well you’ve taken me.”

You pry your clumping lashes apart and slowly your eyes drag from the reflection of your faces pressed together, down to your breasts where his hand is crushing a velvet bow in his grip, down your belly to to his forearm barred around your hips. Down to that place where you join.

“Where’d lil Elvis go, hmm?” He teases like you’re playing hide and seek, and you let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes at his babying tone, “Where'd he go, darlin? Oh, there he is,” he pulls out a tiny bit so the pink veiny length of him peaks out from between your lips, “there he is -wait where’d he go?”

“Elvis. Stop. Stop, that’s so dumb.” you beg through your sniffling giggles, the fiery stretch of him temporarily forgotten.

He laughs at your embarrassment and pulls out further this time, then snaps his hips back up to the hilt of him, drawing a pained cry from you “Who’s my bestest girl, hmm? who’s that? Shhh, shhh, Das you ain’t it? Look at’chue, doin so well. I need ya to stand straight baby, let those heels touch down. I mean it, plant your feet, don’t cry about it, no reason to cry, you gotta relax.”

You’ve heard him use the same tone of voice when helping Red’s puppy get a burr out of its paw. Pitifully you obey him, planting your feet and it feels like you’re riding a telephone pole, the way he’s stiff and unyielding, deep inside you, plumbing the depths of your belly.

“That’s more like it.” he hums in throaty appreciation of the snug fit of you, “Alright now, ‘member the job I gave ya?” he reminds gently as he starts to thrust slow and deep, watching as your face crumples in grief, “Hold yourself open baby, it’s very important you watch this, I need ya to understand you’re perfect for this, gotta let go of ma arm, c’mon now.” he pries your grip from his forearm and brings your hand back down to your puffy heat, “Spread yo’self.” his accent deepens as your body struggles to take him, clenching around him in an effort to expel him, and only serving to make him moan in bliss. “Look a’that.” he marvels, sounding utterly worshipful of the way the glistening pink length of him slowly comes into view, then slowly disappears -absorbed inside you, your painfully stretched little hole fluttering hopelessly at each dragging inch of him.

“It still really hurts.” you observe childishly through gritted teeth, your pained body fighting the fuzzy headed arousal you feel while watching the obscene display of him sliding in and out of you for a few languid grinds.

“That’s cause you’re so tense, loosen up baby, -actually, here.” he shuffles you forward and you make a reckless sound of disgruntlement at the feel of him shifting inside you with each baby step, “Here, knee up here.” he hooks his hand beneath your knee and props it up on the counter, somehow making this worse and better all at once with the new angle.

“Ow, oh god, you said it would get better.” you accuse, biting your lip in savage self reprimand after it. Foolish girl, to risk making him unhappy and frustrated, stoking his wandering eye.

“It will, dammit, it will. I'm gonna need you to hang in there and play with your lil button till it does, alright? Bout to burst back here with all this startin and stoppin.”

“Ok.” you whisper, feeling a little more steady with the firm counter beneath your knee, opened up a little for the intrusion of him.

He pats your hips and presses an appreciative kiss behind your ear, nearly drunk off your sweet little struggle to be good for him. It makes his heart soar and fills him with wild wants, makes him reckless, and a little mean somehow, like crushing rose petals to gain the scent.

“Now, I know I made love to ya last night, darlin,” he pets the bulge of his cock in your belly and you shudder in anticipation, “cause that’s what weddin nights are for, but now you’re a wife proper you gotta learn how to take cock without so much whinin and clingin, alright? Made ya a woman, didn’t I? so do me proud, act it.”

With this emboldening commission he presses one more kiss to your neck before pulling out before driving in, hard. And then he does it again, and again and again at a pace you’ve seen him maintain on stage but never, never imagined him using with you, against you, it feels like.

You shriek and your knee slides further apart with the violent rocking, trying with terrible desperation to find solace and feminine satisfaction in the guttural groans and huffed out praises your husband vents as he takes what he needs, flaming eyes glued to the mirror and the place where he plunders you.

You are really trying, it just hurts so damn much.

You know you’re lucky, you cling to that even as he spears your cervix again and again with gusto that suggests your panicked clenching is the best damn thing he’s ever felt in his life. You’ve heard from other women, older women trying to counsel you, prepare you for what lay ahead, that some husbands didn’t even bother trying to make sure their wives were slick enough. That the dry drag and burn of a man can make the stretch truly unbearable. It keeps you grateful that the lewd sounds now causing you to blush are testament to the flood of slick down there. It keeps you grateful meek even as you wail and smear your makeup with your gasped out shock.

He should slow down, he should moderate his thrusts, cherish his wife. He can see you’re struggling and panting and crying and somehow it’s all just a drug to him, the gorgeous little dolly he crafted so perfectly this morning looking utterly overwhelmed and defiled by his cock. It’s enough to make a man lose his bearings and forget his mama’s teachings on how to treat a lady.

The beast won’t be tamed. And so Elvis Presley begins to babble a stream of apologies as he exerts all the energy of his able body in fucking his young wife, like the deeper and harder he goes the more likely his lil swimmers will have the chance of making themselves a nice comfy home in your sweet womb:

“oh goddamn baby I’d stop if I could, but yer squeezing me like a vice and I just…I just can’t stop baby, be good, be good, don’t cry on me, be good for your husband, baby. You’ll get used to it, we’ll train your pussy baby, just gotta get through these early stages. Early stages and it’s, it’s normal, just a lil skittish is all, ain’t no way god made me want you this bad just for you to be cold. Ain’t no way, I can feel it when you’re dancin to my music, you want it deep, you crave it deep, you were born hungry. Oh goddamn, yes, yes, fuck yes, baby, I’m sorry I’m sorry, yes, keep squeezing me like that …….”

It is not talent on your part, this clenching that has him snarling in rapture with his eyes rolling back in his skull, it’s pure creature instinct, whether trying to expel him, bring him deeper or milk him fast so this agony will end, you don’t know. All you know is that his force is terrifying and you’ve never seen something quite as erotic as the pristinely polished beauty of his face morphing into ravenous determination.

Your panic flares one last time, unwilling to allow yourself to coast into enjoyment of this filthy usage without a fight. “Please, Elvis please -enough!” you gasp, even as something seems to have shifted inside you, a tilt or a nudge, whatever it is, it’s a spark of something dangerous.

“Listen here now,” he pants in frustration, one of his hands leaving your hip to fly down to your clit and rub it viciously, “i don’t have a particular hankerin to pin you down over the tabletop, face down ass up, and make this marriage work but I will if I have to. So be a good girl n’ quit all your whinin, show me some of that grit you show when I’m teachin ya on the mats. Don’t wanna make me do nothin rash, but I ain’t gon’ have my honeymoon ruined cause my wife is insistent on bein’ an obstinate lil’ brat!” his voice his shaking with effort, “now, open ya self up!”

It spooks you, this inexorable side of him, white hot lightening ripping through your nerves. Suddenly you’re alite. Scientists might be quick to give credit to the clever little rhythm his thumb strummed over your clit but till the day you die you will swear it was instinctive obedience that had you spasming and then gushing, suddenly relaxing and drawing him in, pliant and eager. Subdued at last.

“Aww baby, oh baby that’s it, oh thank fuck,” he gasps in relief as he feels the change, “I’ve gotchu, you know I gotchu always, gonna help ya get over that damn hill, gonna drop ya off that cliff gentle like.”

His movements are not gentle, if anything they speed up, but his hands cradle you, his mouth caresses you and he places his own knee beside your own, glued together everywhere except for the snap of his pelvis. There is a razor's edge here, in the sensations his body is drawing from yours, and it is an edge upon which you wobble, tipping now towards pleasure, then pain, then back again to pleasure. It confuses and overwhelms you, makes you moan and keen and beg like an animal in heat, the jet crew and all your ladylike deportment forgotten.

“Oh dear god Elvis, I- oh, oh, please don’t stop!” you’re suddenly shouting in a shocked beg, something irreversible building and this isn’t your standard *nice job buddy that was swell* orgasm approaching, it’s one of the *well done sir, I think I just died there for a minute* variety. It’s shaking, and thrumming and burning up your entire body, suddenly making lyrics to his well worn songs take on an entirely new meaning.

“Lordy mama, tryin to let the whole plane know I’ve broken ya in at last?” he teases, finding it heavenly the way you move with him now in an easy give and take, the smacking of your bum against him and the happy slack of your mouth driving him to madness.

Gone is the suave man of myth and envy, here is an animal instead, mounting and mauling and claiming you with ferocious devotion and you take it like a jerking rag doll, whining in need where you were once whimpering. He’s proud of you. If he had breath to laugh he would at the way you suddenly look dazedly disbelieving in the mirror right before your body seizes up and pleasure annihilates all your senses.

Your legs give out and you slump, having only the vaguest awareness of the fact he’s beginning to grunt and cry out himself, using you like a writhing receptacle, coming unglued behind you as you begin to melt on him like butter. There ain’t much thought or chivalry to the way he grabs at you, a hand beneath each knee and folds you in half, split open in front of the mirror as he ruts every last drop of satisfaction into you. He hears himself hollering as if through a tunnel, something that the fight crew, if asked, would paraphrase as being “oh goddamn, you are more perfect than anything.”

You are numb and pounding down there, the last frantic usage of your pussy an ordeal you endure with cock dumb acceptance. The way his face draws up and crumples shortly after, and then slacks in bliss -it is the single most violently arousing thing you’ve ever witnessed. Feeble as your energy is, you feel a surge of feminine pride at the way he mumbles and moans and finally shakes to a stop.

“That’s it, oh you’re so beautiful.” you moan, watching as his hair falls into his bleary, slow blinking eyes as he comes back to the surface, “And you’re mine.” you sigh, content.

“Mhmm, yours.” he coos, jostling you a little on his cock and he snuggles closer somehow, you think you feel his seed start to dribble out despite the sizable stopper inside you, “Well, bless your heart darling, I’ve got ya folded like a camp chair. Ha!” he gently folds your legs back down, pulling out of you with painstaking gentleness on the way down, “That weren’t very gentlemanly of me, was it?” he teases.

You sway dangerously once placed on your own two feet and you don’t even have the chance to fall, he never lets go before he realizes what’s needed. He picks you up and sets you on the counter, you pool back against the mirror, boneless and debauched, legs stuck bow legged from such a long ride and a vividly puffy pussy leaking his seed onto the counter. He tucks himself back in with still shaking hands. He won’t be fully back down to earth till Honolulu’s runway, he thinks. Just in time to carry you off the plane. And begin it all over again.

Married life, he could get used to this.

“It was perfect, you’re perfect.” you slur earnestly as he returns to you and unzips your dress, hauling it over your teased you hair, baring you fully as you sit on the counter, kicking feet thumping against the cabinets in your patten leather heels

“Nah…perfect -that would be you, Mrs Presley.” he kisses you deeply, before taking you in his arms bridal style and carries you into the bedroom, conscious but uncaring that you’re leaking all over his pristine shirt sleeve.

This next part oughta involve washcloths or wet wipes. But that would require leaving your sweet arms and facing a jet crew that just heard him railing his tender young bride.

Yeah, he’ll just use his mouth.

[mioritic]

Wedding in Podhale (southern Poland), not dated, no photographer listed

via z-ne.pl

[visit-new-york]

Bow Bridge is one of the most iconic and romantic landmarks in Central Park, New York City. It is a beautifully designed cast-iron bridge that spans across the picturesque Central Park Lake, also known as The Lake. Bow Bridge is known for its graceful curves, intricate ironwork, and stunning views, making it a popular destination for visitors, photographers, and couples. Here are some key details about Bow Bridge:

Location: Bow Bridge is situated in the southern part of Central Park, not far from the park's entrance at 59th Street and Fifth Avenue. It crosses The Lake, connecting the eastern shore (Cherry Hill) to the western shore (the Ramble).

Design and Architecture: The bridge was designed by architects Calvert Vaux and Jacob Wrey Mould and was completed in 1862. It is a cast-iron bridge with intricate Gothic and neo-classical elements. The bridge gets its name from its unique shape, which resembles the curve of a violin's bow.

Scenic Views: One of the main attractions of Bow Bridge is the breathtaking views it offers. From the bridge, visitors can enjoy panoramic vistas of Central Park's landscape, including the lake, surrounding trees, and the Manhattan skyline in the background. The bridge's elegant design adds to the beauty of these views.

Seasonal Beauty: Bow Bridge is stunning in every season. In the spring, it is surrounded by blooming cherry blossoms and other trees in full bloom. During the fall, the bridge is enveloped in the vibrant colors of autumn foliage. In the winter, it often becomes a serene and romantic snowscape.

Cultural Significance: Bow Bridge has appeared in numerous films, television shows, and photographs, becoming an iconic symbol of Central Park. It is a popular location for engagements, weddings, and romantic walks, further enhancing its cultural significance.

Central Park Conservancy: Like many features within Central Park, Bow Bridge benefits from the efforts of the Central Park Conservancy, a non-profit organization dedicated to the park's preservation and maintenance. The Conservancy ensures that the bridge remains in excellent condition.

Photography: Bow Bridge is a favorite spot for both amateur and professional photographers. The combination of its architectural beauty, scenic surroundings, and reflections in the water creates an ideal setting for capturing memorable photographs.

Recreational Activities: The area around Bow Bridge is perfect for leisurely walks, picnics, and relaxation. Visitors can also take boat rides on The Lake or explore the nearby Ramble, a more rugged and wooded section of Central Park.

Accessibility: Bow Bridge is easily accessible by pedestrian pathways within Central Park. It is conveniently located near popular attractions like Bethesda Terrace and the Central Park Boathouse.

In summary, Bow Bridge is a quintessential Central Park landmark known for its beauty, elegance, and romantic atmosphere. Whether you're seeking a scenic spot for photography, a leisurely stroll, or a picturesque backdrop for special moments, Bow Bridge offers a timeless and enchanting experience in the heart of Manhattan.

[vintagelasvegas]

Cal-Neva Motel & Cupid Wedding Chapel, November 1969

1519 Las Vegas Blvd South.

In the early 30s, one of the first things motorists driving Hwy 91 from So Cal to Las Vegas would encounter was the Cal-Neva Auto Court, built at the far southern edge of Las Vegas’ newest incorporated area called Boulder Addition. Cal-Neva was named after the famous resort in Lake Tahoe at a time when Las Vegas was barely on the map.

By 1969 the court – now “motel�� – was one of the oldest in a city full of new things. The main business was the wedding chapel which opened in the old motel lobby in the 50s. The motel closed around the time of these photos, but the chapel managed to hold on all the way to ‘91. It was demolished and became the parking lot of what is now Peppermint Hippo.

Unknown photographer, scan from Ektachrome slides.

[hooked-on-elvis]

[📸PHOTO STORY⚡] A couple of "first-times" — Elvis and Alfred Wertheimer, 1956

On the next two pictures, on March 17, 1956, Elvis seeing in his "argyle socks, shantung pants and jacket, black shirt, freshly combed slick brown hair and a sneer" at CBS Television Studio 50. This was the moment Alfred was first introduced to EP (photo taken by him). By Alfred Wertheimer's accounts, to him, Elvis "didn't look much like a star, more like just another backstage guy'.

At the moment this picture was taken, Mr. Wertheimer said "a balding jewelry salesman (seen sitting beside Elvis) was handing him a diamond ring that could have been seen from the back row of Carnegie Hall. Elvis pulled his feet off the table, leaned on the back of another chair, and in a soft low voice with a mild Southern accent, said simply, 'Hi.' He returned his examination of the ring, a diamond-studded horseshoe around a gold horse's head. I took my place behind the camera. The salesman closed the deal."

Excerpt from "Elvis '56 In The Beginning" by Alfred Wertheimer.

This was a 14k gold ring that belonged to Elvis Presley early in his career. Designed in the shape of a horseshoe with fourteen single-cut diamonds around the surface while a horse head adorns the middle, this ring was worn pretty frequently by the King for a number of years.

Those March 1956 pictures show the purchase of one of Elvis' first most easily relatable diamond jewelry pieces and Alfred Wertheimer's first, of what would become exclusive, unique and legendary, shots of the King of Rock and Roll.

ADDITIONAL INFO On Elvis' horseshoe rings:

EP is known for giving away his own things as quick as the thought, so he gave some of his own horseshoe rings away and ordered new ones. As the years passed and EP's love for horses grew, more rings would be made on the same theme, even by his private jeweler Lowell Hays - and by the way Elvis and Priscilla owned matching horseshoe rings in the 60s.This picture below shows EP and Priscilla wearing matching horseshoe diamond rings - Elvis' is not the same ring bought in 1956, it's a different one. Elvis and Priscilla were wearing those horseshoe matching rings on their wedding day in May 1, 1967.

If Elvis liked the “Good-Luck” idea behind this famous symbol, possibly... specially by the beginning of his career when it would come to great use. EP's jewelry contained themes and selected precious stones, full of meaning and grace. As he grew older he came to study astrology and numerology, and would even know the meaning of 'birth stones' and he would use this to chose and gift his loved ones with beautiful exclusively-made jewelry pieces with their own birth stones on it at times; besides Elvis was a believer... in God above anything else, but even tho he was a Christian man, he didn't deny anything was possible, so harmless mysticism was welcomed in his mind as well. With this said, it's not hard to believe Elvis indeed chose the horseshoe ring for a reason. But either the case, the man didn't need any help from lady luck.🍀

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On Alfred Wertheimer's background story:

In March 1956, Alfred Wertheimer was hired by Anne Fulchino, publicist for the Pop Record Division of RCA Victor, to photograph Elvis. Here's Anne with EP:

Elvis, RCA Victor' Pop Records Division publicist, Anne Fulchino, and a William Morris' agent [name unknown] on March 17, 1956 at NBC's Studio 50, New York City. © Photo by Alfred Wertheimer.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

The bikini is the most important thing since the atom bomb.

Diana Vreeland

The origins of contemporary bikini day may be traced back to a French engineer, a Parisian exotic dancer, a nuclear testing site in the United States, and a postwar fabric shortage.

In 1946, Western Europeans joyously greeted the first war-free summer in years, and French designers came up with fashions to match the liberated mood of the people. Two French designers, Jacques Heim and Louis Réard, developed competing prototypes of the bikini. Heim called his the “atom” and advertised it as “the world’s smallest bathing suit.”

French fashion designer Louis Reard was determined to create an even more scandalous swimsuit. Réard's swimsuit, which was basically a bra top and two inverted triangles of cloth connected by string, was in fact significantly smaller. Made out of a scant 30 inches of fabric, Réard promoted his creation as “smaller than the world’s smallest bathing suit.”

Réard claimed that the bikini was named for Bikini Atoll, the site of nuclear tests by the United States in the Pacific Ocean.

Louis Réard's bikini was so little that he couldn't find anyone brave enough to wear it. After being rejected by a number of fashion models, he came across Micheline Bernardini. She was a 19-year-old nudist at the Casino de Paris who consented to be the first to try on his daring bikini. Michelle Bernardini debuted this revealing costume at the Piscine Molitor in Paris during a poolside fashion show, and it revolutionised swimwear on 5 July 1946. The bikini was a hit, especially among men, and Bernardini received some 50,000 fan letters.

Before long, bold young women in bikinis were causing a sensation along the Mediterranean coast. Spain and Italy passed measures prohibiting bikinis on public beaches but later capitulated to the changing times when the swimsuit grew into a mainstay of European beaches in the 1950s. Réard's business soared, and in advertisements he kept the bikini mystique alive by declaring that a two-piece suit wasn’t a genuine bikini “unless it could be pulled through a wedding ring.”

But it really took when what we would call cultural influencers took to it. It was in 1953, thanks to Brigitte Bardot, that the bikini became a "must-have" and the history of the bikini became historic, when she was photographed wearing one on the Carlton beach at the Cannes Film Festival. She also wore one in 1956, in the film "Et Dieu… créa la femme".

The United States also caught on to the trend, as it was only two years later that Ursula Andress posed in a white bikini on the poster for the James Bond film, Dr. No. The poster created a considerable marketing coup, and women adopted the bikini. According to a study by Time, 65% of younger women adopted the bikini in 1967.

There is no question the bikini is hardly modern. Many think they date back to ancient Roman times because of the murals uncovered in excavated ruins in Sicily. This isn’t really true.

Despite the celebrated images from the mosaics in Piazza Armerina, of the ancient Roman girl wearing what looks like a bikini, the answer is, “not really”.  The ancient Roman girls weren’t even first to wear what to our eyes looks like a bikini. However, the fact that we seem to find “bikinis” in ancient depictions should make us rethink our hubristic bias that we in modern times have invented everything and that people in ancient times didn’t know how to live.

Archaeologists have found evidence of bikini-like garments that date to as far back as 5600 BC. That’s roughly 5000 years before the Romans did so. In the Chalcolithic era of around 5600 BC, the mother-goddess of Çatalhöyük, a large ancient settlement in southern Anatolia, was depicted astride two leopards while wearing a bikini-like costume.

Two-piece garments worn by women for athletic purposes are depicted on Greek urns and paintings dating back to 1400 BC. In fact, even just the notion that women participated in sports in the ancient world should make us sit up and take notice.

Today we tend to imagine women in the ancient world as being practically sequestered in their homes, spinning, weaving and having babies. But this is a gross oversimplification of their role.

Active women of ancient Greece wore a breast band called a mastodeton or an apodesmos, which continued to be used as an undergarment in the Middle Ages. While men in ancient Greece abandoned the perizoma, partly high-cut briefs and partly loincloth, women performers and acrobats continued to wear it.

In the famous mosaics to be found at Villa Romana del Casale in Piazza Armerina, the girls who seem to be wearing the “bikini” are Roman and the so-called bikini had already been around for at least 5,000 years by then. In the artwork ��Coronation of the Winner” done in floor mosaic in the Chamber of the Ten Maidens (Sala delle Dieci Ragazze) in Sicily the bikini girls are depicted weight-lifting, discus throwing, and running.

The bikini was gradually done away as Christianity became more influential as the centuries wore on. Christian attitudes towards swimming restricted the clothing of women for centuries, the bikini disappeared from the historical record after the Romans until the early 20th century with Louis Beard’s re-invention of the two piece bathing suit as the ‘bikini’.

Photos: In 1956 Emilio Pucci designed this bikini inspired by the mosaics of the Villa Romana Del Casale in Sicily.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Mind you I've never read LW but i kinda enjoyed the 2019 movie, why did you hate it? (Maybe i just wanna put Timothee Ch on a leash) feel free to go off 🌷

So, the costumes sucked from a historical perspective. Which would be less Objectively Bad and more Just Not My Thing...if the designers hadn't gone ON AND ON AT LENGTH about how ~Authentic~ they tried to make everything.

Didn't claim accuracy and didn't do accuracy: meh, whatever

DID claim accuracy and didn't do accuracy, AND won an Oscar for it: urge to kill rising

the hair design was particularly egregious, with the designer at one point saying they chose [checks notes] insane flyaways and half-up hair on adult women (who would have worn their hair entirely pinned up, for practical reasons and as a cultural marker of adulthood) because that seemed "more authentic than coiffures"

MORE AUTHENTIC

THAN THE WAY ACTUAL WOMEN BACK THEN

WORE THEIR ACTUAL HAIR

AS DEMONSTRATED IN PHOTOGRAPHS- EVEN CANDIDS -AND PORTRAITS

"blee bloo they didn't have hairspray!!!" THEY HAD POMADE. HAVING YOUR HAIR VERY SMOOTH WAS THE STYLE IN THE 1860S, EVEN FOR POOR WOMEN, AND MASSIVE FLYAWAYS ARE HUGELY IMPRACTICAL, AND NOT ALL FIXATIVES ARE HAIRSPRAY YOU ABSOLUTE-

[Marzi.exe has encountered a problem. please hold]

apart from the hair, there were fit issues and at least one case of Trying To Copy the 1994 Movie, But Worse (Amy's black and white dress in Paris).

1994. the pattern is soutache, a kind of applied trim done with flat cord that was very popular throughout the mid-late 19th century

2019. You cannot tell me the choice to have her in a white dress with black floral patterning, in effectively the exact same scene, was a coincidence.

also I'm pretty sure there was one shot with an actress visibly wearing Uggs. (EDIT- thankfully I am informed that this is a set photo and the Uggs were not visible in the finished film. i had forgotten this. good to know! leaving the pic there because STUPID HAIR and HATLESSNESS)

also the Pretty Pastel Princess Dresses (with overly fluffy attempts at bertha collars) and Matching Long Gloves (wrist gloves were popular for evening back then, and they were almost always white) in the Concord ball scene.

is it a Civil War-era ball, or is it a parade of "southern belles" at Cypress Gardens in 1995? leaning towards the latter.

once again, the choice to put Meg in pink for the ball instead of her book-described blue dress is something 1994 did first, and did better IMO

also Meg's 2015 Coachella wedding look, the fact that none of these girls from a poor family seemed to wear each other's old clothes ever, and the lazy choice to dress Jo in half-menswear instead of actually looking into menswear-inspired women's clothing in the era (which was a Thing!). but more than just the costumes pissed me off

they just...didn't seem to understand the era, or want to, or care? it was a bunch of little things that served to make it all more #relatable to modern audiences but ultimately undermined the setting:

Marmee telling a random young man she's never properly met to call her Marmee, because "everyone does." her DAUGHTERS call her that. her ACTUAL CHILDREN. who the hell else would? it's not a derivative of her name; it's a variant of Mama. Laurie can graduate to Marmee when he's an actual family friend

Jo wearing some of Laurie's clothing because "she stole it when they were hanging out in his room," according to an interview. um, NO NO AND NO, they are teenagers and that would distinctly not fly on several levels even in her progressive family. I might actually buy this if it were like "he gave them some clothes for an amateur theatrical and she kept them;" the actual Alcott sisters had a costume trunk for their plays, which is still on display at their house. but these writers clearly think a teenage boy and girl could be in his bedroom together unsupervised, for long periods of time, habitually, in 1860-whatever. which is absolutely incorrect

Jo saying "okay" in refusing Laurie's proposal. this is so tiny, I know, but while that term did already exist, it was a joke phrase only. this would be like saying "lol" while turning down your best friend's proposal today. once again, it's an example of Relatability mattering more than actually understanding the world these characters lived in

there are more, but I've blocked them out. I just really, really hated it on many levels

[cwcthzl]

Old man yaoi stozier proposal. Who proposes, how do the losers react, the wedding- tell me newow

since they are dumb as fuck, i think there would be actually 3 proposals before they got married. first one would be even before they started dating, just after stan's divorce. richie would make a dumb joke, then would try to cover up the joke by doing a even worse one implying a proposal, and when stan pointed it he would change to an southern accent and make kissy faces to avoid the topic.

second one would be also dumb. this would happen when they were dating for a few years. they would be drinking a little bit, and they would be tipsy where richie would ask stan, "do you wanna get married?" and stan would think a moment before saying yes, and that would be that.

the real proposal would come months later after this exchange, they would both be constantly thinking about that night because holy shit. they wanted to get married. like, urgently. stan and richie BOTH purchasing rings for each other without the other knowing and trying to set up a date to propose, while trying to figure out how to do it. with losers around or not? or just the two of them? restaurant or a home date where they cooked the meals and rose petals and all that stuff? should they throw the ring in the champagne? crazy worries like that.

then a dumb thing would come up and they had to go to another city where they had an apartment together and some good memorable things, and this would seem like the chance to both of them. richie would plan taking stan to a restaurant they had a date in to not draw suspicion and then his favorite birdwatching spot (which was decorated by the losers), and stan would plan taking richie to another restaurant they had one of their first dates and then his favorite spot in the city where you could see the sunset (which was decorated by the losers) and propose there.

the last one would be on neither of those places. i have no idea where and how they got here, but they would be talking like normally before richie popped out the ring and stan cover his face with his hand and start laughing before pulling the ring he got for richie out from his pocket and they would laugh like two idiots in love, slide the rings on the other's finger and kiss like there was no tomorrow. losers club would be hiding and recording in some place in favor of stan's request, because he knew richie liked having important things photographed or recorded. richie didn't tell losers to come because he knew stan liked moments where they were alone and intimate, but he was happy regardless.

after the proposal bev would fucking jump on them, crying because shit it's emotional to see them finally married legally. they would do a group hug and they would go to a bar to celebrate and drink/talk till the morning.

the wedding would be simple with just their friends and loved ones since the parents and extended family were out of the picture but it would be happiest they'll ever be. richie wearing a white suit and stan wearing a black one.

i was writing the proposal with all the details but shit got too long so i had to take a step back and question my existence before locking in so there you are. if i end up actually finishing it will be for you gang

[alyssalenko]

— late summer gothic aesthetics

Tagged by my dear @starsandskies ❤️ ages ago but I'm slow XD

Tagging: @illusivesoul @briarfox13 @badwolf626 @thefrostyshepard @kittynomsdeplume @thefathersbride @darth-salem-emperor-of-earth @redreart @wickedwitchofthewilds @commander-krios @hazelestelle @minilev @pathfinderlittleduck and anyone else who wants to play, but as always, there is no obligation! ❤️

bold - aplies always italic - sometimes crossed out - never

Phryne Tav

ROAD TRIP BURNOUT.

bloodshot eyes, flickering neon motel signs, aviator sunglasses, magic 8 balls, recurrent dreams of grey aliens, beaded curtains, dusty denim and incense smoke, sepia desert vistas, playlists of 1960s rock songs, coded messages in television static, comets in the night sky, fake ids, gas station snacks, jesus bobble heads, split lips, patchouli, paranoia between friends.

SOUTHERN CEMETERY.

magnolia blossoms,chipping white porch swings, spanish moss, suffocating humidity, faded photographs of lacy weddings, tire tracks in mud, mausoleum angels, family trees, the yellow-green eyes of alligators, repressed childhood memories bubbling to the surface, broken porcelain dolls, legs covered with mosquito bites, blood promises, crucifixes and barbed wire.

INTER-DIMENSIONAL PARK RANGER.

the yellow eye shine of an unseen animal, circling turkey vultures, unnatural fluctuations in the passage of time, daddy long legs in rotting logs, distorted backwards speech through a walkie-talkie, unexplainable antler shrines, coniferous mountain horizons, star-like bonfire sparks whirling in an indigo night, nests of infant barn owls, claw marks in tent fabric.

HAUNTED BOARDWALK.

rickety ferris wheels, carnival lights through fog, saltwater taffy and tarot card readings, childhood best-friends, thunderstorms over the sea, tear-streaked face paint, chipping animatronics partially submerged in brackish water,ill-fated games of truth or dare, vintage circus posters boasting mermaids and wolf men, underwater caves marked with a skull and crossbones.

[ladylooch]

Letters in Your Last Name - Chapter 24

A/N: I LOVE THIS CHAPTER!!!!! that is all 💕🥹

Word Count: 41.K

Warnings: FLUUUUFFYYYY!!!!!!!, 18+ themes a few times but no actual smut.

The last flickers of orange are disappearing beyond the mountains enclosing Lake Lucerne in Zurich, Switzerland. I’m leaning against the bar, slowly sipping on a glass of chilled and expensive champagne. My eyes scan the room before me, taking in the sight of our close friends and family members. People from all around the world have gathered together at the Burgenstock Resort high above the lake to celebrate our impending nuptials. Tonight, the Groom’s Dinner is a stand alone event as part of our Wedding Weekend. With so many out of town guests, the invite list for a traditionally small group has turned into around 125 people. Kevin and I don’t mind though; it just adds to the excitement for our day.

Our day. I can’t believe it’s tomorrow.

After months of planning, including a solo trip to Switerzerland during the season, we are finally ready. I was ready the day he proposed, but Kevin insisted that I should have the day I always dreamed of. The first few items we picked were the higher priced things like venue, food, and photographer. I was nervous to share prices with Kevin, especially because everything was in Swiss Francs. The conversions were confusing, but then the final amounts almost made me choke. I smile, thinking back on the initial conversation about the venue.

“Holy shit.” I squeak as Kevin presses enter to finalize the conversion. “Nope. Okay. That one’s out.” Just for the rental of the space, not including food, the venue is already at $50,000 USD. “Sam.” Kevin rolls his eyes at me. “I have drawers of clothes in our closet more expensive than that.” My mouth drops open in surprise, but I shut it because I’m not sure what else there is to say. “Is this where you want to get married?” “Well, it was.” I scowl, looking back at the website, scrolling through the pictures to show him. The venue is breathtaking. It has mountain and lake views with a Southern facing room so we can watch the sunset light the mountains on fire at the end of the day. The ballroom has floor to ceiling windows and extends over a ledge so you feel as though you’re dancing along the edge of the earth. The ceiling is lined with exquisite, sparkling chandeliers. Plus, their packages come with easy add ons like floral, catering, and spa services that would add an ease to the international wedding planning. “If money was a non-issue, is this the place?” “Yes.” “Then this is the place. When it comes to making you my wife, money is no concern to me.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to my shocked lips. Then, he reaches for his wallet, tossing his black credit card at me. “I’m off to practice.”

In the present moment, the visual of his retreating back makes me laugh. Lazily off to practice while I spent $50,000 in one transaction. Life has certainly changed since I met Kevin Fiala. I take another sip of the champagne in my glass, enjoying the bubbles popping against my tongue. A hand comes to the long tendrils of hair resting at the nape of my neck, sweeping them away to expose my skin. Plump lips dance along my shoulder so I tilt my head to the other side to give him better access.

“Come here often?” His European accent gives him away. I close my eyes at the feeling of his breath dancing on my neck. His hands come to my hips and he pulls me back into his warmth. I purse my lips while my eyes slowly open. I tilt my head back towards his, then his lips brush my cheek.

“Actually, no. I’m here to get married tomorrow.” I murmur in response to his advance.

“Lucky man.”

“Luckiest.” I turn in his arms and he pins me between him and the bar. His brown eyes meet mine and I can see exactly how much he wants me. “You need something?” I ask him, watching him watch my lips.

“You.” His lips are almost on mine.

“I’m not open for business tonight.” I’m lying through my teeth.

“The fuck you aren’t.” He hisses. I can’t help the laugh that escapes. “Name your price.” His lips flirt against mine with each word. “I’ll pay anything.” His tongue comes out of his mouth and slides into mine. I sigh at how good it feels to kiss him like this.

“Your last name.” I say between our desperate kisses.

“Have it. Tomorrow. At 5.”

“Then we have a deal.” He laughs and hugs me. It’s really a disguise to get him close to my ear.

“I want to fuck you so hard your teeth chatter when you come.” Movement to my right stops the moan in my throat. Probably for the best as the motion is my brother. His timing is impeccable as per usual.

“Dance with me?” Alex asks me as Kevin is pulling away from my ear. Al’s hand is outstretched and if he heard what Kevin said, he doesn’t let on.

“No one is really dancing.” I say to my brother, eyes narrowing in slight annoyance at his interruption.

“So? It’s your party. You make the rules.”

“Hmm. I thought you did? That’s why I had to stay away from Fiala.” I tease him, sliding my hand into his. His fingers grasp mine tightly and he tugs me out of Kevin’s arms.

“Heard what you said, Kev. Didn’t appreciate it.” Alex snaps at my soon-to-be husband once I’m out of his reach. Kevin shrugs with nostrils flaring at being cock-blocked.

“I’m not sorry, man. And hurry the hell up.” Kevin shakes his head defiantly. His eyes dance obviously along my cleavage as if to prove his point. Knowing tomorrow I’ll be his forever has Kevin on a cliff of confidence. Alex shakes his head in displeasure and leads me to the dance floor.

When it’s just me and him, Alex exhales a sharp breath. Our eyes connect and I give him a smile to ease the tension I feel in his arms. He drops his shoulders and pulls me tighter to him. I gently rest my head closer to his as we sway to “The Girl You Think I Am” by Carrie Underwood.

“You look beautiful tonight.” Alex compliments me after a moment.

“Thank you.”

“You’re practically dripping with love for that kid. I hope he knows how lucky he is to have you forever.”

“He does.” I murmur. “You know he is utterly obsessed with me.” Alex nods in agreement. His eyes go behind me and I know he’s looking at Kevin.

“Geez, he’s in the middle of a conversation with his mom and his eyes are still on you.” We sway around the circle enough that I can see what Alex is talking about. I stick my tongue out at Kevin who grins in acknowledgement. Alex and I sway for a few more beats. He pulls me close again. I can tell he is getting emotional. The combination of the words in this song and the reality of me being Kevin’s wife tomorrow; It’s all beautifully bittersweet.

Cause you think I’m brave. And you think I’m beautiful. You think that I can do the impossible.

“You know I was wrong, right?” He says to me. Thick emotion is woven into his voice. I rest my forehead against his shoulder and listen as he continues. “I was wrong to tell you to stay away from Kev. He’s your person. And he loves you in a way that I always hoped you would find. When dad walks you down the aisle tomorrow, I hope you know he’s doing that for Nick and I too. There is no one else on this Earth he could walk you to as confidently as Kevin.” I blink and tears flow from my eyes. I pull back to look at him.

“I love you. Thank you for saying that. It means the world to both of us to have you here. You’ve given me so much. I wouldn’t have any of this without you.”

“I love you, Sammy.” His blue eyes are misty so I squeeze his arm in reassurance. We begin to sway again to the final lines of the song. “When this song is over, let’s hug. Then I want you to run across the room to Kevin. It sounded like he had plans for you tonight.” I purse my lips against a laugh. “I’m not going to watch you leave though. Instead, I’m going to go to the bar and pound bourbon after bourbon until I forget what I heard him say.” I can’t help the loud laugh that comes from my lips. I lean my head back and let it out fully. Alex joins me and when the song ends, we have completely dissolved into giggles. “Go!” Alex pushes me towards Kevin after a quick hug.

I race across the dance floor like he says. Kevin’s eyes sparkle with joy as he watches me rush back to him. I grab his hand and pull him away from Renata without a word. Kevin doesn’t hesitate as we run out the door of our own party. As we reach the entrance, I turn back and look at my brother. He didn’t keep his word. He’s watching every step of ours. His hand gives me a wave as Felicia joins him on the dance floor. I watch her kiss his cheek and she whispers something in his ear. His gaze leaves mine and goes to her. His blue eyes feast on her like she’s the only person in the entire world. My eyes get misty and when I look at Kevin, he looks at me the same.

“Where to beautiful?” He murmurs.

“Bed.” I grin. “I want you one last time as a Stalock.”

“Lead the way.”

- - -

The next afternoon, I’m waiting for our first look, thinking about Kevin’s lips on my skin last night as I focus on his broad shoulders. He’s standing with his back to me in his black suit while he fidgets in anticipation of seeing me. I think he will like what he sees. My ivory dress is filled with sparkles, lace and tulle. My long brown hair is pulled up into a half up, half down style, and it curls in tendrils down my shoulders and back. My make up is done to perfection with accents of pink and purple. I feel like a literal Disney princess. The photographer snaps away pictures of me as the excitement builds around us.

“Sam, just a few more.” He tells me. “Keep looking at Kevin like that.”

“Easy enough.” I hear Kevin laugh ahead of me as he moves his weight from foot to foot. “Hi babe.” I call to him, watching his shoulders soften at the sound of my voice. He reaches his hand out behind his back, calling me over. I grin and step towards him as the photographer nods in encouragement. When our hands touch, it feels like an electric shock.

“Pause!” The photographer yells out when Kevin tries to turn.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Kevin mutters under his breath.

“You’ll never get this moment again.” The photographer insists. Kevin squeezes my hand and I rest my head briefly against his back, barely able to contain my excitement. “Okay, Kevin. You can turn.”

He turns from right to left with an effervescent grin breaking out across his face. His brown eyes sparkle as he takes me in. He sucks in a deep breath and pushes it out quickly. My eyes water instantly. I laugh silently, biting the corner of my lip, trying to keep the tears to a relatively small level. I have a whole day of crying left to do.

“Oh my god baby, you look incredible!” He says, grabbing my hands and pulling me closer to him. He places a firm, insistent kiss against my lips causing me to melt into his arms. “You literally took my breath away for a second. You are so beautiful.” He tells me, nuzzling my nose with his. “Hi, by the way.”

“Hi.” I say to him before pressing our lips together again. “You look very handsome, Kev.” I run my hands up his arms and place them on his shoulders, staring at his solid, black tie, trying to breathe through the tears that are still growing in my eyes. “Wow.” I try to laugh again as he rubs his hands up and down my back. “All I can think right now is how much I love you.”

“I love you so much, Sam. More than I could ever try to describe. I just hope you’ll feel it today.”

“I already do.” I tell him. He smiles broadly at me and steps away, giving me another once over.

“Wow. Stunning.” He says again, eyes coming back to my face. He pulls me close again, whispering so only I can hear. “I bet that dress looks even better on the floor.”

“Probably. You’ll find out tonight.” I reach out and bite his bottom lip, tugging it briefly before releasing it. He grins in response, brown eyes going black with pleasure. “No.” I say to him when he opens his mouth. He pouts in response.

“Sam… you know you want me.”

“Yes, and I’ll have you for the rest of my life, but not until after you make an honest woman out of me.”

“Yes, so let’s go back to the room and I will do just that.” I tilt my head back and laugh loudly.

“Where to next?” I turn to our photographer.

“Family pictures.”

I reach for Kevin’s hand as we wander to our next photo destination. Kevin pulls me close, careful to not step on my dress.

“No matter what happens in my career or in our life together,” He begins, “I want you to know that today is the best day of my life.” I stop and look up at him. The look in his eyes is indescribable. I swallow the latest batch of tears and turn away. “Hey..” Kevin gently pulls me to a stop when I try to walk forward. “I’m serious. You’re everything I’ll ever need. Forever.”

I want time to stop, just for a minute, so I can remember every detail of what it feels like when he says those words to me.

Hours later, I’m standing with my dad just inside the doorway, peaking down at the garden ceremony site where my forever waits at the alter for me. Andreas, who we chose for our officiant, is asking everyone to stand. Kevin pushes out an obviously heavy breath. He’s anxious for me to appear.

“Time to go, sweetheart.” My dad smiles at me, holding his arm out for me. I lace mine through his and feel my face beginning to crumple into a sob. It’s a happy sob, but my dad recognizes immediately that I can’t walk forward yet. “Take a minute.” He is patient and encouraging with me. I suck in a steadying breath. The butterflies begin to subside when I focus only on Kevin. Everyone else fades away and I confidently step forward with my dad.

As my heels hit the stone of the patio, it feels as if everyone takes a collective breath. I stare down at my feet and listen to the clicking of the camera. When I’m confident I can look at Kevin without bursting into tears, I lift my gaze to him. His face instantly lights up when our eyes connect. I’ve never seen a smile so bright on his face. I grin back instinctively. As I walk, I shift my gaze to our guests every few moments, but my eyes can’t be pulled from Kevin for more than a second at a time. He looks so damn good. I want to run the last few steps to him and yell ‘I do’, so we can just be married already.

We reach the end of the aisle and I turn to my dad and give him a squeeze.

“Love you.” My dad says to me. Next, he hugs Kevin. “We love you, Kev.” My dad is speaking for both of my parents. Kevin reciprocates and my dad steps aside to join my mom. Now, it’s just Kevin and I. I give my bouquet to Felicia and then lace my hands with Kevin’s. Andreas begins to speak but I don’t even hear him. All I can focus on is Kevin in front of me.

I love you, Kevin mouths. A single tear falls down my cheek and he reaches for it. I lean into his touch. My body yearns to kiss him, but I know we have a ways to go before then, including a big surprise for Kevin.

Over the previous 9 months, without Kevin’s knowledge, I’ve been working on learning Swiss German both with a tutor in Minneapolis and with Laura. Today when it’s my turn for vows, mine will be spoken completely in Swiss German. It was important to me to include a nod to Kevin’s life before me into a ceremony focusing on our future. I want him to know I’m committed to our life of blended cultures. Laura and I worked diligently the last few weeks to get each pronunciation correct. Then, I told Andreas of my plan and he about squeezed the life out of me in excitement. He knows as much as I do that Kevin will adore it.

When the time comes though, I have to fight back the urge to vomit. I glance over at Kevin’s family and worry about the few words I know I have struggled with in my practice sessions with Laura. I shake my head briefly, knowing I can’t think about that right now and psych myself out. This is important for me to do for Kevin.

“Kevin and Sam have decided to write their own vows to showcase the true love and commitment they are making to each other today. Ladies first.” He motions to me with the white paper I typed my vows on earlier this week. I grab the paper from him and he gives me a nod of encouragement. This is it. The moment I’ve been practicing weeks for. I recognize most of our guests won’t understand what I’m saying, but this isn’t for anyone else here. It’s only for Kevin.

”Kevin, I’m so happy this day is finally here. I’ve been dreaming about it daily and standing here with you feels like I’m living out a real life fairytale. I probably shouldn’t be so surprised by that. After all, every day of our life together has felt this incredible. In the beginning, it was easy to fall in love with you. You burst into my life at a moment when everything was fine, but nothing was great. From day one, you changed that. Life became exciting- full of adventure, passion and a love I’d been waiting years for. As the days have passed, it’s only become better.”

I pause to look into his face. I purse my lips immediately because he is in a stunned awe as I speak to him in his native tongue. His eyebrows are pulled together and his mouth is slightly agape. I instantly become choked up and I push out a breath to continue. Except I’m shaking now and nervous again and feeling extremely emotional at the heartfelt reaction from him.

“Um..” I look down at the paper but the words blur between the tears and the anxiousness I begin to feel. “Ah..” I push out another heavy exhale and try to pull the syllables together to pronounce the next word.

Kevin’s hands reach for my hips and he gently pulls me closer to him. The back of my hands are resting on his chest and he tips his head down to enclose us closer together. His fingers lace together on the small of my back.

“You got it, baby. You’re just talking to me.” With that, I settle. I nod my head and continue.

”Today, it gets better again with finally being able to call you my husband. In our life together, I promise to stand beside you in trust and certainty. I promise to love you and choose you, even on the days I might struggle to like you. No matter what life brings to us, I promise to hold onto you believing that together will be our only way though.”

My voice has gotten more confident as he’s been holding me in his arms. His thumbs rub comforting circles into the small of my back.

”I could fill endless pages and minutes talking about all the promises and hopes I have for us. But instead of talking about it on one day, I’d rather just live it together. I love you and I’m entirely yours for the rest of our lives.”

When I finish, Kevin rests our foreheads together and squeezes me tight. “Perfekt” He murmurs. For a moment, I forget that anyone else exists. It’s only him and I in this perfect bubble of bliss. Then, Andreas speaks to continue the ceremony. It’s Kevin’s turn.

“Well, that is tough to follow. I’m lucky that a lot of you don’t speak Swiss German, so you have no idea how impressive her vows were.” He laughs and looks out at our guests who's laughter echos his. He takes the paper from Andreas and clears his throat.

“Sam, first of all, I love you and watching you walk towards me was a dream come true. After I dropped you off from our first date, I knew you were the one. My missing piece. My forever. Actually, it might have been only an hour in that I knew. I was telling you about my injury in St. Louis. I was putting on this tough act about being over it all. But you saw right through it. Instead, you saw me. From that moment on, I saw you as my wife to be.” I bite my bottom lip, remembering grabbing his hand across the table.

“I’ve been many things to a lot of people in my life, but my favorite role is already being your husband. I promise to love and honor you every day. I promise to be your teammate and number one fan. I vow to make decisions that are best for our team, not just for me. I promise to hold you close through the tough moments and laugh along with you in the easy. I can’t wait to continue building our life together. This is a love of a lifetime. Because of that, I need all five of my languages to express it to you completely. Miluji tě. Ich liebe dich. Je’taime. Jag älskar dig. I love you.”

Andreas hands us the rings next. The burst of happiness in my chest when I slide Kevin’s onto his ring finger is so intense that I’m sure everyone can see my body shake from the force. I look into his eyes after it’s secured and I’m desperate to kiss him.

“Wrap it up, bud. I gotta kiss her.” Kevin encourages Andreas in a low voice. I can’t help but nod my head in agreement.

“They love each other. They will forever. I think we all get it.” Andreas says, snapping his book shut decidedly. “I now pronounce you, husband and wife. Kevin, you may kiss your bride.”

Time literally stands still and the world fades until it’s just us. Tears blur my vision as I reach for him, our lips come together as I bounce slightly up and down in delight. I wind my hands behind his head as he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. We barely stay connected as our smiles engulf us and we shudder with joy. Everyone’s cheering breaks through our daze. He rests his nose against mine, swaying me slightly.

“Samantha Fiala.” Kevin whispers to me, his lips brushing against mine with every letter. I open my eyes, taking in his features. His eyes are glittering and his face is almost awestruck. “Are you ready for forever?”

“Only with you.” I kiss him again and then we pull apart, turning to look at our guests.

“I have the great honor of introducing to you, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Kevin and Samantha Fiala.”

“That’s us!” I shout, squeezing Kevin’s hand as everyone hoots and hollers in our direction. I grab my bouquet from Felicia before Kevin and I glide back down the aisle, finally joined in matrimony. I turn to look at Kevin when we have passed our parents. I’ve never seen him look at me the way he is now. I feel an explosion of happiness shake the walls of my chest.

How could life get any better than this?

[visit-new-york]

The Mall

The Mall in Central Park is a famous and iconic feature of this renowned urban park located in the heart of Manhattan, New York City. It is a tree-lined promenade, often described as a "grand boulevard," that stretches for approximately 40 feet wide and 0.25 miles long. The Mall runs through the center of Central Park, offering a picturesque and serene setting for visitors. Here are some key details about The Mall:

Design and Landscape: The Mall was designed in the 1850s by the park's creators, landscape architects Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux. It was intended to provide a peaceful and contemplative walkway that contrasts with the surrounding bustling city streets. The design includes a double row of American elm trees that create a leafy canopy overhead.

Scenic Beauty: The most striking feature of The Mall is its canopy of American elm trees, which arch over the pathway, creating a natural tunnel. The lush green canopy provides shade during the summer months and a stunning display of autumn foliage in the fall.

Historical Significance: The Mall is one of the original features of Central Park, dating back to the park's inception in the 19th century. Its historical significance lies in its role as a tranquil retreat within the bustling city, fulfilling the vision of Olmsted and Vaux.

Literary and Cultural Associations: The Mall has been featured in numerous films, television shows, and works of literature, adding to its cultural significance. It often serves as a backdrop for romantic scenes, leisurely strolls, and outdoor performances.

Statues and Sculptures: At the southern end of The Mall stands a statue of Christopher Columbus, unveiled in 1892. The Mall also includes statues of famous literary figures, such as William Shakespeare and Sir Walter Scott, as well as plaques featuring quotes from their works.

Activities and Events: Throughout the year, The Mall hosts a variety of events and activities. These can include art installations, concerts, outdoor performances, and cultural festivals. The pathway is often filled with musicians, artists, and street performers showcasing their talents.

Wedding Photography: Due to its romantic atmosphere and picturesque setting, The Mall is a popular location for wedding and engagement photography. Many couples choose to capture their special moments amid the elegant backdrop of the tree-lined promenade.

Four Seasons: The Mall offers a different experience in each season. In the spring, the elm trees sprout new leaves, creating a lush green canopy. In the fall, the changing leaves create a breathtaking display of autumn colors. During the winter, The Mall can be particularly enchanting when covered in snow.

Access and Location: The Mall is easily accessible by foot from various points within Central Park, making it a central and popular destination for park visitors. It is located near other notable landmarks such as Bethesda Terrace, the Central Park Zoo, and the Central Park Conservatory Garden.

Artistic Inspiration: The Mall has been a source of inspiration for countless artists, photographers, and writers. The atmospheric beauty of the tree-lined pathway and the changing seasons make it a captivating subject for creative expression.

Fitness and Recreation: While The Mall is primarily known for its leisurely strolls and cultural activities, it also provides an excellent space for various recreational activities, including jogging, yoga, and tai chi. The wide pathway and serene surroundings make it an ideal place for outdoor exercise.

Wedding Ceremonies: Beyond photography, The Mall is a popular choice for outdoor wedding ceremonies due to its romantic ambiance and picturesque backdrop. Couples often choose to exchange vows beneath the elegant canopy of elm trees.

Cross-Country Skiing: During the winter months when Central Park is covered in snow, The Mall transforms into a cross-country skiing destination. It offers a serene and snow-covered landscape for winter sports enthusiasts.

Quiet Reflection: Amidst the activities and events, The Mall provides moments of quiet reflection. Many visitors come here to find solitude, read a book, or simply enjoy a peaceful pause from the demands of city life.

Birdwatching: Central Park is a haven for birdwatchers, and The Mall is no exception. The combination of trees and open space attracts a variety of bird species, making it an excellent spot for birdwatching.

Educational Opportunities: The Mall's natural setting and historical significance provide opportunities for educational programs and guided tours. Visitors can learn about the park's history, ecology, and the significance of its design.

Horse-Drawn Carriages: Visitors can often spot horse-drawn carriages offering rides along The Mall and other parts of Central Park. It's a charming and nostalgic way to explore the park while taking in the scenic beauty.

Public Art Installations: Central Park frequently hosts temporary art installations, and The Mall is no exception. These installations can include sculptures, art exhibitions, and interactive displays, adding an artistic dimension to the natural surroundings.

Access: The Mall is wheelchair and stroller accessible, ensuring that visitors of all mobility levels can enjoy this iconic feature of Central Park.

In summary, The Mall in Central Park is a multifaceted destination that caters to a wide range of interests and experiences. Its natural beauty, cultural significance, and seasonal transformations make it a beloved and enduring part of Central Park's charm, providing both New Yorkers and visitors with a tranquil and enchanting urban escape.

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Address: Victorville, California 92392, USA

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