So, here it goes.
Ever wonder how a story happens? Where the idea comes from? This story, which is part one, came to be as I happened upon a concert film of Elvis Presley shown on TCM. Since I was a headbanger (thank you cousin Brendy! If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably be listening to One Direction,Lady Ga-Ga, or even, gulp, that Beiber fuck), I wasn’t even remotely interested In Elvis, or The Beatles, Bowie,or John Denver, so I watched to see what all the fuss was about. It was when he sang Love Me Tender,and began to kiss the women that the title popped in my head A God Walked Amongst Them And There Were Consequences. I thought, hmmm, what does that mean? And while I watched, the story unfolded in my brain. Contrary to belief, I am not really a writer. Oh, I get these ideas, but, ladies and gentlemen (or, Lady, and, gentleman) I cannot translate those stories in my head into written form. Trust me when I say that they are so much better, richer, more horrifying, than what I write down.
Hopefully I didn’t put you off reading the story, however. Be warned, though, it is explicit.
Thanks to Les for inviting me to author a story on his blog. Read his stuff.
Now, on with the show
A God Walked Amongst Them And There Were Consequences
In Las Vegas, Nevada, Elvis performed to a packed crowd in the International Hotel. He was on top form. He was at his peak. He was the god of all entertainers. As he sang Love Me Tender, he walked to the edge of the stage and began kissing the women who had lined up.They were enraptured, spellbound, mesmerized.
And, he didn’t peck them on the cheek. Oh, no, he kissed them, as a man kisses his lover. There were many a wet pantie that night. In fact, many of the women who were so blessed went home to their husbands, and boyfriends, and made love with such passion, such ferocity, that after the session of nasty, coarse, raunchy, uninhibited sex, their men lay stunned, exhausted, and sore. They had been fucked, and fucked good.
He jumped off the stage and began walking through the crowd, kissing the women, and shaking the mens hands. Many were joyous. A few of the women, who were only there because their lovers were fans, were underwhelmed by the kiss. Some thought they tasted garlic, others tasted something medicinal. Some ladies thought that their dog kissed better.( Heathens! Heretics! Pagans!)
Most of them ,though, were believers. Most were happy, content, having a good time. What they did not understand was that A god walked amongst them and there were consequences.
Dowdy, frumpy, homely, plain, these words describe Linda Greenburg aka Lonely Linda, or, Loco Linda, 35, single, born to parents whose skills in bringing up a child were zero. Mother was a floozie, Father was a wanderer, a man who barely lived in the state of Nevada, never mind home, a man who forgot to blanket his pecker one drunken night of wrestling with his wife, a woman he barely knew, never really got to know. One morning he woke up with a woman in his bed, and she had a ring on her finger. They were both hungover, didn’t even remember meeting each other. Couldn’t remember the name of the bar or the club. The exact day was hazy to both of them. But, he shrugged, she laughed, and they never got divorced. Accepted it. Made their bed, lay in it. Old fashioned in that kind of way.
When he found out his wife was pregnant, he shrugged, then wandered off somewhere. Came back after the birth, little toy train in hand, was sure it would be a boy. Shrugged when it turned out to be a girl, and painted the train pink. Wandered off again. Linda’s Mother was unsure of how to take care of a child. The nurses tried to encourage her to breast feed, but, she was horrified. She loved her breasts. Her men loved her breasts. She was definitely not going to let a child suckle her. They may get damaged, scarred. No, hell no, bottle only, and please hand me that pump. Her husband always sent her money, and her men left her gifts, so she wasn’t hurting financially. Still, she barely bought anything for the child. Some clothes, a couple of cheap toys. The crib was bought used. Baby didn’t know that. Baby didn’t care. All the baby did was scream, eat, scream, piss, scream, shit, with a throw up now and again. She didn’t see the point of a child. Didn’t connect. It was starting to be a hindrance, and she did seriously think about putting her up for adoption, but, in the end, she made her bed, had to accept.
When Linda was growing up, unaware that a Mother is supposed to love her child, and that Daddy was supposed to be protective, she learned to hide from her Mother’s men friends. This was after one of them, Jack, a huge man,with large, hairy arms, fists the size of boulders, a face that was full of cracks, and crannies, bulbous, bent nose colored red as a baby’s bottom that sits in it’s piss and shit for hours because Mother didn’t care, bald , forehead scarred (she learned later he was an amateur wrestler), big bushy eyebrows, a giant, a monster straight out of her fairy tale book, looked at her with intensity whenever he came around. Looked at her funny, made her uncomfortable, though she didn’t know why. He never did anything, just stared. His eyes were bright, and dark at the same time. He gave her nightmares. She learned to hide on Wednesdays when he came around. Learned to hide from all of them. Everyday she grew more and more into her shell.
School was hell for Linda. School was like being punished for something you didn’t do. School was a dread more fearful than death itself. It was not a place of learning, it was a place of hate and violence, a place to be afraid, a place you can’t be invisible. She skipped school a lot. Didn’t care for learning. Didn’t care for going out in the world, for if the world was like school, why bother? She knew her abc’s, could add, subtract, multiply, division was tough, but, figured she didn’t really need it, and algebra, well, that was completely alien to her. Her brain could never process all that gibberish. She definitely could do without that. She got by with mostly D’s, a couple of F’s, but neither she, her Mother, or even her teachers were too concerned. There’s just some kids you just can’t teach, they’d tell each other.
One day, Gerry, one of her Mother’s nicer men, brought Linda a gift. Gerry was always smiling, and laughing, and seemed to enjoy life. It puzzled Linda. Life to her was agony, something dire, frightening, something to take on with apprehension, trepidation. How could anyone enjoy it?
But, he did. And he always brought her a gift. Once it was a doll, the next time it was a little pram for the doll. Linda didn’t know what to make of it. It sure didn’t excite her in anyway. But, she’d smile, and thank Gerry, for she knew he was being nice. She didn’t have to hide from him. This gift was a record. He had bought her Mother an Olympic High Fidelity Radio/Record player. Must have cost a pretty penny, but, her Mother didn’t seem that interested. Her love was for film, music didn’t seem to give her any pleasure. Gerry said it was because she hasn’t heard anything she liked. Everyone liked some kind of music. So, he’d buy her a record, she’d listen to it, shrug, like Father, and put the record away. This time, though, this time the record was for Linda. Gerry said it’s incredible, one of the best things I’ve ever heard. It was called, simply, Elvis Presley, and on the cover was this Man, yes, she thought, Man, with a capitol M, eyes closed, hair slick, holding a guitar like a weapon. Go ahead, Linda, play it. See if you like it.
With excitement, bordering on hysteria, Linda placed the record on the turntable, sat down in front of it, and waited for the first song to begin, thinking, if the songs are as good as the cover, maybe life isn’t so bad after all. Blue Suede Shoes began, and it changed Linda’s life, for she now began to understand the meaning of love. And she loved Elvis. That voice! Heavenly! So beautiful! So…something. She began to feel a tingle down there. Her face flushed red, she could feel the heat in her face, in her groin. She didn’t know what was happening. All she knew was that this man made her feel. Her heart was racing, her skin felt electric, and she was feeling happiness. True happiness. It took her 16 years, but, dammit, she felt alive, alive alive! And down there, it was so hot, she could barely move. Her nipples were erect and hurt as they chafed against her bra.She let her head hang, hoping her long, black hair would cover her burning red face, closed her eyes, and listened to the whole album. Gerry looked at her Mother, winked, and mouthed, see? I think she’s heard something she likes. Mother shrugged. Gerry pointed upstairs, wanna wrestle? Mother grinned, you betcha.
Linda didn’t hear them going upstairs, or her Mother scream in laughter as Gerry goosed her, all she heard was her Man singing. And while her Mother wrestled with Gerry, Linda’s hand unconsciously slid between her thighs. Elvis brought tears to her eyes, and such sweet pleasure, she hoped right then she would die because nothing could be as good as this moment, nothing. The orgasm she felt as Elvis sang Well, I’ll never let you go/ Because I love you, pretty baby was so intense, she screamed out loud, and gasped, and huffed. Between her legs it was so wet,she feared she had stained the white carpet. Her nipples really hurt now, so she unclasped her bra to ease the pain. But, the pain was somewhat pleasurable, she didn’t really mind it. Her underwear, what could she do with her underwear? Her Mother would know. Oh, the shame. I’ll have to throw them away. I’ll have to!. She’ll…what? Yell at me? Make fun of me? No…,she’ll not give a shit. That’s right, that’s right. This is Mother. Mother doesn’t give a shit. She giggled thinking that. It’ll be her mantra. Mother doesn’t give a shit. She kept the underwear on, and played the record again from the beginning.
Linda Greenburg, Elvis Presley’s no.1 fan (according to her), felt blessed from that one kiss. As soon as their lips met she felt a connection so real, so electric, her whole body trembled, and her plain, white cotton panties were soaked, saturated with devotional desire. Linda was so involved in the Kiss, that Elvis had to pull her away. She looked at her beautiful man with longing, and he stared back with passion ( On the video it tellingly reveals Elvis had that oh-shit-a crazy look on his face). Elvis backed away, and then proceeded to kiss a blonde. Linda wanted to scratch that brainless bimbos eyes out. But, she held herself together, and made her way to the bathroom. Luckily, she was alone, since most of the women were waiting their turn to embrace their god. She went to the stall, locked the door, dropped her panties, and began to masturbate furiously. Linda had a talent for art, and she sketched constantly. She drew scenes of sexual encounters with Elvis. She’d never seen Elvis’s cock, but she imagined it would be a godly cock, the Supreme cock. She drew pictures of Elvis kissing her breasts, Elvis eating her pussy, taking her from behind, tying her up, spanking her. She drew a scene were Elvis had come inside her, and the semen was so powerful it obliterated her womb, and her head explodes in a mushroom cloud of star-cum. But the one drawing that she now onehandedly fumbles to take out of purse, is her favorite. It depicts Linda laying naked on her bed, legs splayed, labia swollen to outlandish proportion, nipples huge, erect, breasts firm, belly flat, and hovering above her, holding his massive god-cock in his sinewy hand is Elvis, and he is pissing on her. It took her hours and hours of erasing, and redrawing, and more erasing, because she wanted to get her face just right as his hot holy piss splashes on it. This is what she stares at as she fingerfucks herself. She imagines feeling that divine water splashing her, cleansing her. She opens her mouth wide as if to catch and drink the holy urine, but, instead cries out in ecstasy. She gasps, then slumps down on the toilet. Then she sobs in loneliness and heartache. She takes off her panties and puts them in her purse, making a mental note to package them up and ship them off to Memphis. Linda collected herself, took a few deep breaths, and walked back out to the show.
Her god was done kissing and was back to singing, and doing that thing with his hips that sent a shudder of desire through the crowd. She was in a state of rapture. So much so, that when she arrived home, she immediately went to the bathroom, picked up her cuticle scissors and began slowly , but painfully, cutting off her sanctified lips. After doing so, she preserved them in resin. She keeps them under her tear, and bloodstained pillow. She hums Love Me Tender every night before she goes to sleep.
It is her ritual.