Star-Struck by one very RISQUE Elvis Impersonator
Aug 8, 2004 (Updated Jan 1, 2005)
The Bottom Line Its time we move and get a seat within reaching distance.... Join me in my chase!
The sight, sound, and aurora of a sexy, untouchable stage star can be grounds for fantasy and, for willing victims, often results in getting star-struck....which is an extremely unique and pleasurable way to test and tease your own biochemistry. Interactions with the audience are key, and the star of THIS stage wasnt about to leave out that important little catalyst..........
Getting star-struck is like hypnosis, a heightened state of consciousness...the slightest hint or hope of physical contact will keep me transfixed for hours. Especially when I am watching a star who looks, sounds and moves like The King, Elvis Presley.
Since this bring-your-own-lawn-chair event took place in a large field, seats were easy to chose, and the forestage area ended up getting well-loved by standees. In the way of audience interactions, I wasnt expecting anything special, so my friend and I arrived a mere 30 minutes early...to find thousands of people already there!
Elvis was a bit late to appear on stage and even I, a naive first-timer, could feel the excited tension in the air. Would he be good? What would he look like? Would he come off the stage like my favorite a-cappella singer does?
He was good.
When he finally emerged, all eyes drew to the white-and gold clad performer as we rejoiced in those timeless rock & roll songs never truly heard since the real King. Heartbreak Hotel. Jailhouse Rock. Love Me Tender. All Shook Up....
He was insanely hot. With deep smiling eyes.
Just cross Elvis with Patrick Swayze from Dirty Dancing, and you got this guy. Ooh baby, Im havin--the time of my life.... He was a funny guy too. You like my hair? The wig falls off sometimes, but oh well. *It was his real hair*.
But it didnt look like he planned to leap off the stage. Not that he had to...women and girls began running up to him very early during the show to have their picture taken in front of him, and simply to get closer. I raised my own digital camera, but he looked the size of a mouse in the viewscreen from our distance. Tough luck.
Then..........Elvis grabbed one of his scarves and put it on himself. That had the same effect as bait for a fish...in no time, one woman meandered right up to the front and gazed. Stealthily moving forward while singing, Elvis swiped the white scarf around his neck and chest. I raised up off my chair to hungrily view the upcoming interaction. It was going to be good...he was moving as softly as black velvet.
Now he was directly in front of her, and she reached upward as he removed the scarf. You can put those arms down, he said with a smile, ...it has a destination! He lassoed her with the scarf, which she obviously welcomed. Then, bending down on the stage while slowly oscillating that scarf over her neck, he came to her eye level.
My heart jumped up to my throat and I craned my neck, willing it to stretch. My previously short expectations of audience interaction were immediately raised skyyyyyyyiiiieee-high. It is amazing how the human eye can detect mere millimeters of distance and micrometers of facial movement....he kissed her, genuinely contacted her lips with his.
Yall remember that cartoon? The one with the sleeping cat on the rug, and the puppy that comes up behind it, RARARARARARARARARA! I would have been that cat, had I not been digging into my chair with both hands...and that was just from WATCHING.
Did he really do that? I had been daydreaming before the concert of a hot Elvis dude serenading interaction-seekers with adrenaline-surging kisses, but the most I had ever personally witnessed from a singer was from my favorite a cappella star who sits on laps.
I stopped hyperventilating long enough to declare to my friend, Ok were moving. My neck is killing me. ...females were beginning to run up to the stage more and more frequently now.
The closer side view was better-- the lights hit at an angle to widen the aurora already surrounding the impersonator. Enough females had crowded to the base of the stage to make their collective arms resemble a hungry sea anenome, reaching, writhing, pleading for contact. This competition made me bolder, so I transversed the grassy ocean between the audience and the stage, and plunged like a clownfish into that anemome.
I was overtaken with his larger-than-life appearance and his strikingly white, bejeweled outfit covered in beautiful gold-studded eagle designs. I gazed at him, as my friend described, more intently than when I watch a new roller coaster taking test runs. The interactions were incredible...many fans got a scarf, and those who waited long enough eventually would get a hand swipe or hold, and some got the much-envied chance to actually kiss him (on the cheek, except for a few VERY bold and lucky women!)
With the reaching arms and Elviss scarf baits, it was hard to tell who was fishing for whom. I tried to contain my own racing heart and raging blood chemicals. By smiling, clapping at intervals, but making sure to not unnecessarily block anyone elses view and only reaching out when he came in my vicinity, I communicated that I wanted him, but am too polite to demand him all to myself.
I reached out as he came closer. Then...his soft inviting hand noticed mine, and gently but fully made contact. I was not prepared for such a surge of endorphines, and my arm soon imitated a numb leg that gets accidentally stood upon, buckling and sinking as my entire musculature turned the consistency of warm cinnamon pudding. I could actually feel my pupils assuming the shape of stars, and I was surprised I was still standing. If blood chemicals could conduct electricity, Elvis would have certainly gotten a shock, because they had been injected with such force they weakened the tips of my fingers long before he released my hand.
I allowed my hand to rest on the edge of the stage as gently as I would touch a newborn, and waited for Elvis to migrate over to my area once again. Another hand hold was coming. My blood boiling for a kiss, this time I curled my hand into a makeshift hook to try to reel him down toward my lips. But my hook had no barbs and my hopes were too high, so he became The One That Got Away.
To me, the ultimate souvenir was not a signed scarf, but a portrait picture of him with me. I used this image to attempt to push away my short-term disappointment of my failed attempt. I plastered a numb smile to my face to defend against the apprehension I had of my friend and others possibly realizing that I had boldly tried and failed the most sought-after interaction.
As we fetched our lawn chairs and I thought about the photo I would seek, my legs did a good imitation of a still-wet newborn fawn trying to run for the first time. My friend and I waited in the mob (not line...mob) where Elvis was signing autographs. We got engulfed by the writhing mass of other crazed females as they, one-by-one, got their piece. I could visibly see their muscles turn to jelly with every greeting, hug, or invite of a kiss. My blood chemicals were even potent second-hand...I became as mesmerized as a deer caught in head lights as I witnessed one woman undeniably contact his lips instead of the conventional cheek-peck.
I had no set turn...I was one of the ten closest females, and had no idea when he would address me next. The tension was building, my mouth getting so dry I feared a cheek-peck might turn out more like a thorny scrape! But fortunately, that didnt become an issue.
My turn finally came, and as Elvis executed the loveliest of greetings, huge stores of endorphines previously held tensely in check came rushing freely into my veins. I emitted my first line, I would really like a picture. *Snap* went my buddys digital camera.
Wait, wait, Elvis smiled as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and looked toward the camera. We were too far away... he breathed in a simmery tone. *Oh golly gee* I thought... *why dont you just pour the oxytocin right into my insides and stir with a really warm spoon?!* This guy was a rrrrreal charmer. My right arm welcomed the pressure of his hand as he drew me in against his side, and my left arm ravenously satisfied its desire to wrap around his living, breathing waist. The amazing contact of that camera cuddle between such a friendly legendary life and a young, sensual female is unparalleled in star-struck pleasure.
*Snap* went my friends camera again. My brain was numb from the 7th-heaven interaction, but he still offered more...a handshake and an open invitation for a kiss, which I readily made on his cheek. My shy friend accepted a handshake from across the table. I told him, Thanks for a great night. You must be getting exhausted! He grinned, demonstrating that he could easily handle his huge crowd of fans.
A white scarf signed by the hot Presley/Swayze resemblance? I prefer those two photos of mine...to show off...I recently got them enlarged...and every time I look at them, they melt-my-heart-like-butter-in-a-skillet!
Any interactions with a performer that will make your pulse race faster...than what I experienced that night....well. Thats what dreams are for, now, arent they?
Hope you enjoyed my story. I welcome comments, criticism, questions, simple talk, whatever. And have a great night. I know I did. :-)