Sarge & lil Mama: Wouldnât it be Nice?
Fully co-authored with: @ab4eva đ¤
Summary: In between shooting movies and topping charts, Elvis Presley takes his young family to the California beach for some hard earned frolicking, nothing extraordinary occurs, but then again, extra and ordinary are words redefined since Elaine gave him five children under the age of five.
Date: 1962, Summertime
Word Count: 9k
Warnings: PG13- The accidental destruction of a childâs sandcastle, breastfeeding toddler, talk of being uncircumcised (including by children + children being aware of it), use of several nicknames for a manâs member, someoneâs hair accidentally being set fire to, language, a minor injury involving sand in the foreskin + lots of talk about it (including by children) + treatment of the injury by uncommon methods while children are present (but not directly involved), Elvis being a big baby, Rosalee being distraught about her daddyâs injury, a child willfully acquiring a knife and threatening to cut off fathers member (more wholesome than it sounds) but has it taken away before anything can happen, parents kissing while children are present.
Jerry thought the day had been going quite well. Beach days were supposed to be carefree and rollicking and generally a time to let loose and soak up salt spray tranquility, and today had been correspondingly mellow. Or at least, everyone tried their best, a break from those back to back Wallis pictures doing wonders for EP and giving him a chance to take the kids to see the ocean for the first time, or the first time that some of them can remember .
It gave the day both a heavy amount of purpose and a giddy sense of long sought freedom. Away from the hustle and bustle of Hollywood, nestled between the Santa Monica Mountains and the cliffs of Pacific Palisades, sits a beach so serene and beautiful youâd think you were a thousand miles from nowhere instead of a stoneâs throw away from the City of Angels. Miles of smooth, sandy shoreline and calm ocean waves, not to mention the virtually non-existent crowd, made it the ideal spot for their getaway. They would have space, and privacy, away from the prying eyes and curious shutterbugs that seemed to follow their little gang wherever they went.
They had a good little headquarters set up on the sand, a sandpit and bonfire beginning to be used for the eveningâs meal of sâmores and hot dogs, a half a dozen umbrellas erected and a carpet of towels. Often they held a dozing child, nestled in a nest of cotton stripes when their little bodies couldnât keep up with the games so vigorously played on at the water's edge. An hour ago Elvis had been there himself, laid out and snoozing next to Rosalee, his face in the shade but the entire rest of him in the sunâs full glare, clad in a wispy muslin shirt that had a penchant for riding up his belly with each gust of wind and tiny red shorts that heâd swiped from Edith Headâs costuming department after the latest film had wrapped.
âThoseâll make for some crazy tan lines.â Billy had remarked about it to Elaine while grabbing a beer from the cooler.
Sheâd just hummed dreamily while watching the way her man and their babyâs breath synced up, the little girl not even a third as long as his lanky frame, positioned in a L, her pasty baby skin in full shadow from the summer sun.
The cat nap had revived Elvis immensely and he was back at it within an hour, playing football with the boys while Elaine floated between her children, one minute collecting shells with Ella and Rosalee, the next inspecting a tiny crab Jackson had found. Jack, as his family called him, was intrigued by sea creatures and creatures in general, so he happily set about running from one thing to the next, crouching down to study a jellyfish that had washed ashore or gently returning a live sand dollar back to the water. At the ripe age of four years old, Jesse considered himself one of the guys, and was allowed, begrudgingly by some, to take part in the football game. Elvis had taught him how to throw a football almost as soon as he could walk, heâd been obsessed with any sort of ball since before he could talk and so was a natural. And Daisy Mae? For once she was sat quietly by herself, plastic buckets and pails all lined up in a row, diligently building a sandcastle..
It had three turrets so far, and an outer courtyard like the real life castle mama had driven them all to see when in Germany. Jesse had insisted that Daisy only recalled it from pictures and not memory, as she had been âjust a babyâ but she insisted she did. And to prove her point she was creating its layout with painstaking accuracy. Unless Elaine was greatly mistaken, Daisyâs little sand edifice bore a more striking resemblance to an illustration in Scribnerâs edition of Grimmâs Fairy Tales, but she would be the first and staunchest defender if asked that the wet mounds resembled Lichtenstein Castle.
It made what happened next even worse as Elaine and Aunt Betsy watched as if in slow motion horror as a cataclysmic catastrophe of toddler sized proportions unfolded as the ball game spread and spread across the white sands. It wasnât that Uncle Rex was trying to trample on Daisyâs masterpiece, but Elvis threw a Hail Mary pass, farther than even he thought possible, and the next thing anyone knew Rex was skidding to a stop with one foot in the moat and the other on a turret, his team cheering with wild abandon because heâd caught the ball. A high-pitched wail pierced the air, drowning out the gulls and the waves, startling them all.
Uncle Rexâs kindly and sun tanned face turned a little sickly pale upon looking down and noticing that while little Daisy Mae did not look to be in any mortal danger, she was glaring at his foot through a cascade of tears as if it were the cause of all human woe. Then he noticed the turret, the moat, what was probably a stable for horsies in back and the stack of plastic shovels and molds beside it that all bore witness to the four year oldâs painstaking efforts. All of it demolished with a misplaced foot and when Rex looked up and saw Elvis running over to ascertain the cause of his childâs grief, Rex coulda swore his wide-receiver days were over.
In an instant, Elvis had scooped Daisy Mae up in his arms, her tears soaking the shoulder of his thin shirt as he patted her back soothingly, swaying gently from side to side and murmuring softly in her ear. Being a father was second nature to him at this point, he had perfected all of the little rituals and responsibilities that came with having so many children all under the age of five. At the same time, he was holding her close and checking to make sure she wasnât hurt, smoothing the fine hair that floated in a halo around her head and running his hands over her tiny limbs.
âAww now darlinâ itâs alright, itâs alright, Uncle Rex is awfully sorry,â he soothed her the best he could once hearing her bawling complaint, âheâs awfully sorry, didnât mean to, such a pretty castle ya got here. So pretty, heâd never mean to do it and he feels sick about it.â
âJust sick.â Rex agreed vehemently, dropping to his knees on the sand beside Elvis and his child, careful to choose an undeveloped patch of sand from which to properly apologize, âIâm ever so sorry, Daisy dear.â
It was typical Daisy fashion for words to be cheap and the devastation of her afternoonâs work a soul scarring affair, and while her daddyâs arms and sweet words were soothing, at least a little, there remained a bitterly painful sense of loss in her little chest that nothing was ever again going to remedy or fill that void.
That is untill Jesse piped up softly at her side after surveying the damage, âDaisy, was this goinâ to be where they keep the wolves?â
Lichtenstein Castle had an large menagerie in back where itâs first Saxon overlord kept the native beasts for gruesome purposes Elaine did not expound to the children about. Seemingly forgetting his insistence that Daisy did not recall the place from memory alone, Jesse was intrigued by the design and after asking her she finally pulled her face out of her daddyâs shoulder to give her big brother a sniffling nod and very pointedly emphasized:
âSâposed to be.â For it would never be now and never could be again, for all her mortal dreams had been dashed by Uncle Rexâs foot.
âWe can help finish it!â Jesse insisted. âLook here, Daisy, this shovel is the perfect thing to fix the wolf pen, just needs a bit of sand scooped out is all and itâll be good as new!â He dropped to his hands and knees and got to work, carefully scooping out sand and water, shoring up the walls as he went. Daisy observed him watchfully from the safety of her fatherâs arms, hiccuping a little every now and then. Elvis gently swiped the tears from her reddened cheeks, kissing her forehead gently and whispering to her, âWhatdya reckon, Daisy Maisey? Think we can get this olâ castle fixed up? Uncle Rex and I know a thing or two âbout buildinâ things, donât we now, Rex?â He nodded knowingly to Rex above Daisyâs head, giving him the go ahead to speak up.
âOh sure we do, Iâve been known to build a sandcastle as tall as your daddy before, ainât that right, Elvis?â He hunched down beside the duo, eye to eye with Daisy to plead his case. âIâll even make ya some pretty vines to hang down the side outta seaweed, would ya like that?â Daisy eyed him warily before nodding her head slowly and stating with a great deal of gravity, âLick-en-stine Castle doesnât have vines that hang downâŚbut it has trees that grow on the side.â Her small concession was all the affirmation Rex needed to plop himself down properly, grabbing a pail and filling it with sand, talking to the little girl the whole while, regaling her with his favorite parts of the castle he had visited while in Germany.
âWhatâs going on down there?â Up at Beach HQ under the umbrellas, Elaine asked Aunt Betsy for an update on the toddler crises as she tried to discreetly nurse a rather lanky Jack under a towel he was insistent on throwing off.
He was perhaps getting too old for this, Elaine had to admit, but her milk hadnât stopped, and she didnât have another baby yet. âTheyâre all over the place.â She snickered at the sight of them, as much of them as she could make out which was mostly when they went to the water's edge and scurried back again with refilled buckets.
They werenât that far off down the beach but Betsy was always nearsighted and so she held the binoculars Rex had brought for whale watching and trained it on the group of men down there hovering and packing and molding sand and fetching water like a great army of ants. Anywhere Daisy beckoned was attended to by a member of the Mafia, with Jesse as her most dedicated foremen, while it appeared that Rex had been entrusted with wreathing the front pillars with garlands of seaweed that he received from further up in the assembly line where Elvis was braiding the slimy stuff with dedicated perseverance and the help of Rosaleeâs tiny fingers. Rex and Betsyâs son, Sam, happy and carefree and practically one of the Presley kids himself, plopped down beside Rosalee, far more interested in watching her work than doing any work himself.
âYour man has got the boys rebuilding it.â Betsy summarized with an amused smirk. âOnly Elvis could wrangle a group of grown men into building a sandcastle for a three year oldâŚand with such authority. He really did learn a thing or two in the army, didnât he?â
Elaine smiled softly to herself and held out a hand for the binoculars to better see the little group at the waterâs edge. She wasnât at all prepared for the sight of her husband, tiny red swim shorts and wind-blown hair, breath-taking in his command of an army all his own, pointing and inspecting and generally being an adorable menace for the benefit of his girl. Her darling children were running to and fro with buckets and shovels, laughing and screaming, while Daisy sat like a queen in the midst of them all, the real commanding officer and Elvis only her obedient second. That girl had had her daddy at her command ever since the day she was born.
Jack was roused from his cozy stupor at Elaineâs breast by all of the noise, letting her nipple go with a soft pop and turning his head to the commotion. A lackadaisical learner, Jackâs favored vocabulary consisted mostly of âmamaâ and food items at this point in his life and having stuffed himself with milk, he proved he was his fatherâs son by looking away from the sand architects down at the beach and asking her hopefully,
âCatâsup?â
By that he meant the hotdogs intended for the bonfire but his favorite ingredient in them was ketchup and so they were referred to by it accordingly.
âYou canât possibly be hungry, little man.â She laughed, poking his distended, milk full belly and making him laugh until he hiccuped and that dimple of his dug deep.
âCatâsup.â Jack persisted, cheeks in full grin and he bonked his soft button nose to Elaine's, holding their faces together with clammy little hands. âCaaaatâsuuup.â
âWell, ya heard him,â she giggled to Betsy. âThe man of the place says heâs hungry.â
âI donât blame him one bit. Iâm a little hungry myself,â Betsy said, rubbing her pregnant belly and winking at Jack. âWhat do ya think, Jacky boy, should we get lunch ready?â
Elaine and Betsy set about preparing lunch, knowing the troops would be ready to feast when they finished with all their hard work. There wasnât much to do, as roasted hotdogs and potato chips were the beginning and end of it, with sâmores for dessert, but they laid everything out on the card table that Betsy had brought, stacking skewers and buns, stoking the burn pit to a good blaze.
The sandcastle crew were just about done shoring up their renovations, much to Daisyâs satisfaction and glee, when the smell of the bonfire wafted down shore, making their tummies suddenly grumble, the promise of sustenance close at hand. The whole gaggle of them made their way towards Beach HQ, and chattering excitedly, descended upon the food like a pack of hungry wolves set free from Lichtenstein Castle.
After the hot dogs had been roasted and consumed, the sâmores fixins were brought out, much to the gathered childrenâs delight. With the concentration and patience befitting a much older child, Jesse slowly turned his marshmallow over the low flames, just like his daddy taught him. Slow and steady, until it starts to grow and puff up, turning a lovely golden color. It was almost there, almost ready to be popped onto a graham cracker and smooshed with chocolate, a melty, delicious, sugary mess. But then the inevitable happened, because no matter how careful and how meticulous you are when roasting marshmallows, at least one or two, three or four even, are bound to catch fire. It happens in a flash, and thereâs nothing you can do about it.
Waving it back and forth, though, that will surely put the flame out, right?
This is Jesseâs thinking at least, as his eyes grow big and he inhales a breath, intending to blow out the flaming marshmallow that is too far gone to save. He waves it back and forth, frantically, the tiny blaze only growing bigger by the second. Those gathered around the campfire watch almost in slow motion as the mallow launches off of Jesseâs stick, flying through the air with the greatest of ease, and lands with a plop on poor Jerryâs beautiful blonde mop of hair.
âHoly shi-â
âUhem!â
âSomebody put it out!â
âNo, no, not the marshmallow, forget the marshmallow, his hair! Get his hair put out!â
Itâs absolute pandemonium then as Jerry tries to pat out the flames but only succeeds in yelping as the fire singes his hands, the same goes for Charlie and Billy as they try to bat it out and Elaine and Betsy are no help at all, lost to giggles and trying to make sure no more marshmallows get catapulted off sticks.
âDunk him in the ocean!â Elaine suggests the obvious and suddenly Jerry is resistant to all help.
âNo, no, just, just hand me some water or somethin-â he backs away from the encouraging hands of his friends.
âThereâs a giant body of water right behind ya.â Elvis laughs the same hiccuping laugh that Jack has.
âThe salt will ruin my flow, man!â Jerry begs for him to understand and Elaine watches as her peacock of a husband has a compassionate epiphany for him.
Itâs no time for vanity, the smoldering sticky bomb in his hair is singeing and casting a nauseating stench over the dessert.
âJerry, just stick your dumb head in Godâs teacup, man.â Charlie coaxes him towards the ocean.
âYouâre gonna lose more than your flow if ya donât.â Elaine predicts as she watches those blonde locks begin to frazzle.
She can tell it spooks him but itâs not enough and in the end they have some free entertainment with their sâmores, watching Billy and Rex dunk their unwilling buddy into the waves. Before Elaine can remind him to swallow his last bite, Jesse is off down the beach and into the waves himself, body surfing like his daddy taught him with an alarming lack of caution. It makes even Elvis nervous and with a sticky peck to her lips in thanks for the meal, her husband discards his shirt and jogs after their son.
The diaspora affects all and soon the bonfire occupants have dispersed, each to their own little endeavors again as the sun begins to dip towards the westerly horizon. Thereâs frisbeeâs being thrown now, higher up the beach and well away from any sandcastles, and it gets quite competitive as the kids are happily intent on burying Betsy and Elaine. The mermaid tails requested by each take additional time to craft and part way through Jesse becomes too restless to mold sand any longer and with tentative steps makes his way back to the towel fort under the umbrella and pulls the familyâs famed new Polaroid camera from inside Elaineâs diaper bag.
âMama, can I?â he hollers, careful to wipe his sandy fingers off on the towel after he notices them near the lens.
âSure, darlin,â she grins from her sand casement, âRosa baby, can ya pull my hair back a little for mama? Itâs gettinâ in my mouth, thank ya baby.â
âAlright,â Jesse appears before them all knobby knees and tanned little legs beneath his shorts, looking for all the world like a collectible sized Elvis doll, âgimme your best smile ladies!â he imitates his fatherâs tone so well that Betsy letâs out an ungainly snort alongside her shocked laugh.
âI want a mermaid tail!â Ella, usually so very selfless for so young a child, lets slip her needs with a wobbly lip and yearning eyes.
âOf course you do!â Elaine murmurs, nodding her head to the side, âLay down beside mama, sweetie. Yâall got enough muscles for one more, right?â she eggs on her boys and Jesse springs to action for his twin maybe a little too fast: âNo, Jesse, the camera -donât, not on the sand! -oh well.â
Itâs just money, Elaine realizes, as Jesseâs guilty face waits for her verdict on the Polaroid camera face first in the sand. Luckily her husband makes a whole lotta the yummy green stuff.
âItâs fine, darling,â she insists and the colony of worker bees sets in motion again until Ella has a tiny little tail to match mamaâs.
After an hour in this full body cast Elaine ventures with an unassuming tone, âDo yâall need me to get you anything? Yâall hungry again?â
âYeah, I think there are more graham crackers left over?â Betsy adds to it, a terrible itch on her shin hardly able to be tolerated any longer as her hands are pinned to her sides.
âNo, weâre good,â Daisy replies serenely.
âYa sure?â Betsyâs face shows alarm at the prospect of not being released.
âYeah.â
Elaine smirks and leans into the sandy hair petting Jack is lavishing on her, âHow long do you reckon mermaids last after they get tossed ashore?â she asks Betsy.
âWith those men as the sailors?â She rejoins, wryly nodding at the group of full grown men body smashing each other in pursuit of the frisbee, âAn hour max.â
Elaine snickers and settles for waiting until someone wants to be carried into the waves before breaking out of her meticulously crafted tail. She doesnât have to wait long before unforeseen circumstances arise that require her attention. With that sixth sense that motherhood has given her, she senses an injury in the frisbee players even before the concerning hush alerts her to a downed man.
âOw goddamnit! Ow, ow, owww!â The last thing anyone had seen was Elvis diving for the frisbee with ease, his long and tan athletic form sure in its ability. And now here he was, rolling around in the sand, clutching his groin through his tiny, red shorts and moaning like heâd been shot.
âWhat is it Daddy? Whatâs wrong?â Little Jesse is at his fatherâs side in an instant, dropping to his knees on the sand next to Elvis, his sharp, intuitive eyes assessing the situation like a triage doctor on the battlefield. He takes in Elvisâs hands covering his privates and understands whatâs happened, in the way that men always understand when that delicate part of them has been injured, like a sixth sense. âIs it your nozzle, papa? Is it hurt?â
âI think Iâve got sand in myâŚâ Elvis grits out, before blushing deeply and coughing, too embarrassed to go on. Jesse stares at him, eyebrows drawn together, a puzzled look on his little boy face, trying to decipher his fatherâs unspoken meaning. He looks from Elvisâs face down to where his hands are pressing at his shorts and back up again, a look of recognition dawning.
âIn your scarf, papa?â Jesse whispers loudly, the way a little child thinks theyâre being discreet but really theyâre just announcing your business for the whole world to hear.
Elvis hears the snickers of the gathered men at this and through his pain manages to give them a hard stare, withering in its ability to shut them up immediately, their eyes pointedly looking anywhere but at the situation unfolding before them, though they canât help their drifting gazes that settle back on the man himself. Jesseâs little boy fascination with his fatherâs ânozzleâ that wore a âlittle scarfâ came from the fact that he himself didnât have one. There had been no way in hell that Elvis Presley would let any sons of his grow up being teased and tormented in every locker or shower room they found themselves in for the rest of their lives. He had been through so much hazing and shame in his lifetime due to his uncut self that he was insistent with Elaine when Jesse was born that he be circumcised.
Elaine had been torn, and a little bit saddened, by this decision. She had wanted her boys to resemble their father in this aspect, had wanted them to be able to see themselves in Elvis in this most intimate way. But she knew there would be no arguing her point with him, this was one concession she had no choice in. She understood his shame, his embarrassment, but that didnât mean she had to agree with it. Her man was perfect in every way, this one included. So she had merely tilted her head to the side and given him a gentle, searching look, her brown eyes meeting his scared blue ones, before nodding once and agreeing to his decree.
And so it was that when Elvis taught his little sons how to aim just so in the toilet, or when they went camping and had to use the bathroom in the woods, or when they saw him getting out of the shower every now and again, they were sorely disappointed that their âlittle menâ didnât have a scarf like their daddyâs did.
Such was Jesseâs preoccupation with making sure that Elvis and his little scarf were ok. Elvis hisses as he shifts his position in the sand, trying to sit up, every move he makes jostling more sand to fall out of his tiny shorts.
Jerry rolls his eyes behind his aviator shades and drawls, âWant me to carry ya to mama, EP?â
âHelp me up, dammit, and wipe that look off your face, Schilling. Do you have a nozzle with a little scarf? No? Then I donât wanna hear it,â Elvis spits out venomously, hissing again as Jerry pulls him up by the hand, throwing Elvisâs arm around him as Jesse rather comically supports him on the other side, his daddyâs hand resting heavily on the little boyâs shoulder. A truly absurd amount of sand falls out of Elvisâs tiny shorts as he stands and Jerry has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. Distracted by all the commotion, Jack leaves the seashells heâd been collecting, running over to see what all the commotion was about.
âElbisâ wocket owie?â Jack asks his daddy who he refuses to call by his proper title, taking a sandy thumb out of his mouth as he casually observes the trio making their way delicately across the beach to headquarters. Ever their curious child, by talking age Jack was obsessed with NASA and everything to do with space. He had settled on calling his little man ârocket,â a decision his father was sure he would come to regret in a couple of decades. But as he could tell that Jack wouldnât be persuaded against it, he had sighed with fondness, ruffling the little rascalâs hair and saying, âOk, my boy. I see I ainât gonna change your mind on this one.â Elaine had watched all of this from the darkened hallway in Graceland, biting her lip and trying not to smile, as her three men stood in the bathroom, discussing men things. Jesse was already making blast-off jokes about it, something he would no doubt continue to do for the rest of their lives.
âOh now, whatâs all the fuss about, hmm?â Elaine, having broken out of her mermaid tail at the first sign of distress down the beach, looks over her cat-eye sunglasses at the group slowly making their way towards her. Her motherly instincts kick in as she evaluates the situation with sharp eyes, taking in her husbandâs disheveled and slightly embarrassed state - noting with some concern the pained grimace running from his furrowed brow to his twisted mouth, the look of pure concern on her sonâs face as he peers up at his father and the barely concealed amusement that Jerryâs trying hard to reign in. Elvis is limping like his legâs been shot clean off, and she canât quite make out where the injury lies. Thereâs no blood, no bruise, no showing boneâŚshe runs through all of these possibilities in a matter of seconds, still puzzled by the time she meets them halfway down the beach.
âElvis, whatâs wrong?â she asks again as she meets them up the beach and takes in Schilling's straight face but bouncing shoulders and Elvisâ teeth gritted glare at his friend. âWhatâs broken?â Elaine throws her hands up in encouraging exasperation at the mute trio and itâs Jesse who has the composure to break the dire news to his mother in grave, childish tones,
âDaddyâs nozzle is broken.â Jesse tells her and for a split second Elvis can see the identical expression on both Elaine and Jesseâs faces, that alarmed and incredulous mix that makes the beginning third of their eyebrows point upwards briefly in a way that blows out of the water any theories about Jesse being his daddyâs copy. Heâs a pure blend of both parents and Elvis thinks that the boy having his mamaâs expressions makes him somehow fonder for the almost womanish amounts of fretting his young son already indulges in.
âBroken?â Elaine repeats and sheâs already gathered enough comfort for Schillingâs mirth to figure that this isnât life threatening, pulling down her shades again she ducks to meet Elvisâ eyes and mutters for only him to hear, âReally, honey? Weâve talked about you runninâ round with a stiffy.â
âIt ainât broke or stiff!â Elvis replies with vehemence driven by pain, âThereâs a beach worth of sand down my drawers and all up in myâŚbusiness!â
âOh.â Elaineâs mouth trembles in a way that closely resembles Jerryâs suppressed attempts and thatâs just great, Elvis thinks, Elaine finds him and his scarf full of sand funny and maybe he will too in a few months when this gets to be a bonfire story but right now it feels like fire in his drawers.
âWoman, Iâm in agony over here!â Elvis cries and his wife composes her face with credible ease and looks down to the offending red shorts with eyes intent to solve the issue.
âDo somethinâ mama!â Jesse urges, mimicking his fatherâs faith that Elaine can work miracles on big or little men.
âUmm ok, yeah of course I-â she starts to fret herself as she looks around at their entourage, most of whom are starting to take notice of the boss being injured. âCanât you just -wade out there and rinse the sand out?â She misunderstands exactly how intricate the issue is. âJust pull the legs out a little andâŚshimmy in the water..â
âI could barely walk to you!â Elvis eyes are wide as saucers and he looks like a hurt child for all that his masculine body is on full display to dissuade her gut instincts.
âYeah, uh, Boss Lady, itâs like -up, UP his âŚscarf.â Jerry helps out in his staple, sardonic drawl.
âAnd it hurts?!â Elaine looks flabbergasted and Elvis gives her one last pained and withering look of incredulity before she shapes up into the doting little caregiver Elvis has molded her into, âOh Mopey, no, oh dear, Iâll fix it, I-Iâll find a way. We need these folks distracted -Jerry?â
âWhat am I supposed to do about a dick injury?â Jerry asks, offended at the notion heâd know anything about dicks.
Elaineâs eyebrow quirks in appreciation for Jerry and his staunch idiocy. âI need to rinse the poor thing!â she hisses, âAnd I need some privacy from our folks while Iâm at it.â
âYeah, she needs to rinse it!â Elvis repeats in a small voice thatâs very hopeful and very needy and Elaine slips her hand around his bronzed wrist to keep her husband from fully floating away.
âElvis, come on honey, just a little further to the blanket fort,â she urges him and he throws his arm around her sun kissed shoulders and hobbles to HQ with unsuppressed little whines at each step that Elaine shouldnât find so cute but she canât help it when he turns into a big baby for her.
âWhatâs wrong with daddy?â Rosalee demands with terror in her eyes and predictably Sam Harrison and Daisy Mae are right on her heels.
âHeâs got a boo boo and Iâve gotta rinse it out.â Elaine hushes the brewing hysteria as gently as she can, and even Elvis gives his girl a weak thumbs up of assurance as he drops to his knees on the sand and tugs at the tight pant leg of his shorts. âLike how we gotta rinse your cuts with antiseptic when you scrape your knees, ya know?â Elaine explains patiently while thinking up a plan, âBut daddyâs owie is higher up. And I need your help, Rosa sweets. I need yâall to make a blanket wall for me, can ya do that? Get your brother and sisters and hold hands with your towels?â
The words are barely out of Elaineâs mouth before little Sam Harrison seizes his chance and grabs hold of Rosaleeâs hand, the essential towel forgotten. The little chestnut haired cutie stares at his forwardness with typical childish surprise before looking to her daddy to see if heâs gonna kill Sam for such an assumption. Elvis is staring at the wide blue sky with gritted teeth and so he missed both the interaction and the way Samâs mother Betsy comes over and asks after the plan -which Elaine relays with unapologetic diction but pink cheeks. Soon theyâve got a fine little semi circle made with the kids facing outwards and their towels held between them, giggling like itâs a competition of who can keep the most soldierly posture, the felled umbrella doing the work of three in the gap.
Somewhat sheltered for her delicate work, Elaine crawls over her prostate husband and takes in his puckered eyebrows and the trusting set of his blue eyes as he waits for her to fix him. Fix him, oh itâs so silly, she thinks, heâs so silly and she loves him so much and canât believe sheâs humoring a grown man in this stupid fit of whimpishness. Then again, maybe it does hurt.
âI shoulda made ya walk to the ocean like we did Jerry and his hair,â she sighs over him and his eyebrows knit together, further aggrieved at the mere suggestion of him putting in such effort when heâs so dreadfully wounded.
âMama Iâs hurtin,â Elvis objects and his sad glare is the same as Jackâs and somehow sheâs gone from angel to being in deep trouble with a grown brat -and Elaine never got taught how to deal with such a phenom, in her own experience itâs best to just kiss it better.
But Elaine was always one to be been torn between doing whatâs best and doing whatâs asked of her. âMy poor pretty baby.â she coos to him and places a wet peck to his plump lips and Elvis pitifully puckers them to receive it as he is still petulant, the praise has him only slightly pacified. âLemme just grab-â Elaine ignores the nearby canteen, itâs empty anyway, and instead sneakily reaches into the cooler and snags a Coke bottle. Itâs chilled even though the ice has melted throughout the day.
âHere Butnin, open up,â she murmurs and Elvis unscrews his eyes enough to see her lighting a cigar for him and drawing on it with the faded paint of her lips before pressing it to his. The familiar taste and warm rush of the nicotine soothes him and he lays his head back on the towel, expecting her to present that Coke sheâs grabbed for him to taste as soon as she uncaps it.
The sky is impossibly blue above him without a cloud in sight and at the edges of the horizon itâs turning violet as the sun wanes, and if he holds very still the burning down south calms enough for Elvis to appreciate the breeze and the feel of Tink fussing over him. Jackâs been getting more than his fair share of doting from her and while Elvis would never fake an injury or embellish itâs severity, when God fells a man itâs his due for a woman to fuss over him.
Drawing on his cigar, Elvis feels her hands stretching out the leg hole of his shorts and gingerly Elaineâs hands creep up his thigh and beyond those golden tan lines. She finds him where heâs tucked himself to the side, soft and floppy in its silliest state, and takes greater care with her hold in him when Elvis hisses,
âCareful woman, itâs burninâ like hellfire, donât need your maulinâ on top of it.â
âSowwy, so sowwy baby,â she simpers as she tries to carefully pull the floppy worm that is a manâs flaccid penis out of his very elastic leg hole. Thereâs nothing quite as absurdly unimpressive or cute as a soft cock when itâs in repose. A cock with a tan little scarf tugged round its pink head like a nugget bundled freshly in a towel after a bath is doubly so, and Elaine canât help the grin splitting her face as the comedic aspect of her duty comes to the fore. âWeâre gonna fix hims up, Butnin, yes we is,â she whispers as the cigar smoke burns her nose and she gives a furtive glance the sunburned backs of the kids who are still busy competing at being dutiful with the shield wall while the adults pack up the condiments and leftovers at a distance.
Letting his cock lay heavily on his thigh, Elaine deftly pops the top off the Coke and wedges it between her thighs at the ready before gently cradling little Elvis in her palm. She is quite certain she hears her strapping young husband sniffle as she does so. Itâs more of a production than one might think, to pull back the foreskin on a soft cock, but Elaine has played enough with her man in every stage of arousal that she is able to uncover the tip with some ease, and the next little bit with only some trouble.
âGoddamn it, Tink, that hurts!â Elvis pleads as he bites at his lip, gripping handfuls of sand, and she pets his bare belly soothingly, knowing he might be childish but the poor man is sensitive.
âIâs gotta gets to him, Naughty,â she says, loath to make it worse but now sheâs looking, the dear, chubby little thing really does look a bit raw. âLet mamas take care of ya, hold still anâ itâll be over soon, pretty baby.â
âHurts worse t-than breaking a bone, o-o-r a virgin f-or-â her pretty baby informs her of this in a growl thatâs not aimed at her but at the situation, nonetheless Elaine doesnât appreciate the cadence or the subject matter so near her children and picks up the bottle as he goes on pouring out his woes to the sky, â-hell Iâd wager a couple grand itâs worse than childbirth! -WHAT THE HELL TINK?â
Elaine tips the Coke and spills it onto his unsuspecting member, thumbing back the foreskin with practiced ease as the bubbles fizz in a caramel dance on top of his little head and pool in his slit before running down to his thigh.
âHellfire woman thatâs ice cold!â Elvis screeches around his cigar with his voice gone up two octaves at least and the harmless appendage in her hand shrinks like a miracle lab specimen. It makes her giggle.
âYou said it was burninâ?â she reminds questioningly and she looks so earnestly confused at her wrong doing when Elvis goes to give her the stink eye that he canât quite manage it, itâs an honest mistake a silly little gal without a cock would easily make. What he doesnât so easily condone is the way sheâs still dribbling the soda over him and trying to swish the sand off with her thumb like itâs a wiper on a windshield.
âY-yeah I did,â he accepts and crunches partway up to watch and correct her ministrations, his lean belly crumpling up like a washboard and shimmering from the Coke, Elaine licks her lips in longing that canât be indulged in with a crowd of kids nearby. âBut in no world does that mean Coke on a pecker, Laney.â
âIs daddy gonna live?â Rosalee asks tentatively from her distance away and Sam squeezes her hand in either solidarity or hopes sheâll stop being preoccupied during this, their historic first handhold.
Jack takes a peek behind him to ascertain whether his midnight rival for his mamaâs snuggles is indeed still alive and after Elaine snaps her fingers at him to turn back around, he reports morosely, âElbis still alive, Woslaee.â
âBut-but heâs crying, heâs crying like you do!â Rosalee protests in a whimper and Elvisâ head jerks up at the comparison to Jack.
âIâm fine, Schnucki, just a little hurt and your mamaâs beinâ silly.â Elvis hollers, using her German acquired nickname for emphasis.
âElaine, enough with the Coke,â Elvis insists, pulled out of transient toddlerhood by the need to control his own nursing and calm his most suggestible child.
âBut look -it works!â she eagerly defends her choice and before he can prevent it there's a Coke bottle rim being wedged under the extra length of his foreskin and sheâs tipping it back again and watching his hood swell with fizz.
âYou ainât got the brains of a lil bird,â he realizes aloud while watching his wife use cola for antiseptic.
âYou say the sweetest things, E,â Elaine titters and looks around at the restless kids before pulling him straight up with the bottle wedged atop, seamless from the foreskin still wrapped around the rim. âSomeone oughta call Ed Sullivan and tell âem he was spot on. See look, itâs workinâ, the sandâs coming out.â She sounds pleased.
âNo thanks to you!â Elvis says a little loudly and it causes little Ella to whimper as her own nursing skills are denied their proper outlet this time. She was always the one to patch daddy up, bandaids or dab his cuts with mercurochrome and she finds her sidelining for this injury particularly offensive. The more her father whimpers behind her the more obvious it is that Mamaâs care ainât cutting it.
âHold still while I rinse this last bit out!â Tink hisses back at her husband in a low tone, actually sounding a little impatient and Elvis realizes maybe sheâs right.
âWhyâs it takinâ so long? Is daddy gonna bleed out? Mama?â Rosalee starts up again and Elvis swears that childâs nightmares are as bad as his, only she has them when conscious.
âYou canât bweed oudda yer wocket,â Jack helpfully informs where the trouble lies (daddyâs rocket), while rolling his baby blue eyes in disdain for female stupidity. âBut a wocket can snap off.â
âWhyâd his rocket snap off?â Rosalee wails in concern for any limb of her fathers being snapped and little Sam letâs go of his edge of the towel wall to thumb a tear track away from her chubby cheek.
ââCause God doesnât lub Elbis.â Jack clarifies.
âWe should just snap it off all the way, then itâll stop hurtin,â Daisy surmises in hopes of comforting her now sobbing twin.
âI canât lose him, I canât lose daddy! We jusâ got him back!â Rosaleeâs grief brings Betsy over who tries to comfort the girl while watching as the thin barrier of privacy for Elaineâs work starts to waver like a Roman shield wall when met with the War Elephants of Carthage.
âThen we should snap the wocket clean off,â Jack insists gravely with a dimple creating a cavern in his milk fat cheek.
âPeteâs sake! Itâs not his rocket doinâ this, itâs his scarf!â Jesse chimes in with authoritative four year old sensibility and not in a million years did Elvis dream that filling up sweet Elaine Phipps with children would get him five toddlers discussing his package.
âI hate Daddyâs scarf!â Rosalee screams about something she doesnât even understand, straight into Betsyâs red and soothing face.
Elvis gives pause from hissing at Elaineâs ministrations of tying his foreskin off like a balloon end and shaking the soda up in it in order to reach and tickle the back of his disconsolate Rosaleeâs neck.
âSchnucki, my Schnucki Iâm gonna be fine!â he coos and Elaine rolls her eyes fondly at his picking and choosing moments to be tough. Elaine lets out the soda and retracts the foreskin back as far as she can manage it.
âI donât want ya to die!â Rosalee wails, informing him of the obvious and not even Elvisâ tickles on her back can soothe her. Little Sam Harrison leaves off petting her wet cheeks and looks back, giving Elvis a hard stare thatâs firm and straight outta left field as far as a clueless Elvis is concerned.
âWhat ya lookinâ at boy?â Elvis growls only to yelp as Elaine flicks his cock -in hopes of jostling the last bits of sand out.
The yelp breaks Ellaâs resolve and the usually dutiful little eldest daughter drops her towel and scurries over to help her obviously insufficient mama. âMama, whereâs it hurt?â she demands to know with all the matronly surety of Elaine herself and Elvis launches upwards onto his knees in an attempt to cover himself. Laney and her Coke have done about all thatâs gonna get done without a bath and some q-tips maybe-
-yeah, theyâre done here. It's an effort to smash his cock back up his tight shorts lightening fast, when he put the article of clothing on he hadn't been sticky with coke. Elaine catches a flying Ella as she hurtles forward and keeps her spun away as Elvis modestly tugs on his leghole, mouthing to her husband with a vibrant smile,
âIâll clean ya up at home!â Elaine fortifys him with a wink.
This sweet promise gets quickly smacked down with Jack having abandoned his post and coming up to Elvis on his chubby little toddler legs and asking with a bizarre amount of hope, âDoes it hurt ya bery badly, Elbis?â
Never in a million years would Elvis give this imp the satisfaction of knowing it hurt like hell, besides, Elvis is now cradling a clinging Rosalee who keeps sniffling into his neck in a rain of snot that sheâs gonna have Daisy âchop off his rocketâ so it never happens again. âNo, Trouble, Iâm all better âcause mama loves me and fixed me upâ Elvis goads with an ethereally content smile that Elaine catches and savors as she herself is in the middle of calming a spurned little Nurse Ella.
Jesse, peeved at his siblings lack of order, comes up and makes fussy noises in Jackâs ear as his baby brother swats at him like his mouth is a mosquito. âYa ok, daddy?â he asks, the first selfless inquiry of this whole ordeal -alright Ella did too.
Elvis gives him a sober nod that the scarf will live to see another day. âScarfâs fine and gonna make it.â
âNo iâs not! We gonna chop it off!â Rosalee insists and Elvis would laugh that off except Daisy is up the beach bartering her juice box for Rexâs k-bar.
âOh, honey now, that wonât solve nothin,â Elvis begs as he wraps his arms fully around her and smushes Rosalee till both their ribs are liable to crack.
Rosalee pulls her head out of his neck and cradles his cheeks in her hands and says while looking earnestly into his eyes with blues the same shade as his own, âIsâ better this way, daddy, sânever gonna hurt ya again. Promise.â
âItâs for de bestest, Elbis,â Jack agrees right at his shoulder like a tiny little devil and Elvis begins to panic slightly as his childrenâs wild terror cools into calculated anarchy. âWosalee knows itâs gonna wot off odderwise,â he adds gravely as if this is common knowledge.
This induces a fresh bout of tears from Rosalee who may be resigned to the need to chop off a limb to save her fatherâs entire life -or at least have Daisy do her bidding- but it doesnât mean that sheâs immune to the grief the prospect causes them both. Elvis feels close to crying himself as Daisy rushes back towards them over the sand with the sheathed k-bar in hand.
âRex why the hell did ya give my kid a knife!â he yells.
âShe said you wanted it and would fire me if I refused!â Rex shoots back from where he and Charlie and Red are collecting all the beach paraphernalia, the evening truly setting in.
âRex!â Betsy scolds, echoing Elvis in exasperation with her husband.
âBe a man about it, Daddy!â A breathless Daisy charges him as she skids to a stop nearby only for Elaine to grip her by the back of her swimsuit and haul her away from Elvis where heâs pinned and helpless under the mournful embrace of Rosalee and Jesse and a gleeful Jack.
âNope, no Daisy, no, give it to me, now!â Elaine wrestles her most wiry and vicious daughter until the army knife is safely in her possession. âNobody is gonna chop off anythinâ,â she declares, winded from the chaos and yet utterly glutted from being in her element and Elvis thinks she looks gorgeous all keyed up and holding a child or two and a knife so effortlessly. Thinks he made the right choice when he married Elaine Phipps and filled her up with all those children.
âBut what about it wotting?â Jack protests, as if he really gives a damn about Elvis ever peeing ever again.
âIt wonât rot,â Elaine sighs, âItâs not that badly hurt at all.â And she adds that for Rosaleeâs benefit as the girlâs cheeks are so smashed to Elvisâ own that thereâs no discernible edge to the flub.
âBut we wanna be careful,â Rosalee protests, âThis can neber happen again.â And she sounds like Mr. Truman did after the great war ended, swearing that the universe wouldnât make it in a nuclear age.
âLil Elvis is my little friend, I donât want him hurt either!â Elaine insists and between his childrenâs misguided concern for him and his wife making a court case for his assets, Elvis has never felt more loved.
âDaddyâs my best friend too, but I gotta help him,â Rosalee insists.
âBut darling -I did help him!â Elaine mutturs.
âDidnât sound like it got better,â Ella speaks up and Elaine glares at Elvis for being such a baby during his first aid.
âBilly says men can still pee without them,â Sam Harrison adds in support of Rosaleeâs ambition and Daisy gives him a proud look for his display of spine.
âHow do ya-â Elaine looks flustered for the first time and Elvis winces in anticipation for what sheâll defend him with next, â-peeing would hurt, Sammy! Hurt worse than sand up scarves!â Elaine reasons.
âSounds like it.â Jesse sides with mama.
âBut if he donât have a rocket it wonât hurt to pee-pee!â Daisy vehemently enunciates. âAnd Rosaleeâll stop cryin.â
Itâs that simple for the twin.
Elaine looks up to her friend Besty whoâs still standing near the group, helpless in a fit of laughter and holding half wadded up towels. âWe arenât cutting off my lil friend,â Elaine declares staunchly, standing up herself in the sand and wincing as a struggling Daisy elbows her in the ribs.
âWhy donât ya care that daddyâs hurt?â Rosalee asks with grief in her eyes.
âItâs gonna wot off.â There goes Jack again.
Elvis snorts and rolls his eyes heavenward, pinching the bridge of his nose and praying for a sliver of patience.âHush up, Trouble. Iâve had just about enough outta you.â
âDo yâall want more siblings or not?â Elaine finally asks and even Elvis is a little jolted by it. âCause without that nozzle there ainât any peeing or babies or all sorts of important things. Yâall could manage without your noses far easier.â
Jack rallies to declare, âIâm baby, donât want more sibwings,â and is summarily ignored by all in favor of pondering nozzles and their newly learned miraculous necessity.
âElaine!â Elvis hisses at her indiscreet lesson.
âItâs true!â she cries, throwing up her hands in exasperation, and heâs maybe to blame for the fact sheâs got no filter, he taught her without any precaution and now sheâs half savage about these things.
âRockets donât rot off when they get enough care. Just like any other boo boo,â Elvis assures his group of concerned progeny as Elaine pulls Jack away from his father by the arm not occupied with Daisy.
âI canât wait to play thirty questions with Sam tonight,â Betsy drawls sarcastically and Elaine huffs.
âServes ya right, much help you were, Blue Eyes.â Elaine rolls her eyes at her friend and both women laugh. âConsider it payment for Rexâs K-Bar,â she adds and watches as Betsyâs face pales again at the recollection of her husbandâs stupidity.
âThat manâŚâ she grumbles fondly while taking a squawking Jack off Elaineâs hip to free her friend up for more child wrangling. Elaine mouths a weary âthank youâ and kneels next to Elvis, gently prying Rosalee out of his arms where she still clings to his neck. She lets out a small whine of protest which is quickly overtaken by a big yawn, her little fists rubbing her eyes sleepily.
âCome on baby, letâs get you dressed, hmm? Itâs time to go home,â she murmurs, pulling a sundress over Roseleeâs tiny frame before turning to help Daisy into her matching one, kissing her forehead tenderly and smoothing her hair down. Betsy and Rex start the slow procession of herding the gaggle of children towards the car, making sure everyone has a hand to hold. Elaine can still hear them chattering loudly about rockets and nozzles as she flops down in the sand, catching her breath a moment, trying to find the willpower to stand, to move. Itâs been such a lovely day, but suddenly sheâs bone tired, the exhaustion hitting her like a wave and threatening to pull her under.
Jerry ambles over as the guys start to gather everyoneâs scattered belongings - beach umbrellas and chairs and coolers, remnants of a day well spent. He stares down at Elvis over the top of his aviator shades, the amusement on his face still threatening to spill over. He holds out a hand, âHelp you up, Boss?â
Elvis scowls, swatting his hand away indignantly, âDonât need no help, Jerrah, itâs just a scratch. Actinâ like Iâm too wounded to stand on my own. Iâm not an invalid, goddamnit! Git outta here and help those boys clean up this mess. God almighty, think I was a child, need some hand-holding or some shit.â He continues his grumbling as Jerry holds up his hands placatingly, shrugging his shoulders good-naturedly before jogging over to help the clean up crew.
Elvis watches him go, making sure heâs well out of sight before gingerly standing up, shaking a leg and adjusting his swim shorts, hopping from foot to foot a few times, hissing quietly. It snaps Elaine out of her reverie and she blinks slowly as a face-splitting yawn hits her out of nowhere. Elvis chuckles and pats her head, gently tugging on the chocolate curls that have become bouncy spirals in the salty ocean air.
âOk Laney, letâs get you home. Had enough excitement today to last us the whole year,â Elvis chuckles, winking as he offers her a hand.
Elaine smiles up at him, shading her eyes with a red manicured hand, the setting sun casting a warm orange glow over the beach and making her movie star husband look even more like a bronzed Adonis, if thatâs possible. She places her small and delicate hands into his larger ones as he hauls her up easily, wrapping her in his arms and resting his chin on the top of her head. She sighs dreamily, shivering a little in his embrace as his body heat warms her against the chilly sea breeze.
âThank you, baby,â he whispers, rubbing slow circles on her back. She shifts a little, resting her head on his shoulder and looking up at him quizzically.
âFor what, E?â
âWhatcha mean, âfor what?â For-for always takinâ such good care oâ me. Even when Iâm a grumpy sonuvabitch about it.â Elvis smiles down at her, planting a little kiss on her button nose. She wrinkles it and arches up on her tippy toes, rubbing her nose against his in a bunny kiss, her hand cupping his jaw lightly.
âOh Mopey, Iâll always take care of you. Sweet man.â Elaine runs a thumb across his lips, pulling down his plump bottom one before slotting her lips against his, her hands twining through his mussed hair, moving his head just so, like her own personal puppet on a string. Elvis groans, moving his hands to cup her bottom, pulling her tightly to him. Just then he hears a shuffling of sand behind them, someone discreetly clearing their throat. He sighs, like the most put upon man on the planet and pulls away, gritting his teeth, âWhat now, Jerrah?â
âSorry boss, but everyoneâs all packed up and ready to go. Just waiting on you and Mrs. Boss.â
Elaine smiles at Elvisâs look of utter hurt and disappointment at being interrupted just when things were getting good, like a little boy whoâs just had his favorite toy taken away. She knocks him on the chin playfully, swatting his butt for good measure. âOh now, donât look so blue, mister. To be continued at home, yeah? In the meantime, how bout I buy you a milkshake. Swing by Melâs Drive In on the way home?â
Elvisâs face brightens at that. âCan I have strawberry?â Suddenly the little boy look is back, and he practically skips across the sand, dragging Elaine by the hand to their car full of waiting children. Elaine gives Betsy a peck on the cheek and a sweet belly rub to the little bean inside before hopping in the driverâs side and waiting for Elvis to finish his goodbyes. She turns around to address her children only to find that all but two of them are fast asleep. Jesse and Jack are still discussing the events of the day, with Jack holding a sandy handful of shells and beach glass he collected, carefully explaining each piece to a patient Jesse. By the time they reach the drive in diner, all of the kids are snoozing, and the weary parents breathe a sigh of relief.
âJust us then,â Elaine whispers, looking over her shoulder at their brood. âJust like old times. Almost.â She turns off the car and scoots to the middle of the bench seat, and Elvis does the same, careful not to wake little Rosalee snuggled between them. He drops his arm over Elaineâs shoulders and twists the knob on radio dial until he finds a doo wop station.
âNow it really is like old times. âMember when I crashed your date with Billy at the drive in movie? Scared that poor boy half to death,â he chuckles gleefully. Elaineâs eyes grow wide and she starts to titter, her hand flying to her mouth at the recollection.
âOh goodness. Elvis! Iâd completely forgotten about that. You came barging in with your flashlight and ill or good intentions, I never could figure out which,â she muses.
âThen I drove ya home, real proper like,â he breathes quietly, placing a hand on her thigh, an echo of a memory. âAnd then,â he murmurs, tilting her head back, exposing her long, white throat, âI kissed ya, rightâŚhereâŚâ His soft lips meet the pulse on her neck, pounding in time with her heartbeat.
Elaine shivers and swallows. âNaughty,â she whispers.
The magic spell is broken abruptly by a gum-chewing teenage waitress, knocking on their window. âHi there! Can I take your order?â Her chipper cheerfulness is a stark contrast to their soft reminiscence. Elvis clears his throat and sits up, coloring slightly at being caught by this stranger as Elaine winks at him, leaning over to roll down the window to order their milkshakes. They settle in again, snuggling back together and regaling each other with stories from their beach day. Before long the milkshakes arrive, and they tuck in, enjoying the sweet sugar rush of the milky treat.
âGod, how long has it been since Iâve had a milkshake?â Elvis wonders, sipping his strawberry concoction happily. Elaine doesnât have the heart to tell him itâs been a good long while, that the Colonel doesnât allow such simple pleasures these days. But she doesnât want to spoil the moment so she settles for humming in response, squeezing Elvisâs knee as she slurps her chocolate one.
Elvis scoots a little closer to Elaine, forgetting about Rosalee squished between them. She startles in her sleep, her tiny arm flailing in the neon lights of the diner, inadvertently knocking Elvisâs shake from his hands. In a flash everything is covered in pink - it dribbles slowly down the dashboard and soaks into Elvisâs thin shirt, itâs even in his hair and a small blob drips down his right eyebrow. Elaineâs face is a mixture of horror and mirth, her perfect mouth a round o as she struggles to keep a straight face, staring at her husband who is frozen in place, covered in cold strawberry milkshake.
âOh! ElvisâŚbaby! IâŚâ she starts, struggling to keep her voice steady, her hands fluttering around him, unsure of where they should try and help first. She bites her lip and an unladylike snort escapes as her shoulders start to tremble with held-in laughter. She starts to giggle, slapping her hand hastily over her mouth, her body shaking with silent laughter as she tries to keep quiet, not wanting to wake the children. Elvisâs blue eyes blink rapidly as the concoction runs down his cheek now, his mouth still hanging open in surprise. He starts to laugh, doubling over in his seat as Elaine reaches over and swipes a finger across his eyebrow and brings it to her mouth, sucking the sugary sweetness off her fingertip.
âYou taste good, honey,â she wheezes as their laughter starts to die down and he remembers Rosalee between them, checking to make sure sheâs ok and by some miracle sheâs untouched by the ice cream bath she accidentally gave her father, still sleeping peacefully.
âAw hell! My leather seats!â Elvis swears through hiccups, looking around for something to clean the car, and himself, up with.
âShawbewies?â A little voice from the backseat whispers, followed by a blonde head sleepily popping up over the backseat. âI want some.â Jack opens and closes his tiny hands in a gimme motion, and Elvis and Elaine start to crack up again.
âJust perfect. Here Trouble, hereâs some for ya,â Elvis says as he sweeps some shake off the dashboard with his fingers and leans back towards Jack, shoulder almost dislocating in an effort to feed the kid a taste. Jack happily laps it off his fingers like a kitten, licking them clean. His sleepy little face breaks into a happy grin and Elvis ruffles his hair. âThatâs enough sugar for today, boy.â
Elvis looks at Elaine. She stares back at him a moment before another fit of giggles threatens to overtake them again. âWhyâre we never alone in a car, baby?â Elvis whispers aloud, a comically pleading hint to his voice. Elaine reaches behind her, into the backseat, and snags a forgotten beach towel tossed aside by one of the children. She gently wipes his face clean before moving on to his hair, rubbing as much of the ice cream out as she can. It sticks up on end, making him look much like their cat Whiskers did whenever he got a bath.
âYouâre the one who wanted to fill up my little house, remember?â she teases softly, her eyes drifting over their brood before returning to meet Elvisâs gaze. He raises an eyebrow, cheeks puffing out in droll amusement as he whistles lowly.
âYeah, with somethinâ besides strawberry milkshake, I did.â
Hope yâall enjoyed!
If youâd like to be tagged in this particular series please drop a note below. Xoxo đ
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