Michael Edwards & Prepubescent Lisa Marie Presley

SICK

There was a knock on the door. "Merkly," Lisa called, "what are you yelling about?" I put the gun away and told Lisa to come in.

"I could hear you yelling all the way down in my room," she said. "I'm sorry if I woke you. I just had a fight with your mother, and I don't know what to do. I think I'm losing her."

Lisa came over and sat down on the bed beside me, patting my knee. "Mommy won't ever leave you." "I don't know about that." "I know she won't."

I looked up at Lisa, who was now thirteen, and she had never looked more appealing to me. For a moment, I wanted to take her into my arms and love her right there in the bed that her mother and I shared. As if reading my mind, Lisa rose, leaned down and kissed me on the cheek, and said, grinning, "Go to bed now, Merkly. Don't be so upset with my mother.

"Ever since that afternoon I'd photographed Lisa, my affection for her had grown to the point that it became an issue in my relationship with Priscilla.

Once, when Priscilla and I were sitting at the dinner table and Lisa was sitting between us, Lisa got up to get something from the refrigerator and her bare knee accidently brushed against my hand. It sent waves of desire through me. I looked at Priscilla and thought, Can't you see what's happening— I've fallen in love with your daughter.

Lisa was reaching womanhood, and now, when we walked on the street, men turned around and looked back at her. She'd developed curves all over and with her sandy blond hair and milky complexion, she was quite a sight.

I was with Lisa constantly—after school and in the evenings when her mother was working. I'd had to put an end to our swimming together after one disturbing afternoon in the pool. Lisa had innocently thrown her arms around me, and we were jumping up and down. When we got into deeper water and her feet couldn't touch the bottom, she wrapped her legs around me, and we continued playfully bouncing up and down. I became aroused.

A sick feeling crept slowly into the pit of my stomach. I was craving Lisa sexually. I tickled her and pushed her away and told her to go take a shower and we'd get dinner ready for her mother. I watched her glistening wet body as she ran up the steps, past the garden, and disappeared inside the house

"One night not long after, Priscilla and I returned home after having a horrendous argument over my drinking and her getting roses from Julio. She went into her bathroom, and I went to Lisa's room.

I wanted someone to talk to, but Lisa was asleep. I lifted a corner of the covers and gazed at her. She was lying on her back, and her honey-colored hair was spread out over the pillow. She was my beloved, and I couldn't even tell her.

The next morning I woke up with a hangover, alone in bed. I opened my eyes and saw Priscilla and Lisa sitting on the white embroidered sofa at the foot of the bed. They were both grinning, and I caught the end of their conversation. It was something to do with Elvis, and Lisa was saying, "Bless his sick little ol' self."

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Why did you go to Lisa's room last night?"

"I wanted to talk to her," I said.

"What about?"

"You and I had argued so much, I needed someone to talk to."

Priscilla looked at Lisa and said, "Lisa, do you have any questions?"

"Yeah," Lisa said. "Why did you lift up the sheets?"

I wanted to pour my heart out to Lisa and beg Priscilla to understand. I cared so much for Lisa. The feelings I had for her I knew I would never have for another. Everything about her was exactly what I wanted in a woman.

"I just wanted to see you, Lisa" I said. "I'm really sorry if I scared you, and you have my word it won't happen again." Everything seemed okay after that, but a short time later Priscilla told me that she didn't feel it was a good idea for Lisa and me to be alone in the house.

She asked me to explain what there was between Lisa and me. I wanted to tell her I was in love with Lisa, but how do you tell the woman you're in love with that you're also in love with her daughter? I realized this was one thing I couldn't discuss with Priscilla.

..............

..........

This is making me sick.

"Nearing twelve, Lisa was beginning to blossom, and it was clear that she was going to be a beauty. She resembled Elvis to an extraordinary degree, and looked more like his twin than his daughter. She had the same hairline, eyebrows, and heavy lids. Her hair was light brown, like Elvis's before he dyed it black, and her eyes were pale blue. In the privacy of her room, she loved to listen to blaring rock 'n' roll. Dressed in black tights like her favorite singer at the time, Pat Benatar, she clutched a toy microphone as she sang along with the records and danced in front of the mirror. Occasionally Lisa played her dad's records, but when she did she always turned the volume down, as if keeping him to herself.

When I got home each evening, I often found her visiting in the servants quarters, watching the soaps with the live-in couple. She looked quite at home, curled up in their bed while the couple sat nearby on the sofa.

The live-in couple were very much a part of the family. Weekends they spent alone in their room, watching television and eating from the crates of fresh fruits and vegetables they kept stashed underneath their bed. Only in their mid-thirties, they rarely left the house except to take Lisa to school or to the doctor, run household errands, or drive to the country to restock our produce supplies.

They put up with me for about a year and then resigned, quietly explaining to Priscilla that there had been "too many changes" in the household and they no longer "fit in."

Lisa was distraught when she heard they were leaving. They'd virtually become her foster parents, and their down-home ways reminded her of the family she missed at Graceland. For a long time she was resentful, blaming me for their departure. Tears running down her cheeks, she said, "If you didn't drink so much around them, they'd still be here."

Drinking a little wine didn't chase them away." "That's what you think," she said, glaring at me like her dad.

Lisa loved the couple like family and didn't want any strangers taking their place. "What am I supposed to do now?" she asked me. "Who have I got to talk to?"

She was just beginning to accept my moving in, and was upset over yet another change in the household. She continued to remind me that I was to blame for her losing the couple.

"I want to go back to Memphis," she said. "I don't like it here any more." Graceland had been Elvis's sanctuary and he'd returned there regularly, just as Lisa wanted to do now. Elvis had kept his family together there throughout his life.

"Lisa, they wanted to leave anyway," Priscilla said.

"No, they didn't."

"They preferred living in the country. It was a very hard decision for them to make, leaving you."

"They left because of Michael."

When Priscilla and I were alone one night, she said, "I'm very concerned about Lisa. She gets so attached to people, it's hard for her to let go. Since Elvis died, she really comes apart when she loses anyone."

When she went to Graceland on business, I was left to look after Lisa. One night, while Priscilla was gone, we decided to take in a movie. It was a hectic evening on Hollywood Boulevard, full of traffic and tourists and Chica-nos cruising in their low riders.

Crossing the busy intersection near the theater, I took Lisa by the hand. When we reached the other side, I became aware that she hadn't let go of me. Who was this little person clinging to me, I wondered, causing me such mixed emotions?

Before this, I'd always thought of Lisa as a second daughter, treating her like my own child. But now I was engulfed by a stronger emotion, and my heart leapt. After that night at the movies, Lisa and I grew closer. She started making up fond nicknames for me, calling me Merkly or sometimes Mickley.

"Back in L. A., I took Lisa and her boyfriend to the movies. On the way home, they asked if they could sit in the back seat of the car.

I adjusted the rearview mirror and saw that my little girl had grown up.

I was happy for her and also liked her choice of a boyfriend. He was a wholesome, polite kid, someone I would have been happy to see Caroline with. Glancing up into the mirror, Lisa caught me looking at them as they made out.

"I see you, Merkley," she said

Lisa was beginning to display many of her mother's traits. They were both very private people, but very romantic too. I wondered if guys would be attracted to Lisa mainly because she was Elvis's daughter. Was that boy in the back seat now feeling the same joy I'd felt when I'd won Priscilla?

More random stories about Priscilla and Lisa from the book

"Priscilla and I were staying at my mother's home, and the girls called there around midnight.

"We're home!" Lisa said to Priscilla, lying.

What had actually happened was that the girls had gone to a bar. my daughter Caroline had no problem getting in because the bouncer at the door was a friend of hers, and she was able to convince him to also let Lisa in. Once inside, they started drinking, dancing, and having a good time. Then Caroline got into a big fight with her boyfriend and he slapped her. Lisa told him he'd better watch it, he'd better leave Caroline alone or he'd be in big trouble.

"I have the power and the money to ruin you," Lisa said.

That's when the girls had called my mother's house from a pay phone and talked with Priscilla, claiming they were at Grace's. They then called Grace and Lisa convinced her that if Priscilla telephoned and asked about them, to tell her that they were already asleep.

They went back into the bar and finally went home around 1:30 a.m. When they got in, the phone was ringing. I was calling. Priscilla had told me she'd heard noise in the background when Lisa had called, so we'd figured they weren't at home. Priscilla got on the phone and told Lisa, "You stay there. I'm coming to get you," and hung up. On the way over, I told Priscilla that the girls definitely needed to be disciplined. This time, they'd gone too far.

When we drove up, Lisa and Caroline were so scared they went crying into Caroline's bedroom. Grace told them not to worry, we wouldn't hurt them. I went inside the house and got the girls.

"Priscilla wants to see you both," I said. When Priscilla saw them come to the doorway, she walked up to them. "I'm so disgusted with you, I can't believe you," she said.

Before either one of them knew what had happened, Priscilla reared back, swung, and slapped Caroline in the face in the exact spot her boyfriend had slugged her in. Then she swung again, fast, and slapped Lisa.

Caroline turned and ran like lightning, and Lisa was directly behind her. I blocked Lisa, and Priscilla grabbed her by the hair. She dragged Lisa to the back seat of my mother's Cadillac in the driveway, where she started spanking her. Lisa was screaming at the top of her lungs, and Priscilla was trying to hold her mouth with one hand while hitting her with the other.

Grace and I were in the doorway, and Grace said, "If you don't go out there and stop that, I'm going to. I have neighbors, you know."

At that point, the police pulled up. Grace and I went out to the patrol car and tried to explain that everything was okay, we'd just had a family misunderstanding. The cops walked up to the back of my mother's car and trained their flashlights on Priscilla and Lisa in the back seat.

Priscilla had seen the patrol car coming and when the cops asked Lisa how she was, she made Lisa say she was fine. The cops had no idea who they were investigating in the back of my mom's Cadillac.

"Priscilla braced herself. "Michael, you have to promise you won't get angry with me." As my stomach went to my throat, I realized that a fear I'd had since the day we'd started acting class was about to be confirmed. "I've had an encounter," she said. "In class." "Encounter? You mean you've slept with someone." "You promised you wouldn't get angry." "Who was it?" When she told me it was her scene partner, I couldn't believe it. "How could you make love to him? You said his breath stank something horrible!"

I knew I should sit there and listen, as she had when I'd spoken. Instead, I was so angry I got up and left the room. I stood out in the hall—I had to be by myself. I was afraid I was going to hit her. I wanted to grab hold of her and slam her into the wall and smash her little head to pieces.

I kept seeing that actor's tongue slipping between her lips, the way it had the night they'd done their scene together in class. Why couldn't she at least have been more discreet, choosing a lover who wasn't in the same class and who I didn't have to face every day? She'd kicked me right in the balls, disgracing me in front of my peers. Now I knew exactly how Elvis had felt when he'd caught Priscilla having an affair right under his nose.

My head was pounding with crazy thoughts. Elvis should have shown her who the boss was the first time he caught her cheating on him. That would have straightened things out. Then he could have made mad, passionate love to her, and they could have made up, and they'd still be together. And he'd still be alive. But the poor bastard, addicted to drugs, had lost the ability to stand up like a man. He'd ended up alone.

"I opened my eyes, realizing it was now me that Elvis's Lisa was coming to for hugs, and the realization was gratifying. I finished my beer and bent the can in half, then got up and walked down the hall, past our bedroom, toward Lisa's room, the most secluded part of the house, where an entire section of the wall was lined with family photographs. They were carefully framed in Lucite boxes with red trim, and it gave me a warm feeling, examining this intimate record of Elvis's life. I especially liked to look at the photos of Elvis with Lisa. Their embraces were so tender and I could see so much love that it made me want to cry out in sorrow for them.

1 returned the picture of Elvis and Lisa to its hook on the wall, and went to our bedroom. Priscilla's bathroom door was ajar, and I went inside and slid open one of the mirrored doors. I knew Priscilla kept Elvis's army jacket in the closet, and, for some reason I wanted to look at it. I took it off the hanger and examined it.

It was soft and faded from many washings and had Presley stenciled over the right breast pocket. I could tell it was my size and I thought about putting it on, but I didn't. This jacket was very special to her, a reminder of their simpler, happier days together in Germany. She trusted me so completely with all of his things around the house that I felt it would be wrong. I hung it up and returned to the kitchen for another beer.

I would have been a good buddy for Elvis. He needed someone like me around him, who liked to be outdoors, swimming, jogging, camping out, roughing it. He'd have loved my big Jeep, too, and I'm sure the instant he saw it he'd have junked his sissy little golf cart. The two of us could have headed for the hills and maybe even chased a woman or two. All he really needed was a strong male companion for him to believe in.

"Say good-bye to Lisa for me," I whispered. Priscilla's fears had been justified all along.

My love for Lisa always bordered on intimacy. As Lisa grew to a young woman it was a constant battle for me to keep my feelings in the proper perspective. When Lisa threw her arms around me in a daughterly way and said, using one of her many pet names for me, "Merky, I love you. You're so cute," I melted. She unknowingly exuded the same power of sexual charisma that her father had wielded over millions.

I was thinking of the time that Priscilla had told me about Elvis calling her in the middle of the night, after they'd separated, and insisting that she get out of bed, that he was coming over. "I have to talk to you," Elvis had said.

She'd been very upset, because the fellow she'd been involved with had spent the night with her. Elvis had argued with Priscilla in his usual persuasive manner, and shed ended up letting him come over. She hid her boyfriend in the bedroom, and she sat with Elvis in the garden room down by the pool, talking until the sun came up, just like they used to do.

need you, Cilia," Elvis said. "I've never felt so alone in my life."

Priscilla asked Elvis if he wanted something to eat, or could she make him some coffee? "No, Sattnin, I just need you to hold me close."

He'd looked awful, his hair greasy and messed up, his face puffy, and his overweight body stuffed into a dirty Esso Gas jumpsuit, and he'd been wearing old bedroom slippers.

By then, she and Elvis had gone in different directions. How hopeless he must have felt that morning, sitting there in the cabana in his rumpled jumpsuit.

Priscilla had told me how excruciating it had been to have to reject Elvis that morning. Even if she'd wanted to return to him, what about the man in her bed upstairs?

Elvis had told her he'd been up all night recording, but he'd probably been out partying and had got lonesome for his one and only true love.

"Priscilla and Bonnie hit it off marvelously, both being gracious ladies. When we finished eating, I noticed that Priscilla had begun to do something strange. Though we were seated with the queen of the hotel, and had half a dozen waiters hovering over us anticipating our every need, Priscilla was stacking her plates. After she finished with hers, she started in on mine, placing them in one big pile and shoving them to the side of the table.

Bonnie's eyes bulged, but she continued talking as if nothing had happened. When Priscilla started in on the silverware, I nudged her under the table to stop her.

"What did I do wrong?" she asked later. "You had such a strange look on your face."

"Baby, you don't have to clear tables," I explained.

"I always did it for Elvis. He didn't like dirty dishes in front of him, ever."

She was just a child-woman, I realized, still acting out the role Elvis had made her play for so many years. I was touched and wanted to protect her and keep her as innocent and adorable as she still was.

" Priscilla and I took the Mercedes and headed for Palm Springs. She had some Presley estate business to take care of there. Graceland Enterprises was putting Elvis's Palm Springs house up for sale, and she needed to inventory his personal effects, decide what she wanted to keep for herself and what was to be shipped back to Graceland. Nothing could be left, because souvenir-hunters would pick the place clean.

When we arrived the air inside the house was musty and smoky, and the carpets were one solid stain. It looked like nothing had been changed since Elvis's death years ago. I found it unbelievable that someone had let the house sit here empty for so long.

"When they had parties," Priscilla explained, "the guys could get pretty sloppy."

"Did you come here with him often?"

Not so often. He liked this place as a retreat for himself."

I joined Priscilla in the den, where she was sitting at a large synthesizer and going through stacks of papers and sheet music. Marginal notes were scribbled on the music. I wanted to read them but couldn't make out the handwriting.

I followed Priscilla to the recreation room. There was a gigantic video screen, a pool table, and a jukebox filled with records. I sat down on a giant, sectional, brown suede couch and Priscilla said, "That was Elvis's place. He'd sit there with the guys and their girlfriends, and they'd watch movies all night long." "Does this upset you, being here again?" I asked It brings back memories" she said

We went into Elvis's bedroom. There was a big oversized bed with a blue spread and matching sheets, and the carpet was powder blue. Priscilla had been calm until now, but suddenly she looked disturbed. There were stains on the carpet and the bed. They reminded me of body fluids. She walked over to the blackout curtains and pulled them aside, but it was dark outside.

I went into Elvis's bathroom to let her be alone with her thoughts. Looking inside the medicine cabinet, I saw a bottle of Brut, several blue disposable razors, a well-squeezed tube of Colgate, Edge shaving cream, a couple of used syringes, and a stack of small bars of motel soap. I opened the Brut and patted some on my face. I'd never liked the smell before. It was always too sweet for me, but now it smelled good. Closing the cabinet, I looked in the mirror and expected to see him standing beside me.

I slid open the glass shower door and picked up a dried, stiff, wrung-out washcloth and smelled it.

"Michael," Priscilla said.

I turned and saw her standing in the doorway, visibly disturbed.

"I want to leave," she said.

I felt awkward, standing there with Elvis's petrified washcloth in my hand. What was I doing, going through her ex-husband's things? I didn't belong here, and suddenly felt this was no place for me.

I put my arm around her and led her out.

"I'll have my sister drive up from L.A. later in the week and take care of the rest of this," she said.

Before we left, I picked up a stuffed owl of Elvis's and a lighted globe of the world.

"This owl would look great in our bedroom, above the grandfather clock," I said. "And I think Lisa might like this illuminated globe. Should we take them now?"

"If you want to," Priscilla said. "And then let's leave.

Umm disturbing as fuck

Priscilla and Richard Gere :

"I called Priscilla around midnight, but there was no answer in Beverly Hills. I tried to go to sleep but tossed and turned, feeling guilty, and began to wonder why she was out so late. At 1:30 a.m. I called again. Still there was no answer. Finally, at daybreak, she picked up the phone.

"I can't talk right now. I have to get Lisa up."

"Priscilla, since when does Lisa get up at six-thirty in the morning?"

There was a silence, and then I could hear her muffled sobs. I asked her what had happened, but I already knew.

"Michael, I drank too much. Richard Gere stopped by our table after dinner. We're represented by the same agent. After a while, everyone left and it was just me and Richard. We had cognacs, and you know how much I hate cognac." sure did. She'd never drink it with me, always saying, "You'd might as well be drinking gasoline."

"When we finally left and went outside to get our cars," Priscilla said, "he asked me where I was going. I told him, 'Home.' He shook his head, grinned at me and said, 'No, you're not.' I found myself in his car, heading for Bob Evans's house, where he was staying as a houseguest. I can't remember anything very clearly after that, except for feeling drunk and dizzy. The next morning, I woke up, naked in bed beside him, my clothes and his scattered all over the floor. I had a pounding headache, and my first thought was that I'd left Lisa alone all night. I'd never done that in my life."

Her car was still at Morton's, she said. She borrowed Richard's car, which turned out to be Bob Evans's, and drove home to check on Lisa, shower, clean up, and pull herself together. As she entered the house, the phone was ringing. It was me.

Later, when I returned from Palm Springs and we discussed it face to face in her bedroom, she claimed all she could remember of the evening was Richard kissing her as he undressed her in the doorway to his bedroom, carrying her to bed, and feeling him on top of her.

I didn't care any more. I felt empty

The next day she sounded heartbroken, saying Gere hadn't phoned. She sent him a letter through her private secretary telling him how disappointed she was that he hadn't even had the courtesy to call and ask how she felt; she wasn't a common whore, and how dare he treat her that way?

The princess I'd put on a pedestal finally came tumbling down. I felt sorry for her, yet realized there was nothing I could do to ease her pain over having been treated badly. Guys do that. I'd done it so many times in the past that it made me think of all the women I must have hurt for one evening of lust. But I couldn't help smiling, each time I thought of Richard and Priscilla. It happens to the best of us.

"Lisa's new flame was an older boy, in his twenties, and they'd recently started dating. He was so charming and polite he had Priscilla wrapped around his little finger. He was extremely affectionate, and Priscilla returned his hugs with equal warmth and exuberance.

I was envious, seeing the three of them becoming so chummy. But I still liked him. His cocky personality reminded me so much of my own when I'd first met Priscilla five years earlier. I thought he wanted the mother as well as the daughter.

He was constantly hugging and cuddling them both and baby-talking with them. Priscilla enjoyed his attention thoroughly, and when I told her I thought she was being too friendly, she dismissed the notion.

"Don't be so serious, Michael," she said. "He's Lisa's boyfriend. "

I asked Lisa if she felt bothered by how friendly he and her mother were becoming. "Does it upset you?" I asked. She wouldn't answer me, turning her head away.

Soon the bubble burst when Lisa found out how unfaithful and deceitful her boyfriend was. Priscilla was very upset.

Weird as hell. That guys was obsessed with Elvis.

Very disturbing!

Priscilla was quite the whore

Cilla was a easy piece of ass

Make it stop OP. Stop posting such a disgusting story.

EWW!! Lisa, you were in danger gurl!

"I would have been a good buddy for Elvis. He needed someone like me around him, who liked to be outdoors,....and I'm sure the instant he saw it he'd have junked his sissy little golf cart. The two of us could have headed for the hills and maybe even chased a woman or two. All he really needed was a strong male companion for him to believe in"

Is this guy nuts?! I believe Elvis would have beaten his obsessed ass up

LOL, [R26]! Hilarious. OP, thank you for posting these stories! I've never heard of this guy and can't believe he was in Lisa Marie and Priscilla's lives for over 5 years. What a creeper! No wonder Lisa Marie has had such a hard time in life (well, this definitely exacerbated the Elvis stuff).

Hate saying this, but Priscilla *does* sound pretty slutty (and kind of dumb). 'I can't believe Richard Gere didn't call me!', and 'I hope you had fun taking photos of my teenage daughter alone at the house!' *stays with the guy anyway*

"When I finished my watermelon I started to get more but she took my plate, and hers, and started rinsing them. Obviously she knew what I was up to. I went up behind her, reached around and shut off the water. She turned, looking up in surprise, but before she had a chance to say anything, I lifted her into my arms and carried her from the room.

"My hands are still wet," she said.

"Use my shirt." I gripped her tighter and moved in the direction of the bedroom.

In the hall, I had to stop and balance her on my knee in order to open the bedroom door. As I turned sideways to get through the doorway, I glanced to my left. There in the hall was an antique cabinet with beveled glass, and re fleeted in it was a pedestal that held Elvis's gold-framed sunglasses with the big EP in the middle of them. It was very unsettling, and I kicked the door shut behind us.

As we approached her bed, she whispered, "Just a minute.' At the far end of the room there were two leaded-glass doors made from old church windows, and she disappeared behind one of them. I undressed, removed a stack of lace pillows from the bed, and climbed under the sheets.

I waited for what seemed an eternity. When she finally reappeared, she was freshly showered, had redone her makeup, and her breath hinted of Spearmint gum. I was astounded. She was presenting herself to me for approval, like a child earnestly offering a toy. I wanted to smile and tell her she didn't have to do that—it was unnatural. But then I realized Elvis must have forced this ritual on Priscilla, and to her it was completely normal.

I took her in my arms and our lips met softly. I pulled her teddy down off her shoulders, revealing her breasts. They were as firm as a teenager's and fuller than they looked when she was dressed. I wanted to stare at them forever. She moaned as my fingers came in touch with her.

Suddenly the sound of a loud gurgle erupted from my watermelon-bloated stomach.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"I think so. Let me just catch my breath for a minute."

"Me, too," she said.

I'd wanted to have an evening of perfect lovemaking. But I was in distress, fighting the urge to throw up for the second time that evening. I was so sick I couldn't even sustain an erection. I thought I'd lost the one chance I had of winning her, and to make matters worse I was falling for her—hard

"I'm sorry, Priscilla. I have to lie still for a minute." She touched my face and said, "There's no rush." She kissed me tenderly on my forehead, nose, and cheeks, and as she reached my lips, I fell asleep in her arms.

The next thing I was aware of was the aroma of fresh coffee and Priscilla's cheerful greeting, "Good morning!" After handing me my coffee she pulled the drapes wide open, letting the bountiful California sunlight flood into the room. "Isn't it a beautiful day, Michael?" "When did you get up?" I asked. "I didn't even hear you get out of bed." "Of course you didn't. You were snoring!" "I don't snore. Do I?" "You snored last night."

"Lisa seldom, if ever, had school friends over and she clung tenaciously to the little girl who lived next door. Though Lisa was a real sweetheart, a naturally warm-natured girl, she tended to be domineering, and this finally alienated even that one friend.

I didn't have many friends myself these days. I felt awkward bringing them around Priscilla's house, because she seemed uncomfortable the few times I did.

"There are so many things of great value around," she said. "Be careful who you bring over." I assumed she was referring to Elvis's possessions, which were still all over the place. Priscilla and I would argue

over this situation and I couldn't believe how mad we would get. But I sympathized with her and understood her concern. I felt just as protective about Elvis's things as she did, and friends had to be pretty special for me to share any of that with them.

One rainy Sunday afternoon, I came into the bedroom and discovered her going through the contents of the steamer trunk she kept at the foot of our bed. I turned to leave her in privacy, but she told me to stay.

I saw a packet of old letters of hers, neatly tied with ribbon, and some writings of Elvis with words to her. His handwriting was a childlike scrawl, similar to the way mine had once been Digging deeper into the trunk, Priscilla pulled out a little spiral notebook, the kind used in grade school. Elvis had used it to make notes to himself—errands he wanted his entourage to perform, a note about an airline reservation, and plans for a racquetball court.

There was a pile of Elvis's publicity photos, showing him in all the different periods of his career. One of the photos showed Elvis loaded down with rings and necklaces and belts, and I asked Priscilla if they were real.

"Most of them," she answered.

'*I would love to have seen them," I said.

She went into her dressing room and brought out a jewelry box. We sat down on the floor in the bedroom, near the trunk, and Priscilla spread a great array of jewels out before us.

I picked up a solid gold chain necklace, and Priscilla told me that Elvis had had it made especially for himself. The pendant was an old U.S. gold coin set in black onyx and inlaid with diamonds. There were many rings, clustered with precious stones, and there were also expensive gold and platinum watches.

"I want to give your mother something," Priscilla said, selecting a ring. I was surprised, but then I remembered how very much she'd liked Mom when they'd met in Florida.

I was looking at a thin, elegant, gold watch lying on the carpet and knew I could have it or any of Elvis's jewelry if I wanted, just by asking for it. But I wouldn't let myself get trapped like that She handed me the ring she'd picked out for my mother. It was gold, with pink coral roses.

"This is one Elvis bought me when we were in Hawaii," she said. "It's very special to me. I want your mother to have it."

"Sitting down opposite Lisa, I looked at her through the camera, and as I began shooting I studied her features carefully. Her blue eyes were replicas of Elvis's and there was that touch of flatness about her nose, but it was her lips that enchanted me—small and full and petulant, like her dad's.

I arranged her hair so that a few golden strands fell down, glowing in the sun. When I looked back at her again through the camera and continued shooting, she put the flower between her teeth and grinned at me. I had captured her.

"I'd done the exercise myself and knew the terror Priscilla was feeling. But I also knew it would be good for her, and I couldn't wait to see her up there on the stage, especially when she had to start bumping and grinding. She'd told me she wouldn't do that, no matter what.

I knew that she was reluctant to even wrinkle her forehead, much less bump and grind. She told me that Elvis had thumped her brow so hard every time she wrinkled it that she'd stopped because it hurt so much. Of all the things she told me about Elvis, this was the only one that made me want to kick his ass. He'd really thumped her hard, as if he was checking a melon for ripeness

"Priscilla came into the bathroom carrying the champagne in one hand and a corkscrew in the other. "You don't need a corkscrew to open champagne/' I told her. "I've never opened a bottle myself," she said. "Didn't you and Elvis ever have champagne?" "Yes, but someone else always opened it for us.

As I got back into the tub, I said, "Did you and Elvis ever do this?" "No, or I'd have known how to open the champagne bottle."

"What was the craziest thing you ever did sexually? "I guess it was when Elvis had me wear panties and wrestle around on the bed with that girl while he filmed us." "I bet he masturbated, watching the film later?" "I don't think so. But I know when Mr. Presley got mad at him, he'd tell Elvis, 'You're not good for anything but pulling your peter.' " "Most guys love to do that. I bet you wish you had one." "I've often thought it would be cute to be able to stand up and go to the bathroom in the snow." "What'd you really do with that girl?" "We just hugged and rolled around on the bed for Elvis." "He didn't want you to do anything else?" "No."

We'd been fondling each other in the warm bath water. I pulled Priscilla close to me, taking her hand in mine.

"We've been through some pretty tough times," I said. "Some of them I even thought had destroyed us. But you always seemed to understand—always tried so damn hard to make us work out."

"I wish Elvis and I could have talked like this." "You never did?" "Yes, earlier, but then his drugs became more important to him."

How come that happened?"

"Studios were sending him the most ridiculous scripts to do. After a while he'd say, 4 I don't have to even read them. They're all alike. Why won't they send me something better to do, just once?' "

"They were only interested in making money off him," I said.

"Elvis was terribly frustrated by his movie career. He even became physically ill from some of the scenes he had to do."

"Why'd he keep doing them? Why didn't he stop?"

"He had a contract with MGM that paid him to do what they said. Anyway, he needed the money. He spent a lot, on everything, all the time."

"It sounds like he was allowing people to not only tell him what to do in his career but also in his personal life."

"He'd become so lost, he didn't know who to turn to anymore."

"It's incredible how we can let ourselves get so messed up."

"I don't want that to ever happen to us, Michael.

For a man who was used to getting his own way, Elvis must have felt exasperated, mass-producing all those fluff movies, having to act like a wind-up doll, letting the studios dress him up any way they wanted and doing their bidding. He'd frolic, jump, kiss girls, zoom fast in sporty cars, dance the cha-cha, waterski, do the hula and be a frogman. I understood why he'd got hooked on so many drugs. No man could be proud of himself who was only creating meaningless fluff. I'd felt the same way on many occasions modeling clothes, just like a dress-up doll.

"We enjoyed our candlelight dinner down by the pool. It was our nuptial feast, and we both had a lot to drink, celebrating the big decision we'd made. Working on our third bottle of wine, Priscilla got very excited as she told me about a telephone game she liked to play.

"Here, I'll show you," she said, grabbing the phone. She punched out seven numbers at random, and when someone answered, she lowered her voice to a sultry whisper Hi, big boy. Have you missed me? I've sure missed you."

It was wonderful watching her impersonate a hooker.

"Oh, don't act that way," she continued. "You know who this is. You know what I want. Oh, you're being so naughty. I like that." Suddenly she cracked up laughing, couldn't stop, and had to hang up.

She wanted to play a variation of the game on Joanie Esposito Kardashian, ex-wife of Elvis's road manager, Joe

Esposito. Priscilla got as far as dialing Joanie, but the line was busy. That didn't deter her for a minute, and she resumed her game of random dialing. Something about it touched a place in my heart, and I felt the first stirrings of love for her that evening

"We all leapt out of the Jeep and ran to the reservoir, Priscilla leading the way. Soon we were all splashing around, the girls in their underwear and me skinny-dipping. I dove under the water and came up under Priscilla, pinching her foot. She screamed in terror, and I bobbed to the surface, yelling, "It's the creature from the black lagoon!" I swam after the girls, going "Aaaaaarrrrrrrgh! I'm going to get you!"

They squealed with delight and paddled away as fast as they could I yelled for Priscilla to watch me and, floating up onto my back, I created a human fountain. The girls didn't know whether to giggle or gasp, and Priscilla was so shocked by my display that she choked on some water.

"Michael, don't!" she scolded. "You shouldn't do that."

"It's all my years of living in Europe," I said, laughing. "People over there are a lot less uptight about things like taking a leak. Everybody is always stopping along the highway and doing it right there in broad daylight, and no one thinks a thing about it."

"But in front of children?"

"My God, woman! They pee, too."

But she had a point. I wasn't in Europe anymore.

Still, these were my women now, and I wanted them to live the way I did—fun-filled and daring. "Forget that whole uptight world," I said. "It'll make you grow old too fast. Let's you and me and Lisa do things our way."

"The following day, aimlessly window-shopping along Fifth Avenue, nursing our hangovers, we paused at a newsstand and saw a headline about Elvis. The photo accompanying the story showed him at his worst, all puffed and bloated. I feared sad memories might ruin Priscilla's weekend and, hoping to take her mind off him, I took her to my favorite sushi restaurant, Miyakawa.

"We can have some hot sake," I said. "It's the best remedy for our heads. You know, hair of the dog."

"I'm sorry," she said after we took our shoes off and settled down in a private room. "He died exactly a year ago today . . . August 16, 1977."

The sake only made her feel worse. On our way home, I began to feel terrible for her. Stopping on Fifth Avenue between Forty-ninth and Fiftieth, in the midst of the rushing crowd, I felt a desperate urge to hold her. She cuddled up to me and after a moment I opened my eyes and saw the facade of Saint Patrick's Cathedral rising majestically in front of us.

"Look, Priscilla," I said, and gently turned her.

"Could we go inside?" she asked. "I'd like to very much."

We entered the cool, hushed serenity of the cathedral, and it was like coming upon a clearing in a forest, still and timeless. We knelt in a pew and bowed our heads. I asked

God to ease her mind, and to help her overcome whatever confusion she might be feeling about Elvis.

Before we left, she said she wanted to light a candle. I followed her to the long row of candles by the door, and I lit one, too.

"What did you pray for?" I asked as we left Saint Patrick's, stepping out into the afternoon brightness.

"I can't tell you that. I just hope he's happy and peaceful."

The experience in the church comforted her, but it was disturbing to me. I prayed to God to make Priscilla mine and help her through her pain and grief. I also prayed that I wouldn't be just another heartache for her and Lisa. They'd had enough already.

It took up so much of her time that I found myself looking after her eleven-year-old daughter in her absence. I had fun playing papa to Lisa and supportive mate to Priscilla.

After summer camp, Lisa had gone to Memphis to stay at Graceland. Once there, as usual, she didn't want to leave. Right after Labor Day Priscilla called her and said, "Come on home, Yittle One. It's time to get ready for the new school year."

"No," Lisa argued. "I don't want to come back yet."

Lisa wasn't happy in Beverly Hills, where she had few friends. At Graceland everyone doted on her, Elvis's family, friends, and staff. She had the run of the place and really took over, ordering everyone around just like a miniature Elvis. She loved Elvis's cousin Patsy and liked to spend hours talking with her, lying in bed and watching the soaps and playing cards.

Finally Priscilla had to put her foot down. She demanded that Lisa return to L.A. at once. When she got home, they continued to argue like two feuding schoolgirls. Stubborn and strong-willed even at eleven, Lisa behaved like her father in many ways.

She kept her door closed and her blackout curtains drawn. When I told Lisa, "I don't think all that darkness is good for you," she ignored me. It was a long time before Lisa allowed me to get close to her. In the beginning, when I'd looked like just another boyfriend of Priscilla' things had been okay. But now that I was obviously something more serious,

Lisa wanted it known that no one was going to take the place of her father. She made this clear by keeping a cool distance.

I went to Priscilla and asked her how I should deal with Lisa. She told me Lisa was a very private person and to be patient and wait. "Lisa will come to you when she's ready. Try not to take it personally. That's just the way she is." I followed Priscilla's advice and left Lisa alone.

Neither Priscilla nor I had had what you would call a stable upbringing, and we were now having to invent our roles as we went along. Creating stability behind the big black gates wasn't easy, especially trying to fill Elvis's place in Lisa's life when she didn't want it.

But Priscilla was right—by not forcing the issue, eventually I managed to get Lisa to come to me on her own. I played her game. Soon my patience was rewarded, and Lisa gradually warmed up to me. But I still wondered if I possessed the understanding and maturity to make this a happy family.

"I'd recently told Lisa how much I loved her dad when I was her age, and that I grew up with his music and developed my own independence from watching him. She looked at me, not replying.

"You ever think about singing?"

"Not really. I don't think Mommy would let me."

"I'm sure she would if you told her you wanted to."

She just shrugged her shoulders, but I persisted. "I know you have a pretty voice," I said. "I've heard you in your room."

"I took piano lessons once."

"Did you like it? Why don't you continue?"

I was trying to get Lisa enthusiastic about something, anything. She reminded me so much of myself when I was a kid, aloof, holding everything inside. I thought getting her interested in piano or voice would help her be less withdrawn and able to express some of that pent-up emotion and energy; I also had been unable to express it as a kid, always afraid that someone might laugh at me or tease me.

"It would have pleased your dad, I bet."

Lisa abruptly changed the subject, going over to a big wooden bowl of fruit on the kitchen table, selecting a mango, and bringing it over to me.

"Cut this up for me, like you do."

"If you say please."

"Please."

I dropped the subject for the time being and sliced the mango for her, using the technique I'd learned from islandcrs down in Barbados when I'd been there on location once.

wanted Lisa to meet my daughter and invited Caroline to visit us in L.A. The two of them became fast friends immediately, Caroline sleeping in Lisa's room on the pull-out bed. They stayed up half the night talking, sharing stories about their home, family, and boyfriends.

They had so much in common, including the fact that they both had older boyfriends. Unknown to Priscilla and me, Lisa already had a boyfriend in Memphis, and Caroline had one in Pensacola.

When I talked to my daughter years later, she told me that she and Lisa, like typical adolescents, had talked about nothing but boys and kissing and "doing it.*'

"Neither one of us had done it yet," Caroline said, "but we were both really interested in sharing what we knew about it."

That first morning, when they got up, they decided to go skinny-dipping. Neither of them had ever been swimming nude before "The funny part of it," Caroline later told me, "was we hardly knew each other. We teased each other, saying, "You go in first.' 'No, you go.' Finally we decided to go together. We laughed and took pictures of each other naked, and kept on talking about boys and sex and doing it."

During the whole visit, the only argument the girls had was who got to sit in the front seat of the Jeep with me when I took them places. I loved the feeling but realized how sad the situation was. I was raising another man's daughter while my own daughter, fatherless, was thousands of miles away.

Lisa attended a private school in Culver City, and since we hadn't yet replaced the servants, who normally drove her back and forth, Priscilla and I were alternating chauffeur duties. I loved seeing Lisa coming down the steps of

the school to meet me, looking adorable in her school uniform—a short gray wool skirt, white blouse, and loafers with bobby socks—but she hated it, saying it looked ugly and felt scratchy.

Priscilla was sixteen when Elvis flew her to America from Germany, where her father was stationed in the air force. Later, when Elvis brought her to Memphis to live with him, he placed her in a Catholic school. She had to wear a uniform just like Lisa's.

She didn't like it any better than Lisa, especially when Elvis teased her and continued to do so unmercifully. But it definitely turned him on, and the press came to refer to Priscilla as Elvis's "teen heartthrob" and "Live-in Lolita."

Seeing Lisa mimicking grownup ways in her little-girl outfit, I could certainly understand Elvis's feelings

........

This guy is a pervert loser

Lisa Marie with Michael Edwards' daughter Caroline

It's extremely creepy just how obsessed it seems he was with Elvis; it's like he wanted to be him. And don't even get me started on his lust for Lisa Marie.

Priscilla and Lisa photo taken by Michael Edwards

Small fucking wonder she married Michael Jackson.

.......

Disgusting story about disgusting white trash hillbillies.

Michael Edwards dream about Elvis :

"In a dream I had one night, I was with Elvis in Palm Springs, and we were sitting on his bed, both of us wearing matching white terry-cloth bathrobes.

"I'll tell you a secret if you won't repeat it to anyone," Elvis said.

I swore I wouldn't.

"I've been finding lots of hair in my brush," he said.

"No big deal," I said. "Mine fell out once, but I massaged my scalp with Vaseline and it grew back."

Admiring my full head of hair, he said, "Show me how to do it."

"You must massage your scalp for exactly seven minutes after showering."

Elvis went into the bathroom, got in the shower, and hollered for me to join him. I did, and as I was lathering his hair, Priscilla peeked in at us.

She was wrapped in a Roman toga and holding a bunch of grapes, and had long bangs, cut just above her eyes, which were glaring angrily

Come on in here, Cilia," he said.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," she said, throwing the grapes at us. "I don't have time for frivolity. I'm already late for my meeting at MGM with the Colonel."

She stormed off.

Elvis went into a fit, yanking on his hair so hard that it all fell out.

"Take your own guitar," he screamed after her. Turning to me, he said, "Her problem is she thinks she can sing, but she can't even carry a tune."

I'd seen the dream as a sign. Though we were back living together, our relationship was clearly out of control, and Priscilla and I were going our own ways

[quote]like every father who has ever seen a beautiful daughter through puberty, I found it difficult to keep a grip on my emotions

Ugh.

[quote]I wanted to grab hold of her and slam her into the wall and smash her little head to pieces.

Jesus fucking christ, this guy.

" I felt very much at home and, wrapped in a towel, I eased back on the lounge chair to enjoy the hot midmorning sun and my breakfast. The tray included a fruit plate consisting of papaya, kiwi, bananas, grapes, and watermelon, and there was also toast, jelly, peanut butter, bacon, and scrambled eggs. My tray also included a gallon of steaming coffee in a silver thermos decanter and a big pitcher of milk. It was a marvelous breakfast and I ate every bit of it.

Later on, Priscilla would tell me that Elvis had loved huge portions of food put before him at mealtime.

As I sat and stuffed myself, I imagined that this was how Elvis must have lived, lounging by the pool with Priscilla and feasting on his favorite things. No wonder he got so fat.

I dozed off and the nightmare came back to me, and there before me, hovering over the pool, was a very big Elvis. All of his molecules were separating and expanding. It looked to me like he was having an out-of-body experience. As he floated up into the blue sky, he grew enormous.

"This is how God feels and sees things," Elvis said. "This is what it's like to be God."

I realized Elvis's spirit had never left. Priscilla and Lisa were still under his protection, and Elvis was waiting for the right someone to come along

"but, like every father who has ever seen a beautiful daughter through puberty, I found it difficult to keep a grip on my emotions"

vomit for days

I woke up fully dressed on an oversized suede couch in Priscilla's living room. Searching for my shoes, I found that someone had placed them beside a neat pile of little handmade pillows. My thoughts were still reeling from a nightmare I'd had. In that dream, Elvis and I had fought over my dancing so suggestively with Priscilla.

"You're not her husband any more," I yelled. "It's none of your business how she dances now."

His familiar sneer began to grow larger and larger until his lip covered his whole face. Raucous laughter trumpeted from the cavern his mouth had become, and then he roared, "You're close to stepping in some shit, boy, and it's deeper than you think."

I pondered my nightmare and Elvis's strange warning. Dreaming about him didn't surprise me at all, after the fifties party and the feeling I had of Elvis being everywhere in this place.

But now, racing down Doheny Drive in the Mercedes, remembering my dream of Elvis, I realized that something must have fallen into place again that morning at Priscilla's house, and I felt a resurgence of spirituality. It was a definite message—Elvis was beckoning to me.

He was telling me that it was time for him to go. Even though I'd just met Priscilla, I knew in my bones that we were destined to be together. Our paths crossing hadn't been by accident.

"Back on the suede couch, I paged through a book on the coffee table. It was a collection of paparazzi shots, and about halfway through it I came to a wedding picture of Elvis and Priscilla. It had been so long since I'd seen the photo that I'd forgotten they were look-alikes with jet-black hair. Priscilla looked like the perfect bride, radiating love, and Elvis looked stoned, staring into space.

I heard laughter coming from the far end of the hallway and, looking up, saw two giggling girls. As they came closer I couldn't take my eyes off the cute one in T-shirt and shorts, who was obviously Elvis's daughter.

She smiled shyly when she saw me, and I recognized the same haunting look on her face that I'd seen on the mystery girl at the party the night before. Lisa, almost eleven years old, wore her hair in braids and copied everything her mother did, both in dress and manners.

They paused at the huge antique postmaster's desk across the room, pretending they had some interest there, but it was clear from their whispering, giggling, and curious glances that they were checking out Mommy's new boyfriend. I was just as curious about Lisa as she was about me.

As I watched her playing, I began to see her uncanny resemblance to Elvis. Every expression that crossed her face was his. It was as if his head had been placed on her body.

How creeped out must Pricilla and Lisa be to read this stuff? What a weirdo jerk...such bad judgment to bring him into their lives!!

Michael with Priscilla and her family

"Priscilla became a different woman with me when Lisa was away. Free from the responsibilities of motherhood, she even got a little risque. That was the side of her I liked best. With Lisa off at camp, though I still hadn't moved into her house, Priscilla and I made love endlessly—in the pool, then while showering afterward, then on the chaise, in the kitchen, and even in the maid's quarters, my favorite place.

In the maid's room we'd fantasize Priscilla was the maid and I was the master, seducing her. She'd put on a French accent and make up dialogue to turn me on. "Oh, monsieur, stop! What are you doing? Hurry! Madame might catch us!" "Do as I say or I will have to spank you!"

I craved Priscilla constantly and was driven in my desire that we live together. One night, crawling into Priscilla's bed, I said, "All I use my place for anymore is to change clothes."

Teasing, I added, "And also to pick up all the messages from all the girls wondering where I've disappeared to."

Taking her into my arms, coaxing her, I said, "And I'd rather be spending all that rent money buying perfume for you." "Why can't we keep things the way they are?" she asked. "We're happy, we're having fun together. Why change anything?"

I had to smile. This was a girl who'd been cooped up in a celebrity mausoleum since she was fourteen years old. And then all of a sudden I'd come into her life—a gypsy spirit encouraging her to break free, spread her wings, and fly with the wind. I couldn't blame her for not wanting me to move in

I knew this would have been the perfect moment to express our feelings for each other and to go deeper emotionally, but I simply didn't know how. To hide my insecurity, I took her in my arms. Our lovemaking that night left us lying breathless. Later, when Priscilla looked up at me, I saw a sadness in her eyes, and I didn't know why. It bothered me, and I realized that if I wanted to win this woman's love, it was going to take more than just satisfying her in bed.

Why don't you just post the ebook to megaupload or something?

Priscilla and Julio Iglesias

"When Yves Saint-Laurent made me an offer I just couldn't turn down, I accepted a lucrative trip to New York City. At the same time, Priscilla was preparing to leave for a music festival in Vina del Mar, Chile, as one of Julio Iglesias's invited guests.

"Michael, come with me," Priscilla pleaded. u You and I could have a wonderful time. We've never been to South America together."

It would mean canceling my New York trip, and I wouldn't be able to make the final callback for Mommie Dearest either. By now I'd heard that Faye Dunaway was going to be in this film. It was sounding more and more provocative to me. I had to stay and focus on my new career if I was ever going to make a serious attempt at acting. I assured Priscilla that while she was away we'd talk on the phone every night.

I was in New York for three days before Priscilla and I spoke again. I had been trying constantly to reach her in Vina del Mar by long-distance with no success, leaving my number and messages at her hotel. With the time difference, it was almost impossible to make contact

On my last day in New York, Priscilla finally reached me at the studio where I was shooting.

"Michael, you were right about Julio. He's wonderful. I've shown him your pictures and told him all about you." "What pictures?" "You know, the ones I carry of you in my wallet." "What did you show them to him for?" "He asked all kinds of questions about you, and I just showed them to him. I'm proud of you."

I began to worry. It had never occurred to me that she'd fall for him. I knew he'd been married and was the father of children, so I didn't think of him as a threat. I'd always thought of him as an older Frank Sinatra type, harmless and balding.

Maybe he wasn't so old and balding, after all. And he was a Latin.

"He wants to meet you when he comes to L. A.," Priscilla said. "And he also invited me to come with him to Brazil for the rest of the festival."

"Are you going?" "I'd love to, if you don't mind. I'm having so much fun." If I didn't mind? What was she, crazy? Thinking I'd let her run after the world's most famous Latin lover! There they'd be—standing in Rio on top of Sugar Loaf Mountain, Julio charming Priscilla with, "who can hold back what is written on the wind?" "He's a gentleman," Priscilla added. "Just like you."

If she thought she was reassuring me by calling Julio a gentleman like me, she was nuts. Women had always told me that it was my gentlemanly ways they'd fallen for.

"He has that same magic Elvis had," she said. "I told him he should come to the States. But he's very insecure about that. His English isn't very good."

"The following evening, back in L.A., I tried calling her for hours. When she finally answered, she was excited and breathless. "I was just getting ready to call you!" she said.

"It's late," I pointed out. "I've been trying to reach you all night." "We just finished dinner." "It's three in the morning down there, Priscilla." "They eat late here. And then Julio pleaded with me to stay with him for the last show. He's nervous about this new young Latin star who's on the rise. I just came back to my room to freshen up.

"You mean you're going back out again?" "Yes. Julio's waiting in the limo." "I don't believe this. I've got to be up for a 5:00 a.m. call, and you're spending the night out with another guy." "Did you get that part in Mommie Dearest?" "You don't give a damn." "Michael, have you been drinking?" "You'd be drinking, too, if you felt like I do." "You're being ridiculous. There's nothing between Julio and me. And please don't drink. Your eyes puff up when you do." "Oh, fuck that! Just go run off with Julio!" Priscilla put her manager on the line. "I thought you were supposed to be taking care of her," I said. "You're her manager, and you're all down there partying all night long.

"It's good for her career to be here," he said. "Don't get crazy." We got into a shouting match, yelling obscenities at each other. "Put Priscilla back on the phone," I demanded. "This is none of you business." "She's already gone," he said

"Priscilla and I started spending our weekends in Palm Springs, and we finally decided to get a hideaway there. We chose a secluded area, Desert Hot Springs, which had excellent security. Lisa had just turned fourteen, and Priscilla wanted a place where Lisa could safely have guests come with us on the weekends. Lisa was unhappy not having anyone her age to have fun with when the three of us went away.

Palm Springs became a favorite place of Lisa's, because Priscilla finally consented to letting her bring her boyfriend. He'd have to sleep on the couch in the living room, she said, but Lisa was in heaven.

She and her boyfriend took long walks in the evening, and they ended up sneaking into the neighbor's Jacuzzi.

Priscilla was always acting like a house mother, and after fifteen or twenty minutes of Lisa being gone with her boyfriend, she'd go out and call to her to come home. One evening, Priscilla came in rather pale in the face, telling me, "I caught them next door in the Jacuzzi!"

"What were they doing?" I asked, smiling. I loved always teasing Priscilla.

"Michael, I can't let her out of my sight for a minute. I don't know why she has to be like that. She's boy crazy."

"She takes after you, baby," I said.

"Michael, it's not funny."

"Priscilla, when did you last see her this happy? She's smiling all the time. She pitches in without being asked, and I couldn't believe it when she set the table the other night on her own. I'm happy for her. And I like her boyfriend."

Muhammad Ali

My own antics were also getting out of hand these days, and a couple of nights later we went to a party at Sammy Davis Jr.'s house that wreaked havoc between Priscilla and me.

Sammy lived down the street, close enough for us to walk. Arriving at the party, we were curious to see the legendary guard who manned Sammy's front gate. Seeing the guard, we understood why. He was dressed in a black uniform with a low-slung pistol and highway-patrolman mirrored sunglasses, which he was wearing despite the fact that it was nighttime.

I took two glasses of wine from the bar, and we strolled outside to the pool area. Turning and looking back at the lively party inside, I saw a very large black man whose back was to us. He was dressed elegantly and was holding court to a group of guests who were listening to him intently.

"Besides Jacques Costeau," I said, "there's only one other person that I come close to idolizing, and it's Muhammad Ali, and I think that's him."

"I didn't know that," Priscilla said. "But you're right. That's him."

I'll be right back," I said.

I'd already had quite a bit to drink that night, having finished a bottle of wine before we left the house. I wanted to shake Ali's hand, but I couldn't get through the group surrounding him, so I walked around and squeezed in behind a table and climbed up on a footstool. Holding onto a floor lamp, I leaned over the crowd, and suddenly I was eye-to-eye with Muhammad Ali. Someone accidentally—or probably on purpose—kicked the stool out from under me, and I fell to the floor at Ali's feet, causing a small commotion. Ali stepped back, looking down at me curiously.

Standing out in the garden where I'd left her, Priscilla heard the guests laughing and later told me, "I didn't have to guess twice. I knew it was you."

I brushed myself off and sat there on the floor for a minute, apologizing to the people standing around me. Priscilla had joined the group by then, and I smiled at her as I got up. She just shook her head as I led her to the bar.

"I think you've had enough to drink, Michael."

"I was just trying to shake hands with him."

"You made pretty much of a spectacle of yourself."

"

The house was empty, but Priscilla had left a note telling me that she and Lisa had gone over to her parents for dinner and to join them there. I was tired and decided to stay home and relax, so I grabbed a Heineken from the refrigerator and went into the den,

I settled on the sofa, guzzled half my beer, laid my head back, and closed my eyes. We'd now been living together a little more than a year. I savored moments like this, having the house to myself.

In the quiet, I often thought about Elvis. Not Elvis the superstar, but Elvis the father and husband. I could imagine him sitting over there with Lisa at the lime-green piano, puffing his wooden-tipped cigar, flicking ashes on the carpet, laughing as Priscilla scolded him for being so sloppy, and blowing smoke rings at her.

I opened my eyes, realizing it was now me that Elvis's Lisa was coming to for hugs, and the realization was gratifying. I finished my beer and bent the can in half, then got up and walked down the hall, past our bedroom, toward Lisa's room

"During the floor show, someone in the party asked Priscilla how her parents had liked La Cage when she'd brought them there several months ago. In answering, she let it slip out that the actor she'd had an affair with in class had been with them that evening. I pretended not to hear this, but fury swept over me

We lay there listening to the crackling fire and watching the snow fall outside the window. Soon, we started making love. Everything was going fine until Priscilla did something that reminded me of the actor she'd had an affair with. She'd once told me that she didn't like his breath, that it always smelled of tobacco. Now, as we were making love, she said, "I hope my breath doesn't smell of garlic."

I rolled off her, tortured by the image of her kissing the actor that day in class, and said, "How could you make love to him right under my nose?"

"Who? What are you talking about?" "That actor." "What actor?"

"That idiot in class." "You're not bringing him up again!" "And I can't believe you introduced him to your parents. You took him to La Cage aux Folles, flaunting him in front of everybody!"

Priscilla could see that I was getting very upset. She moved away to the far edge of the mattress.

"You let him shove his ugly, nasty tongue down your throat! The whole class turned to see my reaction! And you'd just slept with him the day before."

"Michael, stop." "How many times did you do it?" "You're breaking our agreement. We got all this out at Scientology."

"You even had me help you with the scene! I worked with you for days, showing you what to do, how to say your lines, and then you went off and fucked him."

I jerked the mattress up, she tumbled off it, and I threw it at her. Then I grabbed her and wrestled her to the floor, squeezing her hard "Damn you, Priscilla! Damn you!"

"Michael, don't! You'll kill me! I can't breathe! You're choking me!"

"Damn you, Priscilla! I loved you so much."

I threw her back down onto the mattress.

"Oh, God, Michael! You've hurt my neck! I can't move!"

I rushed over to her. "Don't touch me!" she screamed.

I ran into the bathroom to get her a wet towel. When I came back, she was gone. I searched the condo and out in the hallway, but she was nowhere in sight. I called her name frantically, but there was no reply.

.......

"Soon the bubble burst when Lisa found out how unfaithful and deceitful her boyfriend was. Priscilla was very upset.

I told Priscilla I understood her anger and disappointment but added that I thought it would be unfair if she totally blamed Lisa's boyfriend. Lisa had not been coerced into anything. She had gone along with him, and in fact still wanted to be with him, just as Priscilla herself had rebelled against her parents when they'd tried to prevent her from seeing Elvis.

I reminded Priscilla that none of this would have happened if she hadn't been so protective about Lisa's every move, that it was natural that Lisa would want to experience everything all at once with the first opportunity that presented itself. And he'd been it.

Priscilla stared at me in disbelief.

"Keep out of this!" she said. "Don't try to control me and my daughter! You're always trying to make me do things your way! I'm sick and tired of it! Elvis did the same thing. No man will ever control me again! You think it's okay for men to run around, but let me do it, and you condemn me for life. Just stay out of our life."

Her tears were flowing.

"I'm not taking it anymore/' she screamed.

I took her into my arms. She was crying uncontrollably by now.

"What's happened to my little girl, Michael? She's grown away from me. I've lost her."

"Priscilla, you have to let her go. Let her grow up."

Her body went stiff.

"You're doing it again," she said. "You're trying to control me!"

I don't know who this disgusting creep is, but I get the feeling that a big part of his obsession with LM is because she looks so much like her father who this guy is really obsessed with like so many others who wanted to be close to Elvis.

A few days later, Lisa and I had a heart-to-heart about her boyfriend. She said he'd had her mind really screwed up. And now he'd told her to leave him alone, he didn't want to see her any more. He'd met someone else and she should do the same. I watched the tears running down her face and shared the pain she was feeling. I told her it was better that

it had happened this way, instead of after marriage and possibly a baby. She said she didn't care about anything, she just wanted to get over him, but she couldn't seem to do it.

'Til never love like that again, Merkley," she said.

"I know how you feel," I said. "But don't give up on love, Lisa. You're only sixteen and have many wonderful things ahead of you, especially true love. Someday, you'll meet someone who deserves you. Just be strong, and hold on."

Do you think he really hates me?" "Nobody could hate you." "I think he does."

I found it hard to console Lisa with words. She was so young and so vulnerable, yet at the same time, I knew she was very much like Elvis. She would survive. But for how long, and with what kind of existence? I worried about that.

"Your father was very special," I said. "And I know how difficult it can be to try to live with people only looking at you as his daughter. But you're much more than that. In the years we've lived together, your mother, you, and me, I've watched you grow and I love you as much as my own daughter."

She touched my hand. "Thank you, Merky," she said.

"As time goes on, it gets easier. I promise you. Life is an adventure. It's all up to you whether it's fun or filled with pain."

"Don't get too serious, Mickney. I feel better now."

She gave me a hug and told me she loved me. I hugged her back. And never in my life had I ever felt a stronger love for anyone than I did for Lisa at that moment.

........

Michael with Priscilla, Lisa and his daughter Caroline

Wow...what a fuck up. I can't believe he even wrote this shit down. Lisa at 12 and 13 was not a young woman and not much of a beauty. He just wanted to fuck Elvis and she looked like him. Does anyone know anything else about this guy? Also, thanks OP! I like threads like this. Now I don't have to buy the book, we can all discuss while reading, and can enjoy just the highlights. DL's version of Cliff Notes. I had forgotten how beautiful Priscilla was when she was young.

........

.......

A few days before the show opened, Lisa returned from summer camp in Spain. She had a gift for me, and when I opened the package, I saw a large, mean-looking, bone-handled knife with six gears. It sounded worse than a rattlesnake when you opened it.

"How did you know I needed a knife?" I asked her.

She smiled at me. "When I saw it, something told me Merky needs a knife."

On the day she was supposed to return I went over to her house, hoping to make up. I wanted one last chance for us to put all our problems of the past behind us and start anew. As I waited for the limousine to pull up outside the gate, bringing her home, I thought of all kinds of wonderful things we'd soon be doing together—me and the kids and her. I waited and I thought and thought and thought. This time, she didn't return to me.

I knew she and whoever she was there with must be on their way back to Beverly Hills. I went back over to her house and waited. I was scared. She'd never done anything this blatant before. I hadn't eaten, literally, for days, and was chain-smoking. I tried to tell myself that

I was sitting in the kitchen when I heard the click of the gate. I glanced up at the monitor and saw Priscilla's Jag pulling in the drive. Moments later Priscilla walked in, resplendent in tight red pants and a red and white striped sweater and red high heels. The old look—lacy, loose-fitting, Miss Prim and Proper, collars buttoned up with little bows at the neck— was gone. Something wasn't right.

"Michael," she said, "what are you doing here? We've broken up."

"I just had to see you. Where have you been?"

"In New York, of course. But you have no right to be here."

I put my arms around her. She didn't respond, turning and heading toward the bedroom. I followed her.

"I don't care where you've been," I said. "I love you."

In the bedroom, I pulled her to me, trying to kiss her. She held her lips tight. I ran my hands over her body, but there was no reaction.

"I want to make love to you," I said "Not now."

When I insisted, she said, "It'll be rape if you do this." We argued for a while and then I left. Later that night, I returned. I didn't want her to hear the Jeep, so I parked on the street, and let myself in through the side gate. I turned off the alarm and slipped into the house.

I found her sleeping in the bathroom on the floor, Willy, our Doberman, lying by her side. She was having hardwood floors installed throughout the house, and the bedroom furniture was in storage. I begged her to make love with me one more time.

She agreed to make love if I promised this would be the last time and I would leave immediately afterward and never bother her again.

"Don't make it one of your long ones," she said.

We made love in the bathroom, on the floor, Willy remaining beside us, sniffing and scratching.

After we finished I tried to arouse her again.

"You promised," she cried. "You said you'd leave if I did it with you."

She crawled out from under me, frantically

Let me just hold you for a minute," I begged.

"No," she screamed.

Willy was cowering in the corner, trembling.

"Okay!" I said. "Calm down! I'm leaving."

I reached for her, but she jumped back. "I'm sorry, Priscilla. Sorry it ended this way." "Me, too," she said. "Please go now."

The chill of those words, "Please go now," went straight to my heart. I stood up and looked down at her, lying on the bathroom floor. Her hair and face were a mess. She looked like someone on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I remembered that same little girl, years earlier, presenting herself to me, freshly showered and made up. I couldn't believe that two people could get so screwed up.

"I'm sick of what we've become, Priscilla. I tried to tell you when you first got into this business, it would change you." "Please don't start," she said. "My manager will be here any minute, and I don't want him to see us arguing again.

What about Lisa?" I asked. "What's she doing this weekend, while you're off in New York?" "She'll be at my mother's." "Lisa hates being stuck there all the time." "That's really none of your business. While she lives in this house, she'll do as I say."

"It's my house, too." "No, it's not." I slammed my full coffee cup down on the table. The cup shattered, splashing coffee on Priscilla's silk robe. Leaping up, she glared at me, saying, "You've ruined my new robe." She started to run from the kitchen, but I went after her, grabbing her wrist. "Let go of me!" "No. That robe means more to you than we do."

She struggled, but I pinned her against the refrigerator door. She fought back angrily, trying to free herself from my grip. I forced her down onto the floor on her back, straddling her. "That's the last time you lose your temper with me," she screamed. "Get off me! I hate you!" "Who've you got your sights set on in New York?" "No one, damn you! Let me off the floor!

"Excuse me. I wouldn't want to tarnish your image. I'll leave that to Julio or Richard Gere."

That's it, Michael. We're finished!" "We're not finished until I say so." "I don't want it any more. Get out of here!" "Iil get out when I'm ready, and by God I won't be coining back this time."

I'd completely lost control, but anger and frustration were running me now. Looking down at her face, I saw hatred in her eyes, and at that moment, I didn't like myself any more than she did. What man can feel good about himself after he's mistreated the woman he loves? I climbed off her and let her get up off the floor.

In that kitchen, I was torn by my lingering love for Priscilla, a violent jealousy, and the humiliation of losing her to another man

Lisa Marie talking about Michael Edwards in Playboy interview 2003 :

PLAYBOY: After you parents split, your mom had a boyfriend named Michael Edwards--

PRESLEY: Oh my god, can I use the bathroom before I talk about this sorry-ass @#%$?

PLAYBOY: He confessed that while he was in a relationship with your mom, he had sexual feelings for about you.

PRESLEY: He's a sick @#%$. I know he wrote a book and said he lusted after my developing body as I got out of a pool. He made his attempts at coming into my room and being inappropriate while drunk.

Priscilla and Michael Edwards interview 1982

Old Michael Edwards

.......

This guy is pathetic

Thanks OP!

Wow, what a loser!

It seems he was transferring his secret desire to fuck Elvis onto Lisa Marie.

Did he deflower the Princess?

Is Priscilla still a Clam?

Yes, Priscilla is still a clam though Lisa Marie has left. I feel bad for Lisa, she had to deal with this creepy pervert wanting to fuck her from a young age and then forced into Scientology at age 12.

No R86 Lisa's first bf popped her cherry. Priscilla caught them fucking in a Jacuzzi.

Priscilla Presley Folds Clothes & Packs Suitcase. How is her folding technique?

Priscilla Presley Kneading Dough. Can anyone critique her kneading technique in relation to that bread dough?

Edwards was a creep but lived with priscilla for 6 years , so she must have known about all this . He turned her on to cocaine , supposedly had a big cock and must've been great in bed , which is probably why she kept him around - she LOVES cock and was allegedly screwing around a lot back then

R92 Why did you resurrect this creepy icky thread after almost 3 years? WHY?

OP's opening post was the perviest thing I have read in a long time. SLEAZY

I wonder if priscilla was in on it too ?

Priscilla loved cock ; the bigger the better

This guy was "Uncle Ted" in Mommie Dearest. Seriously.

Why didn't priscilla stop it though ???

I didn't read the entire thread, but I also wondered why Priscilla did toss him out on his ass? There was a lot of shady behavior she seemed to know about. It's no wonder Lisa Marie is a whack job.

And priscilla was into drugs - cocaine - and screwing around - she was probably too busy out having fun getting off her tits and riding cock !

Priscilla was something like 14 years old when she met Elvis. Her parents allowed the relationship. I'm not sure how old Priscilla was when she moved into Elvis's house, but I believe she was under 18.

I guess Priscilla could have said, "I don't want that for my daughter." It looks more like P normalized her adolescence.

I think it was the E! True Hollywood Story. One of Elvis's inner circle really disliked Priscilla. I was surprised because she was so young when she came into E's life. The inner circle liked Linda Thompson (who ended up marrying Bruce Jenner).

And when priscilla got divorced and discovered sex and drugs in the 1970s and 80s she went cock crazy and probably neglected Lisa

Nothing wrong with a big line and a big hard cock ! Didn't realise Priscilla had such good taste !!!