Yes, fellow Dopers, I was not always the swingin’, hep groovester you know and love. Once I too was a sad, pathetic case like you! But behind my facade of laughter cries the heart of a sad clown-like person, but with less makeup.
I too had sex with Englebert. It’s a torrid, tawdry tale!
It’s the story of a tale of lust and horror. It’s erotic AND it removes ring around the collar. Please read no further if you are purient and easily shocked by graphic descriptions of a sexual nature!
Imagine a young Fenris, a callow lad who’s innocent young (tho’ hairy) body had yet to know the touch of anything other than my own hand and hairy, calloused palm.
So, into the big city, to seek feminine comfortship I went, like a homing pigeon seeking a homer. I got off the bus, return ticket in my wallet and walked alone through the night, like a character in a Simon and Garfunkle song when suddenly my eye was caught by a neon Martini glass twinkling in the rain!
It was a lounge. A seedy, run-down dive where only the lonely went. A sign blinked on and off
“THE COCKTAIL HO R” (the “U” was broken).
I went in, for I had heard tales of such a place and knew that there I might meet a Woman of Price (and I might also engage in underage drinking, for this was in the days when fake IDs were cheap and plentiful.)
I nursed my mint juliep, wondering if indeed tequila was supposed to be a part of this legendary drink, and thought the teen-aged thoughts of profundity. “Who am I? Where am I going? Should I have tipped the bartender? What role will I play in life? Will I get laid toight? Is anyone as lonely as I?” when who should come on stage but Englebert? Like an angel vomited up by the whale of God in this, my hour of need, he began to sing.
He sang several songs which touched me by way of waves of compressed air reaching my eardrums. I felt strangely aroused by this man with the POOFY HAIR[sup]tm[/sup]. And shocked I was, as I was and am as heterosexual as a non-evil Jack Chick character! My young mind whirled as I considered the fact that I was being aroused by Englebert!
During the intermission, a waiter came by and gave me a drink with a card stapled to the glass. It said “You excite me deeply, my dearest darling one! Meet me after the show! You muST! XXXOOO Englebert Humperdink” I was aroused and appalled. “Arpposulled” one might say.
And one might not, either.
But my young loins yearned for the taste of Englebert’s delicate hands so after the show, backstage I went. I could smell his cologne, “Brut” it was. “Brut” and “Old Spice” from outside the door. Why was I doing this?
I went inside. My stomach tied in knots like at a sailor’s convention, if they used stomachs instead of ropes.
There was Englebert, reclined on a couch, gold chains dangling in his meager chest-hair and rings on his pinkies: the epitome of modern manhood. And I, innocent lad I was, knew no better!
“Come here lad” he said
“I must not! For I am pure and know little about the ways that men love men!”
“But what is this?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with mirthfulnessitude “you are still unaware of my true nature?” he laughed. And, in a single, catlike move, he stood up. Reaching into his POOFY HAIR[sup]tm[/sup], his long, thin fingers fumbled with something. And then (shock of shocks!) with a zipping sound, as though a zipper had been unzipped, his entire body split in half and fell off like a bananna peel! And underneath that rugged, blow-dried shell was a WOMAN: like an Emma Peel!
“Go ahead!” She said, her eyes flashing with dark gypsy humor “I am a woman, pretending to be a man, pretending to be Englebert!” And she tossed her head back and laughed. “I wanted to be a lounge singer since I was a tiny girl, but no one would take Esmerelda Boobenknocherz seriously! I had to become a man if I would succeed! I concocted this costume by derermining what the most manly features in the world were and putting them all together. When I did, they were too fat and had too many ears and nostrils. I removed some. And thus was a new lounge singer born! But what name could I give myself? One filled with rugged manfullness: what else could I choose but Englebert Humperdink! My career skyrocketed, and I now have more fans that Paul McCartney put together!”
I goggled at her as she slid out of the slight dress she wore, the sound of silk against her skin an erotic whisper of passion.
“I have stayed as Englebert lo these years, but when I saw you in the audience, I knew I had to touch you. You set my loins afire! Even if you tell my secret to the newshounds who bay after me, the most popular entertainer alive, I will still not regret the night we shall have together.” Tears fell down her perfect cheeks and pooled at the end of her perfect nose.
“I shall never tell as long as you are Englebert! You have Fenris’s WORD OF HONOR on that”
She smiled and came to me, dressed in nakedness. Her fingers played with my buttons as she took off my shirt and pants. Her fingers traced delicate patterns of lustful playfullness on my chest and back as she kneeled down.
Her lips were warm and tender and I felt my knees go weak with ecstasy!
We made love throughout the night and eventually, near dawn, I fell asleep, her head on my chest, the scent of “Brut” and “Old Spice” lingering in her hair and my nostrils.
The next morning Englebert was gone. I wept for her, knowing I’d never have another like her. I also wept for my wallet, which was emptied and my watch, which was missing.
A cleaning man came in. He shook his head “Ooooh!” he said in a cruel falsetto “I have never revealed myself to a man before. But I HAD to have you!” he mocked her “Am I right?”
I nodded, still weeping. “She does this every night or two. Haven’t you noticed that Englebert fans are all women? It’s because “he” breaks men’s hearts. C’mon kid, clean up and get dressed. You gotta get outta here. I’ll buy you breakfast and give you busfare home.” he said, not unkindly
I nodded again.
I am now a man of the world. I have been with many women throughout the intervening years, but none have stirred me so much as that one perfect night when Englebert took my innocence and my heart.
A few weeks ago, I saw a notice that Englebert Humperdink was signing autographs at a local McDonalds. I went in. I stared at him. He looked no different than I remembered him, and still smelled of “Brut” and “Old Spice”. When the crowd (three children and a lame dog) left, I walked up, nervousfully and whispered “Esmerelda?”
Englebert looked at me with blankness in his vacant eyes. Whoever was in that suit knew me not. He signed my Big Mac carton and grinned that famous grin. But I knew. It was not Esmerelda.
I know not what happened to Esmerelda. Perhaps God himself took her up to Heaven where he could be serenaded by her manly tones. Perhaps she ended up as a floozy giving pleasure to sailors for nickels. I will never know.
But I will always treasure that one night with Esmerelda Boobenknocherz…or Englebert Humperdink.