THE WRITINGS OF STEPHEN JOHN MORAN
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The Routine in #Vegas 

2/10/2015

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EPISODE NINE 

THE ROUTINE
            The sunlight wakes me and I turn away from the window, which causes the throbbing pain in my head to explode. It feels like a hangover and a headache and a concussion all wrapped in a neat pain package. Pushing the covers off me, I rise from the bed to discover I'm naked and Peter sitting in a chair against the wall watching me. 

           "How did I get naked? What did you do to me?" I ask. 

            "Good morning to you too, sunshine," he says, lighting a cigarette. I grunt and stumble over to him and waiting for him to light me one as well.

            Taking a deep drag, I look around the room. The only thing besides the bed is a small round writing desk in one corner. "Where are my notebooks? My computer?" 

            "George will have it set up this morning. He didn't want to wake you."

            I smile and stretch my arms over my head. Peter's eyes are on my flesh and I growl and reach for the silk robe, covering myself. "Keep your attention on my business, not my body." 

            He nods, but keeps staring. I shrug and take a seat at the table, trying to make a list in my mind of all the things I'll need for my writing routine. 

            "I need marijuana. Like now," I say, looking up at him. 

            "Not my department," he answers, smiling at me. I must admit he is a handsome man. However, the bodyguards are off the menu. 

            With a sigh, I walk to my dressing room and put on jeans and a sweatshirt. Looks as if I'll have to find my own drugs. Men are so useless. I put my hand out towards Peter and wait for him to give me money. Without a word he puts a wad of cash in my palm and I storm out of the apartment. Slamming the door behind me, I make the short journey to the outside and stop on the steps. Scanning the parking lot in search of something, anything, I do not see the man sitting in a lounge chair on the gravel covered ground surrounding the building. 

            "What you looking for, shorty?" he asks. 

            I turn to see a young black man eyeing me, the tip of his tongue parting thin lips. I sigh again. I'm not in the mood. However, it occurs to me he might have weed. 

            Putting on my best smile, I flip my hair over a shoulder. "I need..."

            "I know what you need," he says and motions for me to follow him inside. Standing, he holds the door open and stops at the first apartment. We are neighbors. 

            "How do you know?" I ask once he shuts the door. 

            Instead of an answer, I get a laugh in return as he raps a finger against the stereo to play music. 
            
            The song isn't familiar and I listen to the lyrics as I watch him take a large bag of marijuana from a drawer under the stereo system. He takes the only chair in the room and begins rolling a blunt, while I stand and wait. 

            "This will chill you out, white girl," he says. He sounds confident. We shall see. He lights it for me and passes it, eyes scanning my body while I take a few deep hits. 

            In an instant the calm cloud spreads in my brain and I know he speaks the truth. After a third hit I feel a weakness in my legs and look around for a place to sit. 

            "How much do you need?" he asks, patting his leg for me to take a seat. 

            I don't argue, taking a spot on his lap and pushing the money I brought into his hands. Without counting it, he throws it onto a small coffee table before placing his hands on my waist. I look into his eyes, my mind swimming in a glorious haze. The touch of his fingertips against my arm feels like a million miles away. He slides a hand under my sweatshirt and I do nothing to stop him. 

            "I'll need this on the regular," I say, taking another deep hit while his hands roam and pinch and explore. "It's part of my writing routine."

            "Whatever you say, shorty. They all gots reasons." He stops groping me long enough to jam a few large buds into a baggie and putting it on the table. 

            Pushing myself off him, I grab the bag and head for the door. 

            "Why you leaving?" 

            "Gotta do my writing," I say, taking the blunt with me. 

            "I'll give you something to write about, white girl," he says as I try to leave. 

            I stand in the entry, door open, contemplating his statement. Yes, he can give me something to write about today. With a smile, I close the door and lock eyes with him. 

            "Got any vodka?" I ask. 

BEGIN READING EPISODE ONE - THE VISTA
READ EPISODE TEN - THE EXPERIMENT
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#SerialPlaylist - Tupac - How Do You Want It in #Vegas

2/10/2015

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...in the room in #Vegas

2/8/2015

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EPISODE EIGHT



...IN THE ROOM
            Alone in the shower, just me and the sad piano music playing through the speakers, I struggle to make sense of recent events. Images of Ray and Big and Peter play in my mind and I feel dizzy, unable to process everything. The music makes me want to cry, but I fight the urge and turn the knob to increase the temperature. 

            The blood mixes with the water, running from my hair and down my legs to the drain, a swirling remnant of Big's life. Now it's over for him. I know nothing of the man and couldn't write a eulogy. The heat burns my eyes as I think what it all means. And all I know is there is no meaning. This empty life goes on and on until it doesn't. Until you and I and everyone that walks joins the void. 

            I hear a voice in the room, a familiar one. 

            "Are you okay, Ella?" George asks, standing in the doorway. I would bet he's been there the entire time. 

            I don't know and I keep silent, letting the water run until it's clear. Turning the faucet off, I step from the shower and into a silk robe he holds for me. 

            "Am I still Master with Ray around?" I ask. 

            "You will be master. No need to worry yourself with such questions." 

            A curious answer, but I do not respond to it. I sit in front of the mirror and scan the dressing table. There are combs and brushes and hair care products, everything a girl could need. Seems George bought one of everything. I smile at his thoughtfulness and stifle a laugh thinking how lucky I am Peter didn't do the shopping. 

            "Do I really have to share space with Peter?"

            "He can't guard you part-time. That defeats the purpose. And you'll see he is far more than a bodyguard."

            "Can you explain that?" I ask, but he shrugs and instead puts a few pills on the dressing table. 

           He hands me a glass of water. "Take these. You'll sleep." 

            I take the pills and allow him to brush my hair. Within minutes my eyes begin to feel heavy and I rise from the chair. 

            "I need to lay down," I say. 

            "As it should be. When you wake, the entire mess will be history." He pulls the covers down and helps me to bed, tucking me in as if I am a small child. But I don't mind. No, his kindness brings a tear to my eye. 

            He turns on the stereo and begins the music. I hear classical music and allow myself to fall into the violins. The exhaustion and the pills and the music take me down and down and down...
BEGIN READING WITH EPISODE ONE - THE VISTA
CONTINUE READING - PART NINE - THE ROUTINE 
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#SerialPlaylist - Cold by Jorge Méndez 

2/8/2015

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The Meeting in #Vegas

2/6/2015

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PART SEVEN


THE MEETING

            Silence pounds in my ear drums and I stifle a scream. Say something, anything. Don't stand there exploring me with your eyes. I haven't seen you in what feels like ten years and...I breathe and close my eyes in an attempt to keep myself from hyperventilating. I will keep control. I will not lose it in front of him. My legs feel rubbery and I open my eyes in search of something to grip for balance. 

            "You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen," he says, taking my face in his palms and kissing me. 

            I can't think on his words for the heat of his lips against mine makes me dizzy. The urge to fall into his arms grips my brain. I want nothing more than to skip all the questions and be in his embrace. 

            He steps away from me and takes a mobile from the inner coat pocket. Tapping a button, he makes a phone call. 

            "I need a clean up on aisle five. Yes. Very well," he says before ending the call. "Do you mind if I change the music?" 

            "You don't like my music?" I ask, putting my hand on one hip, a bit of my confidence returning. 

            "Nothing like that," he says, making a selection. The music starts and I tilt my head. It's not a song I'm familiar with. "It's Guns and Roses. Don't Cry." 

            He doesn't say more and extends his arms to me. I allow him to pull me close against his chest and we move with the song. I press my cheek against his shoulder and sigh with happiness. Can this be real? I know it's a dream. Everyone keeps telling me he is dead.

            "I know what you're thinking," he says, the bass of his voice soothing me. "Where have I been all these years? Why did I wait until now to see you?"

            "I don't care about the past," I blurt out. "I don't want to talk about it. I just want to start right this minute as if nothing bad ever happened and we can be together forever."

            We sway with the song and he squeezes me, enveloping me in his warmth. After a while, we are dancing without music and I smile to feel our bodies in complete rhythm. 

           "I love your suit," I whisper, kissing his neck. 

            A knock sounds upon the door and I sigh with disappointment. I feel a sudden anger towards whomever might be the devil person interrupting this small slice of happiness.

            Ray announces the door is open and George steps into the room with Peter in tow. He sees the mess near the poker table and claps his hands, as if he already didn't have my attention. 

            "Go back to the apartment. Don't talk to anyone or answer the phone and we'll have this cleaned up before midnight." 

            I understand he wants me to leave and sigh again. Turning to Ray, I blow a kiss in his direction. "It better not be eight years before I see you again." 

            "It won't," he says as George escorts me into the hall. 
Post by Ella Thomas.
BEGIN WITH PART ONE - THE VISTA
READ PART EIGHT - IN THE ROOM
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The #Vegas #SerialPlaylist - Guns N Roses - Don't Cry - #ButcherofVegas 

2/6/2015

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Post by Ella Thomas.
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#SerialPlaylist - AC/DC - Dirty Deeds in #Vegas - 

2/5/2015

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Dirty deeds indeed - done for free. 
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*ADULT CONTENT* - *18 + ONLY* - The Playlist

2/3/2015

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            His hands find my waist and pull me against his erection. Giving him a smile, I reach for my phone and wait for him to maul me to satisfaction. When he tries to lift my dress, I grab his arm. 

            "Patience, Big. Do you have iTunes on your stereo? I have a few songs to play for you." 

            He keeps trying to grind it into me, not seeming to hear my question. However, he nods an answer and points towards the far wall indicating the speaker set-up. 

            Clicking my playlist, I place the phone on the poker table and put my arms around his neck. He manages to get under my dress and I feel him tugging at his jeans. He's gonna stick me if I don't stop him. As that thought floats in my mind, the first song plays. 
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PART SIX

THE PLAYLIST

FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS
            "What happen to that seducing me talk?" he asks. 

            I feel a thick cock against my ass and him trying to pull me on top of it. Putting up a bit of resistance, I sing along with the music. 

            "I'm gonna hit it," he says in my ear. I feel the tip pressing against me and I know it's only moments before he jams it in. The next song begins to play. 
EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE
            "Yes!" I say, feeling my body shake as he jams me with surprising force. 

            "You like, slut? he says. 

            "The song," I say, laughing. He stops for a moment and pushes me enough to look in my eyes. Oh, how men hate being laughed at. "Don't stop." 

            I start grinding as he stares, desire causing the anger to fade in his eyes.
GIRLS JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN
            "I hate this song," he says. 

            With a smile, I lift the dress over my head, exposing all the flesh to him. "The songs aren't for you. Mind this business," I say, sweeping an arm over my body. 


            He hands and mouth find my breasts and I need give him no more instruction. Thrusting up in me with fury, he squeezes and pulls at my nipples, making me scream once more. 

           "Like that black cock, slut..." he says. The word is beginning to make me angry. 
I WILL SURVIVE
            A flash of heat runs through my body when he impales me, pulling me down onto a massive cock. I let out a scream and grip my arms tighter around his neck, trying to concentrate on the music. Grinding it into me, he hilts me each time before lifting my body. 
GET UP
            "I do," I manage to say, the force of him fucking me making it hard to breathe. Holding onto his shoulders, I slow his pace. "But, call me slut again and you won't hear the rest of the playlist." 

             "Why, you gonna shut it off?" he says trying to fuck me hard again. 

             "No, you'll be dead." 
ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST
            Pushing myself off his lap, I run to my purse and retrieve my knife. He watches as I retrace my steps and straddle his waist. Pressing the blade against his neck, I lean my mouth towards his ears. 

            "Go ahead, put it in, Big," I yell so I know he can hear over the music. He doesn't move and I laugh as I wiggle myself onto his thick meat. 
CLOSER
            I ride him in rhythm with the song, the sound of his balls slapping on my ass in time with the bass. Keeping a steady pace, I feel sweat on my temples and forehead. His hands find my breasts and I squeal when he twists my nipples. The knife presses into his skin and I see a trickle of blood oozing down his neck. 

            "You gonna kill me, shorty?" he asks, his voice lacking the confidence of earlier. I can feel he is close to orgasm as he begins to grip me tighter and tighter. 
CHERRY BOMB
            The moment the song begins, he seizes and begins shooting into me. Holding tight against him, I wait for the spasm to finish. He keeps bucking inside me for what feels like forever as I hum along with the music. 

            "Cherry Bomb," I sing as the song ends. He groans the last of his orgasm and I smile when the next song begins. 
ONLY GIRL (IN THE WORLD) 
            "Goodbye, Big," I say. 

            He doesn't move or speak and the bass pounds in my chest. Closing my eyes, I hide in my memories, thinking of someone from the past. Gripping the knife, I begin to slice into his skin when I hear someone speak my name. 

            "Ella," A voice near the door says. I lift my eyes to see Ray Holden in a tuxedo with an unlit cigar in his mouth. 

            "Ray!" I scream, trying to lift myself, but Big's hands hold me in place. 

            "This is what George has been trying to tell me," he says, taking a moment to light the cigar. 

            "Yes," I say. At that moment, I push the blade through Big's windpipe, sending a spray of blood into the air. 

            There is a silent pause before the stereo begins the next song. Blood continues to jet from the wound and Big paws at the gash in his throat. Soon his strength ebbs, leaving a lifeless bloody mass of flesh under me. Pushing away from him, I run towards Ray. 
IT'S JUST ME
            I jump into his embrace as the song begins and for almost a minute, we slow dance with the music. The heat of his body sends a happy pulse through my veins and I hum along with the words. He lifts my chin to look into my eyes, one hand waving the smoke from my face. 

            "What George was trying to tell you..."

            He interrupts me with a soft kiss. The smells of whiskey and tobacco mix with the blood of the recent dead, spinning my senses. 

            "Yes?" he asks when the kiss ends. 

            The song stops at that moment and into the silent void of the room, with the presence of the latest dead bearing witness, I tell him. 

            "I'm the butcher of Vegas." 
START WITH EPISODE ONE - THE VISTA
CONTINUE READING WITH EPISODE SEVEN - THE MEETING
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#SerialPlaylist - Tool - Eulogy - Your Last Day in #Vegas 

2/3/2015

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My Writing Place - #Bellagio #Vegas 

2/3/2015

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