THE WRITINGS OF STEPHEN JOHN MORAN
  • A Writer's Diary
  • ELLA'S JOURNAL
  • THE MARKETPLACE
  • MORAN PRESS

Episode Fourteen - An Interlude of Five Minutes in #Vegas 

4/12/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture

EPISODE FOURTEEN
AN INTERLUDE OF FIVE MINUTES



       The limo parks near my apartment building and Ray's eyes lift in confusion. I don't make any move to exit the car and instead am content to keep my head on his lap looking up at him. 


          "I guess this means lunch is out," he says, turning his eyes towards the parking lot. 

          "I have another idea, but I want change out of these clothes first."

          "Yes, it's been an eventful day." 

        Lifting myself off his lap, I take his hand into mine and squeeze it. "I need to find a more appropriate outfit for our next destination." 

           His other hand strokes my hair and his eyes find mine. "Will you tell me where we are going?" 

           "No, it's a surprise." 

         Laughing again, he reaches for the bar and grabs the bottle of whiskey, pouring two glasses. Handing one to me, he holds it until I clink mine against his. 


          "I hope it's a better surprise than earlier on the phone," he says with a wink. 


          "Don't be jealous." I down the whiskey and exit the car before he can respond. I follow George into the apartment buildings and cast a glance at Reggie's door, hoping he won't pick this moment to seek the time I owe him. To my relief, I make it to my door without a sound from his apartment. 

           George opens our door and I walk into the dressing area of my room, ignoring Peter's gaze following me. Without a care, I strip and turn on the shower, jumping in without waiting for the water to get hot. I don't want to keep Ray waiting. Not today. 

           "Pick out my best dress. Color doesn't matter. I want to look..." I begin. 

           "Like a million dollars," George says, finishing my statement. 

           With a nod, I begin scrubbing my skin with the sponge, ignoring the fact the bathroom door remains open. I have no secrets from George. However, I can see into other room and notice Peter smiling at me. Sticking out my tongue, I turn away before putting shampoo in my hair. 

          "Miss Ella," I hear George say. "I hate to interrupt you, but I must inform you a man is tied to your bed." 

           What is this you say?

         "Excuse me, George," I say, washing the soap and body lotion away in short order before shutting off the water. 

            "Your next door neighbor to be exact." 

          Without wasting time grabbing a towel, I run into my bedroom naked to see Reggie bound to the bed. Duct tape binds his mouth shut and I don't have time to wonder the architect of this because Peter appears at my side. 

            "Explain yourself, Peter." 

        "I ran a background check on him. Reggie isn't his real name and he isn't a drug dealer." 

            "I don't have time for riddles. Tell me. Who is this man?" 

            "A hit man," Peter says, eyes roving over my body. 

         With a sigh, I return to the dressing room to get ready. I told Peter the truth, I don't have time. Applying my makeup and pulling the white cocktail dress over my head, I scan the closet looking for a certain pair of shoes. Pushing my feet into the heels, I hurry to stuff everything I need into my purse. 

            "Peter, I'll deal with this when I get home. I have something I need to do." 

            "What could be more important than finding out if he was hired to kill you?" he snaps at me. 

            "I'm late for a wedding."

BEGIN READING EPISODE ONE - THE VISTA 
0 Comments

Picture - The Way #Vegas Used to Look #Fremont

4/11/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture
When I see old pictures of Vegas, I wonder what it must have been like back then. This picture looks ancient. The Mint doesn't exist anymore, nor does the Horseshoe Casino. Most of those casinos in the picture are long imploded and destroyed. The past fades into nothingness, like so much yellowed newspaper.

What will this city look like 50 years from now? What buildings will remain? How many people will come and go, never to be heard from again? 

And how many men will travel here, to Sin City - looking for adventure 

and meet me.  

See you in #Vegas 
0 Comments

#SerialPlaylist - Greg Roch - No Big Deal

4/11/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture
Free Music Player for Myspace at ReverbNation.com
0 Comments

*Adult Content* - The Book Signing Part Four - In the Room #Vegas

4/10/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture

THE BOOK SIGNING 
PART FOUR
IN THE ROOM

            The smell of a cigarette wakes me. Opening my eyes, I feel disorientation at not recognizing the room and pull the covers over my body when I realize I am naked. Scott sits on the edge of the bed reading my book and smoking and doesn't stop when I move toward him.

            I hear music I am not familiar with, a ballad of sorts with a touch of country. Without speaking, I take the cigarette from Scott and pull on it. My mind swims with pleasure and I press my body against his, letting the music play while he reads. 
            "What's this music?" I ask. "I didn't figure you for this kind of song."

            Scott closes the book and turns to me. Grabbing the cigarette he takes a drag and hums with the music. "It's a local band from home. It reminds me of my father." 

            The mention of his father stops me from more questions. I don't want to talk about fathers. The song loops on repeat and I am content to listen in silence, putting my head on his shoulder. Scott opens the book and my eyes go wide to see he is almost done reading. A fast reader to say the least. 

            "I really love your book," he says, closing it again. 

            "Yay. A new fan." 

            He chuckles and rubs my thigh with a palm. "Something like that." 

            His tone gives me pause, but I can't decipher anything from his words. Something like that? I don't respond and allow his caresses to continue, yielding when he pushes me on my back and gets on top of me. 

            Hands move the covers and with a suddenness, he thrusts inside me. He hugs me tight and stares in my eyes, moving in me with slow rhythm. Wrapping my arms around his back, I pull him closer until the flecks of gray in his eyes morph into small shapes of squares and rectangles. 

            His breathing gets heavier and grip on my shoulders tightens. Still looking in my eyes his body stiffens and I smile while he orgasms inside me. He collapses on my chest and I rub his back while he pants and groans. 

            "You are sweet," I whisper in his ear. 

            "Is that so surprising?" 

            "Yes." I don't want to say more. 

            He rolls off me and pulls on a pair of jeans. Lighting another cigarette, he tucks my book under an arm and opens the bedroom door. 

            "Why don't you get dressed and come down to the living room. The guys would love it if you read some of your book." 

            Before I can respond he leaves, closing the door. Stretching my body, I enjoy being alone in a strange room and don't move for some minutes. The song changes to another by the same musician and it reminds me to have Scott tell me the name later. 

            I get off the bed and dress, wondering what I will find in the living room. Approaching the door, my eyes catches his wallet on the dresser and I stop, curiosity getting the better of me. Lifting the edge of the billfold, I peak at his identification and what I see causes me to jump. 

            His name is Scott Holden Jr. 
It's no big deal, 
If you beg or you borrow or steal
I don't know why
I can't touch the sky
but it's no big deal
BEGIN READING - PART ONE - THE BOOK SIGNING
CONTINUE READING - PART FIVE - BASEBALL AND BLOOD
Sell Music online at ReverbNation.com
0 Comments

*Adult Content* - In the Limo #Bellagio #Vegas

4/8/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture

EPISODE THIRTEEN
IN THE LIMO

            "Everywhere I go, I see the FBI," I say, taking a sip of my martini. Ray laughs and touches his glass to mine. 

            "I am sorry for being the cause of that attention." 

            I sigh and lean my head on his shoulder. The FBI can't ruin this moment, but I do wish for more privacy than the man watching will allow. Taking another sip of my martini, I close my eyes and enjoy the sensation of being close to Ray. After all these years, I can't believe this is real. Can my fantasy be happening or am I merely dreaming? 

            "Something tells me I would have earned my own attention before long."

            His chest shakes with laughter and I smile for the sound of his laughter warms something inside me.. Ray turns my face towards him and the rest of the world disappears. Why are we here at this bar? 

            "Where can we be alone?" I ask. 

            "This man will follow anywhere we go." Ray nods at the FBI man before finishing his drink and signalling to the barkeep for another. 

            "Wait, don't get another drink." Removing the mobile from my jeans, I send a text to George to bring the limo to the front entrance. Ray tilts his head, not understanding, but pays the tab and lets me drag him by the hand towards the exit. The flow of tourists ushers us into the revolving doors and we emerge outside in each other's arms. 

            I see the limo stuck at the stop light on Las Vegas Boulevard and take the opportunity to hug myself against him. Lifting my chin, he kisses me, parting my lips with his tongue. I taste alcohol and remnants of cigar, yielding to his caresses. Over his shoulder I see the FBI man exit the casino. Sighing, I pull Ray still closer. 

            "I've waited so long for this moment. Can't that man leave us alone?" 

            Ray takes my face into his hands, dark brown eyes examining me. "The last time we were together, you were thirteen." 

            The limo pulls up to the curb and I squeeze his shoulder, 

            "I'm not thirteen anymore," I say, grabbing his hand and dragging him to where George waits for us. 

            I jump into the back seat and open the music player on my phone. Music is what we need for the ride. Ray joins me and squeezes tight to my side, his suit brushing against my jeans.

            He takes me into his arms after George shuts the door and again his mouth finds mine. Kissing me with urgency, I feel his hands trying to lift my sweatshirt. Helping him lift it over my head, I unsnap my bra and throw it to the floor. 

             In a hurry of passion, he rips the jeans from my legs and tears my panties away. My hands find his waist and I smile at how hard he is for me. Pulling at his suit pants, I don't want to wait for him to undress. I straddle him and ease myself down, letting out a groan as it enters me. Gripping the handles on the seat, I use the leverage to impale myself and buck on to him with all the strength I possess.

            His fingers find my nipples and pinch hard, making me scream. The sensations of pain and pleasure are too much and an orgasm hits me. It's a quick climax and I yearn for another, increasing the tempo of my thumping against his lap. At that moment I hear a song by Rihanna playing in the background and I orgasm again as the lyrics flutter in my brain.
It's the way I'm feeling I just can't deny...
...We found love in a hopeless place

and for ray https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tg00YEETFzg

Posted by Ella Thomas on Saturday, August 9, 2014
BEGIN READING WITH EPISODE ONE - THE VISTA
CONTINUE READING WITH EPISODE FOURTEEN - INTERLUDE OF FIVE MINUTES
0 Comments

*ADULT CONTENT* - The Book Signing in #Vegas - Part Three #Bellagio #Rihanna

4/8/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture

THE BOOK SIGNING 
#VEGAS 
PART THREE

            The young man taps the controls on the steering wheel to control the music and I keep my eyes forward, watching the iconic Las Vegas Strip get closer. How much I would prefer to visit the Bellagio instead of suffering the indignities of frat house sure to follow, but he did purchase ten copies. How will I ever make it as an indie writer if I don't interact with my readers? 

            "I'm Scott. In case you want to know," he says, still searching the radio. Without answering his statement, I reach toward him, remove his fingers from the music controls, and tap the button to allow my phone to connect to the player. 

            "Just drive. I don't need small talk." 

            I hope he heeds my wish because the song I pick is special to Ray and I. 'We Found Love' by Rihanna. Does she know that the hopeless place is Las Vegas? There is no hope to be found here, none at all. 

            Scott increases the volume and presses the accelerator, merging the car onto the freeway going north. One by one we pass the casinos, which look less glamorous in the daytime. He takes the mid-strip exit and navigates to Flamingo, an area of the city I am quite familiar with, having lived here for a time. The car turns into a private residence near the University, a three story house of fading green paint and disrepair. 

            The song loops on repeat and Scott leaves the car running after applying the emergency brake. I don't know what he expects at this moment and I won't help him find courage. Do what you will, sir. I feel his palm against my bare leg and turn to face him, still waiting and wondering and wishing to be someplace else. 

            "How about that drink?" I say when his hand slides under my skirt. 

            "Yes, let's do that." 

            Shutting off the engine and grabbing the bag of books, he exits the car and rushes around to my side to open the door for me. This time he takes the cue to accept my arm and leads me towards the house. Two men of age similar to Scott sit smoking on the porch and watch us enter the front door. Scott escorts me through the living room and up a wide staircase to the second floor. 

            I hear rap music and smell marijuana. The floor of the hallway is a mess of trash and beer bottles and I place my heels with care to avoid twisting my ankle. 

            "I like what you've done with the place," I say as he turns the key and leads me into the last door on the left. 

            The room contains only a bed, a dresser, and a micro-fridge. Scott places the books on the dresser and starts throwing clothes from the bed. I open the fridge door to find beer and beer and more beer. 

            "Where is this vodka?" I ask. He smiles and reaches under the bed to produce the promised bottle. I take a seat and wait while he pours a large amount into a red plastic cup.

            Holding his own cup towards me, he sits next to me on the bed, close enough that our legs touch. "Cheers." 

            "I guess," I say, gulping at the vodka. It burns my mouth, but not in an unpleasant fashion. At least he gave me quality booze. Not much else I can say for the room, for there isn't a poster or other decoration on the walls or door.

            "Tell me about your book," he says, putting his hand on my leg once more. 

            I allow him to rub and stroke my skin while I sip the vodka, enjoying the rush of heat to my brain. "I'm not going to tell you about the book. You have to read it, silly." 

            He laughs and squeezes my inner thigh. "Will you read from the book for the guys?" 

            I lift my gaze to meet his eyes and smile, "That's what I came here to do."

            Pushing his hand under my panties, he slides a finger into me and returns my smile. "Is that right?" 

            I nod and close my eyes, enjoying the sensation of him jamming the finger deep inside me again and again. His thumb flicks my clit and I feel an orgasm building. Will this college boy make me cum? 

             With his other hand he lifts my blouse over my head and unfastens my bra. Mouth finding my breasts, he sucks and bites at my nipples. Heat spreads over my body and my orgasm hits, making me buck and writhe in his hands. Again and again I clench and spasm on his fingers, which he continues to drive deeper and deeper inside me. The orgasm intensifies and seems to play on and on, wave after wave of pleasure pulsing in my body. 

            After a time I collapse against him, panting and bucking against his fingers, which are still inside me. One hand wraps around my back and he lifts me higher on the bed, placing my head on the pillows. The room spins and I watch him undress, exposing thick chest muscles and taunt stomach. He climbs on top of me without a word, lifting my legs toward my face. 

            I feel him guide it into me and smile, closing my eyes and relaxing my muscles, content and happy. Oh, how he earned this. I hear his flesh smashing into mine and drift deep inside my mind. Rihanna sings again and again and I see Ray's face floating in the Vegas sky. 
BEGIN READING - PART ONE - THE BOOK SIGNING
CONTINUE READING PART FOUR - IN THE ROOM 

and for ray https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tg00YEETFzg

Posted by Ella Thomas on Saturday, August 9, 2014
0 Comments

The Book Signing Part Two - #Vegas

4/7/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture

THE BOOK SIGNING
PART TWO

            The young man shuffles his feet, thinking of an answer to my statement. I won't lie, I hope he walks away. What does a man say to a woman that writes about killing men?

            "Is this a feminist book of some kind? I took a class..." 

            "You took a class?" I interrupt, laughing. "There is a class about people like me?" 

            He stammers and searches for another answer. Leaning back in the chair, I smile and enjoy watching him squirm. 

            "I took a class on feminism. What do you mean people like you?" he asks. 

            "Serial killers," I say, winking at him. 

            He lets out a whistle and grabs a more copies of my book. "A book about serial killers, I love that shit. You have to come tell my friends all about it. " 

            The manager hurries over to process payment for ten copies and I can't deny feeling happiness at selling this many books, no matter that he sounds and looks like a frat boy.

            "Maybe over drinks," I say in a low voice, leaning forward to get a better look at him. The pale blue of his eyes contain flecks of gray and his broad shoulders look strong. I close my eyes and imagine him putting those thick hands on me, mauling me. 

            "There is a bottle of vodka at the house I keep hidden from the guys," he says. 

            The reality that he might indeed be a frat boy almost kills the fantasy. Almost, but he is quite handsome. There is that. Opening my eyes, I watch him smiling and expecting an answer. 

            "I don't know if that's a great idea."

            "Really? Don't be scared. I don't bite."

            "I meant for your friends." I force a smile and rise from the chair. 

            Saul approaches, but I wave him away. The boy stands, but doesn't understand I want to leave. "I'm going for a drink, Saul."

            Crossing his arms, Saul grunts, but doesn't respond otherwise. I can feel his anger and I laugh as I walk towards the exit. The boy hurries to join me and opens the door a moment before I reach it. Stepping outside into the late morning sunshine, I wait for him to lead me to his car. 

            I offer him my arm, but instead of taking it he rushes towards the parking lot. The thought crosses my mind to abandon this plan, but a Corvette stops at the curb. I see him in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel and the other opening the passenger door for me. 

            Yes, I'd love a ride in a Corvette.

            Jumping into the open door, I pull the seat-belt over my chest and smile at him. 

            "Put on some music." 
READ PART ONE
READ PART THREE
0 Comments

#SerialPlaylist - Rihanna - We Found Love (in #Vegas) 

4/7/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture
Post by Ella Thomas.
0 Comments

A #Horror Story Part 28: A PLAY DEMONIC [THE QUEEN’S IDLE FANCY] by @JustinBog #MondayBlogs

4/6/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture

A Play Demonic (The Queen’s Idle Fancy) 
Part 28

by

Justin Bog

Between Thanksgiving and Christmas, the island’s residents—the ones who read the play more than once in a continuous cycle front to back, front to back, and started again, memorized every line, every part—filled fleeting and empty moments with devious plans, most wishing so much for a role, challenging others if they didn’t agree with their thinking: “I should play Gilda The Graceless; no one else could do justice to her role.” Sally said this the other day at practice and Martin couldn’t believe her haughtiness, he didn’t know why he found Sally’s brazen gamesmanship a turn-on; usually a timid mouse of an actress, second-string, Sally wasn’t Martin’s type. She announced this to the whole company preparing for the holiday pageant, a dress rehearsal busy with other things. When Kelly Lucke heard Sally’s attempt to claim the role of Gilda for her own, early, she said, “Over my dead body.” Others laughed, thought Kelly was joking since that was her personality, a class clown type.

“The only thing going for you is gracelessness. I’ll give you that,” Sally said. Little skirmishes, verbal spats between the players in public and private moments, thinly veiled threats behind the curtain, arose, and Martin noticed all of them, or heard about them from Carole. He’d asked her to keep him informed of any company gossip (or else).

Away from Carole’s prying ears, Martin made secretive calls to several actors on his wish list. Then, with a pinched and precise cursive Martin’s intricate mapping of stage directions soon filled another production notebook. Of course, Martin Belloon had his eye on the right actor to play each role. Come auditions in January, he’d watch them scratch and beg and mewl just to be lucky enough to assemble on stage with Queen Stormag. He wrote through several notebooks and filled two of them with his spidery cursive writing. At the top of each page he wrote a name in the center and underlined that name. These were his wished-for players, names of people in the town, some not ever professing ambition to be on stage, but whom Martin decided would be the only person who could perform naturally in a role. This list worried him. They needed to be convinced, prodded, cajoled, coerced into being part of The Queen’s Idle Fancy.

Below each actor’s name he wrote several character names. Possibilities. Main players and supporting parts and nonspeaking roles, too many to mention, popped into his head often enough to make him wonder just how many actors he could stuff up on stage, especially for the final moments where the entire town gathered to witness the Queen’s wrath. He left the role of Queen Stormag alone, as he’d been advised to do, along with that of The Blacksmith’s meaty part. All of this information came to him as if whispered in his ear from those shadows haunting recent dreams, perhaps, and usually, upon waking, he’d add to his notebooks while Carole made coffee and asked if she could leave to go shopping, visit a friend from the theater. Her interruptive annoyance made him relent and acquiesce to her meek demands.

“I’d like the salmon Dijon tonight if you’re heading to the market. Green beans. And the organic vanilla ice cream. If you make chocolate chip cookies this afternoon, during dessert we can practice the play, read to each other. I need to block possible actor movement in the second act.”

“That sounds wonderful, Martin.” Carole heard the subservient tone of her voice and willed herself to snap out of this current mindset. All she’d been doing the past week: read the play read the play read the play—it filled up every waking hour into late evening. If she complained (and even with her husband’s delicate threatening body language Carole forgot herself), Martin made sure she’d never attempt to do so again, and this next thought made her lick the side of her mouth, her tongue darting out and then in before her husband could see this new tic.

“I don’t want you disturbing me this afternoon, calling or texting me while you’re out. I trust you, Carole,” and here he paused and stared into his wife’s eyes for almost ten seconds, letting his words sink in before continuing, “I trust you to honor my wishes. Obey and you’ll find life will become a spectacular marker of ease, pleasure, and fulfillment. Disobey. Well. Just try it and see what that brings. Now, scoot. Leave me be.”

Carole scooted. Her heartbeat raced and she wondered if she had high blood pressure. The car keys wouldn’t go into the ignition and she screamed out loud in the confines of her proper vehicle, a Volkswagon Jetta, black. Carole rested her head against the steering wheel forming an indentation along her forehead.


READ THE REST AT JUSTIN'S SITE
0 Comments

The Book Signing #Vegas - Part One

4/5/2015

0 Comments

 
Picture

THE SIGNING

            The cool breeze of spring plays with my hair as George and Saul escort me into the bookstore. Excitement pulses in my veins for I do not know what to expect from this book signing. What pains or costs George went through to acquire this favor I do not know, but I simply adore all he does for me. Indeed, what would I do without George?

            A skinny man of medium height and thick glasses leads me to a table near the register. I sit and scan the bookstore, which seems empty in the late hours of morning. Why did George book me a morning signing? Perhaps that's all the store made available. However, George knows how much I detest leaving the mansion before noon. 

            "I'll be back in an hour," the man says before walking away from me, not waiting for an answer. 

            Saul places a coffee next to me and I smile, knowing without tasting it will be to my liking. Him and I have gone through too many battles over my coffee preferences to worry if he remembers. 

            "It's deserted in here. Didn't George put up flyers?" 

            Saul shrugs and sips his own coffee. "You know I don't give a damn about this writing business." 

            "Jerk. Send George to me," I say, waving him away. He walks into the cafe and soon I see George approach. 

            "Is anyone coming?" I ask. Irritation rises in my face and a wave of anger washes over my body. 

            "I can't answer that question with accuracy, but I did put up flyers and purchase an advertisement in the local newspaper." 

            Pulling headphones onto my ears and starting the music to avoid hearing any more from him, I open my notebook.

            I'm getting nowhere with my writing. Nobody even knows I wrote a novel. Not a single fucking person came to see me today. 

            Increasing the volume of the music, I close my eyes and drift into my anger. 
            Why do I write? Why bother? It's like talking into the void, a vacuum. Speak to a crowd of one, to myself alone it seems. The masses don't care for my thoughts or feelings or desires. Just to take a piece of my flesh. And how the men want this piece of meat, which is all I am or ever will be to males I see. I speak and my words fail to penetrate hungry eyes, desire trumping my will to be something. Anything. 

            A hand on my shoulder breaks my thoughts and I close the notebook. Turning off the music, I see George pointing towards a young man wearing a sweatshirt with logo of a local college and a baseball cap. The anger lifts and I hope my mood doesn't spoil meeting the first signing of the day. However, I see no book in his hands and tilt my head. 

            "Yes?" I ask. 

            "I don't mean to bother you," he begins, gripping a mobile phone in his hands. Pale blue eyes search my own and I know what he will say. I don't know the exact words, but I know the import. "You have the prettiest hair I've ever seen." 

            "No," I whisper to myself. 

            "What was that?" he asks, sitting across from me at the table. 

            "Do you want me to sign a book for you?" I ask, trying to hide the anger. 

            The young man looks around and the understanding of my purpose penetrates his brain. He grabs a book from the stack and pushes it towards me. 

            "What's it about anyway?" he asks, winking at me. 

            I hesitate before answering. Part of me wants to throw the book at his face and scream for him to get the fuck out of the bookstore. My eyes locate George and he stands impassive and impressive in his tuxedo against a row of books, arms locked behind his back. I know he wants me to control my impulses and instead of screaming, I answer the man with a calm voice. 

            "The book is about killing men." 
READ PART TWO
0 Comments
<<Previous
Forward>>
    ELLA'S JOURNAL
    Picture
    Picture

    Archives

    November 2018
    May 2017
    April 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.