THE WRITINGS OF STEPHEN JOHN MORAN
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Photo - Breakfast at Bellagio #Vegas 

8/31/2015

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Morning in #Vegas

8/29/2015

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Morning in Vegas

            Sunlight wakes me from dreams and I prop myself against the headboard, staring out the windows. The heat burns away the last of the storms and once again violent hot summer reigns in Sin City. No rain can last for long in this desert waste I call home. The brutal heat returns like an old friend, one you knew would not stay away for long.

            Checking my phone,  I realize it's still quite early and contemplate whether to get out of bed for morning writing. Shall I ring for coffee or just say screw it all and sleep until noon? No matter how many lazy fibers of my body scream for sleep, I know this novel will not write itself. I have to put my ass in that chair and pin myself to the writing desk until...

            The sound of someone snoring startles me and I jump away from the moving form of a body under the comforter on the bed. Rising, I take a seat at my writing desk and send George a text message to begin coffee service. I do not know what or who happened last night and I don't have the heart to face the truth before I write out the images of my dream before it fades from memory.

            "Can you tell us what happened last night? Start from the beginning. How did you get to the party?"

             Cops stare at me, waiting for me to answer the questions, dozens of men surround me. I can't think or breathe or remember how I got to that damned frat house or how I got to be here in this sweltering room with so many men pressing in around me. What happened last night? I do not have any idea and know I need to calm my nerves if I have any hope to remember.  

            "I was at home watching television and a friend of mine called me..."

            "What is the name of this 'friend'?" the cops asks, emphasis on the word friend as if he doesn't believe such a thing could exist for me. 

            I don't know a name to tell him. It's all a blur. I remember driving down Rt 95 towards Providence. My cell phone kept buzzing with text messages, a constant blinking reminder...

            "What are you doing?" 

            The surprise of someone speaking makes me jump and I slam my laptop shut before facing the bed. Charles lounges lazily on his side smoking a cigarette and for a moment, before the shot of anger kicks in full throttle, I admire his young athletic body. There can be no doubt Charles is quite attractive and this fact blunts my anger at him smoking so casually as if he owned the place.

            "You shouldn't be here." Approaching the bed, I take a cigarette from the pack and wait for Charles to extend the lighter towards me. I crawl into bed next to him, careful to hold the cigarette high above the bunches of comforters and pillows.

            Charles begins to answer, but the bedroom door opens and George wheels the cart for coffee service into the room, stopping him from speaking. I don't know what to expect, but without a word George busies himself with morning tasks of putting fresh flowers on my writing desk and pouring coffee for two.

            "Tell me when you are ready for breakfast, Ella. New songs have been added to your writing playlist and the writing samples you sent me in the night have been edited. Do tell me if you require anything else this morning." 

            George takes his leave and I hear Charles let out a low chuckle. "See that, he poured me a cup. Seems my being here is quite fine with him." 

            Sipping at my coffee, I close my eyes for a moment trying to re-capture the images of my dream. Scraps and fragments flutter in my mind, but the presence of this boy breaks my concentration and all the images disappear. 

            "You keep forgetting an important fact." Opening my eyes, I crush the cigarette in the ashtray. Swinging my leg over Charles, I grab his chin to force eye contact. "I am the master here."

            "Yes, Master," he says. 

            I ease myself onto him and music begins to play. It's a song I have not heard in a long time and it allows me to drift once more into the memories of my dream. 
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#SerialPlaylist - Fleetwood Mac - Rhiannon 

8/29/2015

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*Adult Content* - In the Bedroom Part Three #Vegas

8/26/2015

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in the bedroom
part three

            The music stops and silence ticks in my ears while I wait for Charles to answer my question. I stare into the bleak abyss of Vegas, not wanting to scare the boy more than he is already. The door to my bedroom opens and George enters, providing reprieve to Charles. He places flowers on my desk and a fresh bottle of whiskey on the end table next to the bed, retreating without a word.

            Gripping his upper arm, I pull Charles closer and put my mouth against his ear. "Don't be afraid, little grasshopper, this won't hurt a bit."

            I kiss his neck near the shoulder and place his palm on my chest, smiling at how much his hand shakes.

            "I am not afraid of this part."

            Running my fingers down his stomach, I unbutton his jeans and wrap my hand around his cock. "No, not at all? Why are you a virgin, saving yourself for me?"

            "I fear what happens after..." he begins to say, but stops as I squeeze and pull and rub him.

            "Again, don't focus on what the papers say. I'm not going to kill you, silly. No, no no." I pause and squeeze until he groans. "This cock has been hard all afternoon. We're going to do it again and again and...you get the drift." 

            Swinging my leg over him, I ease myself onto his cock and press myself against his body. I grind in slow circles, closing my eyes and placing my ear on his chest to feel his heartbeat. 

            "I don't know what..." He tries to speak, but I put a palm over his mouth. Reaching for my phone, I tap the button to change the song and smile when a new addition to the playlist begins. 

            "This is one of my favorite songs," I say, increasing my tempo. Lifting my body I impale myself  in short hard thrusts, the sounds of his grunts matching the tempo of the music.

            "Tell me what to do," he says, voice tightening and rising in pitch. 

            Hooking my arms under his and gripping his shoulders, I lift myself higher and higher, smacking down on him with more force. "I want you to come in me. You're not a virgin anymore, Charles."

            Increasing the intensity, I hum the music while the words drift along in my brain as if I'm watching a movie. The words 'You'll never get away..." repeat over and over again as Charles grabs my hair and begins to orgasm, spurting into me for what seems like forever. 
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#SerialPlaylist - Fleetwood Mac - Silver Springs 

8/26/2015

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#SerialPlaylist - Metallica - Die, Die, My Darling 

8/23/2015

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In the Bedroom in #Vegas - Part Two

8/21/2015

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in the bedroom 
part two

            The cigarettes burns in the ashtray, smoke drifting into my eyes while I ponder my assistant's constant questions about my husband. Lifting the whiskey bottle to my lips, I drink and a fresh wave of heat fills my stomach. This virgin boy digging stares into my eyes, ignoring naked flesh disturbs me. Men never miss a chance to touch and caress and more with eager hungry all-consuming desire...but not this boy. 

            His leg touches my skin and yet what he wants, pesters me for are my thoughts, memories, and hidden meanings I attempt to bury in the stories I write. Breasts on display and he cares not...

            "I can't speak of his novel. I can't." Crushing out the cigarette, I light another and tap my phone to change the music. The familiar sad melody brings relief and I close my eyes, fading into comfortable melancholy. 

            "Speak of something, because the silence..."

            He studies my body, fists clenching and gripping the notebook, knuckles turning white with effort. I can't help smiling that my flesh does test and torment him after all, payback for digging into the painful doors of locked memories in my brain. 

            "Do you want me to put on a robe?" 

           "Yes," he says as if that's what's been on his mind rather than prying at my secrets.

            Taking a deep drag and blowing a smoke ring, I wink at him. "I want you to stop asking about my husband. You'll live longer if you pay more attention to my body and less to poking around playing head doctor."

            "The instructions George gave me contradict..." He begins to speak, but I interrupt by placing my hand on his lap and squeezing the hard tent in his jeans. 

            "Do not argue with me." He nods in agreement and I release my grip on him. "Are you suggesting I kill men without reason?"

            "No..." he stammers and again I stop him, squeezing until a yelp escapes his lips.

            "But you did. I said pay attention to my body rather than mess with my mind. How could anything George said to you contradict that? I kill rapists. Unless you plan on violating me in some manner, having sex with me won't lead to your death. Stop fucking believing everything you read in the newspaper." 

            Rolling off the bed, I yank the drawer open in my nightstand and grab my pipe. Taking three quick hits in succession, I wait until the anger clears from my brain before looking at him. He body shakes and I wonder if it's from fear or desire. The thought going through his brain must be some variation of I'm not leaving this room alive.

            "Smoke," I say, tossing the pipe and joining him on the bed. He takes several hits and I grab the glass jar of weed to refill the pipe. "Are you afraid of sex with women or just me?" 

            With a sigh he takes the jar and begins to pack the pipe with fresh weed. Moments tick into minutes and the song loops on and on, keeping a steady sadness in the room.

what the hell have i https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qKXIk45pL0o

Posted by Ella Thomas on Wednesday, August 19, 2015
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#SerialPlaylist Alice in Chains - What the Hell Have I

8/20/2015

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what the hell have i https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qKXIk45pL0o

Posted by Ella Thomas on Wednesday, August 19, 2015
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The 95th Anniversary of the Ratification of the 19th Amendment - Never Forget

8/18/2015

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For most of recorded human history - women were second class citizens or worse, had no rights at all. It's only been 95 years since women won the right to vote. There has yet to be a women elected president. The victory is not complete until women achieve a majority of elected representation. Women are 54% of voters and only 30% of elected representation at the Federal level. This must change.

If you think I'm saying men are the problem - that's *exactly* what I'm saying.
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in the library

8/16/2015

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in the library

            George serves me a martini before taking leave of the library, the silence of the room broken by the ticking of a grandfather clock against the wall. Sipping the alcohol, I approach the nearest bookshelf, loving the sound my heels make against the cherry wood floor. I put my palm against the spines of books and close my eyes. So many words and thoughts and emotions inside the volumes, but can't write this evening. Inspiration escapes me, leaving me with the regret of how the conversation went with my assistant this morning. 

            He peppers me with questions about Ray, but can this boy handle the truth? Opening my eyes, I remove a thin volume from the row of books in front of me. Preface to a Suicide. I can't look at the book without feeling emotion, a single tear collecting in the corner of my eye. Sipping the martini, I allow the tear to fall down my cheek without bothering to wipe it from my face. 

            Placing my drink on the square end table made of marble, I open the book and read the words of the first page. 

            Dedicated to Ella Thomas, with love. 

            "And I will always mean it. All of my love, Ella," I hear Ray speak, his voice close enough to feel against the back of my neck. Shutting my eyes again, his arms envelop my waist and pull me against his body. Warm lips touch my skin and I drop the book onto the table next to my martini. Ray spins me into a tight embrace and suddenly we dance to silent music, a slow waltz. Letting him lead me, my heels click while he turns me round the floor. 

            A laugh escapes my lips and the rare emotion I recognize as happiness bubbles in my veins. "My love."

            Hands grip my hair and pull my mouth to meet his, a warm tender kiss stops our dancing. He tastes of cigar and vanilla and for a moment, my mind swims with pleasure. My heels lift off the floor and I'm in his arms, giggling while he twirls me and sings a nonsense ballad I do not recognize. 
O my Carmen, my little Carmen! 
Something, something those something nights
And the stars, and the cars, and the bars and the barmen--
And, O my charmin’, our dreadful fights.
And the something town where so gaily, arm in
Arm, we went, and our final row
And the gun I killed you with, O my Carmen
The gun I am holding now
            "Will you sing to me forever?" I ask when the silent music stops and he sets my feet upon the floor. 

            "All the days of my life," he says. Pulling me close again his lips find mine, with more urgency, hands pulling at my dress. I melt into his ferocity and yield to it, happy to be in his arms.

            The moment stops in time and our passion transcends the place of this library in Vegas and stretches through the years back to Uxbridge where we first met. I remember his Firebird and driving on the highway going south to see his father. Those images flicker and a voice pulls me from my reverie. 

            "Ella. Are you okay, Ella?" I hear George's voice from the entrance to the library. "Do you want me to make you another martini?

            "Yes, George. Please," I say. My voice fails and again more tears on my cheek as I rub my fingers over the cover of Preface to a Suicide.
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