Spencer Moseley

His hands drifted over his body wherever they would and found a safe place. His hair smelled like salt and red roses. They danced together, swaying to the sound of the breeze. He imagined the pair of them slowly floating above the earth and standing on top of the sun, body to body, collecting the sun's heat. They would glow brighter and brighter and then had to return to earth to not burst into flame.  No one can spend that much time on the sun. He imagined catching the sun's rays and watching them turn to liquid gold in his hands. He imagined it was a smooth, thick liquid; and he and his partner covered themselves in it until they maintained the sun's glow without having to be on the sun itself.  They walked hand in hand all over the earth, collecting flowers together. For that was their life's purpose. God had told them so.  They multiplied the flowers. They multiplied the love they shared with every living being, man and beast.  Raccoons even got a taste of the su...

There was this fucking fairy. I'd created it to survey the lands and report back to me. But lately it would just fuck. I was lowkey jealous of how easily this fairy got pussy. Or dick. Or both at the same time. In weird positions. I watched like a creep as my creation galivanted around the hillsides just power fucking. Like what the fuck. Why wasn't I getting any but my stupid little fairy was Lord Dionysus himself? He'd report back to me and I pretended to find his findings helpful, "A wench at the Rusty Tavern says you're not a fit ruler," he'd say. Or, "Brenden the bold challenges you to a duel."  I hadn't the heart to tell him his "findings" sucked. I was self-aware enough to know that my anger was more at myself than my fairy. I hadn't the courage to approach damsels or knights and just straight up say things like, "you're hot, how would you like a toss in the hay?"  On the other hand, I felt that criticizing ...

Ya don't say! I said.  Why'd you say that? I asked myself. I anxiously did something weird with my hands. That must be what that bitch means by my anxious motions, I thought. Meh. She was right. I shouldn't feel so annoyed with her for just calling me out. Just felt like a power imbalance. Like she could correct me on shit but if I returned the favor, suddenly it's a problem. Even though her public speaking delivery was about as energized as a turtle who'd just hit a blunt.  Fortunatelyyyy Maggie didn't mind what I'd said and smiled and a small laugh slipped out. Not forced, I noticed. I liked how her smile was small on her face. Because her face was rather round and made her whole mouth look small. Like one of those weird paintings.  I gave her the ice cream cone that had slightly dripped on my thumb and she started licking it. I couldn't help feeling a little turned seeing her tongue like that. My brain immediately wandered. But then we sat down and ta...

He bent over, unsure if he wanted to be there but already committed. It was immediate, no buildup. He moaned. Not with pleasure. But with what he'd heard others do in videos. It seems right, he thought, pushing the man's chest to where the man was now on his back while he did the riding. It wasn't bad, but he wasn't getting much pleasure from the experience. At least, not as much as the man was. He reflected that it might be nice to hop off and get the man an Uber right then. But that felt selfish. He allowed things to continue. Then he lay back and let the man finish on his stomach. Now that was unpleasant.  The man kissed him, telling him how his noises had helped him get there. It felt like a pro sport post game interview. He nodded and smiled hoping it looked genuine. He didn't quite feel like he was in his body. Literally. He saw himself from the side of the bed and watched the man hovering over him, breathing heavily. He watched himself smile and could see fro...

He danced. And at one point it felt more like the music was moving him than like he was moving to the music. His necklace felt uncomfortable as the sweaty ends of his hair got caught in it as he thrashed around, but he hardly noticed. He had not felt this free in a long time. As thoughts of pursuing other girls subsided, all that was left was the music, occasional sips of vodka cranberry, and wondering what position the music would direct him to next. He swayed. He imagined girls being into his perceived carefree attitude. But I bet they can detect that too, he thought. Girls can always tell, huh. Then the DJ directed some bullshit line dance, and his rhythm broke. He felt discombobulated. He tried to keep up briefly through the first part of the song but to no avail. He panicked slightly too. But he calmed himself, remembering that the moment would pass and a better song would come on. Why did he panic so easily? he wondered. He shut his eyes and just swayed, knowing he must look sill...

You are not what I intended, Creator said. You're even better.  The humanoid's arms moved, exploring the dark room, lit only by the hallway light slipping through the cracks of a door.  I shall name you Steven, he said.  Steven did not acknowledge that but did fall off the cold steel operating table. He was oozing a yellow-white liquid, but Creator did not panic. He simply watched. Not indifferent.  Steven's arms shook as he lifted his humanoid frame, liquid dripping from his body. He crawled freakishly fast to the sliver of door light, and he started banging on the door. His screams sounded like a deaf man's. His eye scanner scanned the door. And rescanned several times. Finding no weaknesses, he sat down, breathing heavily.  It's okay, Steven. You are okay. Creator brushed his fingers through his dark brown goatee and a hint of a smile crept across his face.  It's time you explore the outside, he said. Creator's eye scanner made some self-checkout scannin...