Spencer Moseley

"You'll never find someone who fucks you as good as I do," she said, eyes closed, on top.  I've already had better , he thought, but, "true true," came out of his mouth.  "Mhm," she grinned, moving her hips faster as he pushed her into missionary. He smiled, pulled out, and squirted on her tits.  She stared at his cock until he withdrew to her side.  "That was so hot," she said.  "Yeah." Alex put his jeans on and left her apartment with his dog.  "See you back here later?" she asked.  "Of course," he said. "It's your birthday weekend. I'll call the Uber." "Ok, great." Alex set his keys on the dining room table back at his place, lit some incense, and opened his journal. He clicked his pen against his lower lip. How does she know she loves me? Do I love her or do I just like her a lot? Everyone else seems so confident in their relationships.  Alex grabbed groceries and walked around...

Eric blitzed through the Pho Saigon entrance and slowed to a swagger. He lifted his red shades at the small Vietnamese lady who quickly greeted him. "Vietnamese iced coffee and a pork sandwich," he said. His face fell when she didn't return his smile with a smile.  "Okay, $8.53." He raised his eyebrows and frowned a bit, searching his pockets for his wallet. He flicked her his Chase card. He only tipped 15% instead of his usual 20%. "Sit over there. 10 minutes," she said, pointing.  He found a different corner of the restaurant than where she pointed as a passive aggressive way to spite her. He found that the little things aggravated people more than the big things, and he especially liked it when he could explain his ways of annoying people as blunders rather than choices.  The other customers occasionally raised their eyes from slurping down bowls of pho to glance at him. Eric felt cornered and pulled out his phone. He busied himself on social media ...

I'm currently working on a short story that's taken me two months so far, and there's still more work to do. That's why I haven't posted here in a while. I can't say I've worked on it everyday, but I can say it's the hardest I've worked on any story in my life.  This blog will be unedited word vomit about my life today.  Uncertainty.  This one word shakes me to my core. It haunts me. As a person with high anxiety and a tendency to obsess, this reality of our human existence affects me in acute ways. And I'm happy to know that other people feel this way too.  I'm learning not to be fooled by those who say "I know what I want". They feel like they know what they want, and they make a decision to follow that feeling even when contradictory feelings arise from time to time. These folks are like "houses built on rocks" (some Jesus parable). And that's a good thing. With nothing to ground us, we become like leaves floating f...

 "For now we see through a glass darkly. But then shall we see face to face. Now I know in part. But then shall I know just as I also am known." -St. Paul (1 Corinthians 13:12) *********************************************************************************** Me: I started to realize I had thrown the baby out with the bathwater when I left religion. Now I see it as— Em: The baby out with the bathwater? Me: Yeah ( she must just now get how I'm using the metaphor ), I realize now that some of it was good. Like the music and some of the results of theology. Em: I really want to use that expression and take it home with me.  Me: *Pause* It's a common expression.  *Seeing she now realizes, to her embarrassment, that she already knew the expression* Ppppttttt HAHAHAHALAUGHLAUGHLAUGHLAUGHLAUGHLAUGHLAUGHLAUGH...  *********************************************************************************** I'm amazed that every human being is a walking cosmos of experience, emotion...

I had never seen so much snow. I struggled to avoid the drip of hot candle wax on my hands as we processed around the seminary grounds, re-living Mary and Joseph's search for an inn. I held a candle in one hand and the "Pidiendo Posada" song sheet in the other so I could join the choir singing verses like, Don’t be inhuman; Have mercy on us. The God of the heavens will reward you for it. As the song ended, we entered the seminary, lit only by candles. We said a prayer. A priest said, "Christ our King." Everyone responded, "Thy Kingdom Come." And the dining room burst with life. Waiters poured into the dining hall with platters stacked high with rack-of-lamb and pitchers brimming with strange, delicious drinks.  My dad sat across from me. We had flown in together for the "Christmas Program" where Middle School students could test out seminary life. After our flight landed, we had driven the rest of the way in a top-down Mustang, singing every ...

I ended Coldplay's Sky Full of Stars with a strong high note I was proud of.  "You already know you killed it," she told me as I walked past her from the karaoke stage.  "Haha, thank you!" I said, giving her a fist bump. Her dark hair drew me in. "I'm Spencer," I said.  "I'm Maya," she said. The dive bar was poppin', so I sauntered about with compliments like "I love your hair," or "You should be selling out concerts." Some scoffed but most talked.  "Blow it in my face," I told an older lady vaping. She told me she lived an hour away before she inhaled. Then she breathed coconut-strawberry goodness into my face, and I bought a round of lemon drops for the group. She gave me and Maya her number. She gave me fuck-me-eyes. "I doubt she'll remember I texted her," said Maya.  "Uh huh," I said. Every couple songs I would crack a joke with Maya, careful to include her male companion....

I took quick steps to the break room, knowing one my coworker would catch up if I was too slow.  "Headin' to the fridge?" one asked as I opened the fridge door. "Yeah," I said, grabbing my lunchbox. The fridge smelled like deviled eggs and sandwich meats. I took my time, but my coworkers waited by the elevators. "Oh y'all could've gone down," I said.  "We wouldn't leave without you," they replied. I grimaced. All of our microwaves take three minutes. Three fucking minutes. Even with napkins I can't hardly touch my glass tupperware without burning a fingertip. Damn thin napkins. The lunch conversation dragged. I tried to pick it up with an off-color joke. It was met with discomfort, but I managed a pained smile. "But what do you guys think about Hiroshima?" a coworker asked.  I remained silent, my pained smile becoming more painful.  "I think it made the Japanese think twice," said another.  I piled my greas...