The boy band moves like happy sexy machines. Trent lifts his hands over his head like he’s blocking so many beach balls. Rex snaps his fingers low and fast in front of his pecs, and Mark sings behind his drum kit. Cameron gets low to the ground and thrusts his hips. The women in the audience, our vaginas get wet. All our dicks in the stadium get hard. Trent’s dick gets hard for Cameron, and Cameron can tell. They make eye contact with each other and it’s like a spark of sex, like a sex spark has crossed between them, over the rainbow-lit-up dance floor, under the fireworks exploding overhead, in front of the tall screen showing Rex’s face while he’s singing. The song ends and the stage goes dark.

Read the rest of my short story about pop stars and journalism and mob psychology at Joyland Magazine!