Consent

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  “Why don’t you touch me?” she asked, once the elevator door closed and they were alone.
  “Excuse me,” he returned.
  “Every other man here touches me as they walk past,” she said. “My back; or my shoulders; as they move around me.”
  For several moments, he remained silent.
  “I would never put my hands on you without your consent,” he said, finally.
  “And, if I gave you my consent?” she asked, stepping toward him.
  “Then, I would put my hand on your cheek, tilt your head up, and kiss you,” he whispered, staring into her eyes.
  The door slid open.

Desire

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  Music thunders as we stumble through the back door – clearly marked “No Exit” – finding a dimly lit alley. Surrounded by millions, we two alone exist in this momentary solitude. Mouths mash together; tongues dance; limbs entangle; fingers tear at clothing, fumbling with enclosures.

  “Do it,” you cry; consent, plea, and command all at once.

  Eyes locked on mine, you spin to face the wall; tugging the fabric of your dress, bunching it at your waist. Pounding bass pulsates through our bodies. Flesh and souls merge; moans echo in the darkness. Trembling; plunging steadily deeper, as desire transforms two into one.

There Once was a Man from Verona...

  I wrote this limerick (my first - and probably last) for the St. Patrick's Day contest on a local radio station. It didn't win, but that's just as well; The Mad Limerickeer just doesn't have the same ring as The Mad Sonneteer.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

There once was a man from Verona,
Whose wife was a bit of a stonah.
He caught her in bed
With a dealer named Ted,
And, now he lives all alonah.

A Plethora of Haiku to End the Year On

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.