Sunshine and Rain

By Bud Koenemund

You, Love, are sunshine.
I’m rain. But, I am content,
for flowers need both.

All Over Again

By Bud Koenemund

I think about you

every day. And, miss you

all over again.

The Inevitability of Things

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

Inspired by Christina Alvarado

  He’s always there. Always following. Steadily gaining ground. Inexorably closing in.
  Too often, he’s forgotten in the rush of life – until he visits someone close, and we’re reminded of the inevitability of things.
  He arrives without joy or malice. He makes no bargains for more time. He expects acceptance, though he is never surprised when people attempt escape.
  I turn quickly, trying to catch a glimpse. He is standing in the shadows. Not hiding – that’s not his way. Moonlight glints off the blade of his scythe.
  “Memento mori,” he whispers.
  I give a knowing nod, and turn to walk on.

The Devil and the Darkness

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For M.

  Michelle had a boyfriend she loved. But – from time to time – she needed to see Brian. He wasn’t a friend with benefits… not exactly. Brian was, she thought, the Devil. Somehow, he knew her darkest desires. Often, she felt shame at the disgusting things he made her do – acts she would never reveal to another living soul. Then, she’d admit to herself that he never forced her to do anything, and that she enjoyed the way he made her cum over and over. She’d feel the warm tingle between her legs and pick up her phone to call him again.

Retreat

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For "Her."

  His eyes were drawn to her instantly. Like a firefly in the dark, she was a brilliant flash in the gloom. Catching sight of him, she waved. Memories flooded his brain: how he'd craved her like a drug; the indescribable pain of her leaving; how he'd desperately clung to shreds of sanity while hoping she'd come back, and how she did – more times than he'd admit – only to abandon him once he'd surrendered again. In that moment, his heart realized – finally, reluctantly, accepting – loving her would always end that way. He managed a weary smile, then turned to walk away.

Confessions

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  Every eye in the hall turned to seek the source of the explosion of laughter filling the air. Their attention focused on the most beautiful woman in the room – suddenly the most beautiful woman in the world – clinging tightly to his right arm. Her smile, and the slowly fading giggles she struggled to control, ignited a fire in his soul, and proved that she was the right one for him.
  Just moments before, she’d leaned close and whispered, “I’m not wearing panties tonight.”
  He’d carefully considered this confession for a second, gazed into her eyes, and said, “Neither am I.”

Love

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Exposition

  Love begins as the most perfect, pure thing in the whole world. Maybe in the entire universe. But, loving someone – even purely – is imperfect. Being loved by someone is imperfect. Doubt creeps in, weaving through every thought and action; playing tricks on the mind. Its shadow gathers – unnoticed, at first – ‘til trust and affection are obscured in darkness; strangled in a shroud of gloom.
  Once tarnished – its purity sullied – that perfection is lost forever. And, while love may be discovered again – may be tried and treasured – the heart knows its flaws. Still, despite contamination, our hearts long for love again.

Two Haiku

By Bud Koenemund

How Long?

How long does it take
to identify a face
you know like your own?


Forever

Someone tell my heart
Forever is a long time.
It won’t heed my brain.

Erased

By Bud Koenemund

Vows are only words;
powerless ‘gainst desire:
erased by passion.

A Sunday DM

By Bud Koenemund

  Oh, boy! What a message (received on my Tumblr page: "What Are You Really Afraid Of?") to awaken to on a Sunday morning (well, OK, a Sunday early afternoon).

  As I read through this mess -- three times -- I was torn between simply ignoring it or wasting my time answering it. I decided I'd have to at least make an attempt.

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

hairyforceone   What? Well there are some things. The imbalance of sexualities causing millions of people physically impossible of finding a relationship. These are mostly men. I know that you hate men and you would rather see them dying out than have any empathy for them. (Because you are cruel beings)
  There are no women left for men. There are too many lesbians who take up all the women leaving nothing behind for heterosexual men.    You transform the growing up generations into being more lesbian. Women seem to be more susceptible for these actions than men. This causes the imbalance. A lesbian couple means two men doomed to loneliness. And there are a shitload of lesbians.
  Now please educate me about how someone’s sexual identity cannot be changed by linking the RESEARCH where they identified WHAT gene or anything is what determines sexuality. Thank you.   So the rising number of lesbians among women could be a result of a more open society OR the successful propaganda your kind have made.   Luckily we have the opportunity to ask older women about their feelings whether or not now that they have the same freedom of choice as their younger counterparts if they want to live their inner lesbian feelings and leave their husbands or not.   They were not under gender and sexual propaganda when they were young so asking them would clearly resolve the issue of today’s rising lesbian numbers regarding the loudness of the lgbtqabcdefg+-/# propaganda. The last question remains, why do you want to change the world? Why do you want to cause harm to millions of heterosexual men by making millions of women incompatible with them? Why? Really why? I want to know why are you so heartless for ignoring literally half of humanity’s problems? What is the benefit of doing this? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------   Well, HairyForceOne; let's set the record straight: I don't hate men. I am a man. I am, in fact, a Straight man -- a fact I've never hidden on this blog. I'm Straight, but not narrow. As I'm sure I've made clear on this blog, I believe everyone should be who they are, and -- within age and consensual limits -- love who they love.
  My "propaganda" is education. It's knowledge and understanding gained during my years on this planet. My "kind," as you refer to me, accepts people who are different. I don't hate people simply because they love differently, or pray differently, or look different, or even if they root for the Yankees. (OK, maybe the Yankee thing is an exception.)

  You sound as if you believe women owe you sex: "There are no women left for men." "There are too many lesbians who take up all the women leaving nothing behind for heterosexual men." "A lesbian couple means two men doomed to loneliness." "Why do you want to cause harm to millions of heterosexual men by making millions of women incompatible with them?" "I want to know why are you so heartless for ignoring literally half of humanity’s problems?"
  Let me be very clear here: WOMEN DON'T OWE YOU SHIT! They are not responsible for making sure you're not "doomed to loneliness." And, I'm pretty sure that your inability to get laid does not constitute "half of humanity's problems."

  This might be news to you, but women are real, live, actual people. They have their own thoughts, and beliefs, and dreams, and goals. They are not required to be at your beck and call, and serve your every whim.

  There aren't more lesbians today than in older generations. They, along with others in the LGBTQ+ community, simply have more freedom to express who they are. Today, they are more accepted for who they are -- unlike in the past when people would be arrested and jailed for going to a gay bar; or for having consensual sex with someone of the same sex.

  No one is transforming women into lesbians. They are who they are. Maybe they know it early in life; maybe it takes years to realize it; maybe they never realize/accept it. But, it's their life.

  Educate you? No. I know your type. I could attach a dozen links researching what determines sexuality, but you'd ignore every one. You'd dismiss my research because it would prove you wrong. Educate yourself, Hairy. There are plenty of search engines you can use. I'd recommend searching for reputable sites, with peer-reviewed data. But, I suspect -- if you do any research -- you'll only believe sites which confirm your own beliefs.

  Why do I want to change the world? Because I believe it can be changed! Because things can be better. Because we can be better. Too many people walk around hating others because of issues they have in their own mind. You can't get laid; so, obviously, that's the fault of lesbians. But it's not. It's your fault. Let me say that again, because it's important. IT'S. YOUR. FAULT! Look in the mirror. Your message screams "Women owe men sex." News flash, pal; they don't.

  Perhaps, instead of complaining about lesbians, you should improve yourself. Try becoming a person someone would want to have a relationship with.

White Claw Lies (a song)

Lyrics by Bud Koenemund
Music (to be determined)

For Jenna

I can’t help but answer when she calls.
I know what she wants, but I can’t resist;
she begs, and pleads to come over,
and my ever hopeful heart will insist.
I’ll enjoy the trace of watermelon
still lingering on her soft lips,
and the intoxicating way that demon
drink makes her swing those hips.

[Chorus] Her coming here throws gas on embers that never burned out;
               But, I can’t blame her. We both know it’s my flaw;
               Re-igniting flames that’ll only warm one of us.
               No, it ain’t the whiskey I’m singing about;
               it’s not beer, gin, or even that damned tequila;
               it’s her White Claw lies that’ll leave me a mess.

I don’t know how many she’s had, but
she’ll be mine again, for a little while.
I oughta say no; be strong and save myself,
but my strength fades every time I see that smile.
There’s no doubt it’s a mistake to let her in.
But, her arms wrap around me as she floats through the door,
and, in an instant, I’m all hers again
before her pretty sundress even hits the floor.

[Chorus]

She’ll fulfill the promises she made on the street;
driving me wild, and messin’ up my sheets.
But, momentary happiness only leads to sorrow
when, it’s no surprise, she’s gone tomorrow.
She’ll slip away before the sun comes up;
leaving me all alone, and beggin’,
knowing I shouldn’t have believed her,
after those White Claw lies fooled me again.

[Chorus]

I can’t help but answer when she calls…

I Know Your Fantasies

By Bud Koenemund

A 200 Word Story

  “I want to be loved and respected,” she said.
  “You deserve that,” he replied. “Someone who will make sure you’ve eaten, and that you get enough sleep; who sends you ‘good morning, beautiful’ texts, and tells you to be careful when you leave the house.”
  She stared at him.
  “But,” he continued, “I’ve seen your social media accounts. I’ve seen the stuff you ‘Like’ and re-blog, and I know what you really want. I know your fantasies.”
  “I…” she began.
  “You want to be dominated,” he interrupted. “You want to be controlled; tied up; handcuffed; gagged; used; slapped; spanked, and called names.”
  “Oh, my God,” she moaned, quietly.
  “You want someone to pull your hair, and wrap their hand around that pretty neck of yours,” he growled, not pausing. “And, you want to be fucked hard until you can’t even think.”
  Her gaze fell to the floor and she blushed.
  “Look at me,” he commanded.
  Hesitantly, she complied.
  “And, after all that,” he said, “you want to be cared for, and cuddled to sleep.”
  His fingers slid between her legs; brushing her inner thighs.
  “If you want me to stop, say so,” he whispered. “Otherwise, you’re my little whore now.”

Fever Dream Redux

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For Lindsay

  JFK to Paris is a long flight. He’d picked these seats purposefully: last row; a red-eye. Once the plane leveled off, she requested a blanket. After covering them both, she smiled as he nodded.
  His fingers slipped between her legs, tracing along her inner thigh; then pressing against her clit through the wet-look pleather leggings she’d worn because she likes how he stares at her when she does. Her mouth fell open in a gasp.
  He enjoyed knowing she’d struggle to remain silent as he made her cum several times. Then she’d sleep well for the rest of the flight.

Fever Dream

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

Joining the club:
a mile high; watching you
squirm in ecstasy.

The Sundress

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For Lindsay

  Sunlight spilled through the windows – the open blinds creating geometric patterns on the floor. She leaned back, lounging on a hardwood chair. Legs spread. The folds of her cotton sundress piled between her thighs. It played tricks on his eyes. Perhaps it was the heat… or his drink.
  She traced the top of her tumbler with a forefinger as ice cubes clinked. Droplets formed by condensation crept downward, dripping onto her leg – wetting the flesh just above her knee.
  He watched as she swirled the brown liquid, then drank it down. She stared at him for a moment then smiled.

Trapped

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  She was trapped and she knew it. He stared at her; waiting for an answer. Remaining silent wasn’t an option. Nor, could she equivocate by saying “Whatever would make you happy, Sir.” He’d made it sound like she had a choice, but she knew he was only teasing her… testing her. The handcuffs dangled from a forefinger, swaying back and forth in front of her face; reflecting light into her eyes.
  Slowly, her trepidation turned to anticipation as she remembered how many times he’d made her cum last time.
  “Please handcuff me, Sir,” she purred.
  He smiled as he stood.

Torture

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For Lindsay

  He loved to torture her; making her cum in public. In dangerous places; where they might be caught. Here, on the dark balcony, with people inside, talking and laughing. Her ass rubbed against him as she squirmed. He had one strong hand between her legs; the other on her chest, holding her so she wouldn’t collapse.
  “Oh, God,” she rasped.
  Her right hand clapped over her mouth as if trying to capture the words that had just escaped.
  “Quiet,” he whispered, smiling. “Or, do you want them to come out and see what a desperate, wet, little slut you are?”

Tell Me What You Want

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For Lindsay

  Even as he dominated her, she could sense his care – desire and respect, control and freedom – all at once. One hand twisted her hair; the other thrust between her legs – fingers roughly manipulating her clit.
  She squirmed, but his body pressed her against the wall; both pinning her in place, and preventing her from falling as she writhed. His lips trailed over her neck while she moaned.
  “Tell me what you want,” he whispered, breaking contact.
  She fought for the breath to form words.
  “Tell me,” he repeated. “Or, I’ll stop.”
  Her body shuddered.
  “Please…” she panted. “I need to…”

Love

By Bud Koenemund

I'm constantly torn

between revelation and

self-preservation.

Madness

By Bud Koenemund

Images tease me;

driving imagination

closer to madness.