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.”

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.

My Turn

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For Lindsay

  Just 10 minutes before, she’d come back from the Ladies Room, and discreetly dropped her green lace panties into his lap. Stuffing them in his jacket pocket, he escorted her from the restaurant, and scanned the street for the nearest place to push her up against a wall. A dimly lit alley provided the illusion of privacy. Hands and tongues probed, roughly; their breath became ragged, and flesh glowed in the warm air. She gasped as his fingers slid inside her. His lips, moving downward to kiss her neck, curved in a wicked smile.
  “My turn to tease,” he whispered.

I'm the Guy

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  I’m the guy who remembers little things you said six months ago – things you don’t even remember saying. I’m the guy who brags about how smart, and pretty, and funny you are. I’m the guy who sends “Good morning, Beautiful” texts, just to let you know I’m thinking about you. I’m the guy who tries to cheer you up after a bad day; who lives to see you smile; who’d bring you chicken noodle soup when you’re sick; who can talk about everything… and who knows when to say nothing.
  But, I’m never the guy you fall in love with.

What I Miss

 By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  Last night, I dreamt about you. Nothing momentous, or erotic; just an ordinary scene that faded quickly when I woke to the sadness of your absence, and the knowledge that I can’t even send you a “Good morning, Beautiful” text to enjoy the smile that – once upon a time – would have spread across your face when you realized I’m thinking about you. And, often, you’d send back a “blushing emoji,” because you don’t believe you’re beautiful. But, I’d say it every day – because it’s true – and I had hoped to make you understand it.
  That’s what I miss the most.

The Promise

By Bud Koenemund

A 100-word story

  Emilia entered the hall with a regal air, as if she were a queen granting an audience. The crowd hushed, stunned by her magnificence, then filled the room with murmurs, and discreet pleas for favor. Her dark, olive skin glistened; her smile painted blood red.

  Recognizing the shade, Will frowned. A week before, she’d deserted his bed before dawn – leaving behind a pair of lip prints; one on his stubbled cheek, the other inside and below his left hip bone.

  “You didn’t say goodbye,” he grumbled, when she approached.

  “I will tomorrow,” she returned, with a surreptitious wink. “I promise.”

A Plethora of Haiku to End the Year On

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