Erased

By Bud Koenemund

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

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.

Addict

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For Demi.

  He’ll tell you that he has recovered. That he’s clean and sober. That it’s been 10 years since his last relapse. And, he’ll admit that’s all a lie. He knows that he’s an addict. He will always be an addict. The desire; the craving; the itch never goes away. He can feel it creeping in the dark corners of his mind. No matter how long he’s been clean, the temptation doesn’t fade – will never fade completely. He fights battles every day – sometimes every minute. Most he wins; some he loses. But, the next day, he gets up to fight again.

Reflection

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For James

  Pale moonlight filtered through the dirty window panes, supplementing the meager illumination provided by half a dozen candles. The ancient Medium shuffled to her table – the movement stirring up dust which drifted in the gloom. Taking a seat before her crystal ball, she waved her hands back and forth over it, calling for an image to appear. Her old eyes struggled to focus. Finally, she recognized the dark figure – one she'd seen here many times. A moment later, she realized this was no vision, but a reflection from behind.
  "I've been waiting for you," she sighed, "...for a long time."

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.

Teased

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

"Let me cum," she begged.

And, I, being mean, teased her

a little bit more.

All

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

My flesh craves your touch.

My tongue desires your taste.

But, my soul wants all.

Two More Haiku for Lindsay

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

Creation

Your inspiration

drives my imagination

to create this art.

Repentance

My sin lies in thee:

concupiscent desire;

which I repent not.

War

By Bud Koenemund

A Haiku

For Lindsay

Impure thoughts flourish,

even as fantasy wars

'gainst reality.

Control

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  “I’m in control this time,” she cooed, pushing him into a chair.
  Her hands, clad in elbow-length, black satin opera gloves, slid off his shoulders as she knelt between his legs.
  “Are you?” he countered.
  “Mmmm, hmmm,” she murmured.
  He reached out to touch her, but she swatted his hand.
  “Be good, or I’ll stop,” she ordered.
  “You know what happens when you tease me,” he warned.
  She dragged her fingers across his stomach, and clawed his inner thighs. He let out a low growl. She knew she didn’t have long before he’d take over… just as she wanted.

You

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  “Whatcha thinkin’ about,” she asked.
  “You,” he said, quietly.
  “Me?” she returned. “What about me?”
  “About kissing you,” he admitted.
  “Well, then,” she mused, “why don’t you?”
  “Because I wanted it to be perfect,” he said. “Not rushed.”
  She stared at him, silently contemplating his words.
  “But,” he continued, “I just realized that any place you are; any time we’re together, is perfect. And, I don’t want to waste it. Life is too short to not let you know how I feel.”
  “So,” she offered, “show me.”
  His hand came up to cup her warm cheek as he leaned closer.

Two Haiku for a Girl with Green Eyes

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

I

My words, which delight,

take their birth in your eyes; thus

you spark your own joy.

II

Is't lust or madness -

blind chance or fate - that my words

dwell in your green eyes?

Lust in the Time of Coronavirus

By Bud Koenemund

Quarantine with me.
Let's get naked and ignore
"social distancing."

Stand

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  Even as the fighting ended, peace still seemed like an ethereal dream; something that would slip through your fingers like cigarette smoke. The silence was surreal. The sound of gunfire and explosions, aircraft and dying men faded, replaced by…nothing; not even wind blowing across a wrecked landscape.

  Five minutes ago, they'd been at war – now they weren't. They’d run hunched over; sat huddled in bunkers; crouched in foxholes; ducked, crawled, and dove.

  For the first time he could remember, he stood up; stretching to his full height. He'd been a soldier all his adult life.

  “Now what?” he asked.

Sweet Nothings

A Love Letter in Haiku Form - For National Poetry Writing Month 2017

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

I

Oh, sweet green-eyed muse;

thy emerald beauty has

beguiled my pen.

II

What words could I use

to tempt your heart as you have

enchanted my own?

III

Would my feeble pleas

serve to entice elegance,

or prove me a fool?

IV

Desire cannot

be expressed in verse alone.

Still, the soul must speak.

V

While I lack talent

with speech, these tributes to thee

spring forth unimpaired.

VI

Though I fear the flames

lust has kindled will consume

me, passion rises.

VII

I long to enjoy

the touch of your lips ‘gainst mine –

a divine union.

VIII

I beg caresses;

to feel the warmth of your skin

under my fingers.

IX

I yearn to lay close,

our limbs entangled, as we

whisper endearments.

X

The sanctuary

I seek rests in your bosom;

exquisite solace.

XI

Lady, I live in

faint hope of someday holding

your soft hand in mine.

XII

These creations live

by thy inspiration, and

wither in neglect.

XIII

Though weak lines cannot

match your radiance, I pray

they will woo thy heart.

San Diego

By Bud Koenemund

A 100-word story

  After San Diego, the President went a little crazy. It was understandable. Maybe even expected. And, on some level, forgivable. His parents lived – had lived – near the Navy base. Friends and advisors tried to bring some solace by assuring him it had ended quickly for them. But, he knew they’d never really be sure about that.

  A dozen terrorist organizations claimed responsibility. The CIA narrowed it down to one group – with, they said, 73 percent certainty. With a three in four chance of being right, 20 B-2 bombers lifted off from Whiteman AFB in Missouri, and disappeared into the night.