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.

Revelation

By Bud Koenemund

  He slouched on a park bench as heavy flakes of snow fell. Forcing his eyes open, he tried to watch them descend through the muted, yellow illumination of gaslights lining the walkway before him. The agony in his chest, however, made it difficult to focus on anything beyond taking the next breath.
  Blood trickled over his stomach in thin rivulets, soaking his shirt and pants. It dripped to the concrete below and quickly froze. Hearing movement behind him, he tried to turn, but a lightning bolt of pain ripped through his upper body.
  “Is that you, Yuri?” he asked the darkness.
  “Da,” a voice answered.
  “I figured it out,” he said. “Just too late.”
  “Always trust your gut,” Yuri said. “This is what you Americans say, is it not?”
  “I’ll remember that next time,” he said, with a laugh that devolved into a choking cough.
  “For you, my friend, I fear there will be no next time,” Yuri replied, taking a seat on the bench opposite his.
  He nodded, but remained silent for nearly a minute.
  “How did you find me?” he asked, finally.
  “This is your favorite place,” Yuri answered.
  His head lifted drunkenly.
  “How do you know that?” he asked.
  “Matthew,” Yuri clucked, “give me some credit, please.”
  He drooped at the sound of his real name.
  “We’ve learned much about you over the years,” Yuri assured him.
  Yuri stood and slowly approached him.
  “Perhaps it is fitting our little game ends here,” Yuri said, removing a pistol from his coat.
  Matt thought of the girl he’d kissed, right here on this bench – the first real kiss for both of them. Her face materialized in his mind: her curly red hair; striking blue eyes. He’d loved her, and told her so. She’d requited the sentiment. It was love before either truly knew what love is.
  “Goodbye…” Yuri began.
  Matt didn’t hear the shot. But, the thud of a large caliber bullet striking a human body, and the sickening sound of the air being forced out of Yuri’s lungs, was unmistakable. For a moment, a confused look twisted Yuri’s face. He staggered backward, his arms went limp, and he crumpled to the ground.
  “Goodbye, Yuri,” Matt wheezed.
  “You are a fool,” a female voice said.
  “I’ve never been accused of being very smart,” he said.
  “Letting him shoot you, though?” she mused.
  “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time,” he joked.
  The woman stepped out of the shadows.
  “Hello, Lyla,” Matt groaned.
  “You Americans…” she said, “always so foolishly heroic.”
  “That’s us,” he agreed.
  “Hmmm… at least you helped us uncover the traitor,” she admitted.
  “You’re welcome,” he said.
  “You should get to the hospital before you bleed out,” Lyla advised.
  Three men joined them in the light. Without a word, they retrieved Yuri’s gun; then lifted his body and carried it away. Lyla followed them into the gloom.
  “Oh, no; don’t worry,” Matt called out; struggling to stand. “I can make it on my own.”

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.

Semicolon

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

  Her mouth moved along his collarbone; planting gentle kisses as she went. Sliding over his shoulder, she spied a tattoo. Even in the dim light, she recognized the symbol.
  “What’s this?” she asked, quietly.
  He turned his head to see what she meant.
  “It’s a semicolon,” he answered.
  “I know that,” she said, her fingertips brushing over the ink. “But, why?”
  “It’s a punctuation mark used to carry on when you could’ve just ended things,” he explained. “And, some people use it to remember.”
  “Remember what?” she prodded, then realized. “Did you…”
  “I carried on,” he whispered, pulling her closer.

Mutual Assured Destruction

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For B.

  They keep their distance. As if by some unspoken mutual agreement, maintaining a safe separation; knowing they are two chemicals that when combined would react violently; building heat until annihilation. They trade surreptitious glances; looking away, not to appear reluctant, but fearing others might recognize the burning desire in their gaze; leading to a worse – more public – destruction. They lust in painful silence – vainly struggling against the concupiscent gravity pulling them together; hungry to touch, to taste, to envelope each other fully; wanting only to surrender to their forbidden passion; even if the price of that fantasy would prove cataclysmic.

Pale Moonlight Memory

By Bud Koenemund

A 100 Word Story

For M.

  We know each other, now, only “on-line;” trading “Likes;” sharing memes, and the occasional message to say “hi.” But, when she posted a tweet joking about her pale skin, my memory took me back more than 25 years; to a tiny kitchen filled with bright moonlight; her naked body luminescent in the beams flooding through the window: glowing like some ethereal being caught, if only briefly, in an unworthy mortal’s sight. I recall the warmth of her flesh – an almost incandescent heat – when we touched, and the regret of a moment that can never be recaptured… except in my mind.

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.”

Santa

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

Crawl onto my lap.
Whisper your naughty wishes.
We’ll make each come true.