The Phoenix Rises

Struck by the sight of an exotic bird while tree climbing, Wesley is left with an experience that haunts his dreams. But the bird is something far more than what Wesley could have ever imagined. In fact, the bird isn’t a bird at all. It’s a phoenix, a rare and magical creature who has been bonded with Wesley and can take the form of a man. After a while, Wesley falls in love for the phoenix named Shojuno. But with the world turning against the phoenix, can Wesley make the love he feels inside him grow? Or will the greed of man end Wesley’s relationship with Shojuno before it’s even begun?

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The Phoenix Rises Copyright © 2010 Mark Alders Cover art by Angela Waters All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. Published by eXtasy Books Look for us online at: www.eXtasybooks.com

The Phoenix Rises

By

Mark Alders

Dedication For my Family

here was a brush of wind, a flash of red feathers and a moment of blindness as Wesley lost his footing. He reached out instinctively, grappling onto the nearest tree branch, only to be showered with loose bark and leaves as he cursed his own folly. What was that? He regained his balance, fearful even speaking would send him plummeting to his death. Holding tight to the trunk of the great ghost gum he spent all day climbing and exploring, shaking like the leaves on the branches he disturbed, he craned his neck to see what had frightened him. Or have I frightened it? Wesley contemplated as he looked down. His stomach churned as vertigo took hold. First rule of climbing, don’t look down. Don’t look down. As he tried to compose himself, he heard it. A sound that snapped him out of his thoughts and beckoned his attention once more. It was like a trumpet blasting, but more lilting, more natural than one made by man. It was like it was being blown by an angel, and the angelic breath permeated through the note to give it a physical

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quality. It was beautiful. Twisting his neck toward the direction of the sound, still clinging to the tree, he saw to his amazement the animal who made the sound. It was a bird. A great bird, scarlet and glowing like the feathers themselves harboured life. He was struck by its beauty and he couldn’t tear his eyes from it. Likewise, with golden eyes of fire, the bird looked back at him. But not as any animal would look, with the want of something, rather, the fire-bird looked into Wesley on an intimate level. It was as if it understood him. He could only smile in reply, frightened that even that small gesture may scare the bird away. Too late. With a flutter of graceful feathers and the musical trumpet-like sound, the bird was gone. Wesley closed his mouth and began the long climb to the ground. A yearning to see the bird again gripped him like a choke hold as he descended. The next day, as soon as the sun’s rays peeked over the forest’s canopy, Wesley returned to the ghost gum. It was a stunning white magnificence that defied everything around it by its size. To him, its roots united the Earth and its leaves held up the heavens. Its peaceful branches were his salvation from the busy world beyond the forest, a world where he had to endure his 2

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everyday life as an eighteen year-old fashion shop assistant and the endurance of those that didn’t understand him. Even his last boyfriend, Alfonse turned out to be a complete jerk, only wanting him as his handbag, his arm candy to be paraded around like an object. Wesley shook his head and began the long climb to the spot where he saw the fire-bird yesterday. Hoping and praying as he did so that he would encounter it once more. As he pulled himself up onto the branch he had nearly slipped from yesterday, he felt a presence. His eyes focused from the closest branch to what lay beyond, and as he edged his way onto the limb, he saw what it was he was hoping to, the fire-bird. This time he swore it was waiting for him. “What are you?” he squeaked, not only breathless from the physical exertion of the climb, but also elated by the discovery. The bird replied with its trumpet call and a flexing of its wings, spreading them out so that they stretched beyond his vision. As he watched the bird extend its wings to reveal its breast, he noticed its golden feathers rippled with energy like waters on a disturbed pool. Now on the branch with the bird, he clambered to his feet, careful not to lose his footing and to make sure he was holding onto the trunk for support. Watching the bird parade itself, he saw 3

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the colours change with each wave of force the bird produced from its feathers. Scarlet, gold, magenta, ochre, crimson and then back again. It was magnificent, a kaleidoscope of colours, transforming, shifting and moving right before his eyes. His jaw fell open, awed by it. A spilt second later, as if startled by something unseen, the bird took flight. All that remained was the echo of its call through the forest and the empty feeling Wesley felt once it had disappeared from sight. After work the next day, he climbed the shining white tower that was his favourite tree, only to be disenchanted to learn the fire-bird was not waiting for him. He sat in the crutch of the branch for as long as he dared before night fell, only to remain saddened. The fire-bird didn’t appear. As he climbed down, tears welled in his eyes, he couldn’t help it. He so wanted to see the bird again. Once on the leafy ground, he wiped his face quickly with his shirt sleeve before they rolled down his cheeks. That night, his dreams were flashes of scarlet and golden feathers mingled with that wonderful trumpeting. As he dreamt, feelings of warmth overcame him, like he was taking a bath and someone or something was sponging him gently, delicately. He heard himself moan with pleasure as the dream carried his hopes until morning, his warm fluid covering his stomach as he sank into a 4

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deep sleep. Every day for a week, Wesley returned to the tree. Whether out of excitement or desperation, he had to see the fire-bird one more time, to absorb its radiance and to wonder at its beauty again. To see it again would fulfil his desires, he just knew it would. Even if he skipped a day off work, he needed to see the fire-bird. If he were to never witness its beauty again, how could he just keep on dreaming? Even dreams waned if not reinforced. For more than a month the fire-bird remained elusive. Every day that passed, Wesley lost something inside. Only those fleeting dreams, fading like memories from childhood, kept the small spark of hope alive within him, like an ember kept a fire burning. “One day I will see you again,” he whispered to himself as he sunk down into his bed, pulling the blanket up to his eyes, ready for his dreams to take him away again. Dreams that had become cloudy with the passing of time, but nonetheless kept that small hope alive within him. Wesley had all but given up hope of ever seeing the fire-bird again. He had even given up climbing his beloved tree, deciding instead to stand in its shadow, looking up at what was once a cherished memory. The small hope that he clung to burned 5

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within his soul, and that hurt him more than anything else he knew or had ever known. “Will I ever see you again?” he whispered, his voice buckling under the weight of his emotions. He decided to climb the tree one last time. He didn’t know what compelled him to do so, it was like something was pulling at him, urging him onward. Gingerly placing his foot onto the first knot in the trunk, then pulling himself up, he continued onward and upward until he was on that branch again. For more than two hours he sat and watched, playing with the bark and twisting leaves in his fingers, waiting for the fires of his hopes to be re-ignited. Nothing came of it. He didn’t see his bird. All that was left was doubt. Did he really see such a creature? Was it just a fantasy? “But it couldn’t be,” he said as he threw a broken twig down in disgust. “It was real. I saw it. It has to be real. I believed in it. I’ve dreamt about it.” Melancholy replaced his faded hope and he began the long descent down to the ground, one foot down on the first natural ledge below the branch followed by the other. “You dreamt about what, Wesley?” He turned to the voice, catching himself before he lost his footing. Hearing those words frightened him more than anything. The last thing he 6

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expected was another person in the tree here with him. What he saw knocked the breath from his lungs, but not from shock, but rather complete elation. He saw the fire-bird. “Did you say something to me?” he replied, knowing it was stupid to do so even as he said it. Of course it spoke to him, it always had, in his dreams, for he now recognised the voice. “Follow me,” the bird said, the trumpeting sound echoing through its words. With that, it lifted with an electric pulse of feathered energy and spiralled down to the forest floor. Easy for you to say, I don’t have wings. Although, having thought that, Wesley realised he did indeed have wings, not physical ones as such, but wings that fanned the hope within him so that he could climb down with ease. He had seen his beloved fire-bird and he hummed with rekindled joy. He was at the base of the great ghost gum before he knew it. The fire-bird was patiently waiting for him in the shadow of the tree, emanating a power that pierced the dark. It watched carefully with those probing, golden eyes as he approached. “I have been waiting for you, Wesley,” it trumpeted. Wesley recoiled. “But I-I’ve been looking for you. Where have you been?” “I have always been here. You have not seen me 7

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until now.” “I don’t understand.” Wesley reached out his hand to touch the bird. It let him. “Today you believed.” As he came closer with his hand to the fire-bird, first it was his nails that vibrated, right down to the quick. Then, as the energy pulsated from the feathers, up his hand and into his arm, all feelings within him intensified. Soon his whole body was charged with the bird’s energy, like he would ignite at any moment. It was wonderful, sensual, and warm all at the same time. He closed his eyes, letting his hand caress the feathers as if he was reading Braille, each and every quill and feather frond sending spikes of energy up into his fingers. Adding to his feelings, building up like a snowball cascading down a mountain side. He moaned, like he did in his dreams, and became aroused. His cock pressed against his boxers, making him aware of his joy. “Wesley. I missed you. Why did you not believe in me sooner?” the bird said, the last words sounded different though. As if spoken by another. It baffled him for a brief moment, making him wrinkle his brow. That was until another wave of feather energy pierced his being and licked his skin with its breath. Gasping with delight, and wanting more, he replied, “I-I thought. I thought you were an imaginary being.” 8

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“I am real,” a man’s voice replied, deep and powerful. Wesley’s eyes flicked open. What he saw before him was not his fire-bird, but a young man. He drew back his hand with such force, he knocked himself off balance, landing square on his backside amongst the leaf litter. He was no ordinary man. He was naked for a start. But where there was supposed to be hair, scarlet and gold feathers glowed and grew with the energy he had come to know as that of a fire-bird. At the top of his head, the feathers started flat, then, as they flowed down, went wild until they were a dazzling display ending about halfway down his back, like a peacock’s tail. On his chest and navel, no feathers formed, and the familiar pink of human skin reflected the feather’s created light. Only around his genitals did the feathers appear again, framing them in the colours of fire. The bird man stepped closer to him, walking with a grace and flow he had never seen in a human. Wesley, taken aback, scrambled to his feet. “My name is Shojuno. I am…for want of a better word, a Phoenix. Your Phoenix, Wesley.” Wesley scrambled backward until the trunk of the great ghost gum met his back with a dull thud. “What are you?” he wheezed, the impact knocking 9

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the wind from him. “I am yours. You believed in me, remember?” “I-I—get away from me. I don’t know you.” And with that Wesley fled, running as fast as his athletic legs could carry him. All those years of climbing trees had kept him fit at least, and getting away from the man-beast proved easier than he first thought. Or was it because the creature did not follow? That night he was haunted by the image of Shojuno. Not only the image of the man, but the burning emotions that went with it, too. How could his fantasy be so wrong? The fire-bird was beautiful, mysterious, graceful and full of wonder. Now that had all been taken away. Confronted with a naked man didn’t leave much to the imagination. The wonder and the mystery had been drained from him like a plug pulled from a bath. He tried to block the images of Shojuno from his mind as he went from lucid dreaming to awake and back again throughout the night. The dreams that stuck once he exorcised Shojuno from his mind were so bright, strong and colourful, that he found it difficult to pull away from them once begun. And that was the problem. Shojuno excited him. His dreams, once they had set their path, were difficult to control. They always started the same 10

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way, mainly reds, oranges and yellows dominating them. Then the colours swirled about like a vortex inside his mind. That was when control was forgone and he was whisked away like the colours he dreamt about. As the whirlpool became cohesive, feathers formed. Next, he saw golden eyes, piercing and brilliant against the background of autumn colours. And finally, he witnessed the sweeping majesty that was the fire-bird in flight, wings outstretched like they were fanning the warm breath of the forest. Wesley cried out, “Shojuno!” Ending the sentence with a groan of joy. He was consumed by the dream. He gasped for air and as he did so, let go of his inhibitions. The result was instant. Shojuno appeared. The bird-man was holding him, as if he were in the bed next to him. The man clasped onto him so tight it was like his hands were still talons. The flesh on his back, although not broken from the force, hurt all the same. “Stop it!” he moaned, twisting and writhing in his bed to shake this unwelcome intruder from his dreams, the dreams of his fire-bird turning horribly into that naked man. All that resulted was the blanket finding the floor, exposing him to the cool night air, his silk boxers the only thing between him and his dreamt 11

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up intruder. He couldn’t shake the man’s image from his mind this time no matter how hard he tried. He gasped for air as the creature formed more vividly in his mind. Instead, Shojuno pressed against him again, harder than before. His warm breath caressed his earlobe, creating goose-flesh that rose on the exposed parts of his skin. Finally, his feathered mane covered him like his blanket did only moments ago and he finished his embrace, smothering him with his warmth. Wesley took down his boxers to touch himself. Then, as he was about to wake, disturbed by this turn of events in his dream, and with perspiration pouring from every pore, Shojuno thrust the feathers of his groin onto him so that he touched Wesley’s maleness with his own. The skin on skin contact was overwhelming, sensational, and above all, welcome. Wesley’s cock quickly became erect, his foreskin sliding back easily to reveal his full glory. Sparks of energy pulsed into Wesley, giving him convulsions of pleasure amongst the pangs of anxiety that flooded his being. Wesley felt hot under the feathers. He was wet with sweat and his own smell mixed with the bird man’s was sweet and pungent, exciting him more. “I need you, Wesley,” Shojuno whispered. Wesley, upon hearing those words, relaxed, sinking back into the dream, letting it take him 12

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away to wherever it would go. Shojuno, thankfully, stayed with him, his feathers pulsing and vibrating, sending wave after wave of bliss across Wesley’s quivering body. Overwhelmed by pleasure, he now let his apparition take him, opening his legs so that Shojuno’s feathered groin could enter his warmth. Moaning with waves of ecstasy, Wesley touched himself as Shojuno rhythmically moved in and out of him. The sensation hurt and elated at the same time, and before too long, he climaxed, unlike any other time he had done so in his life. It was mind blowing and every muscle sang with his release. His seed covered his trembling stomach. Before Shojuno left, he said, “I will return tomorrow. There is something you must know, Wesley.” Wesley remembered nothing else. And deep sleep soon overtook the rush of his dream. A deep content sleep. Sunday morning came and Wesley knew of nothing else he wanted to do. He wanted to go back to the forest, back to the ghost gum and back to see Shojuno once more. If only to clear it up in his head that he didn’t want to see him ever again. As he stepped out the door, climbing clothes and boots on, he began to question his motives. More than anything, curiosity gnawed away at his 13

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being. Was the dream he had last night a premonition of what it was to be with a bird-man? Was it all fantasy? Or was it real? He swallowed hard as the ghost gum came into view. Waiting for him, as if conjured up by his will, was the man that had haunted his dream last night, standing proud and tall under the tree. “Before you ask me anything, let me show you something,” he said, the lyrical trumpeting a soft undertone to his words. Wesley stood silent, unsure what to do. “Take my hand, Wesley. I will show you. Trust me.” “Okay.” Hesitantly, Wesley reached out his hand like a child would when feeding a dog for the first time. Once his hand met his, the energy he remembered so well pulsed through his body. “You remember,” he whispered. “I-I—what are you going to do?” Shojuno smiled. “I’m going to teach you the language of the forest.” Wesley’s only reply was to frown. “Don’t question. Believe. Just like you believed in me.” Wesley nodded. Over the next few days after work, and with every passing daylight hour on the weekends, Shojuno did indeed show Wesley the language of the forest. He learned how the Earth spoke as 14

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mountains and valleys ever so slowly formed in distant lands, how the trees themselves complained about the ways of the world and how the spirit of the sky, ever so cheeky and sure, teased those that could not master flight. As each day wheeled into the next and Wesley began to cherish his lessons and learn about a world outside the nine to five, he found himself not only respecting Shojuno for what he did, but admiring him, too. In fact, he had to admit to himself that he had come to love Shojuno, for each and every moment not spent with him was spent in wanting. Every night Wesley’s dreams were filled with his passion, and every day his thoughts were consumed by him. Wesley couldn’t wait to get to the forest to see him. “Touch it like this,” Shojuno said, looking deep into his eyes and smiling while he placed his hand on the bark of the great ghost gum. “I can’t feel anything— Oh, wait, I can. I can hear the tree. It’s speaking to me.” “What does it say?” he replied. Wesley closed his eyes as if doing so would make his ears work better. You are most welcome amongst my branches, my child, the tree said, vibrations rumbling and rolling up the trunk into his hand. “It says…it says it likes me being around, and is 15

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pleased to see me so much these days.” “Good. It’s not the only one.” Also know that those who believe will always be protected, if not by me then by the many in this forest that have come from me. Wesley lifted his hand from the tree trunk and placed it around Shojuno’s waist. Feather energy immediately danced up his arm. “Shojuno, I-I have something to tell you.” Wesley completed his embrace, nestling his head onto Shojuno’s chest and taking in his natural odour, his scent remarkably like that of eucalyptus. “What is it?” he replied casually. “I love—” Before Wesley could finish his words a gun shot rang out, startling all that heard it, including Shojuno. Shojuno pushed Wesley away, gently but with enough force to let him know of his concern. “What was that?” Wesley asked, his hands beginning to tremble. “There is one that has hunted me for years. Quick, I must take flight. You go…I will see you tomorrow, my dearest Wesley.” Before he could even part his lips in protest, Shojuno had transformed into the phoenix, fluttering away in a blaze of scarlet and gold. Wesley took the next day off work. He was so worried about Shojuno he couldn’t face seeing anyone else. He ran to the ghost gum as fast as he 16

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could once daylight broke. “Shojuno! Shojuno, where are you?” he called as soon as the leaves of the tree came into his sight. “I am here,” Shojuno said, stepping gracefully from behind the trunk. “I have been waiting for you.” “What happened?” “I don’t know. All I know is that he is following me, has been all night. He’s ever so close, Wesley. Ever so close.” “What can we do?” Wesley yelped, clutching Shojuno with all his might. “Do you have some clothes that would fit me?” “Yes, yes I think so.” “Then get them. I must get out of the forest for a while to get this huntsman off my track.” Shojuno twisted his neck, as if hearing a sound out of Wesley’s range. “The trees say he is close.” “Oh, Shojuno, I’m scared.” “Just go, please, Wesley my sweet. I will be—” Another gunshot cracked the air as Shojuno untangled Wesley from himself in an effort to jolt him into action. This time the bullet had found its intended target. Wesley, unable to fully fathom what had transpired, could only watch as dark red blood stained Shojuno’s chest. The smell of gun smoke was rife in the air, burning his nostrils as Shojuno glared desperately 17

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at him with his piercing golden eyes. Clutching his chest, he gasped one final breath as the feathers on his body and mane dulled like the embers of a dying fire. He began to smoulder and the stench of gun smoke was quickly replaced with the soothing smell of gum leaves. Wesley’s eyes burned, from both emotion and smoke, and tears rolled down his cheeks as the realisation of what had transpired took hold. “Why?” he gasped with what remained of his voice. But the huntsman was nowhere to be seen. No one answered his plea. Then an eerie silence fell over the forest. Wesley, stunned beyond moving, could only stare back through misty eyes into Shojuno’s as they dulled. Shojuno then slumped to the ground with a dull thud, leaf litter taking flight around him. Wesley expelled all the air from his lungs with a scream that forced birds from the trees. He couldn’t believe Shojuno had been killed. And he sat by the burning pyre of his body until it was extinguished by itself. Mourning the only way he knew how, Wesley let go of all his inhibitions and wept with all his heart, his soul and his body beside his lover. Wesley returned to the ghost gum the next day. He didn’t know why, for he was consumed with grief. He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept and therefore, for the first time in months, hadn’t dreamt either. 18

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Once at the tree, he smoothed the mighty trunk, feeling every ripple created by decades of exposure to the elements. Moving his hand carefully, greeting it as Shojuno had showed him, hoping it would offer some comfort from his sorrow. In a strange way it did, even though he didn’t hear any words in his mind. Looking down at the blackened patch that was once Shojuno, Wesley noticed that the leaves around the edge had burned in a neat circle as if framing the location. This was all that remained at the foot of the tree to remind him of his Phoenix—a natural epitaph in the dirt to Shojuno. His emotions overcame him as he communed with his feelings, bought on by this place and its stinging memories, until his stomach twisted into knots. His feelings welled up and then burst forth as if a bushfire had crossed a firebreak. He cried. There was nothing else to do but let it all out, and he sank to the ground beneath the majesty of the ghost gum. Sobbing into his hands, Wesley then heard a voice, familiar yet strained. Looking up, unwiped tears dripping off his chin, he searched for the one that spoke to him. Over by the dappling shadow created by the ghost gum, he saw a figure. Was it his Phoenix? Was Shojuno alive? Or had the huntsman returned searching for more sport? Surely there were no 19

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other fire-birds in this forest. Wesley shook that thought from his head. That’s crazy. I’ve been in this forest all my life and I’ve only ever seen Shojuno. He scrambled to his feet, snapping a twig as he did so and having to grasp onto the trunk of the ghost gum for support in his giddy emotion soaked state. “Who’s there?” he said, his voice wavering. “It’s me,” the voice replied. “Shojuno?” A young man stepped into the sun, naked, tall, thin and adorned with feathers. “Yes, it’s me. But…I’ve changed.” His words didn’t ring true to Wesley. It wasn’t Shojuno at all, and he gasped with disappointment. Yes, he had feathers like Shojuno did, but these feathers were as black as coal, contrasting with such starkness against his human skin that it was ghastly sight to behold. Whereas Shojuno’s skin reflected the energy of his scarlet feathers, enhancing each other with their tones, this creature’s feathers did not. Everything was emphasised and in contrast. Everything was not as Shojuno was. Wesley cried, “You’re not Shojuno at all. Why must you torment me by being here?” “I am the same. The very same,” he said, stepping even closer to him. He could now see his black feathers in greater detail and just like Shojuno’s, they pulsed with 20

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energy. This beast’s feather energy rippled over him like a wave of heat over cinders. Shojuno’s had been more like flames licking the fire already blistering hot. They were two different beings, he could sense it. They had to be. They even walked differently. Instead of graceful and smooth, this one was deliberate and cautious. How can this be Shojuno? The man must be a liar. “Leave me alone!” Wesley spat. “You’re not my Shojuno, you hear me? You’re just a bird man!” But before he gave this stranger a chance to answer, he fled, tears streaming from his eyes as he ran with all the speed he could muster back to his home. That night, Wesley tried to dream of his Shojuno. First, as always, scarlet feathers eddied and swirled in his mind. Then as they took on form and became cohesive, golden eyes and massive wings filled his mind’s eye with delight. He didn’t know why, as every dream had always been the same, but the scarlet and gold became stained with black, like ink being rapidly dropped into a glass of water. Suddenly, before he could digest what was happening, the coal-feathered man intruded on his dreams and embraced him against his will. Struggling to free himself, kicking and thrashing on his bed, Wesley couldn’t help but feel 21

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smothered by the all-consuming darkness of this man’s feathered mane. He gasped for breath, like a fish would out of water, while the stranger kept his hold, his arms more muscular, his body more toned than that of his Shojuno. His unfamiliar body pressed ever tighter against Wesley, making him shudder in disgust. Then, unexpectedly, this man pushed his feathered groin onto his cock, like Shojuno had done many times before in his dreams. This man was now so close to his skin that he sent pulses of power though Wesley’s body. He gagged, unable to shake him, yet at the back of his mind, where a spark ignited, he didn’t know if he wanted him to. Shojuno’s apparition did this to him every night and he revelled in it. Now that he was gone, was it this man’s turn? As he kept his hold, he noticed the smell of him, unlike the beautiful eucalyptus he came to love, his was like wattle, striking and harsh inside his nostrils, yet floral and sweet. How can this be Shojuno? He’s so different. Or is he? This man bird pressed harder against him, constricting him and sending wave after wave of pulsating energy into him from the feathers that were around his groin. Wesley couldn’t take any more. He didn’t want to enjoy this, couldn’t enjoy this, even though he was now erect and in readiness for whatever it was that followed. Is this a fit way to mourn the loss of a 22

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loved one? With that single thought, Wesley forced his eyes open, only to discover, to his relief, he was alone in his bed, his blanket wrapped around his legs. “Thank God it was all just a nightmare,” he whispered. Sitting upright, and trying to compose and calm himself after his dream, he heard a noise, like the feathers of a bird landing from flight. “Who’s there?” he said, realising his boxers had slipped off him and he was lying on the bed exposed, the moonlight revealing his fully engorged cock. He scrambled for the blanket to cover himself, pulling it up over his body and retreating back until he sunk into his pillows. Feeling safer, he looked around the room to see if he could spot his trespasser. Between his bed and the dressing table, he could just make out the silhouette of a man, a man with a feathered mane. “Shojuno is dead,” he said, as if pre-empting whatever it was he was going to say to him. “What do I have to do to convince you I am Shojuno, my dear sweet Wesley?” he said painfully. Wesley didn’t reply, but his face crumpled with bewilderment. What did he mean by that? No matter, he still had no answer for him. “I don’t know.” “How about I show you?” With that, and a flap of feathers, the bird man was upon him, the creek 23

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of the bed springs the only sound that found Wesley’s ears. Before Wesley could protest, the man’s lips were on his, pressing tight so that he couldn’t form any words of protest. He realised he was deep within his pillows, the man on top, quickly sending his hot, silky tongue into his mouth with waves of feather energy that sent pleasure throughout his body. Wesley’s loins stirred once more. Then the man parted. “Take my hand and trust me.” Wesley’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s what Shojuno said to me once.” He said nothing in reply, but rather gently placed his other hand between Wesley’s legs, clutching his aching testicles with a warm yet soft touch, tickling the hairs that grew from the loose skin around his balls. “What are you doing?” “What you have always wanted since I was killed.” “I can’t—” Wesley said with a stammer, his hand trembling as he knotted his fingers into the bird man’s to hold him tight, just as he had asked. As Wesley clasped his hand into his, he felt a sense of relief wash over him. It was then the bird man looked deep into his eyes before moving down to kiss his neck. This was his Shojuno. He could feel it. 24

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“Shojuno?” Wesley whispered. “Yes, my sweet Wesley.” “I want you. I believe in you.” Wesley let him go and Shojuno moved down and down, gently kissing and licking as he went, until Wesley felt his warm breath penetrate his little patch of pubic hair. He gasped as he felt Shojuno stroke his cock, retract his foreskin gently and then take all of him into his mouth. Moments later, Wesley couldn’t contain himself and he exploded into throes of climax that sent the pillows onto the floor as his arms flailed and his legs slapped the sheets. Shojuno took all of what he gave, swallowing his seed, his gift. Then Shojuno kissed him again. Wesley tried to calm himself, tasting his own saltiness on his lover’s lips, relishing the tang as it slid down his throat. He became aroused again. Shojuno parted, then licked his lips. “I want you to help me.” “How?” “The hunter wasn’t as easily convinced by my death as you were, Wesley. Do you have any clothes that would fit me?” “Of course,” Wesley replied. “So you did die then?” “No beast, man, or marvel can withstand a bullet shot to the heart. But fortunately, I can be re-born to take flight once more.” 25

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“Are you a god?” Shojuno let out a laugh as smooth as silk. “Heavens no. But I am a marvel.” “Why don’t you get away from this place?” Shojuno recoiled, reminding Wesley of his own expressions of late. “Running away isn’t the answer. Besides, this is my home,” he said flatly. “We now have each other to help us deal with anything that may cover our path.” “I want you inside me, you know that?” “You shall have me.” Wesley closed his eyes as he felt his lover’s cock enter him. Shojuno, now in the clothes Wesley acquired from his father’s wardrobe, looked like any other man that walked the Earth in modern times. It was early morning and they were both standing beneath the great ghost gum tree. “How do I look?” Shojuno said, twirling himself around so he could inspect him, sunlight dappling around him, a hood and jacket covering his feathers, revealing only his face. “So handsome.” “A wild boar would feel handsome next to you, my dearest Wesley.” Wesley, waving his hand and dismissing his jest, then stepped closer to him. So close he breathed in his natural wattle fragrance. “I think I need to finish that sentence I spoke before you 26

The Phoenix Rises

died.” “What sentence?” Before Wesley could answer, but after he had opened his mouth to speak, a voice interrupted his. Wheeling around to see who it belonged to, Wesley was confronted with the sight of a bald, solid man brandishing a gun. Immediately he looked back at Shojuno with widened eyes. Shojuno remained calm, an action that gave Wesley the strength to not yelp out. Seeing the huntsman so soon was frightening and he clasped his hand into Shojuno’s. His lover gently applied a reassuring pressure. Wesley felt better, calmer. “You two queers seen a great black bird?” The man’s voice was like sandpaper over rough wood. “No, we haven’t,” Shojuno replied casually. “Maybe it flew away.” “I’ll find it, you’ll see.” “I’m sure you will,” Wesley snapped back. He looked at the great ghost gum and an idea struck him. Can you help us, great tree? I would be forever in your debt. Your forever is but a speck in time to me, little one. Please. We—I mean, Shojuno and I just want to be together. Wesley felt his sweaty hand slip from Shojuno’s grasp. Everything has already been arranged. A sound, like fork lightning, cracked and split the air, booming ever so close it deafened. Shojuno flung himself onto Wesley, protecting him from 27

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whatever it was that produced that ear-splitting sound. “God-damn!” the man barked. His face had drained white. “That’s the fourth time this shit has happened to me today. This place is givin’ me the creeps, straight up.” Wesley peeked out from underneath Shojuno’s arm. What he saw was a ghostly white branch of the great ghost gum only a metre or so away from the huntsman’s feet. It looked as though it had been torn from the trunk and thrown at the huntsmen in anger, a scar of dug up dirt two metres from where the branch lay, proof enough of that. “You boys should know one thing, this forest ain’t safe for foolin’ around in. No kiddin’.” Shojuno clambered to his feet, offering his hand to Wesley once he was upright. “You’re right, the forest isn’t safe,” Shojuno replied. A smile so large on his face it revealed his perfect white teeth. Wesley, not knowing any better, would have sworn Shojuno had planned this all along and the ghost gum had more to do with it than he cared to think about. All that mattered was the fact he was with his man, his lover, his Shojuno. “See ya later, you two. I ain’t stickin’ ‘round ‘ere no more. Time to git for me.” Shojuno turned to Wesley. “Now, finish that sentence, my dear sweet Wesley.” 28

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“Won’t he come back?” “I think we scared him off enough to make him think twice about doing that,” he said as he embraced him as tightly as he did in his dreams. Wesley giggled. The next branch that falls from me or any other in this forest will not miss, the great ghost gum said into Wesley’s mind. He has been scared away. I will make sure he never returns to bother either of you. Before Wesley could answer, Shojuno said, “Say it.” His golden eyes were now pleading. “I love you, Shojuno,” he said with no hesitation, and returning his embrace with as much force as he could muster, his scent enveloping him. Shojuno bowed his head, touched his lips onto Wesley’s, sending spikes of energy right into his mouth and into his body, kissing him with a passion he had never experienced before, not even in his dreams. Wesley could only groan as he was overcome by the energy Shojuno sent to him, that and be swept away by his warmth, by his passion and by the thought of what it would be to spend time with Shojuno from now on. “I love you, too, Wesley. I will never leave again.”

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About the Author My name is Mark Alders. I live in a house. This house has a street in front of it which is a good thing because if it didn’t I wouldn’t be able to drive down to the shop and purchase the chocolate I need on a daily basis. *chuckle* Seriously, I am a mild mannered post office worker by day and an erotic romance writer (mainly male/male) at night. Not much else to say other than, like everyone else, I have bills to pay, a mortgage and family that I love and drive me crazy all at the same time. Oh, and I have a dog, too! See? Average Joe…except when I get down and write…then I let my imagination go to places I never knew existed and my characters invade my mind.