*
Shuri Oak woke up one fine spring morning feeling very much like an oak . . . in his pants. The sun filtered in through the window, and Shuri's Oak curved up toward it as if nourished by the rays.A knock on the door heralded the arrival of Wakaba Oak, who barged in before Shuri had a chance to conceal his impressive root. Wakaba was unfazed. "My boy!" he cheerfully bellowed. "Now that's what a true Oak's morning wood should look like!" Wakaba's pride was contagious, and Shuri swelled with it. Wakaba took a seat and regaled his son with tales of Oak wood past. He fell quiet and sullen remembering Hakuren's sturdy branch, how it was lost to them. "That boy had the finest wood our family's seen in generations," he sighed. "Long it was, and thick, like a fine cord of cherry."
Shuri wondered why his father sounded a little like a pirate, but there were more pressing matters to attend to. Hearing about his cousin's hard Oak stump had made his own problem more insistent. This did not go unnoticed by his father.
"That is a fine one, boy, rival to Hakuren's! Almost." This last was uttered under his breath, and Shuri pretended not to have heard it. But Wakaba was getting to his feet. "I'll send help for ye directly, lad," he said, closing the door behind him.
H . . . help?! Shuri waited nervously, careful not to touch his still-turgid stem. Of course he knew the Oaks kept a harem of the finest concubines. Could it be that today he'd finally become a man? Seized by the thought, Shuri whipped off the sheet and studied his firm trunk in the morning sun.
It was so as good as Hakuren's.
The door was flung open once more, and Wakaba entered with a boy a bit older than Shuri. The boy had lavender hair and wide, dreamy eyes. He wore the robes of a bishop. Shuri wondered if he were going to be exorcised instead of pleasured.
"Shuri," Wakaba explained, "Bishop Labrador is second to none in his skill with big, firm stalks like yours." And he gave his son a salty wink and departed. Shuri was left with the beautiful bishop. He fiddled with the bedsheet, waiting for some cue.
Suddenly the boy spoke. "Ah, shall we go outside, then?"
"E-excuse me?!" Shuri was shocked. Where the gardeners could see? Why should a peasant catch a glimpse of the mighty oak of a nobleman?
"You need me to inspect your stalks, right?" The bishop smiled guilelessly.
Shuri reddened and averted his eyes. He realized he was still exposed. He went to cover himself, glancing furtively at the bishop, whose expression was still innocently serene. He tore off the sheet again, flushing crimson. "T-this is the branch!" he cried, biting his lip on his humiliation.
The bishop cocked his head, unruffled, regarding Shuri's bough of love. He smiled then, without malice, and Shuri felt himself relax. Whoever this lovely boy was, he felt right for the job of felling Shuri's fine tree. "I have just the thing," said the bishop, and he laid down his pack to rummage through it. A toy? Shuri found himself shivering with anticipation.
The bishop finally came up with a pair of pruning shears.
Ten seconds later, blinking after Shuri's retreating back, Labrador put a finger to his chin in confusion. "But that's what Castor always suggests . . . "
THE END.