Monday, January 28, 2013

Butterfly Gods excerpt by P A Brown

In P A Brown’s short story Butterfly in Butterfly Gods, Adam Williams has come to the isolated island of Costa Fuego to research native butterflies for his thesis. He comes at the invitation from the mysterious Santiago Tavares Almeida, reclusive owner of the island. All Adam wants is to study the beautiful tropical butterflies. He gets a whole lot more when the mystery man, Santiago shows up unexpectedly. Adam suddenly finds there are more things in this rain forest than flying jewels.

Butterfly Gods is a collection of hot erotica, including the novella Angel Light and new stories Up the Backstretch and Homecoming

  • Butterfly Gods
  • Bristlecone Pine Press (February 25, 2012)
  • ISBN: 9781607220305
  • ASIN: B007DM5CA6


Dense growth on either side of the narrow trail muffled my horses’ footsteps. Occasionally something would dart across the path ahead of me, or I would hear a distant crash—proof that I was not alone on Costa Fuego. The isolated island off the coast of Brazil had a population of none, since it was privately owned and the men who came over to tend things boated in and went home every night.

My gaze continually swept the nearly impenetrable maze of rain forest and creeping vines that vied for the rare streamers of light that pierced the canopy along the open path. Somewhere I heard the steady rustle of running water and the high-pitched call of one of the island’s subspecies of parrot. My thin shirt clung to me. My thick shoulder muscles, which I had built up at the gym before this trip, were getting stiff from the long ride. The saddle creaked between my legs, a familiar sound after all the hours I’d been out here. Even with the protection of my jock, my balls ached.

Everywhere I looked, butterflies flitted from one exotic bloom to the next. They danced above me, below me, and all around. The exquisite creatures I had come here to catalog were overwhelming.

Golden-winged Dryas iulia, danced in shafts of sunlight on delicate wings, like the go-go dancers at Micky’s. The sapphire Heliconius eleuchia, wings as blue as the eyes of the hot stable owner who had arranged for my horses, and the giant Caligo memnon, with its massive eye spots, flittered through the sodden air on deceptive-looking fragile wings. I also caught sight of the iridescent blue Heliconius wallacei flavescens. My secretive benefactor had been right. The area abounded with butterflies. I envisioned a very productive week.

Santiago Tavares Almeida was the only wealthy patron who had responded to my original query for funding to study rainforest Lepidoptera. The tiny, exotic, often colorful butterflies had been my passion as long as I could remember. Santiago seemed to share my enthusiasm; at least the response I got from him implied that. I would have liked to have met him, but from everything I’d heard, he was a total recluse. Pity, it would be fun to share this beauty with a man who could appreciate it.

I’d been traveling for several hours now. A quick recheck of my hand-drawn map showed me I was getting close to my destination. I kneed the young gray gelding into picking up its pace. The trail around us was still narrow, so I couldn’t push for too much speed. A large pearl-winged fly settled on the horse’s sweat-slicked neck, and I knocked it off. A dot of blood oozed out of the bite. The fly returned moments later, and this time I slapped it with the knotted leather reins, killing it instantly.

The lethargy of my horses crept up on me, infecting my former upbeat mood. The day grew muggier, and I found my cotton shirt and bush pants clinging to me. Sweat dripped from under the brim of my Tilley hat. I was glad I’d had my hair cut right before I left for this trip, even if it did mean losing all the platinum highlights I’d gotten from my summer on muscle beach. I knew I was no where near as buff as most of the guys there, but then, I wouldn’t take steroids. What I had was what Mother nature gave me—good muscle tone, a body guys said they would die for, and a killer smile. I heard that a lot too. Not from the muscle boys—on steroids like most of them were, they were useless in bed. No, I found the twenty-something guys who might be skinny but could pack away a slab of meat more my cup of Oolong.

Daylight was failing when the towering buttress root of a kapok tree forced the trail left. I guided the horses, single file, around it and pulled to an abrupt stop on the other side. I’d been expecting the jungle camp would be a typical army Quonset hut or a crude wood and frond structure barely able to fend off the rains. Certainly, that’s the way Santiago described it. “My little camp in the forest. Home away from home. I hope it will suit you.” Since I had no idea where his home even was, let alone what it was like, I didn’t know what that meant. But if it was anything like this place, the guy lived large. Solitary, maybe, but he wasn’t missing out on anything material in his lonely existence.

I stared, mouth agape, at the building in front of me. It wasn’t huge, maybe a thousand square feet, and the facade of glass on every side reflecting the verdant forest all around made it seem smaller. I thought I spied solar panels on the flat roof, facing the sun through the clear-cut half-acre of forest around the house.


Lloyd Meeker said...

Had to run right out and buy it...

Mykola ( Mick) Dementiuk said...

Lovely, reminded me of Vladimir Nabokov for some reason, he was a butterfly collector also. Nice job Pat.

Victor J. Banis said...

Lord, I want to visit this place. Great stuff, as always from Pat

Pat Brown said...

Thanks, guys

C. Zampa said...

Beautiful, Pat! Sounds delicious!

Rick Reed said...

Crisp images and crystal-clear economical prose--what I've come to expect from you, Ms. Brown.

AlanChinWriter said...

Quality writing, Pat. Congratulations on another release.