Ladybird

I can still remember the day so clearly. 

The fragrance of marijuana hanging heavy in the air & the taste of cream soda on his pouty lips. Aching thighs from our bike ride, soothed by tender kisses. Rays of sunlight stroking every inch of my skin, following the shimmering map of my body.

We’ve escaped to his father’s countryside home for the weekend, forgetting our wild student life in the city for a few days. We want to make the most of the summer and the ever-so-sweet honeymoon stage we’d found ourselves in.

K & I have been together for about six months, but we have been friends for years. We met for the first time as teenagers, both of us frequenting our local all-age gigs. We were from different sides of London. He comes from a middle-class East End family made up of well-off philosophers & writers. I was the opposite, a West London working-class girl, my dad a builder and my mum a nanny. We might have never met if we hadn’t both shared a love for alternative music and teenage rebellion. 

But we did, and from the start, we’d always been fond of each other. I thought he was gorgeous, wearing thin, wiry glasses that framed his speckled brown eyes, stature tall, skin honey-kissed. I loved his messy brown hair, his cheeky smile, and his silly sense of humor. 

On this particular hazy summer day, we ventured off in search of nothing but the perfect spot to fall even more in love with one another.

At least, that’s what we tell ourselves. We’re also escaping what’s becoming an awkward stay with his father. I don’t fit into his father’s academic ideals and feel increasingly out of place—I’m not adept at philosophical debates for fun over a family dinner. My family dinners have been more like watching TV with dinner on my lap, my brother next to me as our parents bicker in the next room. 

At K’s father’s place the night before, I'd headed to bed early, feigning that the expensive red wine had given me a headache. In truth, I couldn’t listen to their pseudo-intellectual conversation about nothing of real importance. The realization had begun creeping up on me that perhaps we weren’t as perfect for each other as we initially believed. 

But today, I decided to enjoy the countryside and our young love.

K has an old but faithful bike, painted a pistachio green, chipping off in some places. We share the bike, him at the front, me behind him with hands wrapped around his waist, my head nuzzled against his back to inhale his soft scent of sunscreen and burnt wood. As we ride, my hazel blonde hair blows behind me. I hum the tune to our favorite Nancy & Lee Hazlewood song, an unconscious alluding of what’s to come. 

Aside from the humming, we speak of nothing of great importance. We are both intent on ignoring anything that will fail. our honeymoon love ideals. Silence feels more comfortable than accepting reality. I point out pretty flowers while he makes sure to spot any big trees we might take the opportunity to climb later. 

“Look at that one, babe!” He shouts excitedly, his fingers pointed at a huge brown oak.  

We ride deep into the countryside until we find a meadow decorated with thousands of wildflowers in pastel hues of pink, blue, orange, purples, and yellow. Long, dry grass waves at us, beckoning us to lay down our cliche gingham blanket and cuddle up between their sun-soaked stems.  

As I sit down, I feel his gaze taking me in. My hair falls around my shoulders slightly glistening with a glaze of sweat after our bike ride. The simple white cotton sundress I wore bunches up around my thighs as I sit down, and I notice his eyes fall on them. With a cheeky smile on my face, my blue eyes gaze back at him, wearing denim dungarees and a plain striped t-shirt underneath. 

He settles down next to me and swings one of his freckled, sun-kissed arms around my shoulders, while the other reaches into his rear jean pocket, gesturing toward me, his fingers wound into a fist to hide the treasure in his palm.

I laugh as I unfold his hand, revealing a perfectly rolled joint; the floral smell feels perfect in nature. I take it from him and place it between my lips. He brings his lighter to the joint, setting it alight with a wicked smile that sends my thighs up in flames. 

I inhale deeply, delighting in the extra warmth it brings my body and mind. I pass it over to him after, enjoying this shared moment. 

“How is it?” He asks. 

“Try it for yourself!” I respond with a laugh. 

“Alright bossyboots!” He responds before taking a long smoke. He puts it down and turns to me, his eyes closed, in total bliss.

“I feel so… perfectly...real.”

Although I understand what he means, these were the kind of quotes that I love to tease him for. He sees himself as a modern-day Jeff Beck, some kind of heart-aching poet, though lacking the heartache, the struggle, and the poetic talent. I suppose a small piece of me resents this about him and wants to brush past it.

Climbing onto his lap, I grab his face in my hands, him now frowning at my reaction to his ‘deep thoughts.’ “Oh...so perfectly...real!” I mimic with a giggle, pushing myself against him as I kiss his cheek gently. 

As his eyes meet mine, he already knows what I want. His frown turns back to that wicked smile spreading from his lips to the twinkles in his golden eyes. He’s ready to play too, his hands reaching behind my head, grabbing a fistful of my golden hair—a subtle reminder that, despite how I may tease, he’s the one in charge. He pulls me into him, reaching his tongue out to playfully trace my lips. As I stick my tongue out, trying to meet his, he pulls back, denying me the pleasure. I scowl at him.

Closing my eyes, I stick my tongue out further, desperate to feel his, but still, his tongue fails to meet me. However, another part of him does. His fingers move in my mouth, he leans forward, and whispers in my ear, “Shh…”

He knows that is all it takes for me to melt. Whether we were in a field, in the the back of an old cinema when we found each other more entertaining than a cheesy film, a restaurant bathroom after too much wine and under-the-table teasing, an East London alley we passed through as a shortcut from the nightclub to home, the moment he silences me, is always the moment I become completely his. 

He lowers me from his lap onto the blanket, his fingers still in my mouth to placate me. At last, now on my back, his lips meet mine, and we devour each other like bees sucking pollen from a rose. All uncomfortable differences are forgotten; this is where we are the most similar. 

As his tongue fills my mouth, he slips his strong, tender fingers under my dress, dancing up my thighs into my cotton knickers, stroking my sweet pussy, now blooming with moisture. I can tell my wetness gives him great pleasure as he takes his time covering his fingers in as much of my succulent joy as he can, sliding in and out of me. 

My body is alive with a warm, comforting pleasure, every sense engaged in the present moment. In between K’s heavy, excited breath in my ear, I can hear the various meadow creatures, the sounds of nature. My nipples, made hard by the mixture of pleasure and gentle breeze, are bared to the sunshine by K’s commanding hand.

I can taste the herbal smoke on his tongue, and I want more of his intoxicating scent. I nibble on his neck, licking behind his ear—this is his sweet spot. He moans in pleasure, grabbing my hair harder, and pulling me in even closer.

K decides to return the favor, moving back to kiss my own sweet spot, my engorged clitoris. As my head lies back on the blanket, I open my eyes to pure sunlight, drenching every inch of me, K’s tongue inside me adding, to this heavenly ascension.

The moment his soft tongue twirls across my soft clit, I’m already close to coming. Iridescent waves run from me to him, sweet blessings that he drinks up, his tongue lavishing every inch of my pussy, careful not to miss a drop.

Having been over the edge once, I've had enough of the tender touch—I need him hard, burning me with his heat. I beckon him up from between my legs and reach my hand between his. I feel him, harder and hotter than a billion suns, just like I knew he would be. 

I want to tease him, but I can’t bear the wait. As our eyes meet, I pull him on top of me, unzipping his jeans and begging, “Please.”

He pulls my panties to the side, plunging two fingers in me, taking my wetness and rubbing it over his thick cock before rubbing his cock over my pussy. “Please, now…” 

As he finally slides into me, pausing so I can feel him whole, I can hear nothing but his breath, the birds, and the crickets. Our bodies connect, his thick cock pumping in and out of me. I buck my hips back & forth to meet every thrust. Entwined like this, the world dissolves. All that exists is our bodies, fucking hard under the sun.

And then something interrupts us. “Coo coo.” 

We both pause—I look at K, confused. He turns behind him and erupts into laughter, his cock still inside me. 

“What is it!?” I ask, with a mixture of confusion and glee. 

“There!” he directs me as he continues to look on in amusement.

As I peek behind him, I can not believe what I see: a pheasant. Strolling through the meadow, no cares in the world, gazing upon our private moment. The high from the weed adds to the hilarious obscurity of the moment. I’ve always liked the idea of being watched...but not by a bird.

We can’t stop laughing, and with him still inside me, this laughter creates a beautiful friction between our bodies. 

“Well, I suppose we should give him a show,” K laughs and begins slowly moving his hips back and forth again, letting me feel every inch of him slide in and out. The pheasant coos in the background, as his speed increases, his cock hitting my g-spot perfectly, fanning the flames inside of me until I gush all over him and the earth beneath us.

Before the sun sets, we manage to pull our bodies apart, pick ourselves up, and return to the bicycle. We don’t know if we’re love-drunk, cum-drunk, stoned or, most likely, all three. Or perhaps we were just stumbling back to reality, running away from a deep incompatibility we both knew we couldn’t escape forever, wanting to remain in our fantasy as long as possible. 

Although I can’t see his face as we ride home, I know he’s smiling. 

Photo by Sunsetoned