Little bird, come inside for tea

This story, Little Bird, has been written for a competition back in 2015, where I chose to use the song ‘Little bird’ by Ed Sheeran as inspiration for the story. This is the part of the lyrics that served as inspiration:

But if I kiss you will your mouth read this truth
Darling how I miss you, strawberry’s taste how lips do
And it’s not complete yet, mustn’t get our feet wet
‘Cause that leads to regret, diving into soon
And I’ll owe it all to you, oh, my little bird

My little bird

If we take a walk out, in the morning dew
We can lay down, so I’m next to you
Come inside for a little home made tea
And if you fall asleep, then at least your next to me

From ‘Little bird’ by Ed Sheeran

I wanted to share the story again, of course after it’s been edited. One thought that struck me while I edit it, is that I have quite a number of stories on my blog which deals with death in some or other way. Not only from after my mom passed away, but also before.

Little bird

Day 4. Sunset.

His eyes turned to that one point on the beach and sure, there she was. Her long dress kissed her bare ankles, and left her shoulders uncovered too. Her feet sank into the sand, and her sandals swung from the fingers of her left hand. The slight breeze stirred her long hair, and every now and then she caught her hair in her right hand, then let go again. Other than that, she stood still, staring out over the sea, waiting for the sun to sink into the sea.

When he closed his eyes, the picture of her was there. It had been with him all day, prompting him to come out onto the veranda earlier than normal, afraid of missing her. He didn’t know whether she would be there today. All he knew was she could disappear as mysteriously as she had appeared four days ago.

The first time Charles saw her down at the shore line, he took her for a chance visitor. Someone who drove by, and had discovered this quiet beach purely by accident. But, the next day at sunset her silent form reappeared, etched against the dying light of the sun. Same woman, different dress, same sad drooping of her shoulders. The next day — yesterday — she was there again, and since then he couldn’t get her out of his mind.

Why was she so sad? What brought her to this beach, standing there at the end of the day, staring out over the sea until it was too dark to see anything anymore? Charles had no idea how long she stayed on the beach every evening. He never saw her leave.

He took another sip of his whisky, put the glass back on the table, and stood up. After only a moment’s hesitation, he walked down to the beach, to where she stood staring out over the ocean.

“Hello,” Charles said when he stopped a short distance from where she stood.
Her free hand flew to her face, and dropped to her sides again before she turned around.

Her voice was thick with tears. She hadn’t managed to wipe away all her tears. Some were still stuck to her eyelashes. The first thing that came to mind when Charles saw her face was that she looked like a little bird. Frail. Broken. Her stooping shoulders reinforced this image in his mind. Charles ignored the urge to pull her close and comfort her.

“Can I…,” he cleared his throat, “can I help you?”
She shook her head, and more tears formed in her eyes before she turned back to the ocean. Charles instinctively moved toward her, hesitated for a moment and then put his arms around her. Her body tensed for a couple of seconds, but then she relaxed against him.

They stood like that until the sun disappeared into the sea.
“I have to go,” she said.
“Wait,” Charles said, “what’s your name?”
“Charlotte,” she said, and turned to walk away.
“I’m Charles,” he called after her, with a smile on his face.
Charlotte turned around, looked at him curiously, her tears still visible. With a slight smile on her face, she turned around and disappeared into the darkness.

Charlotte was back the next day, much earlier than she had appeared on the previous days. She stood in the same spot, but now with her back turned to the sea, inspecting the houses on the edge of the beach. Charles saw her from his chair, and stood up. The movement caught her eye. After only a moment’s hesitation, she started walking towards him. Charles waited for her at the bottom of the stairs to his veranda. There was a couple of awkward moments when she reached him.
“Is Charles really your name?”
He nodded.
“Such a coincidence,” she smiled.

That seemed to put both of them at ease. Again, the images of a little bird flashed through his mind. A little bird, held back by a broken leg. She looked so delicate and despite the smile, he saw sadness in her eyes. There was no way he could explain his protective feelings for this woman, who was essentially a stranger to him.
“Can I offer you something to drink?” he asked.

When he returned to the veranda, she sat on the stairs, staring out over the sea. Her eyes were dry, but the sadness wasn’t gone. They sat next to each other, each with a mug of hot tea.

“My husband died a year ago,” Charlotte said.
Charles didn’t speak.
“I came here to scatter his ashes into the sea.”
“Why here?” Charles asked.
“He was born in the village,” Charlotte answered and Charles nodded.
“But, it’s difficult to do it alone. I have to move on with my life. It stood still for the last year, but I’m ready to live again. I just need to fulfill his wish. To scatter his ashes into the sea he loved so much. Will you help me?”
By way of answer, Charles put his arm around Charlotte’s shoulders, and pulled her closer.

That same evening with sunset, they scattered the ashes. Charles held Charlotte in his arms as she cried, and totally unintended from both sides, the comforting ended in an exploring kiss. Charles noticed the taste of strawberries on her lips.

Only one kiss.

Every day for the next two weeks, they spent together walking on the beach, sitting on the veranda, reading and talking, and watching the sunset together. They didn’t kiss or hold hands. Didn’t hug. They didn’t touch. The time was spent getting to know each other, talking about past loves, about Charlotte’s life after her husband died, and about Charles’s life as an artist.

One late afternoon they sat on the beach like they did so many times before, waiting for the sun to disappear. Charles noticed that Charlotte sat down closer to him than the previous days. He had been dying to touch her, but he wanted her to be ready. Suppressing the urge to touch her, he lay back and looked at the clouds drifting by on the wind.

“I love looking at the clouds,” Charlotte said, and lay down next to him, her arm touching his.
Charles’s fingers sought for hers. Fingers locked together. Heart rates increased. Heads turned. Charles pushed himself up on one elbow. A kiss followed. Breathing became louder. Charlotte smiled as Charles lay back again. He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back. They looked at each other again. Charlotte blushed and turned her head away. Charles looked back at the clouds.

Moments later, Charlotte swung her leg over Charles and sat on top of him. She bent forward and kissed him. Charles held her close when their kiss ended.
“I’ve been waiting two weeks for this,” Charlotte whispered.
“I wanted to give you time,” Charles said.
Charlotte looked into his eyes for a long time.
“I’ve had enough time,” she said suggestively.

Their first lovemaking was passionate and rough. Their lips crushed on each other while their hands explored. Charlotte struggled to undo the button and zipper on Charles’s jeans. Charles pulled her summer’s dress up and groaned when he discovered that she wore nothing underneath. The sound of their ragged breathing drowned the sound of the waves breaking and lapping at the beach. Charlotte slipped her hand into Charles’s pants, and found his erection. She moaned, and kissed Charles hard, while lifting her hips and guiding her into him.

Charlotte’s warmth enveloped Charles like a comforting blanket. He allowed her to set the pace, savoring each moment he almost slipped out, only to end up deep inside her again. Charlotte wanted more.
“Fuck me. Please. Fuck me.”

Charles took over. He squeezed her bottom, held her still while he pushed in and out. Hard. Harder.
“Oh yes. Yes, yes, yes,” Charlotte chanted in his ear.

Their hearts pounded against each other as climaxes built. Charlotte was the first to feel an orgasm rushing through her body. Her muscles tightened around Charles’s hardness, which almost sent him over the edge too. But, he wanted to make her come once more before he would allow himself to do the same. With unabated passion, he continued to fuck Charlotte, until she arched her back and a low grunt escaped her throat. She climaxed for the second time within minutes, and only then Charles allowed himself his own release.

They walked back to his house, hand in hand. At the bottom of the stairs Charles pulled Charlotte closer. His hands framed her face.
“Will you stay with me tonight?” he asked.
Charlotte nodded and Charles smiled.
His little bird was healing.

© Rebel’s Notes
Image from Pixabay

15 thoughts on “Little bird, come inside for tea

  1. Sucha lovely tale Marie! I love the gentle aspect with the rough joining at the end. Those mix of emotions are so easy to relate to for so many :0

  2. I really like the stories of little birds, you know how I like them, especially the sparrows, which I feed.
    And I also really like the time they take, so that suja spent it, like that of a volcano. And I share as a man, in the story, waiting until she reaches orgasm first, I love this and I always practice it.

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