A Healing Love
Copyright© 2025 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 11: String Quartet
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 11: String Quartet - Paul Robertson's journey continues as his past and present collide at a star-studded movie premiere, where a connection that once terrified him reignites with passion that threatens to consume them both. Fighting to forge a new future for himself and stop drifting, Paul must finally become the man he’s always been afraid to be. A beautiful, bittersweet exploration of grief, social responsibility, the healing power of love, and learning that sometimes loving someone means letting them go.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction
you are still coming to my concert arent you its tomorrow at one in the arts center foyer performance area
“Who’s Lana?” Carly asked. We were sitting next to each other at a table by the glass wall overlooking Campus Green in The Union bar. It was Friday night, and our group had decided that an evening on campus, rather than going into town, was the best option. Exams were now just a weekend away.
“A friend,” I said. “We were badminton partners last term.”
“What sort of concert is it?”
“She plays the cello in a string quartet.”
“Oh, right, so classical. That’s cool. I’ve never been to a classical concert. And one is a really good time. It’ll be, what, an hour? Maybe two?”
“Probably less than that. I think they are the only ones performing.”
“So, we can still get to London in plenty of time for my show. You’re going to be a busy boy tomorrow.” She grinned. “And later tonight—we’ve got a whole week to make up for once I get you home.”
I raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re staying with me tonight?”
“Absolutely. I think I’ve been a ‘good houseguest’ long enough, don’t you?”
“Oh, I think you’ve been a very good houseguest. A very ‘good girl.’”
Carly leaned towards me, kissed my ear and then whispered, “Well, later tonight, I get to be a very ‘bad girl.’”
I glanced at my watch. It was just after nine. Was that too early to leave?
“Oh, Paul! What are you doing to me? Oh, god! Not again!”
What I was doing was demonstrating my cunnilingus skills. ‘Not again’ was a reference to the third orgasm I’d forced upon my Alabama Bombshell since I lay her on my bed, gently pushed her thighs apart and settled down on my knees between them. She’d been trembling as I leaned in to take my first taste of her sweet honey, so worked up was she after a week of self-imposed abstinence, and her first orgasm arrived in record time.
I’ll be honest, I was quite satisfied with one and more than ready to climb up on the bed with her and bury my cock deep inside her heavenly body. But she’d grabbed my head and begged me not to stop when I pulled my tongue away from her tasty snatch, so I dove back in and kept going.
Now, after three, I’m pretty sure that I’d done enough.
For now.
So, this time when I pulled my head out from between her delightful, smooth thighs, I didn’t let her stop me when she grabbed my head and tried to pull me back. Instead, I kissed my way up her body, pausing to dip my tongue into her belly button, all the way up to those magnificent, full, round breasts.
Understanding my intention perfectly, she lifted herself to rest on her elbows, her upper torso at maybe a twenty-five-degree angle, and scooted away from the edge of the bed to give me room.
Even as I stopped to lavish some attention on one of her perfect, pretty nipples—normally light pink but right now a much darker shade as blood rushed to them to signal her desire and make them so much more sensitive to my touch—she grabbed my head and gently pulled me towards her face instead, not only for a kiss, but so that my cock lined up with her sweet, sweet pussy, allowing me to slide it all the way home in one smooth, even stroke.
She tipped her head back and groaned, breaking our kiss before it had even really begun. Her chest rose and fell, pushing up to meet mine as I hovered above her, holding myself up on arms locked straight. And only when she was used to the fresh sensation of being so full did she look me in the eye, nod, and then wrap her arms around me and pull me down to crush her with my weight.
And then I started to move.
I can’t tell you how wonderful it felt to wake up lying on my back with Carly nestled beside me, one arm and one leg draped over me. We’d fallen asleep with me spooned behind her, my arm wrapped around her, pulling her tightly against me, but we’d clearly changed positions during the night. Most likely, I’d rolled away from her and onto my back, and sensing the loss of my presence, she’d followed me. Unlike the two nights we’d spent together in her London hotel room, she didn’t rouse me in the middle of the night for an encore, and we both slept soundly. Or, at least, I did. I wasn’t sure if she did, but it seemed a fair bet since she hadn’t woken me.
She was still sleeping, her breathing slow and rhythmic. It was soothing just to listen to her. Part of me wanted to hold her tighter against me, but another part of me didn’t want to disturb her gentle slumber—she looked so peaceful.
And so beautiful.
Talented and beautiful, she was destined to become a major star. I knew it. A star who would grace the bedroom walls of teenagers around the world. A star poised to break a million hearts. And since she would fly back to Nashville to pursue her rising career after finishing writing and recording her album, the first heart she broke would almost certainly be mine. But that didn’t matter. The fear of getting hurt had kept me from falling in love before, and it was still there. I knew, deep down, that she could—no, she would—break my heart. But I didn’t care—she was worth it.
I knew our time together was limited. I knew she wouldn’t be staying in Westmouth with me forever. Why would she do that? Because she was in love with me? Was she in love with me? And if she was, was that enough of a reason to give up her ‘shot?’ Her chance at the big time?
So, I told myself not to do it. Not to fall in love with her. But that was easier said than done. As I watched her sleeping, I knew that if I wasn’t already head-over-heels for her, I soon would be, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
My ‘Relationship Gurus’ had all, individually, told me at separate times that if I really wanted to find that everlasting love, I’d have to give my heart to someone and that when you give your heart to someone, there’s a risk it will get broken. Chloë had even said she expected I’d get my heart broken multiple times before I found everlasting love—the kind she had with Adam.
What a ray of sunshine she is.
With Paige, I’d kept my heart safely locked away from her—there was never any risk of it getting broken there. With Hannah...
I had a momentary flash of memories of lying right here, in this bed, with Hannah in this exact position—watching her sleep as I watched Carly sleep now.
I hadn’t been in love with Hannah. Nor she in love with me. But we were both so close to it. We could both have so easily fallen for the other.
And gotten hurt. Gotten our hearts broken.
But we didn’t. We both knew our relationship was destined to be temporary, so we’d both held back.
But I didn’t want to hold back with Carly. I wanted to give her my heart. Give her my soul. Give her my everything.
Even if it led to a broken heart.
I reached over to brush a lock of hair out of her face and then hugged her tighter. Tight enough that it woke her.
Her eyes fluttered open, and there was a momentary look of confusion as she came to her senses and didn’t immediately recognise her surroundings.
I knew that look. I’d seen it many times and probably had it myself just as many.
But the confusion vanished as she looked up, saw me and smiled. She hugged me back tightly with the arm already draped across my chest.
“Hmm, morning,” she said. “I could definitely get used to waking up in your arms.”
I smiled back. “Yeah, me too.”
“What time is it?”
It was still dark outside.
“About half-seven. A little before. The sun won’t be up for another half an hour or so.”
The days were getting longer and sunrise getting earlier day by day, but it would be a few more weeks before it was light this early.
She hummed and hugged herself even tighter to me. “Then it’s too early. Let’s go back to sleep.” She smiled that cute smile of hers that was going to break hearts the world over in the years to come. “Unless you can think of anything better to do.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I’ve got one or two ideas.”
She was already lying half on top of me, so it was easy for her to push herself off the mattress and slide all the way onto me. Her face was level with mine, and as she looked down at me, her golden hair falling down past my head on either side, it felt like the only things in the world were her face and mine. Her bright blue eyes bore into my very soul, and I felt my heart swell.
And as she bent down to kiss me tenderly while rotating her hips to rub her crotch against mine, something else started to swell too.
She broke our kiss and dropped her full weight down on me, crushing her breasts against my chest, and sighed. “I love doing this with you, Paul. I love the way you make me feel. I love the way you look at me. I love the way you touch me and the way you hold me.” She pushed up again, straightening her arms, and looked into my eyes. “So how do I stop myself from falling in love with you all over again?”
I held her gaze. “I asked myself the same question while I watched you sleep.”
“And did you have an answer?”
I shook my head. “No. Sorry.”
She furrowed her brow. “Hang on ... I said how do I stop myself from falling in love with you ‘again,’ and you said you asked yourself the same thing. So, are you saying you were in love with me before? Back home? Before you left?”
I paused before answering. “I think you already know the answer. And you know that’s why I had to leave.”
With sadness in her eyes, she said, “You didn’t have to leave.”
“Yes. I did. I’d have only hurt you if I’d stayed.”
“You hurt me when you left.”
“I’d have hurt you even more if I’d stayed. I left before either of us fell too deep.”
She dropped her weight down on me again and turned her face away from mine. And quietly she said, “I know.”
We stayed like that, just holding each other for what felt like an eternity, but also no time at all. Then she turned her face back to me and planted a sweet kiss on my lips.
“Make love to me.”
Who was I to refuse a lady?
“So, how’s the album coming along? Have you made much progress in just a week?” Imogen asked. It was just after half past nine. Carly and I were sitting at the kitchen table with Mark and Imogen, enjoying a delicious breakfast that Imogen had prepared. Vanessa had once again spent the night with her boyfriend.
“Not much,” Carly replied. “We’re just trying to find a ‘sound,’ if you know what I mean. We want to understand what the album will sound like before we start writing the songs. That way, we’ll know what kind of songs to write, if that makes sense.” She paused and looked at me. “Although I’ve still got a couple of songs left over from my second album that just need tweaking and a few unfinished songs I’ve been working on since then, so it’s not as if we’re starting from scratch.”
“Well, how hard can it be to know what it will sound like?” Mark asked, grinning. “All country music sounds the same anyway.”
Imogen gently slapped his arm. “Behave.”
Mark had been teasing Carly all week about being a ‘Country Singer,’ and Carly had been teasing him right back about his ‘appalling taste in music.’
But she didn’t tease him back this time. “Actually, that’s kinda the point. I mean, y’all are right that Country does have a very distinctive sound. You know something’s Country when you hear it, and even though there’s a lot of variety in Country right now, you still know it’s Country.
“Now, look, don’t get me wrong, I love Country. I’m a Country girl. I grew up listening to Country music every day. I love my boots, and I wear ‘em all the time, with skirts and jeans both. I don’t have a big ‘ole truck, but I’d love one. I’m Country through and through. But the truth is, as big as the audience for Country is, it has its limits. There are a lot of folks who just won’t listen to Country, just like there are a lot of folks who won’t listen to Hip Hop or that awful rock music you listen to.” She grinned at Mark. She’d told me privately after teasing him that she really did like a lot of rock music, particularly classic rock from before the turn of the millennium.
“And that’s one of the reasons why I agreed to record ‘A Woman’s Work’ for Chloë’s movie,” Carly continued. “It’s definitely not Country. But my fans are young enough and loyal enough that they’ll buy it or download it or stream it anyways, and maybe, just maybe, people who wouldn’t normally listen to Country will too, because it’s not Country. Do you know what I mean?”
“But you’re still Country,” Mark said. “You can hear it in your voice even on that song.”
She smiled. “I know, right? And I didn’t even have any input into writing it or anything. It was already written, and most of the music for it had already been recorded. All I had to do was turn up at the studio and sing it.
“They told me to sing how I wanted first, so I did, and that’s Country ‘cause Country is what I know. Then they asked me to sing it how they wanted. They had to coach me through it, and it didn’t feel very natural, to be honest.
“In the end, they went with a mix of the two—which was weird the first time I had to perform it live. But then I thought, you know what, this is live, it doesn’t matter if it’s the same as the recording, right?” She shrugged.
“So, what are you trying to achieve by recording here instead of back home?” I asked.
“That’s just it, I don’t really know. Not yet. Just ... Something different. Something that will make me stand out from the crowd. I’m working with the people who wrote and produced ‘A Woman’s Work,’ and they are both so creative and talented, and I just know we’re going to make something really, really special. When we’ve worked out just what it is we want to make.
“We’ve been working on a couple of those half-finished songs that I mentioned and trying to see what we can do with the sound and the style and see if we can make something that’s still Country, but that people who don’t really like Country will listen as well. You get what I mean?”
“Well,” said Imogen. “I’m sure that whatever you make is going to be brilliant. I’ve been listening to both of your albums all week—”
“Don’t we know it?” said Mark under his breath.
Imogen shot him a dangerous look and then carried on. “—and I think they are both really, really good. So easy to listen to, and the lyrics are just so good. They’re, like, my new favourite albums. I prefer the first one, though ... It’s happier. The second one’s really good too, but some of those songs make me cry.”
“You know they’re about him, don’t you?” Mark said, nodding towards me.
“No, don’t be silly,” said Imogen. “How can they be?” She looked at Carly and asked, “Wait, they’re not, are they?”
Carly tilted her head to the side. “Yeah, pretty much.”
Imogen looked at me. “I hate you and love you in equal measure.”
I was now in my fifth term at Westmouth University and, to my shame, I had yet to set foot in the University Arts Centre. Well, technically, it was the Westmouthshire Music and Performing Arts Trust Centre, not the University Arts Centre. That seems like semantics, but as I grew older and Wintersmith became more involved in community projects, I realised it was an important difference.
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