A Healing Love
Copyright© 2025 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 18: Romantic Night
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 18: Romantic Night - 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
By the time Marie left, having taken instructions from ‘her boss,’ it was after four. Alannah left shortly after that, taking the CD Harry had made with her, and then Mark and Imogen went upstairs to get ready for a date—they were going to the cinema and, I’d guess, something to eat either before or afterwards. That left Carly and me sitting on the sofa in the lounge with the television switched to a news channel for background noise.
“What do you want to do this evening?” I asked her. She cuddled against my side, her legs tucked up on the sofa beneath her. She was wearing a short denim skirt, and I think I addressed my question to her legs, which were magnificent.
“I’m in two minds. Well, three minds, if that’s a thing. Part of me wants to sit here on the couch with you all night and watch TV. Fall asleep cuddling with you, and then have you carry me up to bed and make love to me. But another part of me wants to go dancing at that club we went to on Thursday with Roxie. It’ll be dark and loud, and we can get sweaty and naughty right there on the dance floor.”
There was fire in her eyes as she spoke. I thought Porky’s was a dive, but clearly, the idea appealed to Carly.
She let out a sigh. “And another part of me wants you to whisk me away for a romantic meal. Somewhere really nice, you know? Fancy. With tablecloths and napkins and wine glasses on the table, and so much cutlery you don’t know where to start.”
“Hmm,” I said. “We’d have to dress up if we went somewhere like that.”
She grinned. “Well, I may have brought a real nice dress with me. Just in case.”
“Fancy restaurant it is, then. If we can get a table.”
My phone was on the coffee table, so I reached out to pick it up, forcing Carly to move away from me.
“There’s a place on the seafront called Belle Vue. It’s Anglo-French, I think. It’s supposed to be the best restaurant in town, but I reckon it would be fully booked on a Saturday. Even in January. Still, it’s worth a try.”
I searched for the restaurant website on my phone. “They don’t have online booking,” I said. “Looks like I’ll have to call them.”
I found the number on the website and called it.
“Good evening, Royal Belle Vue Hotel and Restaurant. You are speaking to Oliver. How may I assist you this evening?”
“Hi, Oliver. I was hoping that I could book a table for tonight.”
“I can look for you, Sir, but I would be surprised if we have anything available ... Oh, no, you’re in luck. We’ve had a cancellation. How does seven-thirty sound?”
I looked at my watch. It was almost five.
“Sounds good.”
“Excellent. Under what name should I make the reservation?”
“Robertson. Paul Robertson.”
“Very good, Mr Robertson. Seven-thirty in the conservatory. I believe it’s a window seat, so you will indeed have a ‘Belle Vue’ of Westmouth Bay.” He chuckled at his own joke. “I would advise that you arrive in good time for your reservation, Sir. Perhaps at seven? That would allow you to enjoy a drink in our cocktail lounge before you are seated. I should also remind you, Sir, that we have a strict dress code, and I suggest you check our website to ensure you avoid disappointment. I hope you enjoy the evening.”
“Thank you, Oliver. We’ll see you at seven.”
I hung up the phone and looked at Carly. “We probably need to leave at about six-thirty. That should give us time to walk into town and still have a cocktail in the bar before we eat. I remember you said you wanted to try a Long Slow Screw Up Against a Wall, that right?”
She gave me a cheeky grin. “Well, yes, I did. But not in public, Paul.”
I leered at her. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure we could find a quiet spot where no one would see if we looked really hard.”
She barked out a joyous laugh. “I’ll bet you know all the quiet spots in this town.”
“Not in this town, no. But if I took you back home to Micester...”
She put her hand on my chest. “Maybe tomorrow, huh? But for now, let’s just sit here on the couch for half an hour before I go and get ready.”
“You need an hour to get ready?”
“Absolutely. I’ll need to shower, wash my hair, dry my hair, style my hair, do my makeup—”
“Okay, okay, I get it. Half an hour here on the sofa and then an hour getting ready. Well, an hour of you getting ready. I’ll take less than half that.”
It was a delightful half-hour, just the two of us sitting on the sofa. We watched an episode of a classic sitcom from the nineties on a streaming service, and then Carly went upstairs to start getting ready. I offered to take a shower with her to “save water,” but she told me it would just end up taking her longer to get ready, and we’d miss our reservation. So, I waited until she’d finished her shower before taking mine. Then, while she was doing her hair and makeup, I took my time to have a shave.
“Paul, I’m going to go in one of the other rooms to get dressed, if that’s okay?”
I smiled to myself, guessing that she didn’t want me to see her until she was properly dressed. Or perhaps she didn’t want me to see what was underneath the fancy dress she’d bought to wear until later that night.
“That’s fine. All the bedrooms should be empty. Or you could use the other bathroom.” Half my face was still covered in shaving cream.
“The bathroom is probably best, don’t you think? I know I wouldn’t want someone else in my bedroom without them asking me.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in a bit.”
After finishing my shave, I took my best suit out of the wardrobe—dark navy blue with widely spaced black pinstripes. I’d only worn it once before. I also took out a smart white shirt and a matching tie and got dressed.
“I’ll wait for you downstairs,” I said after leaving my room to find the door to the shared bathroom still closed.
“Okay. I’m nearly ready.”
I checked my watch. “Don’t be too long. We need to leave in about ten minutes.”
“I’ll be five more minutes at most.”
There was a window on the landing at the top of the stairs that looked out over the small front garden and street. I glanced out of it before going downstairs.
“Carly, it’s started raining. I’ll call for a taxi instead of walking into town. That probably gives you an extra five or ten minutes.”
She didn’t answer. Instead, the bathroom door opened, and my Alabama Babe walked through it.
You’ve heard of the Little Black Dress, right? Short, tight, simple. They’ve been around forever, and every woman has at least one.
Did you know they also come in white?
That’s what Carly was wearing: a white “Little Black Dress.” It wasn’t short, really—it came just above her knee—but it was tight and showcased her glorious hourglass figure to maximum effect. Wide straps over the shoulders plunged to a deep scoop neck that exposed enough cleavage to be both alluring and modest. I noticed as she walked past me to go downstairs first that it was the same at the back, plunging low enough to make me wonder if she was wearing a bra.
Flesh-coloured stockings (I found out later that evening they were stockings with lacy tops) and strappy high heels completed her outfit.
“You look magnificent,” I said.
She tilted her head and smiled shyly. “Thank you.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “So do you. That’s a really nice suit. Fits you well.”
“It should,” I said. “It’s tailored. I had it made for my sister’s wedding.”
Once downstairs, I called a taxi and was informed it would be a fifteen-minute wait. That meant we should still make it to the restaurant in time for a cocktail before dinner, but I suggested we have a drink in the meantime while we waited. Mark and I kept a supply of spirits in a cupboard in the utility room, so I went to see what I had while Carly fetched two tumblers from the cabinet in the kitchen.
I found a half-full bottle of blended Scotch whisky, a quarter-full bottle of single malt, a half-full bottle of vodka (Imogen and Vanessa’s preferred pre-night out tipple), an unopened bottle of peach schnapps, and an open but nearly full bottle of...
“Tennessee whiskey!” Carly said from behind me. “I didn’t expect you to have that.”
I shrugged. “I bought it a couple of months ago for Mark to try, but he prefers Scotch. As you can tell,” I said, pointing to the two bottles of Scotland’s finest.
“Well, I’m a bourbon girl,” she said. “Although, if you call this—” She reached into the cabinet and grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels. “—bourbon in Tennessee, they get quite upset with you.”
“I know. I fell into that trap in that bar one night, remember?”
She put her free hand on my face. “Oh, Paul, I remember every detail of the three weeks we spent together.”
She returned to the kitchen, taking the bottle with her. “You know, we make whiskey in Alabama, too. And it’s even better than this. But this will do. I’ve not had any since I landed in London, so pour me a glass, kind sir.” She’d slipped into her Southern Belle accent again.
Grinning, I replied in a terrible attempt to mimic her accent, “Yes, Ma’am. Whatever the lady wishes.”
With a glint in her eye, she said, “Whatever I wish, huh? I might just hold you to that.” She paused. “Later.”
From the cocktails at the bar, to the excellent meal with a view over the bay, to the stroll along the seafront afterwards, it was the kind of evening when a man might ask his girl to marry him if he were so inclined.
I didn’t go that far, but as we stood at the end of East Pier kissing, I felt there was something I needed to say.
“Carly, there’s something I need to tell you.”
She smiled at me. A cute little smile that made my heart sing just to see it. And the tune it sang was just as sweet as anything I’d heard her sing.
“You don’t have to say it, Paul. I know what you are going to say, and you don’t need to say it.”
“But I do. I do have to say it. I love you, Carly. I’m in love with you.”
She reached up to touch my face and smiled. A smile that told me that she loved me just as much as I loved her. She didn’t need to say it either.
But she did.
“I love you, too, Paul. I fell in love with you in Nashville, and I have never stopped. Even after you left me, I never stopped loving you, even though I never expected to see you again.” She withdrew her hand from my face and reached down to take my hand. Her eyes had met mine when I told her I had something to say and had not left them since—not when I expressed my love for her, nor when she told me the same.
But now she averted her gaze—but only for a heartbeat—before meeting my eyes again. Then she released my hand and turned away from me. We stood right at the end of the pier, and she leaned against the railing, gazing out at the blackness of the sea.
“I thought I’d never see you again. Oh, I hoped. I hoped you’d come back to me, but the longer it was without hearing from you, the more I knew that you’d never come back. So, I poured all my feelings into my songs. Then I got the record deal, and suddenly, life was a whirlwind. I was recording, writing and performing, and I didn’t have time to miss you, but I never forgot you, and I never stopped loving you or hoping that one day, somehow, you’d come back into my life.
“And then at the party, Chloë came to get me to introduce me to some friends of hers ... And there you were.”
She turned her head to look at me again.
“And there I was.”
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