The Ballad Of Noella
Part I
“I hate how this hurts” moaned Noella as she walked though the tempestuous weather of late fall. The rain and sleet had come down intermitantlly through out the day hammering the windows of Noella’s office. As light started to decline, she had decided that she was done with work, done with this day, done with this week. Sadly, it was only Tuesday. It had been one of those days where everything felt like an emergency yet nothing actually got done. Phone calls, emails, meetings yet no output. Nothing substantial. Her only desire was to brave the cold and rain and make her way to the her favourite coffee shop: Aubespine.
Only a few blocks away, the coffee shop sprawled the entire first floor of beautiful early victorian era building. One the one side, the windows opened to a pedestrian street and on the other a gently flowing river who’s view was only obstructed by a giant oak tree in the process of shedding its autumn dress. Noella pushed the front door and was greeted by warm air, the scent of fire wood and coffee as well as the nod of the barista. She had become regular here so much so that the barista smiled and only asked if Noella wanted her usual: A large cappuccino with a slice of chocolate and almond cake. She acquiesced, looked around and, to her hearts content, her favourite spot was free. She took place in a comfy leather sitting chair with a small round coffee table. She loved this spot as it offered a view both on the river and on the rest of the coffee shop.
Noella had developed a taste for people watching. She delighted in their smiles and laughs, or their frowns and faces marked with concern. She always wondered what was behind that feeling, what had lead them to feel that emotion in that very moment. She surveyed her surroundings in hopes of catching a glimpse of the human condition in action. Her eyes were not disappointed. A new face was in the Aubespine coffee shop. Sitting opposite to her, only a few strides away, was a tall lean man with jet black hair coiffed to the side reading a white clothbound book. The golden writing on the spine glimmered in the low light of the coffee shop. His thin rimmed round reading glasses were gently deposited mid way down his nose. Curiosity made Noella’s gaze linger on this handsome stranger. She appreciated the anthracite coloured turtle neck he was wearing paired with navy blue jeans and brown leather boots. Both perfectly contoured and complemented his athletic figure. She smiled to herself wondering who this man was.
She was disturbed in her revery by the barista bringing her order and thankfully so as simultaneously the mysterious man lifted his eyes from his book and stared right into Noella’s eyes. Her eyes darted quickly from the barista, to her coffee, to the man and back to her coffee. He had not yet returned to his book – in fact it even seemed that he had slightly lowered it focusing his attention on her. The bite of rain might have coloured her cheeks but could not hide the fact that her complexion had deepened in hue. She took a sip of her cappuccino and pretended that her focus laid elsewhere. She pulled out her book, placed it on the table, nervously took another sip of coffee and picked it back up to open it to where she had stopped. She had been trying to read more classics and this week Noella had decided to attack The Waves by Virginia Woolf. She read the first page only to realise that nothing had stuck in her mind. She lifted her eyes once more. The man had gone back to his reading. Relief washed over her; people watching came at the price of sometimes being caught ogling someone. Noella hated when that happened. She always felt so embarrassed and yet this also gave rise to the paradoxical situation that she had to check weather the person was still looking back, if they were still judging her for her indiscretion. As it was habit, she looked back to the handsome stranger, remaining there a few seconds. And once again, he lifted his deep blue eyes from his book and set them into Noella’s. He lifted an eyebrow and the side of his mouth curled into a smile. Panicked, Noella tilted her head and squinted her eyes pretending to be examining his book.
He lifted the manuscript higher off the table.
“Dumas” his deep voice rolled across the short distance between them. “La Tulipe Noir to be precise. My grandfather used to read these books to me when I was a child.”
Noella smiled through her embarrassment.
“French Classics are always a good choice. I am attempting an English classic” she said lifting her book towards him.
“Ah yes Virginia Woolf. I have always struggled a little bit with her writing”
“Why is that?”
The stranger paused for a second, straightened himself, pointed to his cup of coffee then to her table.
“Do you mind if I join you? I think it would be better than to shout over other’s conversations.”
Noella shook her head and pulled her coffee cup towards her, inviting him over. He stood up, picked up his black duffel coat, his cup of coffee, and his book and walked towards her. There was confidence and quite strength in each of his strides. Each foot step was done with intent and purpose. She took a quick sip of her drink attempting to mask the growing excitement that flared in her gut.
“I can appreciate the elegance of her writing and beautiful metaphors for life but I can’t help but feel as I am missing the point. It is as if there was a much deeper meaning that eludes me.”
She nodded pensively.
“I have not yet finished this one” she said putting her hand on the now closed novel. “I am not sure I can relate… yet.” She paused before continuing hesitantly. “I find classic literature intriguing. I feel more comfortable with modern literature but classics have a way of using words in such a musical manner. Many tongue twisters. I didn’t catch your name by the way”
“You are right. Where are my manners? My name is Mathew and yours? He asked while extending his hand out.
“Noella” she replied taking his hand into hers. It nearly completely encased her hand into its warmth. Only now did she realise how much larger this man was compared to her. He smiled at her, his eyes never leaving hers, occasionally blinking .Quite slowly she thought. It remind her of a cat.
“So Dumas, eh?”
“Yes. My grandfather was french and he received this one as a gift for his 10th birthday. I guess he was keen on sharing the wonder he had felt as a child.” Mathew pushed the white clothbound book towards Noella. “You seemed to be quite interested in the binding”
“Yes I… was… sorry. I…” She mubbled taking the book into her hands. “It’s beautiful. It reminds me of a book collection I saw the other day. Let me show you”
She pulled out her phone from her bag, unlocked the screen and opened up her gallery. She leaned towards Mathew as he moved closer and leaned in towards her. She frantically swiped through her pictures until she found what what was looking for: a green and gold clothbound Lord of the Rings trilogy collection. The picture was overexposed. She swore she had a better one. One that would better highlight the beauty of the collection. She flicked through her phone once more. She had swiped too far. Her screen was now showing a picture of her. Naked. Laying on her bed, her hazel hair covered her breasts with only but the hint of a nipple peaking through. Her crossed legs marred her intimacy in shadow. Noella froze. After a second that felt like an eternity she quickly locked her screen.
“I have always been told to never judge a book by its cover. But some covers are… simply sublime” Mathew said this so softly that it nearly came out as a whisper. He leaned back into his chair. Noella lifted her eyes towards him. He was looking at her with a sly smile. He was visibly amused by the situation. His bottom lip ever so slightly curled back under the pressure of a measured bight. Trying to cut through the tension, she blurted out the first thing that came into her currently blank mind.
“It would only be fair for you to share your… euh… indecent pictures.”
Mathew chuckled.
“Unfortunately, I am not as talented with a camera as you are. I am more of a live performance art kind of person. I guess I could share that with you.” he replied matter-of-factly. “For fairness’s sake of course.”
She had stepped into every possible puddle of embarrassment she could have and yet if her ears did not deceive her, she was hearing interest in Mathew’s words. What could she respond to that? She was intrigued and she would be lying if she said she was not curious to see what hid beneath his layers.
“I’ll tell you what” Mathew interjected. “How about dinner on Friday so we can continue discussing the art of book covers. We can even broach the subject of pastedowns if you want”. He patted his pockets and searched through his duffel coat.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a pen, would you? I would suggest to put my number in your phone but I am not sure you are going to relinquish that anytime soon.”
Noella released her grip on her phone, brought the device close to her chest. She unlocked the screen and quickly exited her gallery.
“What’s your number?”
After Mathew had dictated his number, he picked up his duffle coat and turned towards the door. As he excited the Aubespine, he paused and looked back towards Noella. He smiled and vanished into the now dark autumn night. He had left his copy of La Tulipe Noir on the table.
***
Noella struggled internally: she knew that taking up strange men on offers with the promise of carnal discovery could be dangerous. Her prudent side had cried out and listed the risks but her curiosity and now growing lust had drowned those screams to mere whispers. Besides, Mathew had left his book on the table. She couldn’t just keep it. It was a gift from his grandfather after all. Surely, it must have sentimental value at the very least. On Wednesday evening, she called. She hung up before the dial tone excited the speaker. No. She would text. Yes, that was better.
She only needed to wait a few minutes before hearing the high pitch ping of her phone. Excitedly, she unlocked her screen to reveal Mathew’s response.
“I have made an 8 o’clock reservation at Vatsyayana. I hope you like Indian food.” Mathew had attached the geolocation of the restaurant. Noella had never been there but she vaguely knew where it was and had heard her friends mention it a few times.
After Mathew’s confirmation, she went through her bathroom cupboards and pulled out her remaining waxing strips. As they say in French, you must suffer to be pretty. Every time she pulled on the strip, she could not agree more with that saying. Eventually, though, she could caress her smooth skin and marvelled at the sensation. She observed herself for a couple of minute in the mirror. She looked at her pear shaped plump breast with one hanging slightly lower than the other. She scanned her legs occasionally pulling at the stretch marks imprinted in her inner thighs. She passed her hand on the curvature of her abdomen. She had fell in love with her body the day she had visited the Nude section of the Louvre in Paris for the first time. After all, it is those paintings that had inspired the picture that got her in this situation in the first place. She had left a small strip of finely trimmed hair on her pubis – a marked path towards the warm and humid paradise within.
She passed her fingers down the ridge of her labia and felt the wetness cling to her fingers. She applied a bit more pressure. Her middle finger met her clitoris and sent a light shiver down her legs. She continued following the path and slid a finger inside of her. She lingered there for an instant before coming back to her clitoris. She started by circling it occasionally gliding right down the middle. Her breathing intensified in unison with the repeated passages. Her breathing transitioned to soft moans as the vigour of her self pleasure intensified. Suddenly, she stopped. She glanced towards her shower and quickly turned it on letting the cold water pass through. After a short while, she stepped into the shower and soaked herself with the warm liquid. She would have preferred a bath but right now this will do. She pulled the shower head down and approached her inner thighs. The pressure of the water provided a gentle vibration that brought back the soft moans. This time, however, aided by the shower her ring finger and middle fingers went inside of her. Slowly at first, she closed her fingers towards her palm and then back again. She repeated the movement progressively accelerating. Her fingers went back and forth amplifying the waves of pleasure that were taking over her. She continued breathing in deeper and deeper. She focused on the pleasure between her legs. She accelerated. She gasped. She held her breath. She dared not to stop. She was nearly there. So close. At last. In a final moan and sigh of relief she slid down the bath tub and sat there catching her breath – the water gently trickling down her back. Yes, she was indeed looking forward to Friday.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/yjxs7y/the_ballad_of_noella_part_1
Brilliant!