Trials Of LoveChapter 2 free porn video

Almost four months later:

I tossed the mooring line to the waiting woman and watched as she efficiently tied off to bow line to the nearby mooring post. I walked back to the stern, jumped onto the bank and tied off the stern line. Jumping back on board, I switched off the main engine. The diesel thudded a last couple of times, then silence fell over the boat.

The port Capitainerie, a very lovely young woman, who I noted with regret was wearing a wedding ring, greeted me. She asked how long I intended to stay and did I want an electrical and fresh water hook up. The medieval town of Bezier, in the south of France, looked a nice enough place, so I decided to stay a few days.

“Trois jours,” (three days) I told her, and yes to the power and water. We went to her office overlooking the lock and I signed the paperwork and paid the fees.

She walked back with me and helped me connect the power and water lines. I offered her a glass of wine, which she accepted. We sat on a bench on the bank and sipped the local red wine. The sunlight, reflected off the surface of the water, danced as the gentle breeze ruffled the leave in the trees. It was late September, and the canal was much quieter now that most of the hire cruisers, the dreaded ‘noddy’ boats, were back at their home bases.

The Nevermore was an eight-year-old steel hulled, 68-foot replica Dutch barge that I’d bought nine months ago as a holiday hideaway for Kay and myself. It was going to be a surprise, so I had kept the purchase a secret. I was now extremely grateful for that fact. I’d seen an advert for her online and had bought her on a whim. I’d had her taken to a boatyard where she’d been fully overhauled and updated.

From Zurich, I’d taken a train to France, making my way to Toulouse, where the boat was moored. I’d spent a couple of days restocking and refueling her before beginning a slow cruise along the Canal du Midi, heading towards the Mediterranean.

There was no radio or television on the boat. Well, there was, an automatic satellite system was one of the updates, but I hadn’t bothered to switch them on since I’d stepped on board. My phone had suffered a similar fate and was languishing in the back of a drawer. I was enjoying the total isolation. I was only travelling a couple of miles each day; I was in no hurry, and most nights I would moor up on an isolated stretch of the canal. I only ventured to commercial moorings when I needed fresh provisions, or fuel and water. Books, music and a rekindled passion for fishing had become my companions.

The woman on the bench stirred, and we talked about the important things; the weather, and which were the best local restaurants. In the background, the rustle of the leaves in the breeze and the metallic clink of Pétanque balls kept us company.

The glass of wine finished, she bid me farewell and made her way back to her office. I filled my glass and sat on one of the chairs on the sun deck. There was enough of a breeze that there was a chill in the air, so I pulled on a hoodie.

You can call me a coward, but I really didn’t want to know anything about Kay. If I knew nothing, then nothing could happen, was my irrational logic. I had severed all ties with my former life. I hadn’t shaved, and I now sported a respectable beard.

I had been at my lowest point that first week. I was so bitter at the blatant disloyalty of a man I’d thought of as my friend. I was so angry that I’d sold my share of the management agency that bore his name to his closest rival. The money had found its way into my French account, and that’s what was providing my living. I touched nothing that linked me back to my former life.

The gates of the lock opened, and a slightly smaller Dutch barge nosed its way out into the basin of the port. I recognized her as the Wizard. She headed for the vacant berth beyond mine. I stirred myself and joined the Capitainerie as she walked along the bank to meet the new arrivals. Between us, we made the Wizard fast to the bank. I acknowledged the owner’s thanks, an Australian couple, Paul and Caroline, who were in their earlier fifties. We had bumped into each other several time over the past few weeks as both boats were heading in the same direction. I invited them to join me for a glass of wine when they were ready.

Twenty minutes later, a call from the dockside drew me from my contemplation and I welcomed them on board. Paul and Caroline are your typical Australians abroad. They were a complete breath of fresh air, and as had happened on our previous meetings, within moments of their company, I’d put my worries to one side as we regaled each other with stories about life on the canals.

They shared the ownership of their boat with three other couples. They would come over for three months each year. Paul was semi-retired and only worked half of the year, so three months each year in Europe suited their lifestyle to a T.

Caroline was a few years younger than Paul, an attractive willowy honey blonde in her late 40s, who was always smiling. She was an excellent counterpoint to Paul, a stern no-nonsense man, a little shorter than his wife was. He seemed to be much like a more refined version of Crocodile Dundee.

We finished the second bottle of wine and I invited them to join me at the nearby restaurant, the one the Capitainerie had recommended earlier. The food was excellent and the company even better.

We were relaxing at the end of the meal when Caroline couldn’t restrain herself any longer. She asked, “You’re wearing a wedding ring, but since we met you, you haven’t mentioned anything about your wife?”

I shrugged, “She found that she preferred another man in her bed. I haven’t spoken to her in months, and I’ve been too lazy to take the ring off.”

“Who was she?”

“Just a musician,” I replied dismissively, hoping that Caroline would take the hint and drop the subject. Fortunately, she picked up on my discomfort and stopped.

“Paul’s baby sister and her boyfriend are joining us tomorrow,” she said, changing the subject.

Paul snorted, “Cassie’s twenty years younger than me. She was a bit of an oops baby. I don’t know who was more surprised, Mum or my dad when they found out that what she thought was the change of life was a baby.”

“She’s a bit of a handful, and her latest boyfriend...” Caroline petered off. “Well, he leaves a bit to be desired if you know what I mean.”

“Let’s be honest,” Paul said, “he’s a total waste of space. He’s a perfect candidate for a Darwin Award. The world would be a lot better if he removed himself from the gene pool. I just don’t know what she sees in him.”

Caroline snorted, “He’s well hung,” she muttered.

“What?” Paul said.

“He’s hung like a horse,” she explained. “Not that I have seen it,” she hastened to say. “It’s just what she told me.”

She held her hands an exaggerated distance apart and grinned at her husband.

“Apparently, he’s a walking dildo, and she loves him fucking her. She always was a bit of a size queen, and he’s a perfect fit, but even she admits that he’s as dumb as a wombat.”

We were laughing so much we had to leave the restaurant. Back on the boat, I offered them a nightcap, and we sat under the stars drinking several brandies. Paul’s head slowly dropped forward, and soon we heard a soft little snore.

Caroline smiled at him, her eyes full of love. “He’s so cute when he’s like this. He had a heart attack two years ago, and I thought I was going to lose him. Fortunately, he made a full recovery, but that’s the reason he’s semi-retired.”

She shook her head, “Christ, I’ve had too much to drink.”

I murmured my agreement and raised the half empty bottle in her direction.

She smiled, held out her glass, and I topped up both of our drinks.

She sipped and then gave me a long contemplative look. Finally, she said, “Your wife really hurt you, didn’t she?”

Emotions I’d managed to bottle up over the past few months shot to the fore, and I could feel the tears welling up. The amount I’d drunk, combined with Caroline’s easy nature made me lose my inhibition and make me talkative.

“I still don’t understand why she did what she did. I had no clue that there was a problem until that last day. Suddenly, I’m watching a stranger propose to her and all the people around her congratulating them.”

“Sorry,” Caroline said, “Did you just say a stranger?”

“Well to me, but apparently no stranger to her.”

“Why would he propose to your wife when he knows she’s already married”

“Most probably because only a few people ever knew Kay and I were married,” I said, as though that explained everything.

“That makes no bloody sense,” Caroline said.

“It’ll make a hell of a lot more sense if you understood the ridiculous relationship we had.”

“Well?” She asked

I sighed, I’d been thinking about this for the past few months and I still couldn’t believe I’d allowed Kay to keep our relationship hidden for all that time.

“I suppose it doesn’t. Remember when you asked what she did, I said a musician?” I said. “Well, she’s a bit more than just a musician. She’s one of the best concert pianists in the world.”

Caroline gave me a surprised look, “Are you talking about Kayla Ortiz?”

“Yes, only she’s Kayla Ryan, or at least she was, maybe still is; I don’t know anymore.”

“But she’s not married.”

I wiggled my finger with its ring glowing in the streetlights. “That’s what she wanted the world to think.”

“I don’t understand; why did no one know that she was married to you?”

“Because that’s the way she wanted it for the past 10 years, ever since we first met. It was a big thing for her. Soon after we first met, her aunt went through a very messy divorce. She, like Kay, was a world-class musician. It turned out her husband couldn’t cope with the endless hounding they got from the press. All the innuendos and speculation about her and other men caused him to have a mental breakdown.”

I paused for a moment. Now that I’d started, it actually felt good to be talking about this. I’d been bottling it up for too long.

“Kay was so afraid that could happen to us,” I continued. “Her answer was to hide our relationship away from the paparazzi. I loved her, so stupidly, I agreed. Only our families and our closest friends were to know about us. For the last couple of years, I’ve been trying to get her to change her mind. I know that we are strong enough to survive any publicity. I really thought I’d succeeded, but obviously, I was too late. She found someone else with whom she could be open to the world.”

I swallowed the last of the brandy in my glass, enjoying the burn as it slid down my throat.

“So, that’s my sorry story, Caroline. I thought I was happily married one day, then humiliated in front of hundreds of her so-called friends the next, as he proposes to her.”

I contemplated the empty glass in my hand, debating if I should fill it with another measure of emotional anesthesia.

Caroline took it from my grasp. “I think you’ve had enough Pete. Have you spoken to her since that night, because if you haven’t, you really need to.”

I shook my head. “It’s still too fresh in my mind, and I might say something I’d regret if I did speak to her.” I lurched to my feet. “On that note, I’m off to bed.”

Caroline stood and gave me a brief hug. As I went below deck, I heard her rouse Paul and then a chorus of good nights as they made their way back to their boat.

I woke in the morning feeling far better that I had any right to feel. Okay, my mouth tasted like something had crawled in and died at some point, but that was fairly usual morning occurrence, nowadays. Showering and cleaning my teeth resolved my body issues, and the first cup of fresh coffee solved my mental ones.

A knock on the wheelhouse door and Caroline’s call was a pleasant interruption.

“I come bearing gifts,” she said as she held out a paper bag from which the aroma of freshly baked croissants escaped.

“My savior,” I said, and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

The croissants went onto a plate, and I asked if they’d had breakfast.

She eyed up the plate of croissants and grinned. “Yes, but I’ve always got room for one more of those and some fresh coffee.”

She called out to Paul, and he waved back, saying he’d be over in a while and to save him a croissant.

“We’re off to pick up Cassie and her walking dildo from the airport in a wee while. You’re invited to ours for a barbeque to meet them this evening if you’re not moving on.”

“Love to join you,” I replied, trying not to smile at her description of Cassie’s boyfriend and failing miserably. “I think I’ll hang around for a few days. It’s not like I’ve got anywhere I need to be.”

She laughed, and a little while later Paul joined us for a second late breakfast. They left for the airport in Marseille at eleven.

I had a lot to think about, but I was kept busy performing the daily chores that living on a boat required. It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that I could relax. I sat down on the sun deck to enjoy a glass of wine with some fresh bread and the local cheese. The conversation with Caroline last night had caused those black thoughts I’d been trying to repress to rattle about in my mind.

Now that I’d had time to think about that last day, very little that had happened made any sense. Yes, we had been arguing. Then there had been that odd phone call from N. I was still guessing that the mysterious N was Nigel, and it was the most logical explanation to make. He’d even wanted to see her the previous evening.

There had to have been something going on between them. They must have been having an affair, otherwise, why would he have proposed. You don’t do something like that in front of all those people unless you are sure of the response. He had to have been expecting Kay to say yes.

It made no sense; why had she threatened to cancel the concert if I wasn’t there? Thinking about it, I knew she’d had the spotlight shine on my seat so she could confirm I was there before she started playing. In fact, nothing had suggested she wasn’t in love with me. There was also something about Stephen’s reaction that kept niggling at me, but I couldn’t work it out.

These, and many other thoughts kept racing through my mind, yet I got no closer to a conclusion, in fact it just made it worse.

My musings were disturbed by Caroline calling out a greeting. She and Paul were back from the airport. A man and woman who I assumed was Paul’s sister and her boyfriend were with them. I was surprised that the sun was already dipping towards the horizon. It was gone five, and I had been lost in my thoughts for most of the afternoon.

Cassie was in her early thirties, radiating that uber-confidence that Australian women seemed to have in abundance. She was a light brunette, the same height as her older brother. Her eyes were the same striking blue as his. She had an excellent figure that must have been toned on the Australian beaches, because her boyfriend, who I now could only think of because of Caroline’s comments, as ‘the walking dildo’, was your archetypal surfer beach bum: tall, lanky with long sun-bleached hair and a body honed on a surfboard.

“We are just going to get Cassie and Tom settled in, then you and I need to talk,” Caroline said. “I’ll be over in few minutes.”

As good as her word, she was climbing on board the Nevermore ten minutes later. She wasn’t alone; Cassie was with her. I’d opened a bottle of the local white wine in anticipation, so I poured them a glass each and we sat down on the sun deck.

“So, what do we need to talk about?” I asked after we’d got past the introductions and pleasantries.

“I can’t get your story out of my mind,” Caroline said. “I’m not a great one for the gossip columns. I know who Kayla is, but that’s because I love her music. Cassie here, on the other hand, loves celebrity gossip.”

“I can’t believe that you are married to her,” Cassie said. “It has to be one of the best-kept celebrity secrets ever.”

“We’ve been together for 10 years and married for the last eight of them, but I’ve no idea if we are still married,” I pointed out.

“There was a story on e-news a couple of months ago, that she had pulled out of a record deal for personal reasons. She was also supposed to play at a gala concert for the Queen’s birthday last month, and she cancelled. The gossip writers say she’s moved back to the UK.”

Christ, I’d forgotten about that. She’d been so proud when she’d received the invitation to perform at the gala concert. I couldn’t believe that she’d not played. She must be staying in the place we’d bought in Cornwall.

Caroline reached into her bag and pulled out an iPad. She pointed at it and said. “I was looking while we were waiting for their plane to land and there’s nothing in the news about Kayla Ortiz getting engaged anywhere. There is this, and I really think you need to read it. It’s from a couple of weeks ago.”

She handed me the iPad, open to Kayla’s official fan web page. I think I’d only glanced at it a couple of times before. The site was run by Stephen’s agency, and I had a similar fan page for each of my alter egos.

In the center of the page was a reproduced letter. There was a short paragraph above it written by the woman who looked after the website.

Kayla Ortiz has announced that she’s been in a long-term relationship, that, she’s been married to the author Peter Ryan for the past eight years. She has asked that we print the letter she has written to her husband. There is a second letter addressed to her fans. We have done as she requested and here they both are in all their entirety. Lastly, I’d like to congratulate her on behalf of all her loyal fans. Please read the letters. She’s asking for your help. At her request, we have disabled the comment feature.

Below, in a separate box, were the two letters, both were dated two days ago.

The first was to me

“Peter, my love.

I’ve treated you in the worst possible way. For the last eight years, I’ve hidden the fact that I’ve been married to you. I made you hide in the background and denied you in public because of my own irrational fears. You loved me so much that you were willing to accept my selfish behavior.

You are the only person who has shared my life, my body and my love for the past 10 years. You are the most wonderful and loyal man, and I love you so much that it physically hurts not to have you by my side.

Four months ago, you walked away from me because of my own foolish actions. I met an opportunistic man who briefly made me doubt my love for you. You couldn’t be with me for those last months of my world tour, and this man took advantage of that. He worked his way close to me. I thought he was a business colleague and a friend, and foolishly, I didn’t tell him about you. You were such a special part of my life, Peter, that I selfishly didn’t want to share you.

My husband, my love, I promise you that nothing happened. His proposal was as big a surprise to me as it must have been to you. I can’t imagine what it must have felt to watch him declare his love for me in such a public way after I’d refused to publicly acknowledge our love. I promise you that I wasn’t smiling at his proposal; I was smiling because I’d just seen you enter the room.

You disappeared, and nobody knows where you are. I know you flew to Switzerland, but we can’t find out where you went from there. I don’t know of any other way to contact you, so I’m hoping that you still care enough about me to view this site, and read this letter.

Your loving wife,

Kayla Ortiz-Ryan”

Below was a letter to her fans.

“To my loyal fans

I’m married. I’m sorry that I felt it important to keep it secret, but at the time I felt justified with my decision., a decision I’ve recently realized was a big mistake.

Who is my husband? His name is Peter Ryan. I’ve been in a relationship with him these past 10 years and married for the last eight. He is the most wonderful and loyal man. The rumors of boyfriends, lovers and affairs were just that, rumors; he was my rock.

I did a very foolish thing, I betrayed my husband. I met an opportunistic man who made me doubt my love for my husband. Four months ago, Peter left me and I have no idea where he is. I need to find him to apologize and beg him to come home.

This latest tour was to be my last for several years as we planned to settle down and start a family. Now I’m on my own, and I want my husband back.

To you my fans, please, if you see or hear anything about Peter, I beg you to contact me through the email link on the web page. I have posted a photograph of Peter below. I need to find him and correct my mistake and his misconceptions.

Gratefully,

Kayla Ortiz-Ryan”

Below this letter was a photograph of me, cropped from a photo taken at a family get-together earlier this year.

There was a long silence as I stared at the screen. Did I want to believe her that nothing had happened? Something had to have occurred. You don’t just make a public proposal without an assumption that you would get a yes in reply.

As I put the iPad down, Caroline said, “If you hadn’t told me who you are I’d never have recognized you from the photo. That full beard and your longer hair make such a difference to your appearance.”

“Hiding wasn’t the reason I grew them out.”

“I guessed that, the beard suits you, though.”

“So did you?” I asked pointedly.

They both looked at me sheepishly. “I emailed her while I was at the airport,” Caroline admitted. “I must have sounded convincing, as I got a reply within minutes asking me for a contact number. A woman called me and asked a lot of questions and where you were. She was very surprised that you were living on a boat.”

“Yeah, I never told Kayla that I was buying the Nevermore. I suppose I better see if I can find my phone. I guess she’ll be trying to call me.”

“Haven’t you been checking your messages,” Cassie exclaimed.

“Not since the night I heard Nigel propose to her. I switched it off when I got on the plane and I haven’t switched it back on since. I threw it in a drawer when I got on board, and it’s been there ever since.”

Cassie looked at me in shock, she couldn’t contemplate a life without a phone permanently attached to her hand. I retrieved my phone and switched it on, amazingly, there was still a half charge after all these months.

Once the phone had connected to a carrier and found a signal, it was constantly pinging and chiming for the next five minutes.

I groaned as I looked at the list of missed calls and texts. It looked like I’d pissed off a lot of people with my disappearing act and probably lost a few friends as well.

I left Kay’s texts to last, I’m not sure why. I suppose I didn’t want to read anything that would make me doubt her sincerity.

Stephen was really pissed off with me. In his first messages, he was insistent that he knew nothing about what had gone on between Kay and Nigel. Considering what I’d seen, I wasn’t convinced of his innocence. When he discovered that I’d sold my share of the agency, his texts became ballistic. Then I found one from him that said that he and Kayla had convinced my buyers to sell my share back to me. ‘You owe us a lot of money’, was the gist of his last text.

What I did note was that while he adamantly denied knowing anything about a relationship between Kay and Nigel, at no time did he confirm Kay’s claim that she and Nigel didn’t have a relationship. Again, I couldn’t help thinking, regardless of Kay claim about her innocence, a person just doesn’t propose marriage unless they expect a positive answer. Something must have happened between them.

I looked at Caroline and Cassie, then switching it off again, I put the phone into my pocket. “That’s enough for tonight,” I said in a jaunty tone. “Didn’t you offer to feed me this evening Caroline?”

“Yes ... but don’t you want to talk to your wife first?”

I shook my head, “No, not now, there are just too many inconsistencies in the stories. I can only conclude she was having an affair, and I just don’t want to deal with the consequences of that tonight. Hey, Caroline, I’m hungry, and I need time to think about my next move. Cassie, I don’t know Tom, so I’d be very grateful if you don’t discuss my situation with him.”

The two women gave each other a look, then agreed. Caroline said, “Come on then, we’ve got steaks to grill and wine to drink, and we need to save Paul from the walking ... err Tom.”

Cassie gave her a funny look and then they headed back to their boat. I had a quick wash and changed into clean jeans and a t-shirt. I almost left my phone to charge, but at the last moment put it in my pocket.

I almost felt sorry for Tom when I met him; the aroma of ‘big brother does not think you are worthy of dating his little sister’ was heavy in the air. Tom was a pleasant enough man in his mid-thirties. What he lacked in brains he sure made up for in looks, damn him!

He was British, much to my surprise. I’d always assumed that all surfers were American or Australian. I was partially correct, he had grown up surfing the waves of Cornwall, before moving to Australia to chase the bigger ones. It was there that he’d met Cassie the previous year.

Tom and Paul were on deck trying to have a conversation as Paul was preparing the barbeque. I was treated as Paul’s savior. He waved me aboard and I greeted both of them.

“The women are down below, they’ll be up in a moment,” he said. “What do you want to drink?”

“Beer would be nice,” I replied, as I settled down on one of the chairs on the aft deck.

Paul called out, “Caro honey. Peter’s here, and can you bring him up a cold beer.”

There was an acknowledgement, and a couple of minutes later Caroline and Cassie came on deck, carrying the meat for the grill and a handful of beer bottles. After placing them on the table, I was greeted with a hug and a kiss from both of them.

Cassie gave me a long expectant look. “So, has she called; have you called her?”

“No and no, and let’s leave it please,” I said. “You know what I think, and I need to be in a right frame of mind before I talk to her.”

Cassie wanted to say something else, but Caroline hushed her. There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Tom was looking from Cassie to me, then to Caroline and Paul. It was evident that he desperately wanted to know what was going on, but we ignored him.

Paul, trying to change the subject to a safer one, broached a subject we hadn’t gotten into the evening before. He asked me what I did, because as he said, “You’re too damn young to be retired!”

“I’m an author,” I admitted. “Not a very good one but I sell enough books to make ends meet.”

“That’s not true,” a voice from the dockside behind me declared. “He’s a brilliant writer.”

I knew that voice, it sent shivers down my spine. A shot of adrenaline pulsed through my body as I went on alert. I shot Caroline a sharp look.

“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” I muttered.

“You need to talk,” she replied without any hint of embarrassment.

“Maybe, but I needed to do to in a time and a place of my choosing. I’m not ready to deal with this. This isn’t the time or the place. You had no right to interfere Caroline.”

I slowly turned to confirm my worst fear, Kayla was standing on the dockside. She looked somewhat forlorn. She was wearing a loose blue cotton dress, an old favorite of mine. For a moment, I thought she’d put a bit of weight on, then dismissed it. On her hand, our rings glinted. Beside her, there was a black roll-on flight bag. On the road behind her, a taxi was pulling away.

“Am I welcome?” she asked in a voice laced with uncertainty.

After a moment while I just stared at her. Caroline said. “Of course you are.”

At the same time I said, “No.”

Caroline shot me a disappointed look, “Paul, take Kayla’s bag and put it on Peter’s boat. You, young lady, come here and let’s get you freshened up after your trip.”

“To hell with that, if you want her to stay, she can stay with you! You and I need to talk.” I took Caroline by the arm and led her over to the Nevermore. We went below decks

Caroline rounded on me as soon we descended the steps. “What the matter with you; can’t you see she’s hurting.”

I was beginning to understand that Caroline was the human equivalent of a Force of Nature. Nothing was going to stand in the way of her attempt to get us back together.

“She’s hurting!” I snarled. “She’s the one who had a fucking lover, not me. Caroline, you’re a nice woman but this is too much.”

“Peter, I’m sorry but you should have heard the longing in your voice when you talked about her last night. You think you hate her, but you don’t. You two need to talk, even if it’s just so you can get some resolution.”

I was about to shout at her again, then I stopped. Caroline was right, as much as I didn’t want to see Kayla at this time. I also needed to understand what the fuck had happened to my life. I desperately wanted to know why Kay had done what she had. She was also right about my feelings for Kay, I still loved the woman; but was that enough to get us through this?