The Ark

Copyright © 2020 by VeryWellAged

What was and what will be...13

Author's note: These chapters are NOT stand-alones...The story starts here.

What was and what will be...14

Thankfully, Lillian only stayed for three weeks. I was beyond relieved to see her off at the airport yesterday. She is a somewhat disruptive presence, as she sees herself as senior to all the gals.

It doesn’t just ruffle feathers, it really tends to disrupt the normal patterns of how we function and, for right or wrong, we do have routines we stick to that work for us.

Toward the end of her stay, it was Lorie who decided that it really was time for her mother to go back home. I think that fact was more than appreciated by her colleagues.

Ann has information on another parcel. I’m going to need to dip into the fund I was accumulating for the next pod. It would be easier if my three remaining parcels in the US are sold. Every once in a while, we get a nibble, but that’s about it.

In any case, I think we need to make the purchase, for the simple reason that, with the expansion of this additional adjacent land, we may be able to use profits from our farming business to fund future expansion from farming alone.

And so, we (that’s Ann, Cincer and I) have decided to take all profits and plow them back into growing our holdings. We will see enough of a profit later to take care of adding the next pod and, by growing it now, while what I have coming in from my pension, 401K and SSA allows us to pay our monthly bills, we are creating a self-sustaining income far into the future, when my US sources are not here for my gals to use.

Beyond the money, the farm already provides us with much of the vegetables, rice, chicken and pork we consume.

It really is quite something. As we have our own power, our own water from a well, and much of our own basic foods, what we buy at the supermarket, while not insignificant, requires far less money than it would have cost otherwise.

What we still have to purchase are: cleansers; soap; shampoo; beauty products; paper products, including my coffee and the filters; salt; sugar; flour; cans of condensed and evaporated milk; cream; seasonings; liquor; noodles; raisins; light bulbs; and all sorts of little things. But the shopping trips are far less frequent and the cash outlay is easier on the budget.

We are not becoming totally self-sufficient, and there’s no future in which I can see that occurring, but we are far more so than the average family.

With as large of a family as I have now, my eight gals, plus Niana, my nine kids, and me, there are nineteen of us. Each time that number crosses my mind I’m, at the same time, embarrassed at what I have around me, proud as all get out, knowing I’ve so many offspring, and happy as hell that the pods allow me to get away from the noise that comes with so many souls. Filipinos are a noisy bunch!

In a way, we are reprising an older way of existence, whereby the farm was central and life was more rural. Our home is rural, though it’s true that it doesn’t take all that long to get to Tacloban with its malls and MickeyD’s.

We are increasingly looking at the farm business as the future for the employment of my offspring. Sure, not all of them, but the farm will cover the cost of higher education even when that education doesn’t lead back to the farm.

Ann and I’ll work at growing the land holdings of the trust. To that extent, she will be keeping our needs foremost in her activities. In that, Ann is an important part in our future. But that is not to say that it’s the only place she is important.

Ann has been with me at night, frequently, and that isn’t by accident. It’s hard to explain. She’s the same and yet she’s changed. Ann was fifteen and a half when I first met her. She’s nineteen now. She has grown into a woman in my bed as it were. She’s no longer an improbably young wheeler-dealer… well, to everyone else maybe she is… but now, it doesn’t blow your mind like it used to do when she was swinging multi-million peso transactions at age sixteen.

At night, she is every bit a young woman, with grace and the self-assurance of one who knows she is loved. In truth, I don’t spend a lot of time dwelling on Ann’s age. At some point, you just don’t see a gal as a category, an object, an age, but as a real person with whom you have history. I have history with Ann, and more than that, Ann is a partner.

Not only as a business partner, she is an almost wife, in a real way. Ann has been at the core of all we have here. If the others have created a relationship with me, it’s not like this.

Yes, Cincer’s life is better, and Cincer is clearly smart as all-get-out … and yes, I deeply love Cincer as much as, I do believe, she loves me. That is pretty much how it is, in a way, with all of them, but none created … this.

It was Ann who decided where we should live and has been making it better as we go forward.

She didn’t have to do that. Yes, I know, it benefits her, but she makes a significant chunk of cash every time she puts a seller and buyer together. She doesn’t make a cent in the actual transaction when she is doing it for us.

Oh, Ann didn’t tell me that. She has never mentioned it, and she never will. It’s part of her being my partner in life. She is all of that and she is part of the trust, right along with the rest of them. So every time she does one of these deals, she does not benefit more than the gals who didn’t make it happen. It goes unsaid and unacknowledged.

I reach out and bring her close to me. It doesn’t take much more than the lightest touch. I don’t need to coax her. I just need to let her know I’m ready for her.

It has been more than a year and a half since Ann gave me our daughter, Iris Rose, and looking at Ann’s body, naked as she is right now, you simply couldn’t tell she has given birth, other than her breasts are larger. She is still breast feeding. She simply looks great and, once again, I marvel at what a lucky fuck I am, as my finger traces up her cunt lips.

Legs spread, and a murmur reaches my ears. I reach her clit. Ann sucks in a gulp of air. Her hips rock up and down, seeking more than I’m doing for her at this moment.

My fingers push in, seeking her G-spot. She tilts her pelvis, in an effort to guide me in my journey. Her G-spot isn’t as smooth as the flesh around it. It’s a little bumpy. The flesh seems softer, spongy and a bit pronounced. Once found, it takes little to send my gal into orbit. I’m not in her, nor am I actually ready to slide in. I don’t need to be. I’ll keep Ann going on my finger for a while, as I suck on a tit at the same time.

I want to wear Ann out before I give her my all, as at my advanced age, I suspect my all really isn’t enough on its own, though all the gals tell me I’m full of shit and they are not being short-changed.

Yeh, well, I don’t believe that for a second, so giving Ann a good ride means having her gallop before I get on for my ride. It’s not that I can’t take them for a long ride on occasion; I can, but I’m simply not the guy I was just three years ago. Life will slow you down. It doesn’t stop you, but it does slow you.

Ann is getting pissed. She has had enough of my fingers, she wants my cock in her and she wants it to happen now. So, now it is. There’s no worry about her not being wet enough. There’s a river between her legs. I mount her and slide in effortlessly. It’s not that she isn’t tight for me. She is. But her desire and the lubrication make the sinking in smooth all the way to the bottom.

She moans. She’s happy. My cock feels like it’s home once again. Ann is talking to me as we continue to fuck.

Good, my love. Yes, good. Give it, now, my love.

Give it? Shit, I just got here! Why does she want the dessert so soon? I just grunt.

It time, Ira. It time for my second. I ready my love.

For crying out loud. She wants to get pregnant again. OK, sure, I’m in her, but she has been breast feeding, and the old wives’ tale is, so long as you are breast feeding there will be no new pregnancies. So, either that isn’t true, or she doesn’t know about it.¹

Nelia has had her second child, and maybe Ann thinks it’s simply her time now. I most assuredly don’t know, but you see very few mothers here with just one kid.

We are still at it. I’m sure I can’t hold out for much longer. Ann’s body is making demands and mine is receiving the message. This sweet, pretty teenager is looking right at me as my cock is deep in her. She smiles and nods her head. Now, Ira. Now, my love. Now.

Now, it is.

Damn, my balls ache.

A month has passed. It’s the seventeenth of June, and typhoon Frank has hit us. There’s a ‘Public Signal Storm Warning’ of a signal number three for Samar. We are told we can expect smaller homes to be destroyed, trees knocked over, rice harvest lost, ‘considerable damage to light to moderate structures, and heavy losses to all agricultural land.’

We’re given about eighteen hours’ notice. That’s enough time to stock up on enough canned goods and sacks of rice to see us through. I shutter the windows, put all the vehicles up in the car park and raise the ramp. We are sealed up and ready for the storm.

The storm is intense, and there’s significant loss of life nationwide, with six hundred dead. There are over one hundred dead or missing in Iloilo alone. Lillian’s store has been washed away, but she is OK. Lucky for Lillian, she figured that the sari-sari wouldn’t survive. She removed all her stock to a better shelter. The sari-sari is being built anew, and with her existing stock, I gather she will do fine economically.

As the first test of our home in a typhoon, I’m happy to report we weathered the storm with not a single problem. While many lost power and some their entire homes, when it was over, other than a little cleanup on the ground below, you cannot tell the house was even in a rain storm. There’s damage to the farm, and we will lose income until a new crop comes in, but that’s the worst of it.

I’ve been here in the Philippines for five years now. At the exact five year mark there are two deadly storms, one a typhoon that twice transverses Manila, and Luzon in general, doing massive damage up there.

The first one, Ondoy, is a tropical storm, resulting in a ‘state of calamity’ in greater Manila and twenty-five other provinces. We don’t have a PSWS² signal here. It hit far enough north of us that we didn’t get much more than rain. That is on September 26^th.

But right after that, on the 27^th, the typhoon Pepeng hits. It doesn’t exactly hit the Philippines, as it’s a bit too far north, but it dumps a shitload of more water on top of the flooding of Ondoy. A state of calamity is declared for the entire nation.

Estimates are that, by the time we get over Pepeng, there’s over half a billion US dollars’ worth of damage done. We are just fucking lucky those storms were north of us. As it is, I look at what we have built and hope that it’ll continue to work as it did so far.

It’s October, 2010, and another typhoon, a super typhoon! This one is called Juan, and it has just now created massive damage up north on Luzon. Oh shit, am I ever happy we didn’t settle up there. Maybe settling in Santa Rita will end up being a blessing. Those up on Luzon seem to be getting the worst of these storms. Maybe my caution was excessive. Up on Luzon, there have been mudslides as well as flooding. Here, I don’t have to worry about mudslides.

I get an interesting email today. It’s from my old friend in Kennewick, who stopped talking to me when his wife told him my cover story, that I was with a Muslim woman. Only it’s not from him. It’s from his wife, Elena.

Dear Ira,

I am not Tom. I am Elena. Maybe you remember me?

Before everything else, I hear about Juan. Are you guys OK? I hope you not have big damage. My family say this one really bad. So I pray for you too, just like I pray for my family.

Like you say, I tell Tom you with a Muslim woman so he not know what you do. He angry with you then. I think he now change his mind about you, and think that maybe you are OK.

I am now a US citizen, and so not worry about that. But Tom, now he want to go back to the Philippines. He say he never really see the place before. Maybe now I am a citizen here, it a good time for us to go back there. He want to visit my family. He say, maybe we visit you.

That worry me. What I do?

BTW, I make an email address. It is [email protected].

Elena

It’s not a problem for me, anymore. I mean, none of the gals are underage. So, if they come, there will be young gals, but nothing that would cause Tom to think I was doing something illegal. But there’s the lie. I never told Tom I have a Muslim lover. That was Elena. Yes, I suggested it to her as a cover story, but he never heard it from me.

So what will happen if he comes and finds not a single Muslim but, rather, eight females, from their early thirties to a twenty-year-old? That begs the question, do I ever want to see him again? We haven’t spoken, or even emailed, in five years.

He doesn’t know where I live. I did mention Santa Rita to him. Does he even remember that? No one back in the US knows where I live, other than a lawyer, the Social Security Administration and the bank. Not a one of them is going to tell Tom. So, just how is he going to find me? If he never comes, there’s never any issue that needs resolution. I email Elena at her own email account.

Elena,

Thank you for asking if we are OK. Yes, we are fine and we have no damage from Juan.

As of now, neither you, nor Tom knows where I live. I have not spoken to Tom in five years. Unless you tell him you emailed me and I answered, there is no reason to believe that he will ever reach out to me. It is just probably a thought he has had that never will become real.

Delete the copy of the email you sent from his account and don’t mention me or this matter to Tom again. Let’s hope it never really goes any farther.

Ira

It’s October 19^th, 2010.

On the home front, we are stable, but my family is growing. I have three more kids. Ann got the son she wanted. Bim has another daughter. She just doesn’t seem to produce boys, a fact that Niana has noted, loudly. And sweet Eva has another boy. Rumor is that Reyna is pregnant, but she hasn’t made it official so, maybe she isn’t.

Niana is in high school this year. I’m not taking her to school each day, Bim is, but we have had contact with Debbie. Debbie has been pumping Niana for news about our family.

Will that bitch never give up? It’s putting twelve-year-old Niana in an impossible position. Bim is furious, and that isn’t helping Niana at all. I’ve been more than happy to not see Debbie since Reyna graduated, and that was four years ago.

Reyna was sixteen then, and still too damned young, but even though she is my youngest love, Reyna is twenty years old now. I’m not bedding anyone younger than she. So, maybe I can be a little less ornery regarding that damned teacher. It’s better if she gets what she needs to know directly, so that she can stop pestering Niana.

Bim is too pissed off to have a civil conversation with Debbie, so, while we are all having supper, right after Bim has gone off on another rant about that tsismosa³ of a teacher, I turn to Niana and ask, Child, would you mind if I take you to school for a few days, instead of your mother?

Yes, Uncle!

OK, Ana⁴. I asked if you would mind. Does that mean you mind?

Oh, why you so strict?⁵ I want. OK?

You OK with that, Bim?

You want? OK with me.

The damage from Super Typhoon Juan, as it hit on October 17^th, is still obvious on Luzon and worst in the northern part of that island, but not for us. Pepeng last year was not as bad as was Frank the year before. These typhoons are becoming a yearly thing. Is it a warning of this climate change shit?

Right now, there’s plenty of muddy dirt, the result of Juan’s presence, covering the pavement in sections as we ride along. As the sky is clear, and it’s just the two of us, I have taken a bike.

I was wondering how many days I would need to take Niana to school before I would run into Debbie. The question now has an answer. It’s one. I see her at about the exact moment she sees me. Before Debbie reaches us, I tell Niana, Child, go in now, and I’ll speak to your teacher in private.

Niana giggles, tells me, OK, Uncle, and trots into the schoolyard, giving Debbie a wide berth.

Debbie seems to chuckle at seeing Niana steer clear of her, and doesn’t stop her approach to me. As I’ve not moved, she knows I’m waiting for her.

It has been a long time, Sir Ira.

Maybe not long enough, Debbie. Why do you want to know about my family?

It different. Who is new there?

There are twelve children my gals have given me, though I fail to see why that is any of your business.

That not what I mean.

I know what you mean. The answer is, there are no new partners.

It’s obvious that she doesn’t believe me. If it wasn’t for the need to end the pressure on Niana, I would just blow her off.

Look, if you want to see for yourself, come to the house.

No! You will make me have sex with little girls. I not want.

There are no little girls in the house older than four years old. I’m not going to put my daughters in your bed. So that won’t happen.

You promise you not make me have sex with little girls?

I promise.

How I know you not hide some away while I am there?

OK, Debbie, how long do you need to live in my home to convince yourself that there’s no one else?

You mean you let me stay until I sure?

I will, if you promise to leave Niana alone from now on. Do we have an agreement?

That why you do this?

Yes.

Is CiCi still there?

I’m confused. Is she afraid of CiCi for some reason?

Yes, they are all still here.

But CiCi, she is old now! You still want her?

You think thirty-four is old?

If not married by then, it too late, I think. What she do? How she work?

My gals have told me that most jobs for women, if not nurses, teachers or government workers, tend to disappear for women who reach their thirtieth birthday. But CiCi would have still been working as a bookkeeper if she had wanted to keep the job. She didn’t, as the farm keeps her busy but, in a way, she is probably the exception.

She’s my partner and a part owner in the land and the farm. She, I hope, will always be with me. I certainly don’t think she’s too old.

What she do when she sees me?

Well, she won’t kill you, but I have no idea about the rest of it.

But Bim, she will scream at me! I sure that.

Don’t talk to her, or Niana, and she will have no reason to scream at you.

You will protect me?

No, Debbie, but I can’t see that you will need protection if you are respectful to those in the house.

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What was and what will be...15