The Ark

Copyright © 2020 by VeryWellAged

What was and what will be...7

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

What was and what will be...8

It has taken me three weeks to find both an architect and consulting engineer with whom I can work. My foolish expectation that I could find the ‘right guy’ in one day displayed my total ignorance.

Look around. Look around at these buildings that would not survive. They are what is being built by the architects here. Finding one who can entertain the ideas I need considering, becomes a major problem for a bit. I do find a guy, and I can only hope it’ll work out.

Each day, I take Reyna and Eva to school and pick them up at the end of the day. Not once have I even seen Debbie.

Eva tells me that she took two days off that first week, returning on that Wednesday. My girls have seen her each day since then, but not a word about what has happened is mentioned.

The only difference is that Debbie is no longer pumping either girl for information, nor enlisting help for another project such as ‘project Eva’ was in the past. I hope that is a good sign, but am just not sure.

On the building front, I’ve been disabused of my inclination to build low with sloping-sided walls, like a bunker. I’m told that will not work and am pretty much assured the entire structure, though it might stand the onslaught, would be buried in mud and flooded. Clearly, I need help.

The design being proposed seems crazy to me, but I’m told it’ll work, stay up and dry. I’m still not sure I believe it.

The idea, in simple terms, is to build a house on stilts and allow the water to pass under the house, not around it. Contouring the land, I’m told, is not a good idea as it creates unpredictable currents and eddies. Yes, if we knew the exact angle from which water might come at the house, it might be possible to contour land, but there’s no way of knowing the exact angle. So flat is better.

We can have multiple levels with open space below the lowest floors and even floors with open areas below closed-in floors. So it’s possible to have a car port via a ramp. But the car port might need to be ten or more feet off the ground and the living space ten feet above that!

The drawings I’ve seen look nuts. It’ll require sinking many deep steel posts of I-beams which will connect both to I-beams below the ground and to floor I-beams above, with some cross hatching I-beams, each pair looking like a huge X. In that way it bears a strong resemblance to how some bridges are built.

The reason for the belowground I-beams is that we need to assume anything left on the ground will be washed away. The crossing I-beams will add rigidity to the structure without having a massive amount of exposure to the pressure of a storm surge or tsunami. If we don’t link the beams below and add the cross bracing, even if they survived a massive current, an earthquake might well topple the building. There are earthquakes here and they occur more frequently than any massive typhoon will occur. There’s also need for there to be sufficient posts that, should we lose a few, the structure will continue to stand.

It’s going to be a weird looking place, though the engineer tells me that the higher we are, the more comfortable we will be, as we will be cooler for a few reasons. We won’t get the residual heat from the ground, something I’ve not understood was even a thing, and we will get more cooling breezes that don’t exist on ground level. We will also have better sightlines.

As I want a large home, we consider the use of smaller and multiple pods, attached to each other by sections of walkways, up in the air. Though attached to the pods, the walkways, with some flex and give, can break away if needed, rather than pull a pod down.

I’m shown photos of carparks that survived tsunamis with no structural damage, while traditional office buildings right next door were destroyed.

There will be nothing delicate or elegant in such a design. I mention to the architect that it looks to me that the appearance will be somewhat brutal. He asks me to look at a photo of the Speyer house. That house was built on a forested hillside and, granted, it isn’t brutal looking. But we will need something far larger, with more stories high. He promises it will have its own type of beauty. I’m not convinced, but decide to withhold any further comments.

I do complain that, sure, the water will pass under, but in a typhoon the wind will destroy the exterior glass, especially those large vertical surfaces. We talk about angling the glass and creating mated louvered horizontal shutters (like venetian blinds) that work as sun screens in good weather and can fold down into full shutters, protecting the glass without the need of finding a way to board up those windows in an emergency.

My ground-hugging design idea is long gone. In its place, our home will be in the air.

Using stilts is making me nervous. I hope he is right. We will need a pod, maybe of two levels, for bedrooms. We will need a pod for a living room, dining room and kitchen. We will need a carport pod, or maybe that can be a level below an upper level of common rooms. And maybe we need an open-air but roofed over pod as well. It seems to me we need a place for parties, as they seem to happen often. Without an upper roofed area, we will be having parties in the carpark!

There’s enough land, so that’s not a problem.

The architect broaches the issue of self-sustainability. This project has gotten him thinking about the other issues regarding survivability. One of the problems that occur with events such as massive typhoons and tsunamis is the loss of power and potable water.

He suggests the idea of a large water tank, built into the roof over a carpark structure, with sloped sides like I had envisioned for the windows. The low, long design, held up with additional steel I-beams, can provide the needed strength for a significant amount of water reserves without the need for electricity. He envisions a pod with three levels above ground: carpark, common rooms, and water tank.

Some power can be gathered by solar panels arranged across the flat roofs on the pods. Even if we don’t have battery storage, we might have twelve hours of power each day. If there comes a time when I want to add battery storage, the design should be flexible enough to allow for it.

The architect asks me if I want to consider wind power, but I’m initially disinclined, as a turbine on a tower would be a risk, as it might hit the house in a typhoon. But the architect introduces me to an engineer who has done a fair bit of work with wind power generation. The engineer mentions shrouded horizontal helical turbines that have a low profile and can be attached to a roof. I agree to consider it.

Clearly, even if the area is otherwise devastated, if the building stays up and we have power and water, we will be in good shape.

Each time I come back to our house and discuss the plans, my gals tell me I’m being beyond foolish. There’s no need for such a thing. They have met a gal who is married to an expat here. Word has come back to me that he told his wife that I must be a ‘wacko prepper.’

Maybe. Just maybe, I’m being foolish! Am I? Am I being obsessive? As to the prepper thing, it wasn’t me who started the discussion about solar and wind generation. But I guess the design of the house might have been enough to earn that term.

My gals have been living here all their lives and have not felt the need for any such thing. But what if this climate change thing is real? I’m no scientist. How the hell can I tell what’s real and that’s just the fear of the year, only to be replaced by another fear next year? And what about Winnie? It wasn’t even a typhoon as it hit Santa Rita, yet it had a massive impact.

When I mention that, I just get either blank stares or am told that there’s no way to find safety, if it’s God’s will.

Storms, I gather, are God’s will.

I’ve asked for some drawings for four pods. I’m not committed to any project. I want to see the drawings and, even if I like them, I want to price things out before we turn a shovel of dirt.

As the months roll on, there are important birthdays.

Nelia turns twenty, and we celebrate on the first Saturday in February, the fifth. My sweet Jesus-invoking gal has been a pure joy since the day she joined me. Any concern about religion creating issues disappeared as soon as I met her. The time with her, alone, from Friday through until the party on Saturday night, is possibly more a treat for me than it is for her.

As crazy as it still seems to me, Nelia truly believes that Jesus sent me here to take care of these eight gals. In her mind, I would be defying God himself if I turned my back on any one of them.

Friday night, she asks me to go very, very, slowly as I slide my cock into her cunt.

Ira, in and out and wait. I will nod for the next one. OK?

I agree, pushing in and out. I wait. I hear…

I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, Our Lord, Who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified; died, and was buried. He descended into Hell; the third day He arose again from the dead; He ascended into Heaven, sitteth at the right hand of God, the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. Amen.

She nods. I agree, pushing in and out. I wait. I hear…

Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, Amen.

She nods. I agree, pushing in and out. I wait. I hear…

Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

She nods. I agree, pushing in and out. I wait. I hear…

Glory be to the Father, to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, as it was, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.

On and on she goes. Sometimes there’s silent meditation before another nod. It seems like it goes on forever. But finally I hear,

Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of mercy, our life, our sweetness, and our hope. To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve, to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this valley of tears. Turn then, most gracious advocate, thine eyes of mercy toward us; and after this our exile show unto us the blessed fruit of thy womb Jesus, O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary.

Pray for us, O holy Mother of God. That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.

O God, whose only-begotten Son, by His life, death, and resurrection, has purchased for us the rewards of eternal salvation; grant we beseech Thee, that meditating upon these mysteries of the most holy Rosary of the Blessed Virgin Mary, we may imitate what they contain and obtain what they promise. Through the same Christ our Lord. Amen…

… it ends with a, Thank you, Ira. Now hard and fast. Time for you to make it happen.

I, the human Rosary, fucked the ever-living shit out of Nelia until she could only grunt and leak her juices. By the time cum enters her, I’m reasonably sure her juices evacuated it in a river of her own making.

The following week, both Ann and Eva turn sixteen. Their birthdays are only three days apart; Eva on the eleventh (only four days after Nelia) and Ann on the fourteenth. Saturday this year is on the twelfth, and so we have a joint birthday party for the girls.

In bed, we also celebrate together, though I’m really thinking I’m shorting the gals by doing this. I tell them as much. All I get back is, Relax! Don’t worry.

They are sixteen and I’m sixty-six. Fifty years! So, the sex isn’t as athletic as it’s loving and slow. On the evening of the eleventh, Eva’s birthday, a Friday night, while both are with me, Eva gets the results of the evening’s activities. The thought that she wants cum inside her, with the hope of a pregnancy, makes no sense to me, but they all are hoping for the same thing. Saturday we have the party, and so an evening session in bed isn’t going to work. I gather the two up in the afternoon and give my all to Ann.

March is Bim’s daughter, Niana, who turns seven. We get her a cake and invite some school friends and their mothers over for an afternoon party.

That may be a big mistake. I’m not sure if the mothers, as they are nosing around, are going to cause me trouble later, or maybe one or two might try to jump on-board.

It’s not like all these gals are young and pretty. I gather, in one case, the kid attending the party is the gal’s ninth child. That is not to suggest anything, other than she isn’t young any more. All are courteous while with us, but I’m just nervous as all get-out nevertheless. Bim tells me I’m over-reacting. Am I? I hear one mother say she wishes she was my girlfriend, and another asking, ‘which one the wife?’

April brings Jessa’s and Bim’s birthdays. Jessa is now twenty-one and Bim is twenty-seven. Once again, there are parties on consecutive Saturdays and, once again, each gets me alone for two days. So far, there has been no blowback from Niana’s birthday party.

It’s now May fifteenth! Cincer’s birthday is in six days.

Eva has graduated. School is out for the summer¹, and has been since late March.

Reyna will be a tenth grader starting next month, and is on her way to being far more legal to fuck, or so one side of my mind wants to tell me. The other side of my mind isn’t buying that one bit.

I’m looking forward to getting some actual architectural plans and a cost analysis. I’ve warmed to the concept both the architect and the engineer are pushing, but the question is, can I afford it? Clearly, I don’t need the size of I-beams used in skyscrapers, but it’s still a lot of heavy steel. And the steel we will bury, won’t it rust?

The guy points out that I’m not needing to spend on lots of rebar, or concrete block, which he insists on calling ‘hollow block,’ or ready-mix concrete in forms. So, he posits, it won’t be too much more. I’m not buying it. The rust issue, he claims, is no different than what you get when sinking pilings for bridges and, as the ground here all the way down is sandy and well-drained, it won’t be a problem. Really? And on top of that, those steel window shutters and all the other specialty stuff will likely drive the price far too high. I want to see the numbers.

The gals are frightened that we will be a laughing stock with the building, as I’ve described it. I need the drawings. I find it funny that our lifestyle doesn’t worry them, but the design of the house does.

I haven’t mentioned it, but I bought an SUV, an Isuzu Crosswind. It’s a 2.5L diesel with a manual transmission. I looked for an automatic, but couldn’t find one. These days, it can rain all it wants. I stay dry… until I get to the house.

There’s no way to get out of the vehicle and to the front door of this place without getting soaked when it’s raining. I’m less and less enamored with this house.

Once we celebrate Cincer’s birthday, we are done with all of them until mine in October. Of course, that does not mean that there won’t be parties. I’m learning that parties, in a way, replace the observation of the seasons and the seasonal holidays.

There’s no Halloween, no Thanksgiving, no Groundhog Day, no St. Patrick’s Day, no April Fool’s Day, no days for the adjustment of the clocks… no spring forward and fall back, no July Fourth, no Memorial Day and no Labor Day like they have in the States. Yes, they have a Labor Day of a type… Mayday, which just passed two weeks ago, but there are no parades, no family picnics. Yes, they have an Independence Day, June 12^th, and it’s a holiday, but also not a big deal.

So… parties fill the gaps.

Cincer is the oldest of my gals and, while she is hardly old, she looks at the other gals and she feels old. She doesn’t mention it much… no, not much, but enough to know it’s bugging her.

CiCi, do you want me to find a love in her thirties or forties? Would it make you feel better?

What? Why you say that? You always say, no more! Why you want to add?

So you won’t feel old. That’s why.

I am old! Why you say that?

How can you be old?

I thirty; it over. It true. It OK because you take care of me, but if not, it over for me. No man for me if you not have me. No job maybe. Maybe, if I am a super good bookkeeper they keep me, but if not, no work unless a family member own the company!

Why do you say that?

Ha! You new here. You not know. It true. I am old now. Lucky I have you. Truly.

The twenty-first, Cincer’s birthday is a Saturday, a Saturday she doesn’t have to work. For once we have perfect timing, and yet hers is the one where there isn’t as much joy in the celebration.

To let her know I’m happy to be with her, I carve out three days, Friday through Sunday, to be with her alone. I’m rarely alone with her. I wasn’t alone with her that first day. Then, it was Bim, who I was calling Prin.

I had almost crossed Cincer off the list. Bim was sure she would not join us. My foolish irritation, at her perceived tardiness, almost sealed her fate.

I’m more than lucky that I have you, CiCi. I think you know I love you. Maybe you don’t know how much I value and need you.

You mean this?

Yes.

Happy to know, Ira. Totoo².

We are alone in the bedroom. Clothing is removed, as couples do when it’s time to call it a night. There’s no romance, no seduction, no playful peekaboo moments.

Cincer has attractive, but not overly provocative, clothing on. Sure, the panties are black and red lace hip-huggers, and sure, they look good on her trim frame, but she’s not flaunting it. And, eventually, they get tossed in a hamper right along with my briefs.

The lights get turned off and we slide into bed, each to a side, only to meet in the middle, reaching out, and bringing close with silent, soft, caresses announcing a beginning, a mating, and our love.

We don’t need to speak. There’s nothing that needs to be said. Neither of us is jockeying for dominance, neither of us is here to prove a point. My hands caress her arms, her neck, and her breasts.

She strokes my cock and nibbles on my lips.

I move my fingers down to check for moisture… is she ready? Do I need to help her to lubricate more? Yes, maybe a little, but she’s close already. I attend to that and she moans, pushing her mons to meet my fingers.

No sounds. Just touching.

She’s ready and pulls me to mount her. I’m ready and, once in position, my cock slides in smoothly.

She sighs.

I feel things from the back of my neck, to the small of my back, and down my legs, and most assuredly on my cock. My cock is stationary and then twitches. Cincer makes a small gasp. I twitch again, and the first words Cincer utters are, Stop teasing, my love. I am ready for you so much.

And it begins. At times slowly and methodical. At times fast with passion. Ramping up, slowing down. Stopping to kiss and nibble. Stopping to squeeze a tit, or reposition and launch into passion once again.

We have time, all the time we want. No one has a clock on us. Her body is magnificent and I’m savoring all of her as we push through the evening, enjoying each other.

I’m sure there’s far more for me to savor than there is for CiCi. She is in the prime of her life, regardless of what she thinks. I’m on the far end of it. But she isn’t complaining, and so I get to appreciate her deep into the night, until, finally, cum ends it, hot inside her cunt, my cock wilted and useless.

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What was and what will be...9