Jake's Journal: The Philippines with Ganda

Copyright © 2011-2013 by VeryWellAged

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Author's note: This chapter is NOT a stand-alone...The story starts here.


I arrange to meet Drama at NAIA terminal #3. It is the place from which Cebu Pacific Airlines flies. If you haven't heard of that airline, then you simply haven't spent any time in the Philippines. It is something of an overgrown commuter airline1. It is not possible to book one of their flights through Orbitz or Expedia. No US carrier has a code sharing agreement with Cebu Pacific. At this time, their website cannot process US credit cards.2

At the time of these events, the airline has an odd sales technique. The closer to the flight you book it, the more the ticket costs. This first flight costs me a lot because of that, but in the future I always manage to purchase my tickets early.

When I get to NAIA #3, I go immediately to the ticket booth – not a counter – and purchase two round trips for Drama and me to Boracay. I have booked lodging at the Microtel, not because I like it but because it has a website, and lists Internet Access in the rooms as a feature. For the entire length of my stay, I need access to work. Not knowing the lay of the land I probably make some goofy choices, but it all works out.

Drama does not live on the island of Luzon, which is where Manila is located. Nor can she fly directly from her Island to Boracay. She has to fly to Manila first. I have sent her money for that. I meet her as her plane arrives (a bit late but that is part of what you learn is standard for Cebu Pacific).

I mentioned before that she was the youngest at 25 and smallest of the women I would meet. Her five year-old daughter, is at home with her mother, with whom Drama also lives. How do I describe Drama? She has a huge smile. It engulfs her face and the face is both youthful and darling. Not pretty in a fashion model sense, but pretty with an angelic beauty. As with just about all Filipinas her hair is straight and black. Her black eyes are both big and expressive. Physically she is a little slip of a thing.

She had told me before I travelled to the Philippines that she is afraid I will not be there to meet her at the airport. She is happy to see me and as soon as she clears the rope barrier, she is on my arm, much as Ganda had been.

As reserved as Ganda is, Drama is the opposite. Constantly talking, asking, and commenting. She is most interested in my impression of Ganda, whom she knew I had just met. I am unwilling to go that way and resist her at every turn, frustrating the hell out of the girl.

The plane ride takes us to an island adjacent to Boracay called Caticlan. Boracay has no airport of its own. You take a motor boat with outriggers to get across the water. We get there at low tide and cannot get to a pier or jetty. Being just an old westerner, what I am wearing are western (Nocona) boots (you might call them cowboy boots) and 501 Levis. One of the boat's employees carries my bag ashore. I take off my boots and socks, roll up the Levis and get wet up to my ass. Such is life. I get ashore and am taken to the hotel by the hotel van. The roads in Boracay are not one lane roads, they are ¾ lane roads and the van is a scaled down thing that I swear looks like something shrunk down in a Disney movie like, 'Honey I shrunk the kids.'

The back end of the van is simply open and there is a bench on each side. You just climb in the back and sit on a bench. The driver in the cab in front can neither hear nor see you. Such as it is, we come to an unimproved gravel driveway at what looks like a service entrance to the hotel on one side and on the other side, clearly someone else's property, a native Nippa grass hut. Out we climb and walk into the hotel. As soon as we walk through the door, we are at the front desk. So ... no accounting for entrances.

Drama and I are booked there for four days. While the hotel poses some difficulties, my time with Drama is something of wet dreams. She is physically agile. She can assume just about any position and it is literally impossible to wear her out in bed. As she weighs so little I try to keep her on top or take her from the side or from the edge of the bed with me standing. In truth we use so many non-missionary positions that I can only recollect them as a blur. She is sensitive about her ass and I never get more than a knuckle into her there, but she makes up for it in many ways.

The first thing she wants to do, after we get to the room and shower from our walk through the ocean, is to fuck until supper. I am surprised that her breasts are a bit bigger than Ganda's. They are sensitive and she loves my sucking on them. She also refuses condoms. She says she had not been with a man for five years and is disease free. While I have no way to prove it, it is hard for me to argue as she also asks me about my sexual contact. She wants to know about Ganda, is she going to get anything from her? But she really does not want the condoms. She says, Get me pregnant Jake, then I will at least be your mistress.

That is exactly what she wants. She did not want to marry. She is in the second year of college for a four year degree. What she wants is a man who would take her on as a Mistress and pay for her schooling. Before I came to the Philippines, I had told her I wasn't interested in that.

On the webcam she had says, OK, I agree to marry if you want.

But once I get to Boracay the old Mistress stuff comes out again. It is clear from day one at the hotel that she will not be the one, but she sure is fun to be with for those few days anyway.

That night we have dinner at the hotel. We are served by a very pretty waitress, who cannot have been older than 17. Her name is Jun. The dinner is OK but not great. Later that night my mind gets to thinking about Jun as I am fucking Drama for all she is worth. Laying in bed after giving Drama another deposit of cum, I tell her that I want to fuck both Jun and her together.

Drama looks at me and says, I think you are a sex guy ... that is what you like. You want me and her in the bed with you?

I smile, as there was no reason to deny it. I simply indicate that I do. Drama agrees to assist me the following day to see if we can make that happen. In the meantime, the sexy little Filipina already in my bed is enough for me to cum deep in her once more that night before sleep comes to us in that air-conditioned room.

The morning finds us out on the beach, which the hotel sits upon/adjacent to. Hell ... There is the hotel. You step off the terrace onto sand. You walk fifty yards through the sand and you are in the ocean. Is that upon or is it adjacent to?

We negotiate for a snorkeling adventure later that day; then we take a quick breakfast and a trip into town to see if we can find me some flip-flops. We also need, much to my surprise, a bikini for Drama. She has no swimwear. I buy her two string bikinis. They almost aren't there at all; just three triangles with cords. Drama likes them and I never have reason to complain.

I don't have a big foot, but it is wide and finding flip flops that fit is a real hassle in the Philippines. Filipinos are small, slender, and evidently with thinner feet. I am a triple E. In the end, we find a pair and head back for a light lunch and sex before the snorkeling.

The sex is brief but I am having a hard time keeping my hands off Drama. She is not complaining. She is begging me to get her pregnant. As luck had it, she doesn't get pregnant. I dodge a bullet.

The snorkeling is great. I know there are such things in the Caribbean and many other places, but the Philippines are not known for this and to this day I really don't have a clue as to why. I have a blast checking out the fish as they play around us. It turns out that Drama is a fish too and she is swimming circles around me, having a ball.

Once back at the hotel, it is time for another shower, a sweet fuck and off to dinner at the hotel. As luck would have it ... we do not have Jun as our server. We never see her again.

Dinner is another ho-hum affair. We will go out the next night to somewhere else. The problem is that they are trying to make dishes for Americans and Europeans and they just are not getting it right. Later when I learn to eat and really like Filipino food, I will find that I can avoid those traps by asking for foods they really know how to cook. It turns out that Filipino food is really good.

Back in the room we strip down. For some reason Drama just looks like a better dessert than any of these I have just passed over in the restaurant. We take showers and as soon as we hit the bed I start at Drama's feet and nibble my way up until I am face to pussy. With a handful of ass in each mitt, I eat my dessert and am rewarded with a juicy topping.

Having given Drama a nice orgasm, I slide up to kiss her other lips.

She says for the hundredth time, OK, Marry me now.

Drama, if I marry you, will you obey?

Drama smiles and says, I do not obey! You obey me!

And that, Drama, is why you will never be mine.

Drama looks stunned, but in truth, she meant what she said. There are some tears but she has never really been ready to accept that I am not going to do things her way.

I’m not sure why I get the idea about requiring her to obey, other than she has been so willful and obstinate. I have never asked for a submissive before and do not see myself as a Master. But, at that moment, it is the right thing to do. Looking back, I am glad I have done it.

We have one more day on Boracay, and Drama keeps up the tergiversations between marriage and being a mistress. I just ignore it and have a nice day on a nice island. Dinner is in town and on the beach. The sand is covering the restaurant floor as you walk into the place. Dinner is nice but subdued. Drama knows the fantasy she is living out with her foreigner is about to end and end badly.

The next morning Drama and I fly to NAIA Terminal #3 together. As we are about to separate, she to her home island and me to the hotel, she has an honest to God tantrum right there in the airport. She doesn't want to fly home, she wants to stay with me. But I am on my way back to the Best Western and Ganda. How to get rid of her in the airport proves to be more than a bit of a pain. It is impossible. We are still arguing and I didn't want police asking me what is up as I try to leave the airport.

Then she says if I would just put her up for the night, she would visit her cousin in Manila the next day before she goes home. All the while, one moment she claims she will do things my way and the next saying she cannot. We have long passed the point where I will have her. There we are, in the airport and then in the taxi, this truly lovely young twenty-five-year-old and this old man. And the old man saying go away, go away. Before I made the trip, I could never have imagined anything so strange. I have a twenty-eight year-old waiting for me at the Best Western and I, fifty-eight years of age am trying to dump the twenty-five-year-old. This has to be one of the weirdest days of my life.

It is a hell of a scene at the Best Western. Drama stands in the lobby as I am at the front desk getting her a room. Then as she is being escorted up to the room by a bellhop... just to my left off the lobby Ganda appears from the restaurant and almost jumps into my arms. It is a damned good thing that Drama doesn't turn around as it would have been one hell of a mess. Ganda and I go up to our room and I tell her everything about Drama. I tell her why I am dropping both Drama and the third girl I was to see. I tell Ganda that Drama is in the hotel for the night but that I have no intention of seeing Drama ever again.

I tell Ganda that if she will agree to other women in our bed, then Ganda will be my girl. Ganda cries a bit but then says, if that was what I want, OK she will agree. It is afternoon, I need to exchange more dollars for pesos and Ganda wants to introduce me to some of her friends including a married couple.

We leave the hotel and make our way from old Manila to Quezon City. On the way I stop off at a Banco de Oro (BDO) and exchange my dollars before eventually ending up on a nondescript street somewhere in the middle of Quezon City.

We are there to meet Maria Rose and her American husband Cliff. The street is shabby looking and the front of the building does not inspire confidence, but there is an armed guard there and we have to tell him, whom we are there to see, before he lets us pass. Once inside we take an elevator to the third floor. The heat of the city is amplified in the building and the elevator is an oven. But we get off and find the door. It is opened by a Filipina no more than twenty-three years of age. Inside there is a two-year-old playing with what looks like a real cell phone. As we enter and the door closes behind us we see an anglo guy with sandy blond hair, blue jeans a little shorter than we wear them in the west, as they do not come down and cover his heel. Hell they barely get past his ankle. Barefoot as the guy is, it is OK, but in boots they would look like he was irrigating a field, or what you might call high water pants. His short sleeve shirt is worn outside his jeans. He has blue eyes and a ready grin. He seems to be in his late forties or early fifties. The room has a few plastic chairs, the type that you can leave out on your lawn and that might stack one on top of the other for winter storage. There is no table. The room seems to be a kitchen and "other", but there is no fridge, no microwave. Just a jug of water on the counter, a two burner hot plate and a rice cooker. There is a flight of stairs to a room on the floor above which I gather is the bedroom.

Cliff is from Iowa. He grew up on a small family farm and had never left home, until the trip to the Philippines. His dad died years ago and he stayed on the farm with his aged mother, a bachelor farmer, until she died. A friend of his from childhood, with whom Cliff remained in touch over the years never seemed to have made it back to the US after Viet Nam. Now this guy, Cliff's friend, was living in Quezon City.

When Cliff's mother died three years ago, his buddy urged him to close the house up, lease the land and move to the Philippines. Cliff was lost and bouncing off the walls at home, and the offer seemed like a 'what the hell' thing to do. Cliff literally boarded up the house, leased the land and bought an airline ticket.

For a week he and his buddy just knocked around. One day hanging out in a mall at the food court, which happens to be the best place to pick up girls, they met three girls in their late teens. The girls started flirting with the guys. Cliff's buddy seems to have hooked up with one of the girls for the day. Cliff, who for all his fifty years may never have had a girlfriend in his life, found himself in love with this kid.

That's how Cliff met Maria Rose, a nineteen-year-old flirt with a killer figure and a face that, while it wouldn't stop traffic, wouldn't have you running for cover either. He was fifty. Two months later they were married and she was pregnant. She had a child from a previous hookup but she had never been married. The kid was living with the father's family. Exactly why, I never learned. I suspect that Cliff was a virgin when he lost his cherry to Maria Rose.

When Ganda and I met them, Cliff was running real low on funds. He was months away from the yearly lease payment on the farm land. They were trying to get a visa for the family to travel back to the US, but Cliff is not the brightest bulb and dealing with the US government left his head spinning. He just can't figure out how to do anything right when it came to the visa process. You might say of Cliff that he couldn't pour piss out of a boot even if the instructions were written on the heel.

But he is a genuinely nice guy. Maria Rose is a ditz but she loves Cliff and is proud of her little white faced girl, Tabatha. Even though Cliff, at this moment in time, barely has two pesos to rub together, Maria Rose never bails out on Cliff. She sticks to him like glue. She might have been a flirt and a ditz, but she is a loyal wife and a dedicated mother to Cliff's little girl. These are Ganda's friends and they have been good to her when she needed help. That makes them good people in my book.

We decide to go out to supper – my treat. Ganda suggests a restaurant near the Eastwood mall. It turns out to be an inspired recommendation. We have a wonderful meal for a tiny price. It is not a place for tourist trade, but it is a place for affluent Filipinos. We eat until we are bursting. The dishes are exotic and tasty. The stuffed crab is a dish called Rellenong Alimasag. I will always remember it.

After supper we say goodbye to my new friends and head back to the hotel. It has been seven blissful hours without Drama!

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1 - It was at this time. It has over the subsequent years become a second flag carrier for the Philippines with international as well as domestic routes.
2 - Credit card problems were fixed in later years.

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Chapter 3