WET FIELDS

PLANTING SEASON

We sat facing each other at the wooden seat. The rains had kept on pouring.

She was asking me for a favor.

She wanted me to impregnate her. She said she wanted something tangible to remember me of.

She thought that making her pregnant was as easy as singing the nursery song, Do-Re-Mi.

But at that moment, the rains were imprisoning us. And the raw needs of a man and a woman alone in a house reigned supreme. Maybe it’s the cold brought by the incessant rain. Or perhaps it’s our inner-desire. The passion of togetherness. But whatever, there was that thing striking our libido.

We have not eaten our lunch yet. When our gaze had locked. I don’t understand the hunger I suddenly felt. Was It a hunger dictated by my grumbling stomach or was it the hunger for what she was asking of me?

I don’t know. I was not sure. But what I did was akin to giving in to her request.

I found myself kneeling in front of her. No, I was not in prayers. I played God of Mercy. I was merciful to grant her the favor she wanted. I was the god of pleasure too. I ducked between her parted legs and pleasured the honey hole in her mound.

“Greg… take off my panties. Stop teasing me…ohhh. But I love it. I always love you eating me to ecstasy…”

I pushed the hem of her dress up to her waist and pulled down her panties.

Her blond p***y seemed to be quivering in delight and anticipation. I put her parted legs at each side of the arm rest of the wooden seat she was sitting on. The view was so horny. The parted lips of her p***y were so inviting. So, tempting.

“f**k Greg… stop teasing me--- ohhh…” her voice trailed into a whine. It ended into a moan. I sucked and sipped her salty-tanginess as she was rocking her hips and rotated her ass in total abandon.

When I tasted the sweet c*m dripping from her slit, I quickly removed my shorts and brief. I shoved my d**k inside her dripping-wet p***y.

“Greg… uhmppp…”

“Greggg… ohhhh…”

“Greggg… Ahhhh…”

I was plowing her wet fields.

I was preparing to plant my seed.

“Greggg… tuck… I’m coming!”

I f****d her and poured my seed on her. She wanted a piece of me. I will give it to her.

The rains did not stop pouring that day it lasted into the night. We made love all through the night. We slept naked in her room. My d**k had plowed her p***y all night long. She fell asleep hugging me. The warmth of her body shielded my own from the cold wind brought by the rushing rains.

When the rains had subsided the next morning, we went to the house of the DA coordinator. He brought us to the house of the president of the Farmers Cooperative.

“Let us first go and visit Wawa,” he invited us.

“I am sure there are plenty of biya and hito at the breakwater because of the rains.” Biya was a fresh water fish caught in the lake. Hito was a species of catfish prevalent in the Laguna lake.

“He’s right, Engineer,” the DA coordinator who introduced himself as Jeric agreed with Mang Noel who was the president of the Farmers Cooperative.

“You can come with him to the dike so that you two could roam around and see the place.”

“And the fish would come fresh. We’d buy some and cook it for lunch. My wife wants to meet you and wants me to invite you in our place for lunch.” Jeric added.

We have been staying here for a month, and we haven’t feel yet the hospitality prevalent with the local folks. The rains really were opening some windows of opportunity for most people.

We looked at each other hearing this. Liz nodded to me. She thought that it was a good idea to go around not only to the rice paddies but to those places where people were eking out to make a living aside from planting rice and other farm produce in the fields.

Wawa was the name they called the place. It means the mouth of the river. It was the place where the river met the fresh water lake. The government had constructed concrete embankments at both sides of the river. Some called it a dike. Some, called it breakwater. But local folks called it Wawa. It stretches for a few kilometers winding with the river to control soil erosions and changes in the river’s flow.

We went down to the lowest rung of the dike’s steps to check with some fisherfolks who had their wide-bodied boats tied along the concrete river bank. We could see their boats teeming with different kinds of freshwater fish.

“Look at how big were the hito and bangus are!” Jeric pointed at the fish in one of the boats. Bangus was a milkfish variety usually being raise in fish ponds or in fish cages constructed in the deeper part of the lake.

Liz took out her cell phone and took some selfies with it. She also recorded some videos on her phone while we were ogling with the fisherfolks for the price of the fish they were selling.

After we bought the fish we wanted, we proceeded to visit the rice paddies.

And just as we were expecting, each rice paddy was now overflowing with rainwater. It was both blessing and a curse. The farmers would need extra farm hands to rebuild the rice paddies eroded by the rushing waters seeking the lowest rung of downward terraces characteristic of rice lands in most farming communities.

Mang Noel was carrying extra rubber boots for use in the field. But Liz and I would not take them. We preferred to walk barefoot on the narrow edges of the rice paddies. We sloshed through the muddy water when the edges where unusable. The feel of the soft earth moistened into mud by the rains was something surreal. It stimulated our senses. These feelings were common to farm folks. Perhaps, these are the feelings that naturally bond them to the soil.

I watched Liz felt her steps through the wet ground. She would stop to achieve her balance. And sometimes she would hold on to my shoulder. Our gaits were uneven as the ground seemed to rise and fall.

“I want my bare feet to feel the soil…” said she explaining why she had refused to wear the rubber boots.

A naughty thought flashed on my filthy imagination.

I realized, walking on the mud barefoot could be compared to f*****g. It was a more learning experience to actually feel how the mud felt. How the soft earth felt on our foot. Just like the fact that it was much more satisfying to f**k without condom.

Liz was biting her lower lip while we stood watching a farm hand operating a diesel- powered hand tractor. The farm owner was quick to work on his fields. He had been waiting and praying for the rains so that he could plow the fields. The time for planting had started.

I had a look at the porcelain-white legs of Liz as she stood near me. The hand tractor operator suddenly veered to the right to follow the bend of the rice paddy he was plowing. The tractor threw splatters of mud at us. As Liz tried to avoid the muddy water splashing on us, she got a little bit off balance. She had to hold onto me to avoid falling inside the rice paddy.

She hugged me while doing so. Mang Noel was busy removing the unwanted weeds in the rice paddy’s narrow path walk. The hand tractor operator’s back was upon us. We were free to steal a kiss. And we did.

“Does your ‘kana’ eats biya cooked in coconut milk?” Mang Noel asked me in vernacular.

I smiled at Liz when we heard this remark from the president of the Farmers Cooperative. Mang Noel was not aware that Liz understood and spoke fluent Filipino language. ‘Kana’ was an idiom thrown at any white foreign woman. It rooted from the word, ‘Ameiikana’ describing the American woman’.

It could not be considered racist. And usually it was spoken of lightheartedly.

I took a spoonful of the dish into my plate and looked at Liz. I motioned her in a subtle way to do the same.

She slightly nodded, took three pieces of ‘siling labuyo’ that were on a plate. She crushed these potent local variety of hot chili on a plate and took a spoonful of the dish. She mixed the crushed chili on the dish and ate it

The group eating with us could not do anything but approve her guts. I could hear guffaws and murmurs from the wives of the farmer folks gathered around as we partake the smoking hot rice and the spicy dishes cooked in coconut milk. There were also grilled catfish and milkfish that were mouth-watering side dishes dipped in hot soya beans sauce.

It was a hot lunch on a cold day after the rains. It ushered the blissful planting season in that corner of the farming community of Jala-jala.

When the farmers were finished sowing the palay seeds, we proceeded to a nearby rice mill owned and operated by the local Farmers Cooperative. It was funded and donated to the group by JICA. It was a combined rice mill and palay dryer facility. The rice husks coming-off from the milled rice were the fuels used to heat the heated platforms where newly harvested rice were dried prior to milling.

When Liz finished her interview with the management of the rice mill, we got the chance to roam around. Jeric guided us to a tour of the defunct electric power plant laying idle on a sprawling compound.

“This was envisioned to power the electrical grid supplying electricity to the adjacent towns of Rizal and Laguna provinces. We were hopeful that this could usher a new era of progress to Jala-jala and the towns surrounding it.”

“But some local activists shot down the project with their daily protests.”

“They told us that the project will destroy the ecology.”

Jeric was lamenting the dimmish of the power plant.

“We are under the mercy of the weather every planting season since then. And the farmers’ fields were without the benefits of electricity which we sorely need.” He lamented further.

After finishing the tour of the failed power plant, we went back to Jeric’s office.

“We have a baklad in the middle of the lake,” he told us. A ‘baklad’ is a fenced fish cage constructed at the deeper part of the fresh water lake where fish fingerlings were grown and harvested.

“If you know how to paddle a boat Engineer, you can take Miss Liz and tour our fish cage.”

“There is nobody there now. My handy man is in town. You can have the fish pen all your own.” He spoke this with his gaze seemingly sizing us.

“I grew up in a fishing community.” I told him.

Jeric accompanied us to the dike where his boat was docked. He pointed us the fish pen he owned at the middle of the lake.

“It has my name printed on the makeshift hut where my handyman stays during his watch.” He further said giving us two oars made of fiber glass.

“Miss Liz can learn to paddle herself,” he smiled looking at my companion.

He helped me untie his wide-bodied boat and pushed it away from the dike as I slowly paddled the boat in the direction he had pointed to us.

“Enjoy!” he shouted as we slowly glided in fresh water lake now teeming with water lilies floating along the river.

Liz sat on a small wooden bench near the prow of the boat facing me. The seat was so low and she was a fairly large woman that I could peek at her white thighs. The afternoon was painting the overcast sky in hues. The sun was going down though not in earnest nor was it in a hurry, I should say.

“You sure, you know how to paddle Greg?” she teased me.

“Yeah, as sure as I know how to f**k!” I yelled.

This made her chuckle loudly as our words were being drowned by the gushing breeze coming from the center of the lake.

“Sure you do,” she said.

“The f*****g. That, I’m sure.”

“Your paddling, I’m not”

Her lips were smiling. Also, her blue eyes. It was sensual and seductive. Her beauty was not that outstanding. But she had that oozing s*x-appeal. The ‘it’ that a male species would fall prey to.

I felt our lusts were complimentary. Perhaps, if the idea of soulmates was true, in our case, we were s*x mates.

“Don’t worry,” I assured her.

“You’ve got the best paddler in town!”

This elicited a laughter and a chuckle from her. She scooped her hand at the water and playfully threw it at my direction.

“I thought I heard you saying the best fucker…” said she as she made a face. And playfully too, she parted her legs wide open.

I swallowed hard seeing the mound hidden in her panties.

“Do you want me to remove my panties?” she asked.

A hot streak of flushes streamed in my groins.

“Your bulge is saying yes…” she said as she was slowly removing her panties.

I paddled like a man being chased from behind. My goal was to reach the fish pen as quickly as I could. My lust was urgent.

And she was teasing me more. She pulled up her dress up to her waist and let her parted legs dangling in the two sides of the boat.

“Enjoy the view,” said she as her back was laid flat on the boat’s floor. Her eyes on the afternoon sky.

I was turned-on completely.

The moment we reached the fish pen, I quickly tied the boat into the moor.

I quickly removed my shorts and underwear. I felt no time for a foreplay. I felt the urgency to f**k her exposed p***y.

“Greg…”

“f**k…”

“Ohhh…”

She moaned as I shoved my hungry d**k into hers.

I grunted in wanton lust penetrating her.

She was whining and moaning in gross abandon.

We f**k on the boat. Our frenzied f*****g dented the stillness of that cozy afternoon.

And we f****d more inside the makeshift hut up in the fish pen.

“I love you Gteg…” she whispered.

My lips groped for hers. There were feelings that were hard of speech. There were the feelings left unsaid yet actions do speak more than words.

As we rested, we got to enjoy the view.

Jeric was right. The view from the fish pen was breath taking. The fish pens lining down the fresh water lake were like sentinels guarding the sleepy town of Jala-jala. Further to the distant shore to the other side of the lake, we could see the faint features of a lighthouse. The image puncture by a crimson sky.

Liz was hugging me as we cuddled in the serenity of the lake. We embraced each other knowing that it could only be a dot in our memory lane when it ends.

Nothing lasts.

Every beginning has an end.

And yet—we did not paddle into this fish pen just to enjoy the view.

“Fill me up with your seed… f**k me…” she pleaded.

I obliged.

I played God of Mercy. I granted her wish of a favor.

I was a god of pleasure too.

I pleasured her. I realized that lust is everything. Without it, mankind would vanish from the face of the earth.

Yet the inevitable moment of parting came. Her project study was completed. She had submitted her dissertation for review.

“Is this goodbye Greg?” she asked while she had me in tight embrace.

“There are two kinds of goodbyes…” she averred.

“One is there could be a hello…” she pinched my chest.

“The other one is most sad…if there could no more of it…”

I hugged her. I’ve got a thousand things to tell her. But, just like with Lissa, I was tongue-tied. The words won’t slip out of my lips.

“Thanks for everything…For this seed throbbing in my womb…” she whispered.

For this I was a bit agitated. The reality of the situation had finally dawned on me.

I have sired another woman aside from my wife!

“You’re pregnant?” I wished I was just hearing things.

“Yeah I’m two months on the way…” she was in her normal cheerful and bubbly antics.

“Stay posted… There will be lots of hello, I promise…” she winked.

She kissed me again in my lips and she hurriedly entered the gate of the departure area. She waved her hand looking back at me for the last time. I nodded at her and waved back. I walked the path to the parking lot grudgingly.

I was thinking if it would be a boy or a girl.

Or if there could be a chance of meeting them in the future.

TO BE CONTINUED…