WET FIELDS

A FAVOR

Five years had quickly passed. My youngest son was already five years old. When I successfully submitted my dissertation for review and defense. I successfully got my PhD in Agricultural Engineering.

Having this degree, I was offered a teaching position in the country’s most prestigious state university for Agriculture.

During this time, I purchased a house and lot package from an upscale subdivision just a half-hour drive from the state university. Mer was also accepted as the Dean of the Institute of Arts and Sciences in an exclusive private university nearby.

Aside from teaching, I spent my other free hours in writing articles about farming and modern farming techniques and technologies. I also became an editor of a weekly magazine catering for agricultural interests and communities.

But all through these, my passion for working in the fields had not diminished a bit.

At the state university I was teaching, there were studies and collaborations between soil scientists from all over the globe. These collaborations involved experts, students and peers from different countries and with different stake-holders in global food supplies, soil conservation and mitigation against climate changes. The stakeholders from each government were sending their representatives as exchange students to participate in these collaborations.

The state university provided state dormitories for these foreign exchange students and allow them to work directly on the fields inside the sprawling campus. Sometimes these exchange students were sent to pilot agricultural projects in some remote farming communities in the country for actual work immersions. These, helped them to actually experience the object of their studies and expertise.

These collaborations were often funded and supported by UN agency for Agriculture and world food program. Sometimes, private stakeholders would step-in to provide funding for these collaborations and exchange student programs and schemes.

Through this program, I came to meet Lizzelle. She came from Australia and was a part of an exchange students’ program of an Australian Agricultural university. She was enrolled on seeds propagation and soil conservation and management. These subjects were my expertise.

Lizzelle was in her early forties. She was a large woman typical of an Australian native. She had blue eyes, with some evident freckles on her face, and a rather pointed nose and pouting lips. She looked much younger than her age. Perhaps it was because of her bubbly and pleasant personality.

We were formally introduced to each other when the organization of exchange students in the university sponsored a welcome party for the new batch of exchange students. The party was for both the students and the faculty members.

My first impression of her was she was timid, shy and introvert, as she was not mingling well among her co-exchange students. She reminded me of Lissa not only because of their names, but also because of their contrasting personalities.

But I observed that in some unguarded moments, Lizzelle would display the same carefree and bubbly personality that Lissa had.

“So, you are the author who proposed a fishpond to control soil erosion and enhance soil nutrients for rice fields…” she said when I was introduced to her.

“Yes, that was the subject of my paper, “A Symbiotic Relationship in Rice fields” I published a year ago,” I acknowledged that her information was correct.

I vividly recalled how I was fascinated by her blue eyes.

We were both no dancers. My feet always find themselves off beat to the cadence of the music.

So, we stayed on a table dancing instead our wine glasses; sharing toasts after toast while the music enthralled the dancers on the dance floor and the night was slipping fast; perhaps afraid to be caught with the dawn.

Our drunkenness brought us to her dormitory and to her room.

And there and then, I discovered that she was fluent with my native spoken language.

“I’m a linguist…” she explained, “I’m fluent with five major languages in the world…and I can speak conversely with most of the dialects spoken in different regions and localities in your country.”

“In that case, I want to hear your moans in Filipino while we f****d…” I drunkenly told her.

She was laughing heartily. I love it. It reminded me of Lissa.

“Kainin mo ako…” she whispered in vernacular. She meant she wanted me to eat her.

“I have some friends in Melbourne who told me that Filipino guys were good p***y-eaters” said she.

She was a large woman. But she was no different. I found out that no race differentiates a woman. Only the features, skin colors and size. But it was the same p***y. The same t**s.

“It has been quite a while when I got myself celibate…” she whispered parting her big yet shapely legs. What I was feeling in that moment was the excitement of a new experience. It was as if I was on my way to taste a new delicacy. Her p***y looked so tempting and delicious. It was making my mouth water in anticipation. I knew my d**k was watering too. My precum was wetting the tip of my iron-hard c**k.

When I dived between her parted legs I could feel she was slightly trembling. She was a dry field needing my rains. She was a new field for my plow.

For a split-second, I remembered Lissa. Perhaps at this very moment too, her old man must be plowing on her ever-wet field. Her old man is Lizzelle’s countryman.

I would just revenge for Lissa. I would also plow the field of her husband’s counry-woman. I would f**k this Aussie as Lissa was f****d by an Aussie man. f*****g Lizzelle would make it equal.

I parted her big and milky-white legs. I felt I could be caught in between her thighs so easily.

I delighted myself gazing at her p***y. It was as huge. I felt my two palms joined together was not enough to cover it.

The hair that covered her p***y was just like the color of her hair. She was blond. I parted the labia of her mound with my tongue. She moaned as I savored the salty tanginess of her slit. The taste of her exquisite p***y sent my libido peaking in height sending me a squirm of heat on my groin. I felt my d**k bursting to be free from the confines of my underwear.

“It’s so f*****g good Greg… masarap…” she blurted out. What she uttered at the end was an ego booster. Masarap, means delicious. Yeah it’s true we were good p***y-eaters. And I would like to prove to her that if I couldn’t be the best, I was next to it.

She had a reddish c**t. And like her p***y, I observed her c**t was oversize too.

I rolled my tongue around her c**t nibbling it, sucking it gently and sucking it hard. How I love the reaction of her body while I was eating her p***y. She was grinding her hips humping her body up and down sometimes gyrating her hips and holding on to my head clutching my hair.

“f**k Greg I’m coming… f**k… ohhhhh…” her delirious moans were filling the room. She was delirious. She was in sheer ecstasy.

At that moment, Lizzelle was a very horny woman. Her lust seemed to have no ebbing.

“God… you’re making me so horny Greg… Love it…ohhhh… ang saraaappp…” each time she mentioned her feelings in my native tongue, I found I tinge of pride. It was like going native.

Though I discovered that f*****g and lust were universal. Whether this was spoken in different languages it meant the same. It culminated into one great desire—to be able to climax into a seismic eruption of orgasmic ecstasy.

She was rotating her ass each time I suck her c**t. She squeezed my head with her thighs but I won’t stop licking and lapping at her c**t. I traced the length of her slit with my tongue. Always ending it slurping her c**t sipping at her sweet juices oozing from the depth or her glorious hole.

“Gregggg…ohhh I can’t bear it any longer…God…I’m coming….Fuck… I’m cumming…” Her lustful whines were filling the room.

Her once dry field had overflowed. Her juices was dripping from the slit of her mound. But still I kept on plodding my tongue in her slit hitting her swelling c**t time ahd again, sending a wave of electric pleasure at the center of her groin.

“You bastard… But it was f*****g good Greg…” she was saying tapping my shoulders to put a stop to my pleasuring her p***y.

“I’m not finish yet…” I blurted out.

“Let me rest a bit…” she pleaded while looking at me, at my d**k that was all too ready to f**k her.

She pushed me on my back. My plow was pointing at the ceiling.

“You have a nice and huge endowment down here… ” she declared.

She held my enormous d**k between her big hands. Her large hands were soft and warm. She was waiting for her orgasm to subside. Some women felt tickled upon reaching their climax. The tickle could be unbearable for some of them.

She held my balls in one hand while holding the entire length of my rigid shaft with the other hand. I moaned and gasped when she slid my d**k inside her mouth. I felt my lust shot upward. My desire was piercing my brain as she moved her head sliding in and out of her mouth my wanting d**k.

I curled my toes and bended my knees as my d**k plowed deep into her throat. The sensation was making me insane with an unexplainable pleasure.

“Damn it Liz…you are f*****g hot… ohhhhh… I want to f**k you, you horny woman!” I wanted to shout on top of my voice. I musn’t. We could be heard.

“You seemed to enjoy too an Australian fellatio, huh? Your Filipino d**k is so f*****g hot, honey…”

When she suspected that my d**k now was rock-hard and every vein in my d**k was stiff and rigid; she gently slid out my c**k from her mouth.

“Time for an Aussie cowgirl’s ride honey…” she told me with a naughty grin.

We locked our gazed as she aimed my c**k on her p***y. She threw her gaze at the ceiling gently biting her lower lip. She closed her eyes gently lowering her p***y upon my stiff c**k. The heat imparted by her p***y to my c**k was electrifying. It was sending waves of ecstatic pleasures in my brain. Her p***y was a depth of hot lubricants making my stiff plow like a well-oiled shaft penetrating her to the womb. She moaned and gasped as she started going up and down on my uncomplaining d**k.

“f**k…your d**k is making my p***y so horny… I’m so wet and so hot…” said she as she was rolling her pelvis and grinding her ass as she rode on top of me. Her Aussie cowgirls ride was excellent.

Her weight was adding extra leverage to our f*****g. Each time she dropped herself on my d**k, I found my d**k reaching deeper into her. Her huge pair of breast was bouncing as she put more speed on her gliding up and down into my d**k.

I felt my d**k was gaining more length and thickness as her p***y swallowed my d**k.

“f**k… I can’t control it no more…my jizz is exploding…” she whined.

“I’m coming too Liz…” I whispered back.

Our thrusts were in synch. Whenever she thrusted her p***y downward, I’d pushed my d**k upward. We sweated and gasped as my d**k and hers would met half-way. We sustained this rhythm until we felt that glorious release of our juices. She squirted her c*m as I shot my load. And it mixed inside her bossom.

“You are such a good f**k…a sweet fucker…” she whispered when we disentangled.

“Likewise…” I sweetly whispered in her ears.

I knew it was only a case of a one-night fling. A one night stand, no more, no less.

We only tasted each other. Nothing serious. It was only the effect of us having too many drinks that night. Of course, the chance too of experiencing f*****g someone from a different race and upbringing was another factor.

But fate it seemed had a different plan.

The committee that was handling the project study where Liz was enrolled with, decided an in-depth study where the student subjects would immerse themselves to gather real time statistics at the outreach projects outside the confines of the campus.

And fate would have it that Liz and I were partnered. I as her mentor, and she as my student. The program would run the entire length of the semester.

Her dissertation was about the impact of modern farm equipment and technology on farming community from field preparation, planting, pest and weed control, harvesting, drying and milling. It also included the support services for actual marketing of farm products.

Her dissertation involved a project sponsored and funded by JICA. This was an acronym for Japanese International Cooperation Agency. A Japanese government funded agency in support for the economic development of less developed countries in Asia.

The project was located in a remote farming community in Jala-jala, Rizal. It was a rustic and sleepy town between a mountainous ridge and a freshwater lake. It could be reached via a three-hours drive from Pasig City with a private vehicle or a public conveyance system.

“Our main problem here is the irrigation,” the local coordinator for the department of agriculture briefed us when we went to the DA satellite office in the town.

The coordinator provided us a temporary house we could rent through the duration of our stay in the barangay.

The house had two rooms which suited us. It had a toilet which was detached from the house. Our problem was, it has no electrical supply. It also had no running water. The source or water was a hand pump drawing water from the ground.

“You could opt to stay in the town. But it is an hour’s trek if you walk fast enough and an hour and a half if you take it leisurely.” The coordinator told us. He himself lived here among the farmers who were scattered far and wide at the foot of the mountain ridges.

We decided to stay in the project. As Liz decided we could endure the lack of electricity and running water.

On our first day at Jala-jala we immediately proceeded to conduct an ocular inspection of the irrigation pump.

Since the electrical distribution from the town had not yet reach the project site, the pumps were driven by diesel powered engines. From three pumps, one was already de-commisioned from lack of funds. JICA was providing the funds needed for the pumping station. However, the local Farmers Cooperative was the one providing its maintenance expenses. This came from the irrigation fee paid by farm owners.

The pumping station pumped the fresh water from the lake through the irrigation pipes buried on the ground running more than a kilometer from the pumping station to the farthest rice paddies.

‘Most of the farmers were depending on erratic rainy seasons to plant their palay. As the price of crude oil sometimes were sky high,” the coordinator explained. We could see the evident cracked on the parched ground.

The god of rains seemed to be unmerciful in this corner. Hence the people are poor. And the electric cooperative had no plan to build their electric posts over here. It was a losing proposition. There was no money here.

We were exactly one month staying in Jala-jala when the rains came. The thick rains poured angrily.

Because we have no electricity the DA satellite office provided us solar panels for charging our cell phones and the back up batteries we use at night times. For a month we endured the primitive life of retiring early and pumping the hand pump with our bare hands. We would bring our laundry to town where there was a lone shop offering laundry services.

It was at the middle of the day that the rain fell in large drops. This was a welcome respite. But it had to mean one thing; we have to ration our electricity for our gadgets and for our light. The solar panel became source less without the suh . The battery bank’s charge was only available for four hours. And it was only half past the lunch time.

The rains seemed to have no plan of stopping.

I went out from my room to our makeshift sala. I round Liz sitting quietly on a wooden seat. I noticed she was smoking a thin cigarette. The sweet smell of the smoke coming from it told me that it was an imported sweet-scented cigarette.

“I don’t remember that you smoke.” I told her taking the wooden seat facing her.

“I’m not a regular smoker,” she explained, “I smoke when I’m tense.”

“Was it because of the rains and our situation here?” I probe her reason.

“The rains are no reason. I welcome them.”

“So, it’s the primitive condition we have here?” I asked, “We can transfer in the town and rent a trike to transport us back and forth…”

“It’s not the primitive conditions. I can cope with it.”

“It’s us.”

She rolled out circles of smoke from her mouth towards me. It floated on the damp air and the wind pulled them away.

“I want a favor Greg,” she shifted the tone of her voice.

I felt she wanted me to know that what she had to say next was important. At least to her.

A flash of memory came to me. I remembered Lissa asking this same thing. A favor.

“When I finish my studies here, I will go back to Australia,” she inhaled a smoke again only to puff it out in the same manner. Smoke in little circles that were expanding had bellowed from her pouted lips.

“I want something tangible to remember you.”

“I am falling for you Greg… though we f****d only once.”

“I want you to sire me. Give me a child. Impregnate me.”

She was just like Lissa. She was asking me to do her a favor.

It was as if impregnating someone was as easy as Do-Re-Mi.

TO BE CONTINUED…