Best of Asian Erotica, Volume 1

‘Oh yes, Sir,’ was the young man’s sunny reply.

The grandfather had asked to receive them privately in his study before they saw to any other family business-such as the complicated, and very public, distribution of pasalubong, the obligatory presents expected of any Filipino returning home. Mi-chan had brought him a fine hand-turned Danish pipe which she had purchased in Singapore.

Mi-chan watched her husband greet his lolo respectfully by making a slight bow over the back of the man’s right hand, until the knuckles grazed his forehead. Acting on instinct, she copied the mano po, and received a very proper but affectionate bisou on each cheek from the grandfather in return.

At 92, Old Man Queral was a charmer. He also had an impish style about him which she had never detected in the grandson, who had a taste for aggressive martial arts, tended to take everything very seriously, and had certain rather dark hungers in the bedroom which some women might find intimidating.

Addressing his new granddaughter-in-law, the lolo said, ‘My dear, let me give you my blessings for your marriage to my grandson. He is a lucky man. I understand that your parents are no longer living. I will do my best to make sure that their souls are at ease as long as you are here under my roof.’

He continued, ‘I have explained to the family-especially the titas, who are anxious to meet you-that you are an expectant mother, and may want to rest until the meryenda at 4.30pm. The pasalubong and the introductions can wait, no?’

The lolo took Ayumi’s hand and said, ‘Thank you for the pipe, it is such a good one. Mrs Hizon has set out some refreshments in your room in case you get hungry or thirsty.’

The room which had been assigned to them was one of the most romantic rooms in the colonial-style bahay na bato-or ‘house of stone’. That part of the house was so old that the afternoon light filtered into the room through panes made from translucent capiz shells, ventanillas carved from Philippine hardwoods, and colourful sheets of speckled glass.

Mi-chan lay back contentedly on the big four-poster bed and allowed her husband to remove her sandals and pull her panties down towards her ankles.

He left on the confining Japanese hara-obi bindings which she insisted on winding tightly around her midriff after every bath in order to support the ever-growing bump and her lower back.

Eduardo’s sexual hunger liquefied his wife’s spine when he forced her young thighs apart with his knee and began to push the heavy head of his cock into her kiki, which was hot and fluid from the hormones.

The belly was high and narrow, in that modern way; soon he had her on her side, with her thighs parted widely and the bump pressed safely to the side, and was thrusting into her in a rough rhythm which made her full breasts roll heavily into his hands as he smacked his hips against her buttocks and her thighs.

One of his hands gripped her ankle and pulled it back in order to open her up more as he ploughed her young body with his batuta, a Spanish Filipino word meaning ‘baton’.

In the gentle tropical heat of the afternoon-which was kept comfortably at bay by one ageing air-conditioning unit that juddered every few minutes as it kept the bedroom well-chilled, in true Filipino style-Mi-chan moaned softly as her husband made love to her. At one point, the butiki-house geckos-scurrying silently along the walls and across the ceilings watched Eduardo strip the pregnancy girdle from his wife’s midriff and use that to tie her to the bedposts.

After the sex, Mi-chan sat quietly on a low stool in the simple old-fashioned bathroom as Eduardo lathered their bodies up with a bar of soap and rinsed the suds off, Filipino-style, with big scoops of fresh water from a large earthenware jar fed by a plastic hose attached directly to the faucet.

The slippery feel of her warm soapy body under his hands brought the Spaniard’s dako back to life yet again, and Mi-chan was quite happy to find herself being eased, monkey-style, onto a very clean penis which spread her buttocks as her husband asserted his conjugal rights on the cool bathroom tiles.

The meryenda was Ayumi’s formal introduction to the family. In Spain, a merienda was a simple affair, a piece of fruit and some toast or pastries served with coffee or tea just before sundown.

In Old Man Queral’s household, this snack was a substantial meal, Filipino style, with custard tarts, Chinese meat buns, a healthy selection of fresh tropical fruit, and even a steaming dish of fried pancit noodles. Although sundown was still a couple of hours away, both he and Eduardo accepted the tumblers of whiskey offered to them by the staff; Mi-chan sipped a glass of young coconut juice.

Eduardo’s brother Juan Carlos looked longingly at the drinks tray, but settled on a glass of fresh pineapple juice after a sharp remark from his wife.

The servants were all aware that Juan Carlos was living under the saya, although they would never dream of expressing those views in so many words. To say, even jokingly, that a man lived under his woman’s skirts-her saya-was quite a serious insult in the Philippines.

Christine was the kind of Frenchwoman for whom the air-conditioning in Cebu was never cold enough and for whom the staff never moved quickly enough. She and Juan Carlos lived in France; the only thing she enjoyed about visiting the hacienda in Cebu was having a large staff to boss about.

Old Man Queral often wondered why Christine was so imperious and demanding with his staff when, in France, she washed her own clothes and relied on a cleaner who came in two days a week. Her behaviour always reminded him of the Phillipine saying ‘A fly that lands on a carabao feels itself to be higher than the carabao.’

The woman began attacking Mi-chan almost as soon as the family was seated around the mango wood table on the patio. During their first meeting only the week before, Juan Carlos had been taught by Eduardo to treat Mi- chan with respect, but his wife was not a fast learner.

Christine’s line of attack was the pregnancy. Under the pretext of being happy for Ayumi, she seized every opportunity to draw attention to the healthy size of the bride’s stomach, considering that she had been married for only a few weeks. Her remarks injured Eduardo’s pride, his amor proprio; the Filipino sense of embarrassment and shame, called hiya, was deeply ingrained in him.

Mi-chan, who understood the Asian concept of ‘face’ perfectly, sensed that her husband was not in a position to put Christine in her place without losing even more face. For his sake, she concentrated on maintaining a sweet, calm and respectful demeanour.

Old Man Queral liked the way Mi-chan was holding on to her dignity.

Unlike Christine, who was rapidly approaching what Filipino culture calls the napasubo, the ominous ‘point of no return’ in social conflict; the aunts, uncles and cousins at the table were already looking embarrassed and uncomfortable.

He had thought well of Eduardo’s young bride from the moment she had greeted him instinctively with a mano po, a simple but meaningful gesture which Juan Carlos’ wife had never bothered to perform.

Just as he was about to say something firm to Christine to put a stop to the nonsense once and for all, Mi- chan spoke up. ‘Grandfather, I feel very embarrassed to present myself at your house in this condition.’ She added, wistfully, ‘My stomach is so big. O-negai shimasu; I am sorry.’

Her words snapped every head in her direction. Including the household staff. The head of the family raised his glass to his new granddaughter-in-law and smiled at her. ‘ Hija,’ he said, ‘all that matters to me is that both you and the baby are well. I have never seen my grandson so happy before. And he is no fool.’

In an instant, the old man’s gracious words made Christine’s pointed remarks appear indelicate, and even uncouth. The formal afternoon tea continued without further incident.