Friday, October 12, 2012
MANILA, Philippines -- A teenager was arrested Thursday after allegedly raping his elder sister inside their home in Las Piñas City, police said Friday.
Senior Superintendent Romulo Sapitula, Las Piñas chief of police, said the suspect, 18, was arrested inside the family's home along BF Resort Village for allegedly raping his 21-year-old sister twice inside her room.
The victim was quoted as saying that she was first raped by her brother last September 11, but decided not to say anything about the incident for fear of her life.
The suspect, the police chief said, was only arrested after the mother allegedly caught him in the act of raping her daughter, prompting her to call the police.
Sapitula said the suspect even tried to resist arrest, but was eventually handcuffed and taken to prison, adding that he was also made to undergo a drug examination as requested by his mother.
The suspect is scheduled for inquest proceedings for two counts of incestuous rape and direct assault, he said.
Mallao wiped a gob of spittle from his lips and pressed his ear to Maia's door. She had a nameplate on her door, Winnie the Pooh stuffing his fat yellow face full of "hunney," and Maia's name. God damn. His sister was too old to have cartoons slapped on her bedroom anyway. Twenty-one, and she was still in love with images from American TV. Sometimes, it was like she was a child trapped in a woman's ... a woman's ... body.
He swallowed hard.
A woman's body. What the hell did Mallao know about a woman's body? He sniffed in disgust, catching a whiff of hash rolling off his t-shirt. All the girls at school, and the girls at the malls dressed like white actresses on TV, they never looked at Mallao. They never looked at his thick black hair and big muscles, his good honest Philippine moustache and polyester shirts. Girls didn't want a man who looked like him.
His sister didn't want a man who looked like him.
Bitch. Always shaking her ass for the white men, the tourists and the American sailors, while good Filipino men had to beat off or go pay for it. Wearing those tight silk dresses and dancing with white men. Had she fucked any of them? God, who could tell. He bet she had. He bet Maia had laid back in this very room, under all her Disney princesses and clean white teddy bears, and spread her legs for a hundred, a thousand rich white men. Never for a good brown man like him.
Mallao took another long drag off his hash and pressed his ear to the door. Maia had been moving around earlier; he'd heard her playing imported bangra CDs and dancing around. Maybe she'd been cleaning her room, maybe she'd just been dancing, flaunting her tight ass for the mirror, practicing for the white men she wanted to fuck later. Who could tell? Crazy bitch had gone silent now, that was for sure.
After a long moment, Mallao decided the room was silent. Maia hadn't come out yet, so maybe she was asleep. Maybe she'd snuck out the window. He knew she'd snuck out at least once recently to go meet Americans at the disco. Mallao could imagine his sister with her arms around some white sailor's neck under the hot colored lights, grinding away like a Bangkulasi whore. As long as he kept buying her drinks, she'd keep shaking her tight brown body into him.
Las Piñas is a fairly rich city, maybe not filthy rich, but better off than adjoining Manila. Lots of places for tourists to go and spend their dollars, their euros, their yuan. Whatever, spend it all, foreigners! Fuck off, but leave your money first! But too many of them leave something else. Lots of half-white babies in Las Piñas. And Mallao would bet Maia would wind up having just one more.
Yeah. Like they needed another mouth to feed.
Finally, Mallao stubbed out his hash on the floor. Varnished bamboo, very Western-looking, like this whole house. His bitch mother and whore sister loved living like the white people on the TV, like pashas of the empire, like they were embarrassed to be Filipino.
Well, not Mallao. He was proud to be Filipino. Screw all the white people and their money and their AIDS and their bastard half-breed children they never met. Screw them all. Mallao was proud to be Filipino, and he would show Maia what a real Filipino man was like. He'd make her proud to be brown, like Lord Jesus intended.
Slowly, trying not to make noise, he turned his sister's doorknob and eased the door open. He stuck his head through and looked for Maia. She'd collapsed on her white European four-poster bed. Mallao was a little disappointed to see her wearing some kind of white cotton night dress. He'd hoped she'd be wearing one of those slinky silk dresses she wore to go dancing ("dancing"). But she'd apparently changed, and was asleep, breathing heavily--not quite snoring, but close enough.
God damn, she was pretty when she wasn't trying to be pretty. Her long, straight hair splayed out around her, highlights glistening in the sun; skin the proper, natural shade of brown, like a good Las Piñas woman. Her breasts were high and firm, her belly smooth and taut. The hem of her night dress had ridden up, exposing both calves and most of one thigh.
He looked from that thigh to his own naked forearms, and back. Nearly the exact shade of brown. His were maybe a little darker, from working construction out in the sun, while she shook her pretty little titties in half-dark discos. But close enough. For a moment, Mallao regretted putting out his hash. But it was too late, he was into this now. He didn't need the smoke to give him courage. He just needed to feel his sister's skin against his own.
Mallao closed the door behind him, softly. The latch gave the smallest, gentlest click as it slid into place. He looked around for something he could use to brace the door. Her dresser stood a few feet away. He hooked his fingers under the rim and pulled it back, sliding it to obstruct the door. He knew there was little chance his sister could get free of him, but if she did, she would now have to stop and wrestle a huge piece of furniture out of the way, giving him time to grab her and drag her back to him. She wasn't getting out of this so easily.
No, Mallao thought with a silent chuckle. The only wrestling here today, Maia, will be you and me.
Mallao sat on the edge of Maia's bed, looking at her face. With her eyes closed, and her muscles slack with sleep, she looked so damn innocent. So peaceful. Like a proper Filipino angel, not some docklands slut who traded her body to white men for money. Did she fuck for money? He didn't really know. But yeah, he knew. How else did she afford all those shiny silk dresses for the white men? Surely not on Dad's life insurance and Mallao's salary.
In one smooth motion, Mallao peeled off his sweat-soaked t-shirt and dropped it next to his sister's bed. Hard work had given him hard muscles: not the useless muscles of the bodybuilders on TV that his mother got damp watching, but the kind of specific, powerful muscles that come with team-lifting heavy girders and driving nails for ten hours in the hot Philippean sun. He didn't know what kind of man his sister liked. But he knew for sure that she would find out what a real man, with real muscles, was like today.
He stroked one hand up his sister's exposed thigh. The skin was tight, and muscles surprisingly hard. She probably got a good workout dancing to that electronic Western music. He bet she was strong. Not as strong as her brother, of course. But strong enough to put up a fight. He hoped she put up a fight. It wouldn't be as fun if she just lay there, soft and useless.
Mallao's hand stroked up his sleeping sister's body, pausing on her navel and to circle her left nipple, finally coming to rest on her cheek. Maia groaned softly, smacking her lips, but didn't come awake. Good. He wanted this to last; he didn't want her to end it too soon. He wanted his sister to know who was doing this to her, and why. He petted her cheek lightly, like a proud father at first, as he worked up his nerve. But he felt the knot of need growing in his belly, and his touch became that of a lover.
He almost talked himself out of it. He almost thought, maybe he could convince her to stay with him. They could be proper lovers. Hell, why not? He was the man of the house now, he should have a woman he loved be his.
But no. Mallao knew he could never provide Maia the excitement that she got from the American sailors and rich, fat tourists. She'd get bored, and go back to running around, and she'd probably tell all of Manila that he was a sister-fucker and a poor woman's lay. He'd never be able to work or fuck or show his face again. And his mother, she'd throw him out, man of the house or no.
No. Mallao shook his head. There would be no love in this room today, no sir. He was here to teach his proud bitch of a sister what a good Filipino man should teach his woman. He heaved himself up onto Maia's frilly Western bed and straddled her sleeping body, pushing his lips into the cup of her ear.
"Maia," he whispered. "Wake up."
When she didn't respond at first, Mallao blew into his sister's ear. She flinched and shook her head, and he pulled back a little. "Maia," he repeated, a little more firmly. "Wake up."
.... There is more of this story ...