Chapter 2: Life as a Trader

Recap:

I grunted. I lay next to Mom. I was done for now.

Evidently, she was too. I soon heard her gentle snores. That was a good idea, I joined her in sleep.

-- Maybe I am some sex god -- I found out Mom’s name is Fearach. She is 38 years old and maybe 5’ 1” on her tiptoes. She’s the shortest of the four females I would find out later. But, she had bodacious ta-ta’s with real fat nipples.

Morull is 22 years old, Emdrais is 17, and Uilull is 14 local years old. The years here are longer, so they would be 15% older in Earth years.

I had not met Emdrais yet.

As she lay there, I asked Ferach about her background. The people here do not pair off as couples normally, let alone get married. That evidently is not a thing they do here.

Most men appear to roam about and have the life of a vagabond. Each of Ferach’s daughters was the daughter of a different father. That’s normal here.

I got the impression that women here did not or could not put up with men very well, or for very long. I don’t know which. In any case, monogamy was not really a thing here.

She indicated that men do not know how to excite a woman. Most women thought they could not have orgasms.

The fact is, men are totally ignorant or uncaring about women’s sexual needs. In fact, the vast majority of men are brutish physically. This means women are not prone to long affairs or even revisiting any man at all. Men are usually welcome only for one quick tryst. The women want a baby. The men stop for a day or so and then move on. Most of these encounters result in a pregnancy, The women here tend to breed when they feel they need to have a child.

I found the four women of the Ferach house could not read, let alone write. They could only count to five. After five of anything, everything falls into a base-five numbering system. Five is also known as a hand. For example, the number seven would be “one hand & two fingers.”

They say there is an exception to every rule. There is one other type of man, a very few quite wealthy men are more polished. They read, and some of them can even write and do sums.

These men tend to have formal contracts with women, so the women can raise their children in the wealthy man’s home. These men wish to pass on their wealth to their sons. The average wealthy man is happy to play the field and escape most responsibility. When the child reaches puberty, the baby mama usually gets the boot.

Ferach interrupted my thoughts, “So, you’ve fucked Mor and Ill, and now me?”

I said, Yes...?

She said, “CRAP. Keep your pecker out of Emdrais. We cannot all be pregnant at the same time.”

“What? No?”

After some gentle talking around the subject of sex, Ferach admitted that the presence of cum inside a woman causes them to ovulate. It’s almost spontaneous, an automatic response of some sort.

They have a 50% or thereabouts chance of getting pregnant from each sex act! I had screwed three of them already. The odds were such that one or two of them were already pregnant.

Shit! That will make you think.

Uh-oh. If I wanted, I could move around the country seducing women and leaving so many of them knocked up. Then I could move from one woman to the next. Fucking hell! My pecker got hard simply thinking about that.

I swear I heard a far-off man’s cackle.

Thinking of putting babies in multiple females really got me excited again.

That cackle got me thinking about my sacrilegious inclinations. As a child, I had been dropped off at a local church most Sunday mornings. My older sister and I usually went together. Being of different ages, we did not share the same Sunday School class.

At first, I enjoyed being with the other kids; many were from my neighborhood, and I knew the boys well from school. My first Sunday School teacher was very sweet and engaging.

On the other hand, I did not like some of the other Sunday School teachers. They were harpies, and a few were outright bullies to us boys. They seemed to think they could tell any kid what to do. They didn’t hit us, but would shake you or take you by the elbow and squeeze it painfully while chastising you.

That never set well with me. My father was a bit of a chauvinist, and my mother was beautiful but introverted. I ran wild most of the time when it was nice enough to be outside.

More than one of those church ladies liked to pull your ear painfully. Since they seemed to think it was OK to pull mine, I deeply resented them. That did not endear any of them to me. Their use of force never got past my natural stubbornness. I upped the ante and became even more ill-behaved.

Those bitches set that auto-response deep in my psyche from early on. My first feeling on meeting a bitchy woman triggered anger and loathing in me. They were either a nice woman or a harridan.

My father never put up with any bullshit. I am a chip off the old block. Much of my attitude came from my Dad.

I knew those women had been bullying me while they could; I was young and at their mercy. Men never seemed to enter the Sunday School building. Adult Sunday school happened in the main sanctuary.

It’s easy to bully the young. As I got older, I grew to really hate overly Christian women. In particular, the more evangelical sort like at my church. They were often the worst with their holier-than-thou attitude. I saw many of them treat their husbands with the barest modicum of grudging respect. I saw behind the curtain.

They used their little bit of power to treat male children badly. This, while they were ultra nice to the girls. I saw what they were doing. They were grooming those girls for later in life.

This foul treatment was soon to be repeated during my 12 years of public school.

Female teachers pretended to be nice when other adults were present. In private, they soon become bitchy towards us boys. Women who had power over kids tended to be harshly sexist when they could get away with it.

I learned later that a female Form of Misogyny was called Misandry. They did everything they could to push female superiority, i.e., feminism.

Thankfully, my mother and sisters had not been like that at all. I still liked women, but I was wary of harpy females.

Not all teachers were jerks, but the ones that were left me generally unhappy or suspicious of most women. It only takes one or two shit-heads to make a negative impression about the so-called fairer sex. Fairer my ass! Pretty on the outside, rotten to the core on the inside.

When I was eleven, I was called in by the senior harpy in charge of the Sunday School. She said our church had mandatory Catechism classes. I must attend the three months of classes over the summer so I can be baptized and become a member. The “must” word caught my attention right then. I bristled at it.

I growled, “WHAT! That’s nonsense! I was baptized in another church and have been attending classes here for 6 years! We were already accepted as members here. What you say makes no sense at all?”

The harpy woman talking to me fumed, “You WILL attend the classes, or you will be turned away from church.

I walked out, waving, saying, “Bye Bitch, I won’t be back,” as I walked away and left. She screamed as I left the church. I never went back and avoided churches after that.

Counter-intuitively, after serving my country, I ended up taking religion classes in college. This was because the school I chose had a sweet deal with a local flight school. I used it to log more flight time and continue working toward my goal of becoming an airline pilot.

In my first year of classes, I had no idea what to take. The college I attended required you to take at least one religion class per year. That was my introduction to religion in general.

I rented a house trailer and went to school, working my way up to be a pilot.

So, I took 4 years of religion in college. That college had little that tickled my fancy. They had basic business and accounting classes, as well as several on religion.

I had seen the pink elephant, as they say, when I had been overseas. College was pretty bland. I saw it merely as a ticket you punch to make more money. Airlines want college-educated pilots with extensive flight hours.

I had no design on being a church secretary, youth pastor, or a missionary, which is about all a 4-year degree in religion was good for. Being a church secretary is a quick path to starvation.

Starving was never my intent.

I chose this college because it had an arrangement with a local flying school. For that reason alone, I was able to get flight training at a seriously reduced rental rate. That allowed me to get my private license, and I worked my way up. After college, I worked for a year and a half as a private pilot.

My first job after the military and college was as a company pilot flying the Cessna Citation V for two years. It’s a business jet, which gave me some needed background on my way to becoming an airline pilot.