If you think you recognize someone in this story, you are wrong.

I have changed each enough that if you have a match, well then you don't. See?

I made these changes knowing that anything written would eventually fall into the wrong hands.

Oh yes, I did make this all up! It is fiction, you know.

Sam! Take a look at these gals!

That is how it all started. If it wasn't exactly good clean fun, it wasn't the escalator to hell either. No, not an escalator. It required some personal initiative to go to hell from that photo. And while you will and I would have described where I ended up as going to hell in the proverbial hand

basket, I haven't regretted it for a minute. I can't say I would recommend it to others, but then I was never much for proselytizing. I leave that to the 'holier than thou' crowd.

The pic on George's screen that he was so hepped-up about was of a friend of ours in the middle of four pretty females. All properly dressed and nothing untoward showing. The note above the photo said that it was a family. A mother and her daughters in a place called Marbel, in the Philippines.

When I call him a friend, I should modify that. The guy's been a vendor to our company for so long that he's been here longer than all the current employees. He keeps the contracts for a real simple reason, he's good at what he does. He always gets the work done and he will even tell us how to not use him and save some money when it makes sense. He never goes over our heads and so we end up looking good to the bosses. We generally end up telling the bosses the ideas come from him and, in the end, we all win. So over the years we have all become friends.

Still the guy's a bit odd. He's always been a remote vendor. In the past that meant a different part of the US. Now the guy is living in the Philippines. Go figure. He claims to be having the time of his life. Since the work keeps on getting done just fine, we've got no problem with it.

This photo wasn't the first we have seen, but it was the first where he said in it: Do you or Sam want to meet these girls? They sure could use a good guy to take care of them.

George is in what he calls a 'committed relationship.' I could make a sweet pun out of that considering the fights he and his girlfriend get into, but I guess I'll pass. Still he doesn't play around and so the invitation to go to the devil we got was one he would take a pass on.

I was separated and at the end of a very ugly divorce. My soon (at least I prayed soon) to be ex, didn't want much more than twice what I had. Her attorney and she decided what I should be making and what I should have had in the bank and then asked for that. Forget about the fact that those assumptions had nothing to do with what I really made and had in the bank. Her attorney told the judge that I had chosen a poorer paying position so that when we divorced there would be less on my side to offer and that the judge should not let me get away with defrauding her client and the court in such a flagrant fashion! Good grief! Worst of all the Judge looked like she was willing to go along with that argument.

Feeling sorry for myself, I wrote a short note to Jake telling him that George and I had enjoyed the photo, but George was not interested and unless I survived my divorce, I had no money for anything and that included a trip to the Philippines.

The note I got back the next day simply said to keep it in mind if anything changed. With work piled up to the ceiling and everything else going on, I put it out of my mind.

Two weeks later I got home from work to find the divorce decree in my mail. It included the Judge's ruling on the financial matters. The Judge said that while she was sympathetic to my ex's claim that I should be worth more, that the court could not award my ex money that I was not making. The final settlement was exactly what my attorney had told the Judge was accurately based on the court's own formulas. While it was still a hefty amount, the court also had to note that my ex was also employed, and had always been employed throughout the marriage. After the sale of the marital home, whereby she got all of it, we were done with each other. I breathed free air for the first time in years ... and I thought about that note from Jake.

Exactly why it came to mind, I do not know. I had not been thinking about it, but the image of the photo came to mind along with Jake's grin. I tapped out an email on my Android. Not that I wanted to meet the girls but only that a few days in the Philippines sure sounded nice. It was 6:30PM where I was and that meant that it was 7:30AM for Jake.

My cell beeped just after 7PM with an email. Jake had responded.

Sam,

It sounds like you need a vacation. I checked the airlines and found that you can get a round trip on China Air out of New York for $749 to Manila. Why don't you ask Bill if you can take your accumulated vacation time now. You don't need a visa for a twenty-one day stay. Since it's the middle of February, that should work out fine with him. I will meet you in Manila, and bring you to Mindanao the next day. There is a nice cottage I know of you can have for the entire time. Just come, relax and decompress. With the exception of some food, you won't have to spend a cent if you don't want to over here. For a three-week trip, $800 is a bargain! All you need are two pair of shorts, five short sleeve shirts, sandals and your dopp kit.

Jake

I emailed back for the URL to the airfares and holy shit, it was just as cheap as Jake had said. The $749 included tax!

I chewed it over for a couple of hours.

It was late now, but my boss, Bill, is a night owl. I emailed him and told him that the divorce had gone through; and with that, I said that I needed some time off just to deal with it all. Bill – who has been married since he was eighteen when he married his high school sweetheart – was more understanding than you might think. I have worked for Bill for the last ten years. This is a guy who watches your back for you. He emailed back asking me for the dates. I ran the airline website right through to the confirm button to make sure I had seats for the exact days and then shot him the start and return dates. Three minutes later his email told me to get it done. I confirmed the seats and by 9:45pm I emailed Jake to tell him I would be there in ten days.

When I boarded China Air flight CA982 at 3:20PM from JFK on February 24^th, the clothes on my back were heavier than everything in my carry-on. Jake told me he would lend me a laptop while I was there so I was traveling lighter than when I go to work.

It was 22F outside with a stiff wet breeze in NYC as we were preparing to take off in that 747-400. My ticket said I was going to return on flight CA981, a 747-800. I am sitting waiting to take off and what am I thinking about? What is the difference between the 400 and the 800! I tap out the query on my Android and the answer has something to do with the absence of winglets. Go figure. OK, I guess I'm just really in need of a vacation!

Jake has warned me I won't be able to meet him until I exit the airport terminal. When I get to Manila NAIA Terminal #2, his caution was helpful as I would have wondered just how the hell I was going to find him. Clearing immigration was no problem, and Customs was a breeze as well. As you clear Customs you are literally out on the side walk.

I didn't see Jake.

I did see a pretty woman approach me; I sort'a seemed to think I had seen her before.

Are you Sam?

Y-yes.

I am Lynnette. Jake sent me to take care of you. Would you like to get a hotel room and rest for a while, or would you like to get to Mindanao early this morning? We can do either. Either way we have time to get a meal if you are hungry.

Before I go on, I should point out that it is now 1:30AM Manila time. That makes it midday for my circadian clock. I am a good traveler but at fifty-one years of age I am not as good as I once was. I stand six foot one inches and am fit and healthy, but all those hours in seats designed for smaller frames has worn me out a bit. Plus it is pitch dark outside. So I look at this woman who is at least a foot shorter than I am and must weigh less than half my weight, and I just put myself in her hands.

Yes a hotel bed would be nice, but no meal is needed. They fed us very well in the air.

Lynnette grabs the handle of my bag and walks me to a place where within five minutes a hotel shuttle from the Marriott arrives.⁽¹⁾ When the door opens, the driver welcomes us saying that they have received our text. What text? Lynnette must have texted them as we were walking. Why didn't I see that?

When we got to the hotel, I accompanied Lynnette as she approached the counter. There was a brief discussion in what I presume was Tagalog and then the man behind the counter greeted me and asked for my passport. A minute later he returned the passport, handed me an envelope with key cards and wished us a pleasant stay. ⁽²⁾

I was about to say something when Lynnette pulled me away and took the envelope from my hand, removing a room key card. When the elevators arrived we get in, she inserts the room key card in a slot and taps the 7^thfloor button.

Who paid for this Lynnette?

Jake.

The eighth floor was a lounge reserved for those with concierge privileges and offered a buffet style quasi-restaurant and other concierge services.

Our room qualified for access to those services. That was one hell of a nice present from Jake; but even though there were two keys in the envelope, it was one room that we were going to share.

If Lynnette stood five feet tall I would have been surprised. My bet at the time was four foot eleven. In fact she was four foot ten. Her hair was straight and black, and her eyes were black. She wore a dress without sleeves and the length was between mid-thigh and the knees. Her feet were in sandals that were nothing but upscale flip-flops. Other than nail polish, and a handbag, she had nothing else with her. She was little in all ways, small breasts, small hips, tiny waist, tiny feet. Her skin was smooth and the color just dark enough to say it wasn't a tan. Her eyes were bright and her smile was infectious.

I was not going to ask her how old she was but my guess was in her late twenties.

When we entered the room, a number of things were apparent. First was that this was a very fancy place. The room was well appointed and the bathroom was a marble temple. The second thing was that there was only one bed in the bedroom and a couch in a sitting room with a double pocket door able to close between them.⁽³⁾ There was no way I would fit on that couch. I asked Lynette to call the front desk, to send up a cot. I thought Lynette indicated agreement.

Lynnette rolled my bag into the bedroom and asked me if I would like a back massage after I showered? My brain was now on overload setting. I couldn't process. I just stood there without an answer. Lynnette just smiled and said: Go take a shower. I will take one after you.

The shower felt great. As I stepped out of the shower I realized that all I had to wear that I was willing to put on was a towel. I wrapped it around my waist and exited. As I left the bathroom Lynnette scooted right in not giving me a second look. I lay down on the bed, still wrapped in the towel and just dosed off. I awoke to Lynnette attempting to roll me over on to my belly. Still half unconscious, I rolled over.

With that Lynnette started giving me a back massage, from my feet all the way up to my head. It was delightful and I was just drifting and enjoying it without sense of time or urgency. And then ... and then it was morning. Daylight. I was under the covers – sans towel – and snuggled up to me was ... Lynnette.

I must have moved a little because she roused, stretched her arms and as they came down, they came down around me.

Good morning Sam. How do you feel? Are you rested?

I feel fine! How did ... No cot?

And before I could say much more. Lynnette was sliding down and taking my member in her mouth.

... oh God...

What she did with my dick was the stuff of wet dreams. She was holding my balls stationary but real tight with both hands. Her thumbs were stroking on the underside of my dick right above the ball sack. Her mouth was sucking my dick for all it was worth. When the morning wood let loose with cum Lynnette didn't break stride one iota. She kept on sucking and swallowing until I was dry and limp as a tissue on a rainy day.

Then she simply slid back up and after a kiss on my cheek, asked me if I was ready for breakfast. I was having problems focusing my eyes and she was putting on her bra and sliding into her dress and shoes.

When I did get up, I made a quick trip to the bathroom. Back in the bedroom I found fresh clothing from my suitcase laid out for me. No one had done that for me since I was six years old. But it was nice. I put on the fresh briefs, shirt, shorts and sandals. One flight up, we had a complimentary breakfast of a mango shake, fruit and sweet rolls.

After breakfast, Lynnette wants to go back to the bedroom immediately. Once there she puts her arms around me and starts kissing me like there will be no tomorrow. I remembered yesterday (actually much earlier today?) when she told me that she was there to take care of me. Just what does that mean?

She has already given me head. Now she is grinding her hips into me with what is an unmistakable demand for some stud service. This is a very pretty girl. I am not married and she has already given me head. I lift her up and carry her to the bed. She is unbuckling my belt, unbuttoning and unzipping my shorts while I am pulling her dress off. And then we are together fucking, me inside of her, slamming down on her pussy for all it's worth. Her tight little pussy is a surprise to me. It is hairless! I have never seen a hairless adult pussy before. The pussy feels tight and wet. I can feel the walls but am sliding in and out without much resistance. One thing I know is that I am bottoming out inside her. I can feel it with each plunge. She is raking my back with her nails and moaning my name as I let loose inside her without benefit of condom.

Now spent, I am struggling to even know what to say when little Lynnette rolls me over, and from her kneeling position over me, bends down and plants the biggest most intense kiss you can imagine on my lips; and after that, a bare assed hug that lasts for minutes. Then she whispers in my ear with a giggle: We need to go to the airport.

Thirty minutes later we are dressed, downstairs and then in the shuttle on the way to Terminal #3, and Cebu Pacific Airlines. Lynnette is wearing what she met me in, but she looks pressed and neat. How does she do that?

The flight to Mindanao is about 90 minutes. We wait to get on the plane for longer than the flight takes. When we land, I look out at the airport, what there is of it and I am convinced that I have now reached the end of the earth. A great stretch of concrete runaway and a little building at one end. When we boarded there was no elevated walkway to the doorway of the plane and here the stairs they roll up look a little bit more rickety. The sun is blazing and there is no shade in sight other than that afforded by the building.

Southern Mindanao according to Wikipedia is seven degrees north of the equator. That is as close to the equator as I am ever likely to get. While I have experienced hotter in Phoenix in summer, it is like this year round here.

Lynnette and I have landed at General Santos City Airport. There is no immigration or customs to clear. My bag as small as it is had to be checked. They just don't want you carrying much on these flights. The weight limits for bags is so low that I would not have been able to carry my computer with me without checking it! ⁽⁴⁾ That may have been what Jake was thinking when he told me to leave mine at home. In the terminal, there is a moving belt for the luggage as they take it off the carts. We are standing in an open air but roofed over area. It is warm. My bag is close to the last.

Once we were out the other side of the terminal, there is a driver and a car, a Toyota Fortuner, waiting for us.⁽⁵⁾ The driver, Willie, takes my bag from Lynnette and opens the back door for me. Lynnette climbs in the other side and slides over to the middle, where we hold hands as we drive out of the airport and down the highway towards the city.

At least I am assured the city is in this direction because some five kilometers later we turn off the highway. We travel down a dirt road through a cluster of buildings beyond what looks like an open air market; and on until we turn off that road, and onto a driveway of sorts, at the end of which we come to what I can only describe as a compound. One honk of the horn and a girl of early teen years slides a heavy gate on rails over, allowing us entry.

Lynnette speaks, I assume Tagalog, to the driver who answers back, in the same tongue, whereupon Lynnette gently pushes me to get out and the driver goes back to release the rear access door and free my bag, which holds my city clothes and winter jacket, along with the rest of what I brought to wear while here.

As we enter the compound I see three pair of eyes on me. And then it clicks.

I remembered where I have seen Lynnette before. She was in the photo Jake sent. And the other pairs of eyes were from that same photo. This is the family Jake had taken a pic with. But if Lynnette is the mom, there is no way she can be in her late twenties. The oldest daughter looked in the photo to be about eighteen which it turns out is almost exactly what she is.

The thirteen year old (or so I assume) grabs my bag and disappears with it. I am taken to the shaded porch of the house, where Lynette offers a very comfortable chair, and I am given some iced, very sweet, tea. Lynnette is a little rattled. I have no idea why. Nothing has rattled her up to now.

Sam, I want you to meet my daughters. This is my oldest, Nomi. She is 17. Her birthday is next month! My next is Natalle and she is sixteen. My youngest – ah her she comes – is Tessi. She just turned 14. We are here to take care of you while you are here. Jake said you need to just rest and our job is to make sure nothing disturbs you. OK?

I am a little – what do I call it – shocked? Yeh, I guess shocked is what it is. I don't know what to think or say. I only know this is simply not necessary. Still ... I am not in a hotel. I am not in town. I have not exchanged a lot of dollars, assuming I would do that at a local bank. Maybe I should call Jake. This is over the top.

As I am lost in thought – it was clear to these women, that I am not thrilled and panic sets in. Lynnette wants to know what she has done wrong. She wants to know if they did not please me. I tried to explain that I don't deserve such treatment. Lynnette will not allow for that type of discussion. I am Jake's friend. Evidently that is enough for them.

I just decide to go with the flow. I do ask when I will see Jake. Lynnette says he will see me before I return home, but not this week. This week he is very busy with his girls. Girls? I thought the guy was too old for daughters! Maybe they are his grand-daughters.

So I relax, on my comfortable chair, with a glass of very sweet iced tea, a radio playing '70s standards from the US, and three presents from Jake: a pamphlet on Filipino culture, customs and traditions; the biography of Cornelius Vanderbilt, a national book award winner some seven hundred pages long; and a mystery called An Instance of the Fingerpost. I decide the pamphlet might be the best one to read first.

Inside attached to the cover page is a note, with Jake's signature on the bottom.