My (Filipina) Wife, I Think I’ll Keep Her

It was 1989, my thoughts were short, my hair was long—or so says Kid Rock. But really, it was 1989, and I was an active duty US Army service member, stationed at Schofield Barracks, Hawaii. I held an intelligence military occupational specialty
at that time. Our area of interest was the Pacific Rim and the leadership decided they needed a smattering of linguists that could at least get along in the various languages spoken throughout Asia. So, I was tagged to take two semesters of Tagalog
(Filipino) at the University of Hawaii.

Ohhhhh, the suffering. I had to give up my BDUs for two months, don blue jeans and T-shirts and immerse myself in academia amid beautiful campus surroundings, not to mention the awesome eye candy in the form of UH coeds. UH, in Honolulu,
attracts students from all parts of the planet, but especially from Asia, and I love Asians (women).

The Tagalog training was arranged through the linguistics department of UH. Though it was billed as two semesters of immersion language training, the contract dictated it had to be accomplished in one semester’s time frame. This lent
itself to very fast-paced instruction—two semesters of material crammed into one. Not a problem really when it came to vocabulary, but syntax mastery was difficult because we were no sooner instructed and drilled on one tense, for example,
than we moved on to the next thing. Despite our complaints, the class moved along thusly for two months.

About three weeks into the course, I began dating one of my instructors—very much on the down low. I had been ogling since the first day of class and one day I just mentioned that I was “struggling” and asked her if she
could offer some tutoring after hours and there you have it.

Rowena was from Baguio, Luzon, Phils, and was something special. She was two years older than I (she 31 and me 29), and had made a promise to herself that she would not pass her 30th birthday a virgin. So, back home, before she moved to Hawaii,
on the eve of her 30th birthday, she went to a bar, picked up some Danish dude, fucked him, and kept her promise.

So before me, she had sex exactly once in 31 years and her lack of experience was utterly moot. Rowena was the most naturally sensuous and orgasmic woman I had ever known. She craved sex and we spent many a weekend making love and eating
pancit and lumpia. It was beyond words—the best girlfriend I had ever had up to that time—even apart from the sex. To boot, she was allergic to alcohol, rubbing or drinking. If she had so much as a drop of wine or exposure to sunscreen
containing alcohol, she broke out red and bumpy. So on top of all her outstanding traits, I always had a designated driver.

Our relationship flourished and lasted about a year and a half, until it came time for me to change duty stations. With no promises from me (relatively recently divorced at that time), and her with a good job as a high school teacher, and
family in Hawaii (her brother was in the US Navy, stationed at Pearl Harbor), we parted ways in late 1990. Until very recently, I had always, since 1990, regretted that break up. No words can describe the companionship and love that girl gave
me. It was my first exposure to the Filipina experience and all future relationships would be measured against Rowena—none compared.

Stickman Recurring Theme (SRT) Note: Both my ex-wives are white American women. My first was two years older than me, my second 10 years younger. They both gave me the bait-and-switch routine. They presented themselves as one type of woman
while we were dating and then, after marriage and kids, they became someone different. A man can tolerate an asexual relationship for only so long. I empathize and sympathize with the Stick readers who are either going down or have been down that
road. It’s horrible and painful. If western women would realize that just a few beers on the weekend, a ball game on TV, and the infrequent blowjob are all that’s needed to keep the average guy happy, then there would be a lot fewer
divorces.

Fast forward 20 years and the second divorce and I had retired from the Army and begun a second career. The second career afforded me my first visit to Bangkok in 1998 on a business trip. I must say that never before or since have I spent
10 more excruciating delicious days and nights as those in Bangkok. Between the jet lag, girls, Singha, Cohibas, and work schedule, I suffered so good.

I traveled that first trip to BKK with a work mate and we stayed at the Hyatt Erawan. For those of you who haven’t been there, it’s stunning—the lobby, the rooms, the service, the female staff. I would say it’s
the most beautiful hotel I’ve ever stayed in, and I’ve stayed in quite a number of nice hotels around the world. And then, there was Spassos on the bottom floor.

That first trip I was a newbie and hadn’t done any research before arriving in BKK. Except for one night at Patpong, my mate and I spent our evenings starting out at Delaney’s Irish Pub (now Kings X I think), then to Spassos.
Yep, way expensive, but being on per diem, we didn’t care. The first night we entered Spassos we stood in awe. Had I died and gone to heaven? We high-fived each other, each grabbed a beer and a babe and headed to the dance floor. Never
before (well, except for maybe one bar in Medellin, Colombia) had I seen so many stunningly beautiful women in one place. That first trip I banged a few, and just made friends with a few others (staff at the hotel and Delaney’s).

That 10 day working trip went by in a flash and I was hooked on BKK. All subsequent trips were on my own dime, but that didn’t dissuade me from going.

(SRT) Note: My first trip to BKK was in 1998 and I didn’t go again until 2006. I did take note in 2006 that the girls were less warm, more businesslike. I didn’t enjoy my second and subsequent trips to BKK nearly as much as
the first excursion years earlier.

Between my military and following career, and my personal travels, I’ve been all around the world, mostly to Latin America, but I’ve worked or toured or done both on six of the seven continents. I’ve managed to get laid
here and there along the way. I’m not bragging, I’m sure many readers have way more in the bag than I. I’m just letting you readers know that I do have some base of comparison from which to draw.

When my 50th birthday passed I started looking for a wife. Not getting any younger and having been single for 10 years after my second divorce, I decided it was time. I love family and big gatherings of family. My brother is married to a
Latina and Christmas and Thanksgiving, etc., are such a hoot with all his extended family. I wanted some of that for my own, and so I set out, not in a hurry mind you, to find my final relationship.

When Rowena and I dated, I had arranged a trip to the Phils to visit her family. She couldn’t go but had arranged the whole thing so that I could stay in Baguio with her relations and tour around from there. Unfortunately, a US soldier
was kidnapped and murdered by insurgents in Mindanao right before my scheduled trip and the military denied my travel due to security concerns. But the urge was instilled to see the Phils.

So, with my dual goals of seeing the Phils and finding a wife, I bought a membership on a Filipina dating site in January 2008. With seven or eight dates arranged, I hopped the PAL flight from LAX and landed in Manila in May. During two weeks
in Manila and Cebu I met all the girls I’d arranged dates with. They ranged from 21 to 28 years of age and were students, single mothers, and career girls. They were all beautiful and exceedingly warm and friendly. I banged a few of them
and I banged a few others on my night time ramblings. But I didn’t really do any mongering of any note.

On that first trip to the Phils, I met, but didn’t pay much attention to Rachel, my current wife. We only managed to spend a couple of evenings together. Like Rowena, she was a high school teacher and school was about to resume session
so I could only see her for a few hours during the evenings. After I returned home, we chatted (with webcams) nearly every day. Over months and months she sent me hundreds of emails and dozens of snailmails from which I got to know a very beautiful
person.

On my second trip to the Phils I ventured to Angeles City, in addition to spending a week with Rachel and going to her province of Romblon, one of the outlying islands. While I had a great time in AC, I had a better time with Rachel and her
family in the province.

On my third trip I asked Rachel to marry me after I cleared it with her father. His English is almost nonexistent but I got my meaning across with the ring. Rachel and I began the K-1 US visa process in June 2009. She had the visa in hand
in December and after her final teaching term ended in March 2010, I went back to the Phils to escort her to the US. We got married in June and we reside in Arizona.

My wife…She’s 23, hot, funny, sincere, loves hip hop and the blues, cooks her ass off and checks my ears and eyebrows for renegade hairs. She plays with my dick while we watch TV and she calls her family to make sure everything’s
okay back in Romblon. She also makes sure I call my kids regularly. Her raven hair, perfectly straight and almost to her ass, is truly a thing of beauty. I have to constantly ask her if her folks need any money. The only time she accepted was
a couple of months back when I wired US $100 to repair the water well pump handle in the province.

I don’t ask Rachel to iron my work shirts, but she does and with a smile. I don’t ask her to clean or cook, but she does, and with a smile. I didn’t have to ask her to love my dogs, she just did and I think they love
her now more than me. I love my bourbon and never once has she asked me rhetorically if I’ve had enough.

Every now and again, out of nowhere, she’ll ask me if I’ll please lick her pussy—as if I’m doing HER a favor. Goddam right I’ll lick your pussy Baby, thanks for asking.

Despite my daughters’ original misgivings about me marrying a foreigner, less than half my age, my kids and other family now adore her.

The neighborhood in which we live is small, with a grocery store and a Subway sandwich shop, barber, dry cleaners, you get the picture. Everyone knows me because I’ve lived in the area for years. And now they’ve all become accustomed
to seeing Rachel and I going around together. But when we venture elsewhere like to the mall, or movie theater or somewhere in Tucson outside our immediate geography, I sometimes get that sideways glance from some old frumpy dumpy white woman.
One time, at the airport, a frumpy dumpy looked at me, then Rachel, then back at me and actually laughed.

Whenever I encounter a frumpy dumpy, I pull Rachel in close to me, grab a handful of her fabulous ass, kiss her and then wear a shit-eating grin for the benefit of frumpy dumpy. I relish those moments.

SRT Note: I’ve never had an LTR with a Thai girl, so that’s one compare or contrast I can’t make. But, for any of you out there who are seeking a wife or girlfriend, companion, confidant, lover, and overall excellent
friend, I can tell you the Phils are CHOCK FULL of choices. For Filipinas, age is not an issue. They are seekers of good hearts and have built-in asshole detectors that go off if you are one. But if you’re not, then the Phils are truly
a happy hunting ground. I met a Filipina on a business flight recently who told me that she felt so HAPPY and LUCKY, and BLESSED, that she had met her American husband (through friends). She was 38-years-old before she got married and lost her
virginity (38!!!), and believe me, she’s beautiful. She and her husband live in Tucson also and she and my wife have become good friends. But how many western wives would have same opinion of their husbands that this lady did—happy/lucky/blessed?

SRT Note: In my travels I’ve met many, many girls—bar girls/hostesses/GROs, whatever, included. I’ve even had relationships with a few of them and by and large they were all great girls who worked in the bars because
of their socio-economic lot in life. I’m fine with that, not passing judgement whatsoever. But at the same time, I’ve known other non-bar girls who have been dealt the same single-mother, dirt poor lot who would NEVER sell their
pussies. One really beautiful girl I know in Cartagena, Colombia, works all day, every day except Sunday, in a small kiosk in the tourist area of Cartagena, fashioning seashell jewelry to sell to the tourists. She doesn’t have a pot to
piss in, has a toddler at home whose father is absent, and doesn’t make squat at the jewelry. But she would never, even for a moment, entertain the thought of P4P. While I am sure that some (former) bar girls are good folk and make excellent
wives, in the end, I could never marry one.

My little Filipina, yeah, I’ll keep her for sure.