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AraminaTandulan, DIA
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Wet dreams (2nd palkat)

03/15/2017


Wet Dreams (2nd Palkat)

Aramina P Tandulan, DIA, DJ, Esq, LLB, BSChem


Disclaimer: This work of fiction is based on true events and confessions during my trials and tribulations, the names, places and events are slightly modified and altered not to sensationalize but to hide the true personae and identities of the characters and any similarities to your real life experiences are purely accidental, co-incidental and un-intended, peks man, cross my heart and hope to die. Discretion is strongly advised as some readers might find the contents just a little suggestive.



If I were a boy
I think I could understand
How it feels to love a girl
I swear I'd be a better man
I'd listen to her
Cause I know how it hurts…

Mayor Aramiro turned the Vol knob of his antique transistor radio to the Off position as he laid the reins on top of the coffee table. I am not sure if Beyoncé’s song touched his inner feelings seeding some manly guilt or he was just tired of Beyoncé’s lamentations because he knew her wishes couldn’t be granted since she’s already carrying her twin babies, unless Beyoncé would opt for a transgender operation after giving birth, or Mayor Mironski was just physically tired because he just finished feeding our two horses. He has to hitch one of the horses to his Kalesa, he promised our five children we’d take them to the plaza; it’s fiesta, March Anihan Festival.

He’d sometimes drop me off at my courthouse using his Kalesa, “one way to beat the constantly rising gasoline prices, my darrrling Judge” he’d proudly say, rolling his rrrs intentionally (just like tim hortons’ rrrroll up the rim to win Canada). My problem was, how do I climb his Kalesa without scandalizing the whole neighborhood…probably I’d refrain from wearing my tight miniskirt so they wouldn’t have a good view of my ‘rrrs’.

The horses were gifted to him by my father who owns Asienda Pagtan in Alaminos, Pangasinan. Our family’s main business in Alaminos is salt, ‘asin’, hence ‘Asienda’ instead of Hacienda. My father is a successful asindero.

My mother, a Brazilian-Spaniard, born Ana Maria Consuelo Saludes y Saldovar in São Paolo Brazil giggled when Aramiro inspected the horses’ teeth for any signs of cavities; apparently, according to Aramiro, a horse with cavities and badly swollen gums needs a good veterinary dentist.

I was named after the town where my mother was born, Aramina in São Paolo. My hubby Aramiro was born in Tawi-Tawi Mindanao, so he is Tawitawitian. We met in San Veda University. He was very shy then and he is still very shy now, although very excitable. When excitedly nervous, he would put three exclamation points after his words or phrases of excitement, like ‘OMG!!!’. I could almost see the Grammar Patrol cringing.


He blushed when he glanced at our bedroom mirror to take a quick subtle look at what I was doing, a ‘patay-malisya’ quick glance. I shifted my hips toward my left so he could have a better view, he turned into a deep-fried prawn red. I was not quite sure if he was enjoying what he was seeing, the mirror couldn’t tell as well. But I know from his facial expression, or lack of expression, aside from his blushing, that I didn’t have his approval.

Because for him, since he is the man, he is supposed to do these things for me, he is the one that should do the things that could satisfy and make me happy, he wants to serve me not because I am his Trophy Wife but because I am his DIA, Diosa Iti Ayat, Love Goddess, he does not want me performing his manly tasks. That would probably bruise and diminish his manliness.

“You should use compressed air honey Judge, we have some canisters in the garage.”

Ha?

“You should probably refrain from using honey or maple syrup honey Mironski, they are quite sticky, I’m not sure compressed air will work.”

That’s right, sometimes he would pour honey into what he’d eat, he would lick the honey first… but sometimes, the honey would drip and seep into the deepest nooks and crevices. I couldn’t understand why he would pour honey or maple syrup…not sweet enough?

“You want me to use regular sugar instead? But you were the one who suggested honey is better since my blood sugar level is dangerously high.”

I giggled. “I meant when you eat something in front of your computer.”

Like yesterday, he was using this desktop computer to write his memoir while eating his freshly peeled durian fruit, fresh from the mountains of Tawi-Tawi, he’d pour the maply syrup which we brought back from Canada into each slice and he’d lick the syrup around the durian, he wiped the excess syrup that dribbled onto the tabletop but he forgot to clean the keyboard. Now the keys are sticking…hmn, sticky keys? I was hiding the keyboard that I was cleaning with Q-Tips and water from his view when he entered our bedroom but I didn’t realize he’d use the bedroom mirror to check my activity. He doesn’t want me cleaning his keyboard regularly because I already broke the left Shift key; he is left-handed.

“So, you started to write your memoir honey Judge,” he smiled sheepishly as he perused the computer screen.

I giggled. “Too early to write my judge-mental memoir honey Mironski, I am just learning how to write a novel, like this one; a novel about Christine.”

“Cristine, honey Judge Aramina? Is she related to you in real life?”

I laughed. “No, honey Attorney Aramiro Nalibug Tandulan, nothing could be further from the truth, and Christine with an ‘H’. It would be fake news if people would tsismis, if they gossip about it. Christine is a Content Editor for a large international publishing firm… and stop ‘Mironing’ my writing activities.”


Well, he was actually the one who coined his ‘Miron’ epithet during our first day of school at San Veda:

M-m-my n-n-name iiis A-a-ara-Aramiro N-n-n-Nalibug T-t-t-Tandulan, people sometimes call me Miron.


Apparently, ‘Miron’ is from –miro of his first name and the ‘n’ is from his middle name N for Nalibug.

I actually laughed loudly when he was saying A-a-ara not because he was stuttering but because I thought his first name was ‘Ara’. Some of our classmates laughed because he was stuttering. Or probably they knew that ‘miron’ in ilocano was someone who would watch other people’s activity or activities, an ‘usyoso’, exactly what he is doing now ‘mironing’ my writing.

Probably that was the reason why I fell in love with him the first time we met, his strange sense of humor.

But apparently, it was not funny when I told him I can’t marry him not because he is a muslim but because of my last name, Pagtan.

(because in Ilokano, the combination of Pagtan and Tandulan might change how men would look at me, my bestfriend Annette, a pure Ilocana had explained to me that ‘PagtanTandulan’ is a sexy woman the sight or even just a picture of her could inspire men to instantly have a hard-o…never mind)

We were sitting near Jose Rizal’s monument at that time, in Luneta. He looked at Dr Jose Rizal’s erect monument, then Tandulski stood, very erect, like an ROTC captain with his long sword drawn and pointed 60º up toward the sky and looking down at me and rather seriously, he proclaimed:

Attorney Aramina Pagtan Tandulan, that is a very indirect proposition.

I was not sure at that time if he was trying so hard not to ‘miron’ my cleavage from his much higher point-of-view. But he was blushing profusely. I can’t remember now what inspired me to secretly unbutton the top four buttons of my tight red t-shirt earlier that afternoon, I thought that was the right thing to do.

His face turned into crimson-red when later that day, the stupid taxi made an abrupt left-turn maneuver or ‘biglang-liko’ at one of the gardens, not the gardens in Luneta or Rizal Park, but at a rose garden, near the gardenias. The sudden and abrupt left turn threw us into one of the beds of roses. He was blushing and trying so hard to focus his gaze on my eyes, afraid that his eyes might lazily wander below my chin. We were wet… very wet…

Agbabas…ehhh, nabasbasa kami. Basang-basa kami. So I had to uksob, I had to undress and let my wet red t-shirt dry…so I wouldn’t catch a cold; it was raining hard that afternoon so we had to ride in that stupid taxi.

“Why would you think it’s too early to write your memoir darrrrling Judge, look at Marco San and Miss Brenda’s son, Kalis Marco San, he has started to write his childhood memoir even though he could hardly walk; he needed his Tita Ariana and Tita Cristi to escort him each time he carried the ring because he was the MRB, the master ring-bearer, the bringer of the wedding ring.”

I giggled, “ he was so cuuuute in his little tuxedo! Actually honey Tandulski, his last post was my inspiration for my first novel. But unfortunately, it was too late when I noticed that the title was wrong when I posted the 1st post, the ‘’Edit’ function had already disappeared when I logged back in to correct the title.”

“You mean, the title of your story was not supposed to be ‘Wet Dreams’ my Dear Honey Judge?”

“That’s why I am cleaning your sticky keyboard honey Tandulski, the keys are sticking, the title was supposed to be ‘Sweet Dreams’ from Kalis Marco San’s last post in his Memoir; his Tita Ariana’s wish for him each time he naps at his Tita’s lap when he was much younger.”

“Hmn, I wonder if Kal-El would still sit on his Tita Ariana’s lap now that his Tita has her own twins.”

“That would be a very awkward imposition my Dear Honey Mironski.”


Then people would call Kal-EL a

Baby Damulag.



Aramina P Tandulan, DIA, DJ, Esq, LLB, BSChem ©2017






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