“Suck my d*ck.”
That sentence was the last thing I remembered when I woke up from a deep slumber.
Such vulgar words, I know, but I found it surprisingly arousing. Not that I could remember all about my dream in detail. What clung in the recesses of my brain was a blurry face of a man, standing in my front, his black slacks pulled halfway down his long legs. I was kneeling, my face meeting his erection.
Yes.
His very impressive erection.
No wonder it made me feel hot the moment I opened my eyes. Like wet hot.
It surprised me because I am what you would normally call, ‘untouchable’.
Seriously. I am proudly a member of SNBTVM - the Society for Never-Been-Touched Virgin Maidens.
Yeah, like that group of people actually exists.
Anyway, guess I am that sexually frustrated in my mid-twenties age huh? Probably that’s why I am having this kinky, weird dream.
I can’t help it though. These past few months had been so busy.
The Mother Superior of St. Augustine, Sister Rhoda, asked me to volunteer for an outreach program that has an indefinite time frame of when it will be done.
I was glad to extend a helping hand though. The people in Nepal needed all the help they can get after the latest magnitude 7.8 earthquake hit them.
This would be my second month of stay here. The Sisters had a minicamp set up in a clearing near the destroyed Dharadara Tower. This area became our temporary residence. Our day-to-day routine consisted of cooking breakfast, lunch, and dinner for our immediate assigned families, setting up temporary classes for the Nepali children, and offer first aid for those with minor wounds.
It may sound mechanical and laborious but it is a fulfilling daily routine for me. I do believe this is my calling - to help those in need and to provide care and assistance for the sick and elderly. I may not be a nurse or a doctor, but at least I can do this much in my own little way.
Today is specially excluded from my daily routine.
After shoving the dream in the back of my mind, I then started preparing my travel bag. Halfway from finishing the task, my special iPhone ringtone rang. It was an international call from my mother, straight from Wisconsin.
“Yep?” I answered immediately without even checking the name registered on the phone screen.
“Andrea, are you already packing up?” she inquired in her usual intimidating voice.
Right. Here she goes again, another go-get-your-butt-off rant, but don’t judge her quickly by the way. She is actually the best mother anyone can have. Sweet and caring, a very good cook, and overly supportive in all my endeavors in life. She even let me finish my college degree in Mass Communications even though she had hoped I had chosen Physical Therapy.
“Yes, Ma. I am. It is already eleven in the morning here. My flight is at one. I am just finishing everything here, making sure I don’t miss out on anything.”
“That’s good to hear,” she replied, relief was clear in her voice. I wonder what’s making her so nervous.
“Why are you calling? Aren’t you already asleep by now?” I asked, trying to fish out information. She is living together with my step-father, who owns a publishing company. I had a notion that her being nervous is all about her cookbook in the process of editing.
“Your Auntie Marcella has been bugging me constantly about you! I want to make sure that you are really leaving. I don’t want to hear you say that you needed more time on your volunteer work there.”
Guess my theory is wrong.
I heaved a sigh. The sudden hesitation crept inside me. I definitely do not want to abruptly end my volunteer work here. There’s still so much to do!
“Actually, I was about to say that. The nuns in St. Augustine needed me and-”
“Okay stop. You know how much Marcella misses you. You really should clear up your mind and focus on your vacation.”
I was fighting myself, resisting the urge to roll my eyes upwards. “Yes, Ma. I get it,” I said in haste. “You don’t need to sermon me again.”
I know how much she would love me to visit her older sister in Luxembourg. It’s not her fault anyway. Aunt Marcella has been constantly bugging me to go there too. It has been a while since I visited her.
The first time I visited the place was when I was fourteen years old. It was Aunt’s ten-year anniversary wedded to a British movie director. The last time I visited was her husband’s funeral two years ago. I guess she needed someone to talk to that’s why she wanted me to visit. I didn’t really mind it though. She is my favorite aunt in the first place. Anything for her, I would do - except of course her constant matchmaking endeavors for me. That - I simply am not focusing right now.
“Good that you understand. So, I expect to see postcards in my mailbox from your tour in Belgium ASAP alright?” Her jovial tone was finally evident. I bet she is the only woman - if not the whole world, but the whole of Wisconsin - who doesn’t have a Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter account.
“You can expect a sack of them if you want,” I lightly mocked, but I greatly have an inkling this was what she wants.
In the middle of biting my lip, I suddenly heard children shouting from the outside of my tent. Curious of what the commotion was all about, I briefly peeked and then the corners of my mouth curved.
“Haha, good joke dear.” My attention returned to my phone when I heard my mother replied. “Call me when you arrive at Marcella’s house okay? Take care. I love you.”
“Yep, I sure will Ma. Love you too.”
And with that, we ended our conversation. After shoving my iPhone inside my personal bag, I exited the tent and found that the commotion was indeed from my favorite group of children, playing a game of toss-the-can-baseball.
The Benlali Awesome-Brothers! That’s what they have tagged themselves with. It made me smile remembering the youngest of the three brothers pronouncing it ‘ooosum’ - struggling with the words quite clearly. Apparently, that’s one of the few English words they know of, but it was still cute though.
I took in a long deep breath hoping to calm myself down and ease my worries of leaving my work.
Yeah, I am definitely going to miss these three boys and the Augustinian Sisters too. They have become a family to me. I can only hope and pray that going to my Aunt’s house would all be worth it.
