This I Shamelessly Tell You

Tales of Christmases past, a few from recent memory and a little year-end wrap-up

by Rajkhet Dirzhud-Rashid - December 2008
photo by Dr. Steve - Model: Emily

Sitting in an emergency room, with the words 'we think it's an inflamed appendix', and 'the main surgeon will be in to talk to you', (or something like that, it was late, I was tired and a little pissed at God/The Goddess/The Great Wow, for this whole mess I found myelf in), I started to think about holidays past. That led to a a string of memories which served wonderfully to distract me from all the poking and prodding and that horrific needle prick by 'nurse Ratchet' (who I think really believed she was the 'homegirl' she thought she was) that left the big, purple bruise on my arm. Memories of boozed soaked Christmas eves, post Christmas blues before my ex and I were divorced (hubby number one), and he and I were scrapping over our only child.

There were also the Christmases I spent wishing I had more cash, finally getting enough to buy presents for my relatives, only to ruin the gifting with my outrageous behavior at the time. Trust me, the drunk in the family, at holidays is never the fun one that everyone is glad to see return, like the proverbial prodigal son, or in this case, daughter.

I also remember the Christmas I got a present from my first ever boyfriend, two special moments in one at the rather jaded age of sixteen. I held that Aquamarine bath set like it was gold plated, so much so that my mom teased me about it, and my siblings all took up the chant that I had a boyfriend. Of course this didn't last, and I was sobbing on my bed not too long after that delightful day.

I'd get a few other presents from lovers over the years, but not any I remember as much as that one, or the year my 22 year old Asian dude/sex toy brought over a can of 'Almond Roca' in a brown paper bag and said 'here, merry Christmas', drank his usual forty ouncer and demanded a blow job. His pleasure and indirectly - very indirectly at times - was my present in his mind. I did get him amazing gifts of boxers, or once a very nice white, cotton suit. My gift was three or four orgasms.

The other special holiday memory is the first year my then-boyfriend, later first husband and I lived in Joliet, Illinois, and had to put up Christmas lights in the shape of a tree, because we couldn't afford a real tree on our wage slave salaries. That year, complete with snow, was pretty damned great.

Not so great was the year, not so long ago after me and my soldier love drifted over his PTSD, and his presents stayed under my little tree, unclaimed in my apartment, to this day. That New Year's Eve sucked pretty bad too, with two rejections to join me for 'happy time' in my place after a pretty lame, politically themed New Year's Eve party. A much cooler New Year's Eve was the one I spent with a friend's friend watching fireworks at the Space Needle from he and his boyfriend's apartment balcony. As for this year, who knows, it's been a wild and interesting year, with plenty of ups and lots of downs too. Just hoping for one orgasm after the midnight countdown with someone I actually like, who adores me, and there is someone like that now. One thing I can be sure of, no matter what happens on Christmas day, or at the stroke of midnight two thousand nine, it will outshine all of the years past in a blur, with my relatives pissed at me, or wishing for a lover who doesn't call or come over, or one who does, but only brings his 'fun bits' as a present.

This, I shamelessly tell you.