This I Shamelessly Tell You

Becoming a Boy Again, and a Look at Past Birthdays, Some Thoughts on a Change of Life

by Rajkhet Dirzhud-Rashid - January 2009
photo by Guitar Doug - Model: Abbey Rhodes

As I sit here nursing the arthritis that's made itself a reality in the last few years, I think back on some birthdays of my youth (I'm an Aquarian, so January is my birth month), and the approach of what some still call the change. That time in a woman's life, when all of the dalliances and splendor of the wilder years, particularly if you've been the rogue I've been, stand before you like pages in a golden book.

True, I'm still young enough to enjoy a good roll in the hay (as I was reminded of late, when my young soldier and I finally hooked up again, having renewed our acquaintance at my favorite venue, The Wet Spot). But yes, the body is reminding me that time is rushing by, and that spike heels, micro minis and short shorts are better left on the free table for others in my building who have no fashion sense.

What I'm most looking forward to is not having to ride the red pony, or stop my active sexual adventures for being off the sports list every couple of weeks. Cramps: won't miss them either, though my naturopath assures me some symptoms may continue even when the physical proof isn't there anymore. Even more than any of that, however, will be the ability to be a 'boy' again, in that without that monthly problem, I can now return to the days before it all started (at age eleven, ruining what little happiness I might have had as the geeky adolescent I was), enjoying my body and being fluid in my sexual identity.

I do have fond memories of that person, and also of some pretty special birthdays, like the one where I invited all of these hippie, pot smoking friends from a radio station where I volunteered at to my mom's house. I still remember her outrage and her question of "who are all these white people and what are they doing in my house?" You have to understand that it was Houston, Texas in the early seventies and race relations in my family still were being informed from a Jim Crow era. Of course I had to boot them out instantly.

A better birthday was the one I had the year I turned the big five-oh. Two friends from the S & M community hosted a little tea at their Federal Way house, just for me. Also the one (I think it may have been my 37th or near 40) with two Goth friends and a then boyfriend hosting a fabulous, homemade, gourmet dinner for me was pretty cool too.

My favorite is my 50th. It took place at The Wet Spot and everyone there made me feel like queen of the universe. Fifty whacks on the butt, lots of giggling and some pretty good sex (keep in mind this was before meeting my soldier, who does ".....like a volcano", as per the Liz Phair song).

The year a good friend didn't show up on time, and pouted, until she came and knocked on my door, insisting I come out and let her take me to dessert to celebrate my birthday turned out pretty good too. Probably why we're still friends. So, this year (an odd number in the countdown toward the most major birthday of my life) I'm hoping for all the goodies the universe can heap on me. Especially since last year kind of bit in so many ways. Already hinting to my newly reacquainted love that my wish is for his presence to be the height of this year's birthday. We'll see how that goes, but one thing I do believe: It'll rock to be the queen of January again, because I always feel the whole month belongs to me and everyone should do my bidding.

This, I shamelessly tell you.