Unto Ishtar a Sacrifice (смешанная)

It is a day upon which he needs to be, has to be, must be a woman.
From the very moment he awakens, the female humours in him cry out for a body to move in beyond this confinement of a crude, hard, angular body male; the moment he opens his eyes to Dawn, his female soul clamours for, riots for, demands for herself a space in which to live and breathe and be.
Like a thief, he sneaks out of his own bedroom and leaves for the shabestan, the secret room at the back of it none but he know exists. Beyond magic runes and sigils has he hidden its shape, guiding the eyes and the bodies of others past it should they try and intrude, and these sigils he now draws in the air with impatience and great haste, a maiden hurrying to a tryst with a lover who is to her forbidden.
For at the centre of this small room he now lights with his lanterns stands someone who is to him, indeed, forbidden: a mighty stele of Ishtar, Astarte, Venus, Aphrodite, Freyja, Hathor, Gauri, Sri--call her by whatever name you will, but this is forever she.
Aye, the great She, Love Herself nude and bewinged; the great She that has always been and will forever be.