Out in the streets, hidden in the head to toe cloth, nobody recognized Mina, not even her closest family. Looking at the shop windows she saw her eyes at the top of a moving tent. The black sack disguised everything: her head, her face, her body and, equally, it would be the cover for her plan.\u00a0 Suddenly, she found freedom in that chador.<\/p>\n
Mina created a questionnaire and asked a couple of the male students at her university, if they would help her with an experiment.\u00a0 Her research, she claimed, was to gain some insight into their relationships: how many women they had slept with, what sort of relationships they were looking for and had they ever found what they were seeking.\u00a0 But Mina really sought a different kind of access.\u00a0 All of the young men she approached made it clear they wanted to have sex with her, even before her questions were completed.\u00a0 She made one condition clear: each one of the men had to introduce her to one of their male friends first for the purposes of her research.\u00a0 She always met the men in the street.\u00a0 They would arrive in a car, pick her up then take her to a prearranged destination.\u00a0 Mina sat in the back of the car, posing as a passenger.\u00a0 The plan worked well.<\/p>\n
And how would these strangers recognise her?\u00a0 She\u2019d wear Red Glasses. She would laugh at her image in the mirror.\u00a0 Nothing else showed except the tip of her nose and her distinctive Red Glasses.<\/p>\n
All the men were surprised once they realized she didn\u2019t take money.\u00a0 \u2018What, free sex?\u2019 some of them would say.\u00a0 None of the men could accept the encounter as a one-off.\u00a0 They saw it as part of their male birthright to dictate the terms of a relationship with a woman. Any attempt to challenge their masculinity would threaten their manhood deflating it, like a balloon popped with a needle.\u00a0 To get away easily, she always took their numbers, promising to call.\u00a0 But she never did.\u00a0 She recorded their names and telephone numbers in her notebook, each on a separate page.\u00a0 Then, beneath each name, she wrote down what distinguished that man from others. She\u2019d write in the third person, using only their initials in case her parents went through her private things and found the notebook.<\/p>\n
A took her to his friend\u2019s room.\u00a0 He sweated profusely.<\/p>\n
H asked her to walk several paces behind him so his neighbours would not see them together.<\/p>\n
R talked a lot.<\/p>\n
M was witty and managed to make her laugh.<\/p>\n
B breathed so heavily and with such difficulty, she thought he might die at any minute.<\/p>\n
S made noises like a motorcycle and confided he was a virgin.<\/p>\n
D was curious about her.\u00a0 He asked her lots of questions, as if\u00a0he<\/em>\u00a0were the researcher.<\/p>\n E smelled like cooked cabbage.\u00a0 He wanted more of her.<\/p>\n F craved nurturing, wanting her to take her time to touch and caress him.<\/p>\n G had bought pizza before picking her up and asked her to eat with him but she refused.\u00a0 She watched as he wolfed down the entire pizza, smearing it around his mouth in greed.\u00a0 When he sat closer, traces of cheese and tomatoes and red pepper dropped from his lips.\u00a0 She asked him to rinse his mouth. He did, like an obedient child.<\/p>\n C fell in love with her.\u00a0 He begged her not to see other men, only him.\u00a0 But would he marry her, she asked?\u00a0 Not that she wanted to marry him or that she particularly liked him even.\u00a0 She just wanted to find out what kind of man he was and his response would speak the truth.\u00a0 But he avoided the question.\u00a0 Yet he did warn her to be careful: everywhere, men were talking about the Woman in the Red Glasses.<\/p>\n As her experiment went on, Mina discovered that each man had his own unique form; how his fingers felt on her body; the way he talked, even his silence revealed so much.\u00a0 Some didn\u2019t recognise her or even acknowledge her as human. Some of the men just wanted to fuck her, leave and get on with their lives. It intrigued her to see how each man had different ways of trying to impress her.\u00a0 Some insisted on seeing her again under the pretence of having something important to tell her. But she knew each time that they were only thinking and talking with their under bellies.<\/p>\n Each man\u2019s sweat smelt different.\u00a0 She wondered how similar their scent would be if they\u2019d all eaten the same food or washed themselves with the same soap or shaved with the same balm or wore the same aftershave? After the first, loveless experience, she bought the aftershave Mehdi had worn.\u00a0 She told each man to put the scent on before allowing them near her. But it made no difference; none of them had smelled like her Mehdi.\u00a0 No amount of cologne could mask their repellent smells.\u00a0 During the act of sex, she observed the noises they made and the way they came. Yet none gave her any of the pleasure Mehdi had. None of them could.\u00a0 She pressed on, the pages filling up by the day soon she had to buy a second, then a third notebook.<\/p>\n Mina could see the vulnerability in all of them, despite the image of superiority they tried to project.\u00a0 When naked, they would regress back to their babyhoods, desperately attempting to return to the comforting, female ocean from which they\u2019d burst forth: their mother\u2019s womb.\u00a0 And at the point of their orgasm, they\u2019d kick her belly with their third leg, like a baby kicks out within the confined safety of his mother\u2019s tummy.<\/p>\n Afterwards, she\u2019d wanted to tell them how little they understood women and how ignorant they were about how to make love to a woman and treat her properly.\u00a0 And how\u00a0they<\/em>\u00a0truly were missing much greater pleasure than they could imagine.\u00a0 They were always in a rush; the same rush as when they ate; no savouring of their food or its taste, smell, or beauty (or ugliness, even).\u00a0 No recognition of the time taken in its loving preparation. \u00a0They just shoved it down thoughtlessly with their stagnant, immature urge for instant gratification.\u00a0 And they consumed women in exactly the same way.\u00a0 These men joked that just as they didn\u2019t like eating the same food every day, no matter how delicious, they wanted variety in their women, too.\u00a0 And they viewed her like a side-dish; an alternative on the menu, something they were entitled to.\u00a0 It didn\u2019t matter if this food was alive and breathing and felt pain under their second mouths.\u00a0 And through her encounters with these dual-mouthed creatures, she tried to obliterate her loss.<\/p>\n As the days went by, with or without the men, her mind turned to her lover, Mehdi, and their last conversation echoed in her head.<\/p>\n \u2018Will you marry me?\u2019 He asked.<\/p>\n \u2018I\u2019d have to escape my parents to be with you.\u2019<\/p>\n He had kissed her, \u2018I expect your father wants to marry you off to one of those minister\u2019s sons.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Yes. He\u2019d be happy to marry me off to one of those criminals.\u2019<\/p>\n Before she had met Mehdi, Mina had never liked politics.\u00a0 Her father was a minister.\u00a0 She believed all politicians were hypocrites, including her father and all his friends and peers, using their positions and politics to climb a corrupt ladder to wealth and fame.<\/p>\n \u2018But how can we defend our rights without engaging in politics?\u2019 Mehdi once argued.<\/p>\n During their friendship, Mina learned that it was Mehdi\u2019s politics that made him the man he was; the man she would love forever.\u00a0 His politics hadn\u2019t brought him wealth or status; he\u2019d simply never sought these things.\u00a0 His politics had brought his death; all because he\u2019d believed the world was rich and abundant enough to ensure that no human being need ever go hungry or go without.\u00a0 News about the execution of dissidents had always made her angry.\u00a0 But when she lost Mehdi, it felt to her as if her own father, the great minister himself, had put the noose around her true love\u2019s neck.<\/p>\n Mina became engulfed in hatred for her father.\u00a0 In his world, the worst thing a woman could do was sleep with men.\u00a0 And through her actions, Mina created a double life; a life that she could never have possibly imagined before losing Mehdi.\u00a0 And the more she slept with these strange men, the more she became a stranger in her father\u2019s house.<\/p>\n She pondered before each new meeting. What would this one look like?\u00a0 Where will he take me?\u00a0 Will he be different; the one who will finally see me, really see me and respect me?<\/em>\u00a0 With each new encounter, she wondered whether she\u2019d be able to bear it and see the act through to the end.\u00a0 Or would this be the one where she\u2019d feel so sick that she couldn\u2019t take any more and be overwhelmed and long to flee?\u00a0 Would she be in danger of being beaten or killed?\u00a0 She no longer cared. \u00a0By their very actions, these men had killed off the memory of Mehdi that she had carried inside her. \u00a0Now that her lover had become an unreachable shadow in her mind, she felt so empty that she needed these men to fulfil her life.<\/p>\n One afternoon she stood in the usual place, waiting to do battle again.\u00a0 She watched out for the agreed signal: the car horn sounding three times, the car pulling up beside her and the rear passenger door opening.\u00a0 As always, she wordlessly climbed in making no eye contact with the driver.\u00a0 The car pulled away.\u00a0 The split second before the man spoke, she felt it: his stifling familiarity and his cologne, dominating smell.\u00a0 She knew.\u00a0 Then she heard it: her father\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n \u2018I heard you are very beautiful.\u2019\u00a0 His eyes studied her in the car mirror.\u00a0 \u2018Show me your face.\u2019<\/p>\n She realised that this was not their usual family car, but a different vehicle; her father did not recognise his own daughter.\u00a0 And she knew what her father saw: not another human being, but a mere collection of female body-parts.\u00a0 She was nothing more: just a variation from the regular menu, there to be consumed at his whim, like any other delicacy.<\/p>\n And when her father realised that the Woman in Red Glasses was not the faceless woman he had picked up in his secret car, what would he do?\u00a0 Would he put a rope around her neck?\u00a0 Or would he wash his hands of her and pass her over to the police; let them deal with her, finish her off?\u00a0 She didn\u2019t know.\u00a0 But one thing she was certain of: her death was near.<\/p>\n Since Mehdi\u2019s death, in losing one man, she could gather all men. Now her own father had become part of her macabre collection.\u00a0 Looking back, she could see how all these men scavenged her, and little was left for her father to destroy in order to maintain his reputation.\u00a0 There was nothing left for her in the world now; nothing left but to die, just as her beloved Mehdi had died before her.<\/p>\n The traffic lights changed and the car came to a standstill.\u00a0 Here was a chance.\u00a0 She could jump out and run away and stay anonymous, just as she had entered this car and every other single car before.<\/p>\n Her father spoke to her, his voice riddled with lust.\u00a0 \u2018You seem shy.\u00a0 I\u2019m going to have a good time with you.\u2019<\/p>\n She raised her head and looked directly into the car mirror, her dead eyes locking with his.\u00a0 As she pulled at the chador, casting it away, she realised she was hiding from herself as well as others in it. She threw off the Red Glasses. \u2018Yes. I\u2019m sure you are, Father.\u2019<\/p>\n <\/p>\n https:\/\/www.unlikelystories.org\/content\/woman-in-the-red-glasses<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Out in the streets, hidden in the head to toe cloth, nobody recognized Mina, not even her closest family. Looking at the shop windows she saw her eyes at the top of a moving tent. The black sack disguised everything: her head, her face, her body and, equally, it would be the cover for her … Continue reading Woman in the Red Glasses: Short Story<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[50],"tags":[25],"class_list":["post-411","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-stories","tag-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nasrinparvaz.org\/web\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/411","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nasrinparvaz.org\/web\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nasrinparvaz.org\/web\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nasrinparvaz.org\/web\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nasrinparvaz.org\/web\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=411"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.nasrinparvaz.org\/web\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/411\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":415,"href":"https:\/\/www.nasrinparvaz.org\/web\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/411\/revisions\/415"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nasrinparvaz.org\/web\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=411"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nasrinparvaz.org\/web\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=411"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nasrinparvaz.org\/web\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=411"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}