The Red Whore

by Dee

Remember when I was called the Red Whore by my Hungarian boyfriend. He
said because of the way I looked when i was wearing my very long red dyed hair and my extremely short skirts – and that i must be a whore to go around looking like that – and the color of my hair was red hence "the red whore" title –

I met him outside a club in LA that catered to Eastern European and some third and fourth world folks. I became attracted to him because he whistled so loud at me when i was running from the club to my car.
The whole time i knew him he would think of insulting names for people – for example, my aunt had a high forehead so he called her Bumper forehead. A friend of mine had a small overbite and he described her as being able to bite a spider out of the corner.

He was extremely jealous and possessive – not like american men i knew. Maybe i wanted to know what it felt like to feel submissive.. Men were the boss where he came from and he said if a woman got "fresh" she needed to be slapped and all his friends with names like Pishquota and Lotsy passionately agreed. He also said he came to this country to be a criminal – crime was better and easier here, he said.

He would spend hours insisting that i had cheated on him and saying that if he found out what he already knew i would get slapped. He loved opera and would create operatic scenes with arguments in which i was always wrong and supposed to beg his forgiveness and promise to always be faithful.

After a while i became tired of the drama and the threats about slapping me – very likely he did too. One day i got "fresh" and said a sarcastic comment to him and he got all red faced and stomped over to where i was standing – i was alot taller than him. He had his hand perched way above his head cause this time i was really going to get it – of course, i never wanted to be slapped only to pretend i was part of the opera fantasy also.

He hovered under me ready to teach me a lesson for being "fresh" – rather than looking afraid i glared at him and said enough of this drama, don’t you dare threaten me, put your hand down and go sit down and tie your shoes. Much to my surprise he walked away, sat down and tied his shoes, with quite and embarrassed look as he did it.

That was it – no more threats – no more jealousy, no more drama – and i wish i could say we lived happily ever after.