Page 17 of Fling

Tara didn’t know what she was looking for. She had been asking herself that for the past few months and still hadn’t found an answer. She wanted to reclaim the years she had lost. She wanted her marriage to go back to the way it used to be. She wanted her husband back.

‘Hey, scatterbrain! Stop overthinking,’ Emily said, interrupting her thought process. ‘Don’t think, just speak. Go!’

‘I want to feel like myself again. Like the woman I used to be. I want a man to kiss me without me having to ask him to. I want a man who knows what he’s doing and knows when to take charge. I want him to grab me tight and make me melt in his arms. And I’m tired of feeling guilty for wanting that,’ she said in one breath.

Tara had never said those words out loud before. But she obviously felt it subconsciously. Within her hard outer shell was a softer, more delicate woman who needed to be held. She had no idea where her life was headed, what her true destiny was any more, and all she wanted was for a man to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be OK.

After being confronted by her unconscious desires, Tara had the face of a saint who had just been decanonized. She felt guilty for admitting her fantasy out loud and she worried Emily would judge her.

‘What’s wrong?’ Emily asked, seeing her worried expression.

‘My fantasy just sounds so problematic out loud. You probably think I’m a bad feminist,’ Tara admitted.

Emily laughed. ‘Tara, being sex-positive makes you a good feminist. You’re a control freak all day so of course handing over control in bed is sexy. You know what’s not sexy? Shame,’ she explained. ‘Now we just have to get you out of those pantsuits.’

‘What’s wrong with my suit?’ Tara said, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

‘No, it’s lovely. But do they make it for women?’ Emily laughed.

‘Well, I don’t exactly want to wear pantsuits, Emily, but when a woman gets into a senior role, she has to blend in,’ Tara said, defending her fashion sense.

‘But wearing them when you don’t like them only panders to the patriarchy by implying masculine traits are superior and that feminine identity expression needs to be suppressed in order to succeed. Constantly pining to be “one of the boys” can often be a sign of internalized misogyny,’ Emily said in one breath. ‘I think the feminist texts you’ve been reading are a little outdated. You’re stuck in second-wave.’

‘What wave are we on now?’

‘Well, I’m very ahead of my time so I’m a seventh-wave feminist,’ Emily said.

‘What’s that?’ Tara asked, having never heard the term.

‘That’s when we convince men to go out and work all day to provide for us while we live off their labour,’ Emily said. It was impossible to tell if she was being ironic or not.

‘I guess women have really come full circle,’ Tara said sarcastically.

‘The point is, feminism is no longer about women growing a pair of balls. It’s about women realizing they don’t need balls to be powerful,’ Emily explained.

Emily certainly had a point. Tara didn’t like what she wore. She always felt like she was wearing a uniform, part of her tough external shell. She had this image of feminism in her head that she had to look like Rosie the Riveter shouting ‘WE CAN DO IT!’ while flexing her bicep. But all along she was pandering to the Lads so they would think she was ‘Not Like Other Women’. Now that she thought about it, what Emily said made perfect sense. She suddenly felt embarrassed for how long she had tried to fit in with a group of men she didn’t even like.

Maybe she wasn’t a bad feminist after all, she just had an outdated idea of the word. Maybe she could be a powerful woman and still fantasize about a powerful man. Maybe she could be dominant in the boardroom and still enjoy being dominated in the bedroom. Maybe she could wear the pants during the day and still want a man to strip them off her at night.

‘You’re right, Emily, I am a good feminist,’ Tara said, putting words in her mouth.

‘You know what would make you an even better one, though? Giving me a raise. I can hear the patriarchy shaking in its boots already!’ Emily said, chancing her arm.

‘Nice try,’ Tara laughed.

‘OK, but you know my motto. Minimum wage, minimum effort.’ Emily shrugged. ‘Now, back to finding your fantasy fling.’

‘The funny thing is, the sex I fantasize about is the kind I had with Colin the first time. He was my first and I was so excited but also so terrified. I had no idea what I was doing so he was totally in control. It felt so good to hand my body over to him, you know?’

‘Wait, does that mean you’ve only ever slept with your husband?’ Emily asked.

‘Yep, only ever Colin.’

Emily was shook. ‘Well, no wonder you’re so repressed. Life is literally an all-you-can-eat buffet and you’ve only ever had one cocktail sausage.’

‘You certainly have a way with words, Emily,’ Tara laughed.

‘OK, your profile is ready,’ Emily said. ‘Goodbye Tara, hello CLAIRE, 35 – DUBLIN! Now let’s find you some matches.’ She submitted Tara’s profile on the app and an animation of a progress bar appeared.

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