The Cows

by Dawn O'Porter

Had five minutes to kill before a meeting today so I just cracked my vag out and had a good old frig about it #WANKWOMAN #SHITWANKWOMANSAYS

  I even saw that HarperCollins had tweeted them asking to get in touch about a possible book deal. This has no sign of going away. It’s only a matter of time before there is merchandise. I’ll be the next Grumpy Cat, all over gift shops. Who will get the profit? Some dweeb with a Twitter account who wanks while he plays computer games, probably. Why is everyone acting like I’m the only woman in history to touch her own clitoris?

  I have another email from Cam. Which, apart from my daughter, is the only thing getting me within reach of a smile right now. She is so nice. Not that I thought she wouldn’t be, but you know what they say, ‘You shouldn’t meet your heroes.’ Not that I’ve actually met her, but it kind of feels like I have. I feel like I could tell her anything.

  Hey Tara

  I’ve been thinking about you. A lot, actually. I’m having a day where I feel like relationships will always be complicated, no matter how simple you try to keep them. Know what I mean?

  Anyway, just checking in, how you holding up? Cam x

  I reply right away.

  Hey, I feel exactly the same way. I thought I’d kept things simple, at home anyway. Now my closest relationships are the most complicated and I still don’t understand it. Loved your piece on mothers Vs non-mothers, we are all the same really. How am I holding up? Not great. I have the fear, I can’t sleep, I am too scared to go outside, the boy I like thinks I’m crazy, I think I’ll be alone forever, my best friend is shit, my mother is showing mild signs of alcoholism, my father has seen me masturbate. Oh, and I am pretty sure I am unemployed. You?

  T x

  I read that back. What a depressing state of events when you write an email trying to be funny, then realise all of the shit things you put in it are actually true. Whose life am I actually living right now? It doesn’t feel like mine. I have an email from Adam. I open it, despite wanting to ignore any correspondence with him or anyone related to my old life.

  Subject: Sky News interview

  Tara, a mate from Sky News got in touch asking how to contact you. They want to do an exclusive. Probably good money. I gave them your email and number. Oh, and I found someone else to do your job, she promised she wouldn’t wank on a train and make the company look bad, so she’s in. Also she’s taking over overseeing the edit on the pervert show so I’m giving her the exec prod credit. Obvious reasons why it can’t be you, don’t get your knickers in a twist about it.

  Adam.

  THE TWAT.

  I hate him. There was a tiny part of me that thought maybe he’d value my work enough to protect me on some level? I got that company BAFTA nominations and worked my arse off on my shows. At least I’d have hoped he would give me the credit I deserve, or protect me enough not to give my email address to Sky News. Can’t he see the entire world has turned against me? I took his misogynistic crap on the chin for years because I actually sympathised with him for not having the balls to admit to his sexuality. I took so much; I just took it and took it and took it because at the end of the day, it didn’t matter. His derogatory comments didn’t stop me doing anything. I was good at my job, I had the freedom to make the shows I wanted to make, so I just let it slide. I let him dump his denial all over me on a daily basis and now? Now he can go fuck himself.

  Adam.

  That was a really shitty thing to do. This is my personal email so please stop handing it out to journalists. Also, that show will do really well and it’s down to me, you know it. So put me back on the credits or I’ll tell everyone that you are GAY.

  Tara.

  There. Fuck him.

  I sit and wait for a reply. Nothing.

  Five minutes later. Nothing.

  An hour later. Nothing.

  Now I feel guilty. I get a reply from Cam.

  Hey. Me? Oh, I think I’m realising that you can’t control other people’s emotions, no matter what you want for yourself. Listen, one thing I’ve learned in the billion years I’ve been putting work out into the public domain is that today’s news is tomorrow’s chip paper. I realise that no one reads newspapers any more and stuff on the Internet lives forever and can’t be wrapped around a soggy piece of battered fish and some salty chips. BUT people move on, things move on, and you will move on. We are so young (I read you were forty-two? I’m thirty-six, same age really). I look at my mum and dad and feel like my life hasn’t even started yet; there is so much I will do by the time I get to their age. You should feel the same. Whatever has happened in the last few weeks is the beginning of something new, no matter how catastrophic it feels. You’ll find a way to turn this around to make it work for you.

  After everyone is laughed out, they’ll move on. My dad once told me to look for opportunities in everything and I’ve lived my entire life with that in mind. Don’t hide, keep your head up and keep your eye out for a way to spin this in a way that works for you. You can do it! Cam x

  Another email pops up. It’s from Damien Weymouth.

  The front door slams so loud it makes me jump. Next I hear the thud thud thud of Annie racing up the stairs. Is it end of school already? Christ, I’m still in my pyjamas.

  ‘Mummy, Mummy,’ she says, jumping up onto the bed. I feel like a patient. I pretend to look happy.

  ‘How was school?’ I ask her, taking off her coat as she cuddles me.

  ‘I did painting,’ she says. ‘Look.’

  She hands me a sheet of A4. There are four people on it, one is little, so I presume that is her. She confirms it for me. ‘So who is this?’ I ask.

  ‘This one is Grandpa,’ she says, pointing at the stick figure with nothing on. ‘This one is Grandma,’ she says, pointing to the stick figure with a coloured-in triangle for a skirt. ‘And this is you,’ she says, pointing to a stick figure with nothing on but a long black triangle hanging from its shoulders.

  ‘That’s me? And what is that?’ I ask, pointing at said triangle thing.

  ‘That’s your cape.’

  ‘My cape? Why do I have a cape?’

  ‘Because you’re Wank Woman,’ Annie says, confidently.

  I didn’t think it was possible to have an awkward silence with a six-year-old, but there it is.

  My daughter just called me Wank Woman. Can this get any worse?

  When Annie is in the kitchen eating dinner, I run up to my room to email Cam back, like she’s a guy I fancy and I am fifteen years old. For a few minutes, I forget about Jason. The truth is I have as much of a gap in my life for a good friend as I do for a lover, and the prospect of it excites me just as much. Sophie hasn’t texted once since she got to Bora Bora, and what’s weird is, I don’t miss her. She’d be stressing me out at a time like this, saying all the wrong things, going on about herself. It’s actually been quite nice getting a break from it. I need a friend, but one that can focus on me for five minutes straight without butting in to talk about what hair colour to do next.

  Despite how horrible that video is making me feel, and how confused and miserable I am about Jason, there is this little thing that’s glowing. Aside from Annie, I mean. Something else that is keeping my humour alive, that is giving me something to focus on that isn’t the state of my life. It’s my emails with Cam. She just seems to get me. I can laugh about all this in a way I wouldn’t dare with anyone else, and what she replies is real. Actual engaged, kind and useful advice. Like a real friend would. I’m not quite sure how Cam Stacey from www.HowItIs.com became my new friend, but I am so so glad she did. I go to her email to reply, but am distracted by the one from Damien Weymouth. I want to delete it out of protest, but the subject line is pretty alluring.

  Subject: Exclusive Interview Opportunity with Sky News £30k fee.

  Dear Tara

  I’ve been watching your story with great interest. I’d like to offer you an opportunity to set the record straight, as I am sure you are being hugely misinterpreted by the Great British (great glo
bal?) public.

  I’m proposing an exclusive on-screen interview with Sky News where you can tell your side of the story. Very often in these cases of public shaming, an apology is all the public needs to move on. Showing emotion and regret can gather the sympathy that is needed for people to accept that you acted out of character, and that you are remorseful about the way that you behaved. I have conducted interviews with many shamed high-profile celebrities who needed to set the record straight. In light of the magnitude of public interest in you, Sky News have offered a prime time TV interview to go out as a special within their news programmes.

  I’m sure you are feeling like life may never be the same again, but hopefully you’ll see this as an opportunity to get things back on track. I should mention, there is a notable fee for this, £30,000, for a morning of your time. Think about it.

  I look forward to hearing from you.

  Damien.

  I read it again, then look back at Cam’s email.

  Don’t hide, keep your head up and keep your eye out for a way to spin this in a way that works for you.

  But me, in front of the camera? I’m not sure I can do that. Not on purpose, anyway. But maybe Cam is right. I do need to turn this around, and saying it in my words might be the best way? I shudder at the thought. TV is vicious, I know that, but what other options do I have?

  I go back downstairs to see Annie. I’ll think about it. £30,000 is hard to ignore when you just lost your job.

  Stella

  I don’t know why I am going through the ‘Archive’ section of Cam Stacey’s website when she’s been pissing me off so much lately, but I remember an article she wrote ages ago about women taking charge sexually, and I really want to read it again. After an hour of torturing myself by reading more about her perfect FUCKING life, I find it.

  June 2009: Women Need to Take Charge of Their Sex Lives More

  I have a confession … sorry, Mum!

  Last week, I was in an airport. My flight was delayed for an hour and I was hungover from the night before, and on top of this, I was monumentally horny. Like, the kind of horny where I felt like a wild animal. I was charged by my loins, only able to think of one thing. I walked around that airport trying to sniff out prey, ready to pounce on the first penis I saw. And then I saw one. This really gorgeous guy, standing alone by a window, watching the planes outside. I went up behind him, acutely aware of the sound of my own breath. I think I was going to straight up ask him to do me in the toilet. I started to make my approach, and as I got within a foot of him, licking my lips, panting at the thought of getting off, an equally-as-gorgeous woman joined him with two Starbucks cups and I had to back away. My mission was unsuccessful, but I loved the feeling of being so overwhelmed by my sexuality, and the entire scenario has been a fantasy of mine ever since. Partly because recalling that level of horn is thrilling, and partly because of the joy it gives me to think of women going out into the world and getting the kicks they want. It’s what we should do – act on our impulses, give in to temptation, be reckless and act a little bit sexually selfish sometimes. You know, like men do.

  OK, so maybe this isn’t quite relating to my current situation, I’m not going to hit on Jason because I’m horny, but it all amounts to the same thing really; me getting what I want. But if I’m going to pull this off, I need to know a bit more about him.

  I take him in a coffee, and ask him if he needs anything else. He says no, and that he’s about to start a new chapter. I get the impression he won’t leave his desk for a while, so I head back to mine, log into his email and get stuck into his personal life.

  From what he has described there is a bit of a theme, he likes them tall with long brown hair, successful and emotionally honest. I’m not too far off that. I’m not short, at five foot seven, I have long brown curly hair, and I could pretend to be emotionally honest if I needed to be. Jason is pretty consistent in how he is with women in his messages. He’s sweet, and he definitely likes to talk about things. One email conversation reads,

  Hey, loved last night. Could have talked to you all night

  Jason

  Hey, yeah me too. Sorry if I told you too much about me. It felt good to talk.

  Sal x

  Please, I’m a guy that likes to talk about feelings. My work is about capturing emotion; I didn’t want you to stop. J x

  I make a note – Be Open.

  The next email conversation I find is with another girl, and this time it’s sexy. For a moment I think I can’t bear to read it, but then I realise I’m going to have to get over that if I am to have sex with him myself. My plan is to make this happen on the day I ovulate. I can’t afford to mess this up, and knowing what he likes in bed will ensure my success, so I go ahead and read it.

  From Michelle:

  I’m wearing a black pencil skirt, four-inch heels, a tight blouse and no underwear. I’m surrounded by my colleagues but all I can think about is what you did to my pussy this morning. I had fun, Michelle x

  From Jason:

  You’re so sexy. I’m sitting at my desk. I can see my assistant in the next room so have to hide that I’m pulling my dick. Imagining you on your knees, with me in your mouth.

  I slap my hand against my mouth, JASON! Eeewwww, while I was there! But OK, OK, he’s way more sexual than I imagined. This might be easier than I thought. If I open up a bit, and ramp up my sex appeal it should work out OK. He’s sensitive, but he’s seriously red blooded.

  An email alert pops up in the top right of my screen. It’s letting me know that Camilla Stacey has posted another blog. I don’t know how she does it, she must do nothing but write!

  Camilla Stacey, www.HowItIs.com: I Did Not Waste My Womb Just Because I Didn’t Use It …

  Oh here we go, what crap about not wanting kids is she spouting now?

  I love your emails, and I read them all. I see it as part of my job, and want to know how what I write affects people. And I can safely say that I have never been so inundated with messages since I opened the can of wombs (ithankyou) and admitted to not wanting kids. Happily, a lot of you seem encouraged by what I have to say, but of course, there are many of you who aren’t. For those of you who are giving birth at the thought of my vacant vagina, I am sorry that my choices offend you. But at the same time, stop pushing your traditional opinions onto me, step forth into the modern world, and bore off.

  Now … one suggestion that has popped up after my articles and in my inbox multiple times is that I am ‘wasting my womb’. That’s right. Because I have a womb, that I didn’t ask for, I am ‘disrespecting the power of being female’. Because to have this empty sack and not use it is apparently unthinkable.

  But wait, I did not order this piece of equipment from Amazon. I was embedded with it at birth, and unlike an oven (the household object that seems to be compared to the female reproductive system the most), I cannot simply use it, take out the contents, eat them, and get on with my day. I think we are all aware that parenting lasts a lot longer than a jacket potato.

  So no, I won’t use it for what it is capable of, but that isn’t to say I haven’t used it my entire life. My womb is what makes me a woman. How can that be a waste?

  ‘Oh fuck you, Cam Stacey,’ I say standing up and kicking my desk. My hand automatically lands on my belly. This time next year my womb will be gone. My breasts too. Everything that makes me a woman will be thrown into a furnace and destroyed, while Camilla Stacey sits in her posh new apartment with hers fully intact. How is that fair?

  ‘Everything alright?’ yells Jason from the other room.

  ‘Yup, sorry, just broke a nail.’

  But seriously, what is she doing? Someone with a life as perfect as hers can’t write about this stuff. She thinks she’s being empowering, but most women who don’t have kids don’t choose it. She isn’t paving the way for a growing demographic, she’s rubbing our faces in what we can’t have and it’s really pissing me off.

  I look behind me to check Jason isn�
��t coming, but he’s busily tapping away, clearly on a roll. I click on the ‘contact’ button on Cam’s website and it automatically opens a new email.

  To: Camilla Stacey

  From: Stella Davies

  Maybe your womb isn’t a waste, but do you know what is? The air you breathe. Why don’t you shut up with your ‘Woman Almighty’ preaching and get a real job? You’ve got no right to sit in your ivory tower and write like you have a clue. You don’t. Why don’t you just stop?

  Send.

  I sit still for a minute, as I visualise the ‘ping’ of her computer, alerting her to a new mail. Maybe she is sitting there now, will she see it right away? I feel anxiety pouring out of my fingertips as I imagine her reading my words and feeling as shit about herself as I do.

  It feels really, really good.

  9

  Cam

  Cam is feeling shitty – bad cramps, and nausea. Her remedy is two Nurofen and a ginger tea. She doesn’t need to be anywhere; that’s the joy of working from home, for yourself and living a life online. London lights are flooding her living room with their gorgeous orange glow, so with a blanket over her shoulders, she reads through emails from her readers, knowing that despite the belly ache, this is the only place she wants to be.

  Dear Camilla

  I just wanted to say thank you for your piece on acting on your opinions. My boss has been belittling me for so long. I’d go home every night and moan to my housemate about it. We’d drink wine and slag him off and I’d be honest about how he made me feel. But then I’d go in the next day and let him do it to me all over again. It all stemmed from a fear of losing my job, but you made me realise that I hate my job.

  So, on Friday morning I registered with a recruitment agency, and on Friday afternoon I went into my boss’ office and told him I was leaving. When he asked me why, I said it was because he was rude. And rather than use victim language, like you said, I just told him that I feel more qualified than him, and that wasn’t very inspiring. He was totally stumped, it was magic. The agency already have three interviews for me next week, so I’m out. And I’m already feeling better. Thank you!