A Gin-Fuelled Conversation with Fleabag About Sex

Issue Four: On Libido, Lube, and the Lies We’ve Been Told

I’ve always believed that storytelling—especially the kind that dances between laughter and truth—has the power to say what textbooks can’t. So when someone told me my writing reminded them of Fleabag, I took it as the highest of compliments. Because Fleabag is messy, raw, sharp, and deeply, unapologetically human. And so are the questions I’ve been asked lately: What happens to desire as we age? Where does sexuality go when estrogen dips? Is there life after menopause—or have we been sold a lie about what women are allowed to want? So I imagined this: me and Fleabag, sitting in a dimly lit bar in London, gin in hand, talking about sex, menopause, forbidden wants, and all the things polite society tells us to keep quiet about. This isn’t a research paper. It’s two women, two gins deep, demolishing the myths we were fed about our own bodies.

INT. DIMLY LIT BAR — LONDON — LATE EVENING

The bar hums low with jazz and secrets. Glasses clink. Somewhere, someone laughs too loud. Anisa and Fleabag sit at a crooked little table in the corner—two gin & tonics in, shadows dancing over their cheekbones.

Fleabag lights a cigarette. She’s already said too much, but what’s one more confession?

FLEABAG

(takes a drag, exhales like a sigh)

“I’m terrified of menopause.”

(beat)

“Like… what if that’s where everything ends? The sex. The wanting. The… stupid, stupid hunger that makes life bearable.”

(glances sideways)

“Isn’t that where it all just… dries up?”

ANISA

(sips gin, then, slowly—like peeling back a myth)

“Desire isn’t housed in estrogen levels, hon.”

(pauses)

“It’s not a hormone. It’s a language. A pulse. An energy.”

(leans in slightly)

“And sometimes, it gets louder after the world tells you it should be silent.”

FLEABAG

(eyes flicker)

“Well shit.”

(beat)

“I’ve been hoarding lube and existential dread for nothing?”

ANISA

(grinning now)

“Keep the lube. Lose the dread.”

(sips)

“You won’t be running out. You will just begin to want on your own terms.”

The air between them hums. The ice in their glasses is melting, but the conversation is just heating up.

ANISA

(slow, with a glint in her eye)

“Let me tell you a mind-blowing secret.”

(leans in)

“Women’s sexuality has never been small. Ever.

But we’ve heard the same thing so many times, in so many ways—

‘Women just have lower libidos.’

‘Men think about sex more.’

‘She is doing it for emotional connection.’

That we’ve started believing it.”

FLEABAG

(laughs, sharp and a little dangerous)

“Hah! Have you met me?”

(sips, smirks)

“Half my life is structured around not shagging people I definitely shouldn’t.”

ANISA

(grinning)

“Exactly.”

(then, softer)

“And how many times have you thought—quietly, secretly—that something must be wrong with you?”

FLEABAG

(the smirk fades, just a little)

“More than I’d admit.

And not just wrong.

Too hungry.

Too complicated.

Too… much.”

(she leans back, swirls her gin)

“But what if I am weird?

What if I’m the only woman on earth who’s always ready to shag?”

ANISA

(sips, then sets her glass down with purpose)

“If women’s desire were truly insignificant,

then why has history gone to such elaborate lengths to suppress it?

FGM. Witch burnings.

Chastity belts.

Hysteria and nymphomania diagnoses.

Slut-shaming, purity culture,

Head to toe coverings.

Does that sound like the world trying to control a mild sexual appetite?”

(she smirks)

“Why build electrified fences…

to contain a kitty cat?”

FLEABAG

(bursts out laughing, nearly snorts her drink)

“Oh my god.

Why didn’t I ever see this?

They’re actually saying—”

(she gasps for breath between laughs)

“—there’s nothing more dangerous than a woman on heat!”

(The bartender glances over. Fleabag waves him off between cackles.)

“I swear to god, I would’ve paid better attention in history class if they’d just said that.”

ANISA

(grinning, raising her glass)

“To the dangerous women.”

FLEABAG

(clinks glasses, eyes shining)

“To the ones who were never tame to begin with.”