Chapter Text
It’s Charlie who tells Judy about Jen and Ben, over coffee a few days after the fact.
His is more milk and sugar than anything else, but Judy kind of loves this late morning ritual, the two of them chatting while Jen’s working and Henry’s watching cartoons. She knows Charlie is here in the kitchen because he wants to be, and that in and of itself helps her keep going, on the hard days, when she still feels like she doesn’t really belong anywhere.
“So… Ben was here the other morning… pretty sure he spent the night.”
Charlie grimaces, and Judy’s not sure if it’s from his own words or an attempt to ease into more stereotypically masculine caffeine consumption, so she opts for a neutral response.
“Oh. Um, how does that make you feel?”
He raises an incredulous brow ( god , he’s the spitting image of Jen when he does that).
“How does it make you feel?”
(Either Judy’s studiously blank face has betrayed her, or Charlie is more observant than any teen boy should be.)
She opts for zen-like curiosity:
What can we learn together from the information presented to us? Let us approach the scene with beginner’s mind.
“Hmmmm. I think I’m happy for your mom to have a connection with someone, but I also know it’s gotta be kind of weird to see her with someone else, after losing your dad.”
Charlie shrugs.
“I mean, it’s been a year. I’m not stupid enough to think she’d never date again. But Ben is like, way dorkier than my dad.” He looks at her, narrowing his eyes. “You’re a lot cooler than him.”
Judy splutters on her (oat milk and coconut sugar-sweetened) coffee, abandoning all hopes of appearing uninvested in whom Jen decides to have sleepovers with.
“Some people are into the cheesy thing, Char. Not every guy can be as effortlessly cool as you.”
He flips her off behind his mug, before downing the rest of the drink, and slipping his shoes on, off to loiter dramatically while holding a skateboard (Judy’s not entirely sure he ever actually rides it, but who is she to judge).
“Well, she pushed him out the door pretty quick, so, you know, maybe she wasn’t that into it. Not that I want to think about that shit, but like, come on, Judy, he’s not gonna be my new stepdad.”
Judy laughs nervously, unsure of how to respond to Charlie’s (pretty blatant) goading.
“Well, nonetheless, if your mom wanted me to know, I’m pretty sure she would have told me, so, if you want answers you’ll have to ask the questions yourself.”
“Yeah, whatever. I’m hanging out with Natalie tonight, don’t wait up.”
_
Judy hates that Charlie’s right.
When she and Jen are in the same room together, she finds herself clenching her fists, biting her tongue, doing everything she can not to ask about Ben.
It helps, substantially, that Henry is also there, during dinner, but when the plates are cleared and he’s up in his room practicing the newest Holy Harmonies choreography, it’s a lot harder to resist.
(Judy’s never been good at saying no to temptation, even on her good days.)
Jen insists they split a bottle of Pinot Noir on the couch, and in her effort to not say the thing she’s trying not to say, Judy says nothing , which just makes Jen uncomfortable and suspicious.
“Judy.”
Jen says her name like a threat , and Judy feels her stomach drop, her face flush. (There’s got to be some deep-seated root in her past that inextricably links shame and desire; she doesn’t have time to unpack all of that right now.)
Her age-old inability to just stop , to let things go before she’s made a fool of herself rears its pesky head again.
“Charlie said you had Ben over the other night?”
Jen sighs, pushes her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose.
“Fuck, I didn’t think he saw.”
“Oh, he’s not like, mad ,” Judy quickly reassures, “I think he just wanted to… process?”
“Judy, I swear to god if you turn my son into a lesbian… actually, you know what, that would probably significantly reduce my stress level, go right ahead.”
Judy giggles, relieved that Jen is a)not mad at her and b) comfortable enough to banter around the matter at hand.
“So… how was it?”
“The sex?”
“Of course the sex! Unless- you didn’t actually- which is, you know, do you-”
Jen interrupts her rambling before she can spiral too much into equivocation.
“No, we had sex. It was… ugh, underwhelming? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I got the first fuck post-Ted out of my system, but other than that, nothing to write home about,” Jen shrugs.
“Is that why you didn’t tell me?”
(Judy plays it as a joke, light and breezy, but Jen knows her well enough to catch the hurt in her voice. She wonders if she hears the curiosity, as well.)
“Jude, I was embarrassed, okay? Not to mention, I’m a huge fuckin’ hypocrite. I thought no one saw us and I could… pretend it never happened.”
Jen looks so small there at the end, like the disappointment could crush her, and Judy knows she’ll say anything to make it right (even if none of the responsibility for wrong is on her).
“So he’s not also the good kind of big?”
Jen snorts.
“Oh, he is, but um, I imagine Steve wielded his with more confidence . It’s just a vibe I got.”
Judy sighs, remembering just how confident Steve was.
(Just because she’s accepted that he was an unkind person who didn’t deserve the privilege of walking among the living doesn’t mean that the sex retroactively became bad . It was unquestionably good, likely for many of the reasons that made the relationship itself so fucking awful.)
“Well, did you tell Ben what you like in bed?”
Jen scoffs.
“Why would I do that? I’m like anyone else- I like to finish, that’s pretty much it. And if he doesn’t know how to make a woman come at his age, well, I feel fuckin’ sorry for his ex-wife.”
Judy shrugs, sympathetic to Ben even as she envies the chance he had (and apparently blew).
“I think women get taught sex is something that happens to us instead of something in which we fully participate.”
“‘ In which we fully participate’ - who are you, the fuckin’ queen?”
(A mouthy Jen is a defensive Jen. Judy doesn’t mind having the upper hand, for once.)
“You don’t get things you don’t ask for.”
Judy raises her chin, looks Jen in the eye, and takes a long drink.
(Judy doesn’t really like the taste of alcohol, but she loves the way it burns. If she pushes her buttons enough, Jen’s annoyance often has the same effect.)
The tension breaks, when Jen’s frustration gives way to vulnerability.
“I don’t know how, okay, Jude? I haven’t- it’s been literally two years since I’ve had sex, and before that, decades since I had to explain to someone how to get me off. Ted and I may have had our problems, but sexual compatibility wasn’t one of them… at least not while I had tits.”
And then, then Judy sees the opportunity to fix it, to do something nice for Jen. To maybe help repair the smallest of losses from Ted’s death.
“I could help you practice.”
“Practice what? Fuckin’ dirty talk ?”
(If Judy’s toes curl at hearing Jen say that phrase, no they don’t.)
“I mean, if you want to call it that. I like to think of it as… direct sexual communication. Concise expression of desire.”
Jen looks at her for a second as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, the ghost of Allen Funt to hop out from behind the couch and announce that it’s all been an elaborate ratings ploy.
Judy just holds the line, open and accepting, attempting to telepathically communicate I’m here for you.
It must work, because Jen relents.
“Alright, fine. Since you’re having so much great casual sex, please enlighten me.”
“Did you just call me a slut?”
“No! I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s okay, I liked it,” Judy winks, leaning into the role she’s self-cast.
“Righ, um. Maybe just start with like, an overview?”
“Oh, you’re into professor/student roleplay? That’s hot.”
“ Judy. ”
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” Judy whines, still having too much fun to be truly contrite. “The biggest thing to remember is you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar-”
“-Don’t you dare connect this to Bambi, I swear I will never have sex again.”
“Well that would be a tragedy for humanity, Jen, we can’t have that. But as I was saying, its important to provide positive reinforcement, and use the power of suggestion.”
“You know I don’t do that shit,” Jen frowns.
“ For example ,” Judy continues, undeterred, “instead of telling my lover-”
“-ew, don’t say lover.”
“Fine. Sexual partner?”
“Marginally better.”
“Instead of telling my sexual partner ‘ kiss my neck’ or saying ‘ don’t knead my breasts ,’ I try to frame things in a motivational way: ‘I love it when you kiss my neck ’ or, grabbing their hands to redirect and saying ‘ it feels so good when you pinch my nipples .’”
Jen’s eyes look a little bit glassy (or maybe Judy is just that hopeful; stranger things have happened), and it’s possible Judy may have overcommitted to the verisimilitude with the extra rasp her voice has at the moment.
“That’s a… very vivid picture you’ve painted there, Judes.”
“Specificity never hurts, when you’re trying to get off.”
Jen’s cheeks are flushed (from the wine, Judy tells herself), and Judy wonders if her skin feels as hot to the touch as it looks.
“Right,” Jen gulps.
“But then again, a woman’s largest sex organ is her brain, so, it’s important to tap into the mental elements of desire. What you want, and why you want it.”
“Yeah, I am so not gonna get there with a one-night-stand,” Jen dismisses.
“Well, sure, if you’re drunk and the sex itself is exciting, it’s probably fine, but you know, personally I think that’s a wonderful advantage of online dating, getting to build up the anticipation through texting.”
“You mean sexting . No, I’m not about to send nudes to random men who can’t keep their dicks off their camera rolls. Jesus, it’s bad enough worrying about Charlie doing it.”
Jen looks angry now, and as much as Judy enjoys that particular spectacle, it’s not really the effect she set out to elicit.
“Just talking, Jen. About what you like, and why. The advantage of talking to someone first is you can put all your cards on the table, no surprises. Fewer disappointments,” Judy shrugs, alluding to Ben.
“It’s just all so fucking cheesy . I feel like I’m in a softcore porn. And not in a hot way, in like, a cautionary documentary way.”
“Well, if you ever feel like practicing, I’m very open-minded,” Judy offers, like she would driving Henry to choir rehearsal or picking up an extra bottle of wine from the store.
“That is… not gonna happen, but you know what, I really appreciate the insight there, Judy. I’m glad one of us is having a good time in the sack.”
“Anytime,” Judy beams, momentarily forgetting her own ulterior motives in lieu of being a good fucking friend. “Can I give you a hug?”
“No!” Jen yells, before clearing her throat and schooling her expression into neutrality. “It’s not a good time for me, yeah? I think I’m gonna go to bed. But you know, we can totally snuggle over breakfast, or whatever.”
Judy can live with that.
(Watching Jen walk upstairs helps soothe the burn considerably.)
_
Jen knows two things about Judy:
- She flirts with literally everyone and
- If push came to shove, she’d probably sleep with them, too.
What Jen can’t discern is whether she genuinely harbors that much attraction in her heart, or it’s just another outlet for Judy’s boundless generosity, sleeping with anyone who acts remotely interested.
The fact remains— Judy is both offering her expertise as a friend, and would undoubtedly fuck Jen if she ever indicated her feelings were more than platonic.
Jen doesn’t think of herself as a prude (hell, when she and Ted were in their twenties they fucked in public in every borough), but she’s never been able to connect with people the way Judy has.
Maybe she’s onto something with the whole “clear, direct communication” thing.
Fuck.
She doesn’t want to explain that fucking Ben was more about having a reprieve from hating herself and less about having a genuinely good time (hard to do when the guy comes after three minutes and wants enthusiastic reassurance that she did as well, which, how?).
She frankly, would rather not confront her failures in life, or bed, again, but now that she knows, definitively, that Judy likes “ having her neck kissed and her nipples pinched” it’s kind of hard to think about anything else.
Is that a normal thing, perseverating on the thought of what helps your best friend come?
(Jen’s not the type to have gal pals where they talk about such things. Judy would probably tell the clerk at the grocery store this information if he asked nicely.)
Judy, to her credit, doesn’t raise the issue again. Jen only zones out while staring at her once or twice a day, which is frankly impressive, given how the obsessive voice in her head has started demanding “ kiss her neck, kiss her neck, kiss her neck ” at all hours of the day.
When she gives into the curiosity, and texts Judy from her bed, just past midnight, she tells herself it’s in the interest of self-betterment, and not an all-consuming need to know more about what Judy likes in bed (and who she likes it from).
Fuck it. I’m ready to enter the twenty-first century. Teach me to sext, Judy.
The dreaded ellipsis makes an appearance for five minutes before disappearing, and Jen nearly considers going the fuck to sleep before Judy sends her a goddamn novel of a response.
Jen! I’m so excited to be going on this journey with you- I think that modern technology has really made openness so much easier, you know? One thing I was thinking about , that we didn’t touch on the other night, is how we talked about phrasing our own desires in a positive way, but it’s also so important to make the other party feel desired. Not just, “I like ______” but “I want YOU to_______,” you know? But the phone as a barrier makes it easier to admit those specific desires, which I think is a wonderful cultural advancement!
I’m here for practical advice, not feminist theory. Jesus.
Just trying to lay the groundwork ;)
But maybe we start with me pretending to be someone you already know you desire? Who did you have in mind?
Jen’s heart is already racing at the question, and she must take too long to respond, because Judy follows up with a list of suggestions in rapid succession.
Idris Elba?
Ted’s ghost?
Ben, round two?
With the exception of Mr. Elba, Jen’s already squicked out (and she’s pretty sure Judy impersonating him is digital blackface, so, time to nip that right in the bud).
Can you… just be you?
Oh. Um, sure. Yeah. Absolutely. You and me are free to be you and me, baby.
Thanks, Marlo.
I’m gonna need you to get this started, Jude.
Okay, so, let’s say, for example, we’re texting in between our next meetup, and I want to make sure we’re on the same page, right?
So I might get things started by saying something like
I can’t wait to see you, I’ve been thinking about you *all* day.
Jen treats it as an academic exercise for the moment, attempting to follow the “yes, and” rules of the one improv class she took in college (a waste of everyone’s time and money, with the exception of Jen now definitively knowing she fucking hates improv).
Really? What have you been thinking about?
How much I want you.
It’s a boring fucking sentence, objectively, cheesy, even, but Jen still feels her pulse quicken.
(She wonders if Judy’s nipples are hard. That’s probably what she misses most about her original tits; not how they looked to other people, but how sensitive they were. Judy’s are probably still plenty responsive.)
Jen knows this conversation is for her benefit, for her to practice expressing her own wants, but she can’t help but push Judy, make up for the incessant teasing on her part.
Prove it.
(She half-expects admonishment, a reminder to use her words, but Judy is clearly into this turn of the tables, given the speed and enthusiasm with which she responds.)
Fuck, Jen, I’m wet just thinking about you.
(Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck fuck* fucking* fuck.)
Jen swears she feels her brain short circuit, double checks to make sure she has not, in fact, died, before crafting an artificially cool response.
Thinking about me, as a friend, Judes? Or thinking about me fucking you?
There is no going back now.
(Not for Jen, at least.)
I dunno, babe, maybe you should ask my pussy. Get your info directly from the source.
(It is, in a way, comforting to know that come what may, Judy will always be Judy.)
Has that line ever worked? Honestly?
I mean, on men, yeah. They’re… kind of easy.
Yeah, Jude, that’s why I’m not on fucking tinder. I’m not trying to get baragged with unsolicited penises. And anyways, aren’t I supposed to be practicing *giving* directions?
You’re so right. So, Jen, why don’t you tell me what you want? I aim to please ;)
(It’s still *so* fucking silly, but it works , dammit.)
I want my hands under your dress, getting you off under the table at dinner with Lorna
Oh, Mommy’s an exhibitionist?
(Jen can see Judy’s smug little smile. The image flips a switch in her, and Jen knows in her bones, there’s no going back from this.)
Is that what you want, baby, to call me mommy? You want me to take care of you?
You can call me anything you like, Jen. But I’d rather your mouth were doing other things.
Where do you want it? Do you want me to suck on your nipples, or do you want my tongue inside of you?
Yes
And how will you repay the favor?
I think I’d start by working you up with my hands, pinning you against the wall and unbuttoning those fucking impossibly tight jeans so I can tease you with light circles around your clit
And when that’s not enough?
It’s never enough for you, is it Jen?
Then, you take off your fancy fucking clothes and I take you from behind with a fake cock, since you’re clearly so invested in getting properly fucked.
It’s like a slap in the face, Judy’s anger, enough to bring blood to the surface of her skin, not nearly enough to quell the arousal that’s been building since the start of this conversation.
What’s that supposed to mean, Jude? You jealous?
Not jealous… just confused as to why you would waste your time with Ben when I’m literally right here
What do you want me to say? That I thought about you while he was inside me?
I don’t know- did you?
It wasn’t long enough for the thought to pass my mind.
But afterwards, yeah, I did think about you. How you’d be slow. Thorough.
(It’s considerably harder for Jen to text with one hand, now, but she can’t keep from touching herself, not with the thought of Judy seeing right through her, exposing her. Not with the thought of Judy thinking about her , for god knows how long.)
I would take *such* good care of you, Jen.
(She would, Jen knows. She absolutely would.)
Do you think about me, Jude? When you fuck Michelle? When you touch yourself?
I’m touching myself right now- does that count?
(It does, it really does, but Jen can’t stop the compulsion to push, interrogate.)
When was the first time you thought of me while you were fucking yourself?
Honestly? A week after we met. You’re fucking *hot*, Jen. Is it any wonder I wanted to know what you look like when you come?
(It’s a marvel, really, how unabashed Judy is about the things she wants. It’s too much, to tell her how in awe Jen is, so she flips the coin and opts for derision.)
God, you’re easy.
I’m told it’s one of my better qualities.
Jen has barely noticed what’s going on in her body, her mind has been so consumed with thoughts of Judy, but she realizes that she’s on the precipice of an orgasm, waiting for the bottom to fall out from under her.
I’m so fucking close, Judy, why don’t you imagine what that looks like and come with me, hmm?
There’s a beat of silence, Jen’s right hand moving in frantic circles while she waits for Judy’s response.
Fuck, baby, I just did, thinking about you.
That image, Judy undoubtedly biting back a moan and bucking against her own hand sends Jen over the edge, and she comes with a violent shudder, blinking back tears and gasps as she brings herself back down.
Jesus fucking Christ, Judy. You’re actually going to kill me.
In the clarity of the aftermath, all of Jen’s insecurities come flooding back, the fear of crossing a line, fucking up, or worst of all, Judy having been faking the whole time, but after a few minutes anxiety spiraling, Judy provides her never-failing reassurance.
Jen, I think you’re a really good sexual communicator, actually. No notes.
Thanks for your… help?
Oh, the pleasure was all mine, seriously. Um, but I always get really sleepy after a good orgasm (so good! So!!!! Good!!!) so, good night 💜
Jen thinks about Judy, drowsy and sated, and her arms ache with an emptiness she hadn’t even considered in the midst of everything else.
Good night, Judes. Sweet dreams <3
Jen's sleep is heavy and dark, like sinking into the depths of the ocean.