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It's not that the occasion isn't important. Judy's first birthday together with them as a cute little platonic mothering team was definitely a huge deal. It's just that the last few weeks had been a relentless fucking nightmare which hadn't left Jen with even a few hours to shop for Judy's present. So, it's not until the day before when she finds a few minutes to dash into her local weed dispensary while out on a run.
Jen has this lingering fantasy in which she's the sort of person who has planned a whole party for Judy in advance, decorating the yard in whatever the fuck her birthstone is, which Jen would have researched in advance. She would have a professionally made cake, decorated by a chef she had hired so thoughtfully after Judy had mentioned them one that time.
But tragically she had done a DNA test and the results came back as '100% That Asshole' so of course none of that actually happened and instead she now finds herself on a detour from her usual running route.
"Hey, do you do gift baskets? Are those a thing that exist these days?"
"Hi, yes, and yes respectively!"
The sales assistant springs to life with a soft Scottish lilt and the energy of a labrador puppy. Five words into the conversation, Jen is already fucking done with her. No one has any right to be that chirpy, but especially not while working retail.
"Oh, great. You're chipper."
"I'm Heather! How can I help?"
Every sentence she speaks sounds like it has an exclamation mark at the end and Jen tries not to roll her eyes while still talking to her but only succeeds about two-thirds of the time.
"I need a gift basket and I guess it's kind of a special occasion, so probably just give me your most expensive one?"
"Okay, great! So that's the Green Supreme Cadillac Deluxe and that'll be $3000 plus tax."
"Well, obviously I'm not paying three thousand dollars, Heather ."
She continues, absolutely unwavering in her cheery demeanour and all the annoyance that Jen had felt building with the stress of the last few weeks suddenly has a focus and she wants to grab the sales girl’s little braids and slam her face into the counter.
"Okay! How about Emerald Utopia at $1500?"
"Better but keep going."
"Green Cuisine at $700?"
"Sold!" Jen cries with a parody of enjoyment so facetious that she makes herself cringe a little with the overt rudeness of it. She pays with her watch as though that's perfectly normal and arranges delivery, before continuing on her run, stamping out her frustrations into the pavement, instead of random sales girls. Her plan was to go via the cute stationery shop to get a birthday card but before she manages to get there, her treacherous fucking watch informs her of another petty household emergency that demands her attention, so she goes straight home instead.
It's not until the next morning midway through their little family breakfast, before they ship the boys off to Lorna's for the weekend, that Jen realises she had completely forgotten about the card and it's far too late to do something about it now. Another day of not achieving the very basics of being a decent friend and parent. What a surprise.
Getting the boys up earlier than usual on a school day to have a nice birthday breakfast all together had already been a hard sell. Charlie had been a total asshole and Henry tried so hard to feign enthusiasm through his yawns. She thinks Judy appreciated it though and, after the whirlwind of activity that was the boys putting shoes on and catching the bus on time, Jen catches Judy smiling to herself as she starts to clear away the plates.
"Hey, let me get those; it's your birthday." Jen grabs the plates from her as Judy puts up mock resistance.
She’s in the middle of saying she doesn't mind when the doorbell chimes and Judy busies herself with that instead. Judy walks to the door with a smug swagger to her step as though still being useful on her birthday is somehow an a-ha moment.
A delighted cry comes from the entrance hall and Judy squeals Jen's name in a tone which threatens to rattle glass as she marches back into the room.
"Oh my GOD, Jen, you shouldn't have! This is incredible!"
"Oh, happy birthday!"
Before she's even opened the gift box, Judy is bounding over to her, wrapping her arms around Jen and in her earnest, childlike delight she looks just like a little girl excited about her present. The hug is so tight that Jen barely has the space to hug her back and has to just resign herself to being held, passively absorbing Judy’s gratitude.
"Thank you," Judy says the words into Jen's hair and she can't tell for sure either way whether Judy is crying.
"Don't you want to see what's in it?"
She releases Jen with a gasp, as though briefly she was so lost in their hug she forgot there was a present still waiting to be opened on the counter, and Jen feels the loss immediately. The last time she was hugged with any sort of real consistency was when the boys were still small and unashamed of affection, throwing their tiny bodies at her with abandon, and her heart lurched at the thought of it. Jen feels the slight chill on her skin where Judy was touching her and left.
The box is large and sleek, smooth gunmetal gray with delicate emerald edging. Inside are rows and rows of packages, endless little packets, bottles, and containers, most of which Jen doesn't really recognise but Judy seems thrilled, taking each item out and reading the label carefully before picking up the next thing. Jen makes more coffee; this could take a while.
"Okay so I have an idea and I want you to just go on this ride with me."
"Hit me with it."
"I make a big birthday meal with a bunch of these ingredients and we both get absolutely screaming high."
Jen never thought to ask what's actually in the box but making Judy cook her own birthday meal seems rough, even by Jen's standards.
"I'm not really a drugs person and I'm not sure I should let you cook your own celebratory dinner."
"But it's my birthday and I want to!" At the thought of not getting her own way, Judy turns on her puppy eyes and hits Jen with some full-force pouting. "Some of these things I've been dying to try and I want nothing more than to spend my day trying new things in our kitchen, then have a nice meal with you. Please." Judy’s foot makes the suggestion of a little stamp.
Jen doesn't really know how she managed to get so fucking lucky. Anyone else would have been livid at the lack of effort that she put into her best friend's birthday but Judy is just casually offering to cook for her too. It's now Jen realises that she also didn't make dinner reservations so maybe it's best to just go with this plan, even if just to cover her own deep, personal failings as a friend.
"Okay fine, but I'll supply the booze."
"Deal!"
Jen is mostly banned from the kitchen during Experimentation Time, but she appears intermittently to wash the dishes, wipe down surfaces, and generally try to be useful while not doing anything with even an ounce of creative risk. That's fine though, she can quietly assist with this strange version of fun that's happening in her kitchen. Cooking always turns stressful somehow when Jen is in charge, but Judy in the kitchen just has this kinetic sense of serenity, a well-rehearsed dance of pirouettes and pans that’s a pleasure to be around.
She goes out under the guise of a wine run and picks up a cake. It's not an ostentatious cake; it doesn't say what she wants it to say. It can't communicate 'thank you for sticking with me through the worst months of both our lives. I hope it's all over now' but at least it says 'Happy Birthday, Judy', which is snappier. She even remembers to buy candles too and the fact they were right by the cashier doesn't take the shine off her efforts to be basically functional.
It's such a joy to see Judy delighting in food. She can see it in the checking of labels and the varying levels of ethical militancy that hide a change in habits, depending on how she's feeling about her body. She can see it in the way Judy carries herself sometimes, like a broken little bird, an open nerve without insulation against the raw pain of the world. Never too far. She would have the conversation if she needed to but she knows to check that Judy's soft lines don't turn into angles.
Now Judy cooks as though it's healing her; she can see all the ingredients in her food, know that they're from local farms and happy chickens or whatever, that she's doing her bit for the community, the animals, the planet. It seems to please the little part of her brain that seeks out guilt and never rests, but can be appeased here and there; there are so many problems in the world but you’re trying to help . Always trying so hard to do the right thing.
When Jen gets home, the experimentation phase is evidently over and things are getting more serious.
"Jude, how fancy is this meal going to be?"
"Fan-cy."
"Oh, it's got a hyphen now, has it?"
"It has. Be dressed for dinner by...8?"
Jen had no idea that Judy was so emotionally involved in her recent Masterchef rewatch but that’s apparently the case, seeing the number of drizzles and foams in the feast Judy puts on for them. Jen doesn't entirely understand all the words that spill out of Judy's mouth as she rattles off what's in front of them, a myriad of small plates for them to pick at, breads with oil and vinegar to dip in, crudités spiced and battered. Jen drifts off for a bit but the core message seems to be that everything is delicious and ethically sourced and if they eat enough of it, they will get very high.
In college Jen was basically high for four years straight. After that, it became much, much more occasional since she could never really find the time between raising her kids and fighting with her husband. She assumes her high tolerance has just stuck with her though because the food keeps coming and Jen keeps eating and she feels absolutely fine. A little buzzed maybe but that might well be the champagne. They're luxurious in their feasting; it's slow and by the end of it, it's been hours since they started and Jen feels nothing except full and the pleasant burn of chilli on her lips.
They clear the table for the dessert and Judy brings a chocolate torte to the table, covered in a crumbling of peanut caramel brittle and an amaretto creme to go with it. It's so rich the tiniest mouthful is a burst of flavour, but one small slice turns into two.
"Holy shit, Judes, so good. I absolutely could not eat another slice. But do you think you could be convinced to share a piece?"
"I think I could be convinced. But are you sure that's a good idea? How's your tolerance?"
Jen had made it through that enormous meal and still feels absolutely fine so she thinks an extra half sliver of chocolate really shouldn't tip the balance too far in the wrong direction. They share another slice, forks amicably battling through it until there’s an empty plate left with the pale smears of trying to remove the last vestiges of chocolate.
"Do you want to fetch us a drink and set up outside and I'll get things clean in here?"
She may have let Judy cook her own birthday dinner but she’ll be damned if she’s going to let her do any of the cleaning up. Plus Jen feels increasingly awkward about the fact nothing has really happened for her, so a little puttering about in the kitchen seems like a good bit of social buffering time.
When Jen goes outside, it's idyllic; there are tea lights dotted around the yard and soft, ambient music playing. Judy lies on one of the pool loungers, smoking a cigarette and watching the smoke curl into the night sky.
"I’ll take a cigarette, if there's one going spare?"
“Always.”
Judy throws the pack on to the sun lounger beside her and they smoke for a while, blowing white clouds up at the stars.
"That meal was just stupid delicious but to be honest, I don't think I feel anything," Jen says it to the sky and it feels like she's letting Judy down somehow on her birthday.
"I mean sure, but it's only been like 20 minutes."
"Judy, we started eating nearly three hours ago. I think I would probably have felt something by now."
"Jen, what are you talking about? I told you the pot was only in the dessert? That's why I checked in about having another slice because it's pretty strong. Did you not listen?"
Judy looks at her with an expression a little like her 4th grade teacher when she was disappointed that Jen had zoned out during class.
"Okay, I might have been distracted while you were telling me that but, to be fair, I was very hungry and sitting in front of a table full of food."
"Well, someone is in for a ride then."
While they lie and listen to the music the conversation with Judy is so easy that Jen doesn't really notice the first tendrils of the high starting to creep in at the edges of her brain. Slowly she becomes rooted to the lounger. All the tension in her body - that tight thrum that keeps her sharp and alert and professional - seems to have oozed out of her, melting away until she feels sure that the lounger is the only thing stopping her from becoming a puddle on the ground. She feels sensitive and raw to the world like she can't remember before, like the armour that protects her has gone and Jen can feel the breeze on her skin and the tingle of the music in the air and the warmth radiating from Judy beside her.
"Judy, I think I can feel everything."
"Tell me? What do you feel?"
"God, the air moving. I can feel my clothing on my skin and the weight of every button and the blood moving around my body. I can hear you breathing and when you take a breath with your whole lungs and stretch out your ribs."
"I think I can feel the light of the moon"
"Maybe, Sweetie, but I'm pretty sure what you can feel is the patio light."
Judy opens her eyes and stares, accusatory, at the backyard downlighters that bathe them in the warm, yellow glow that moments ago was moonlight. They're both struck between the ribs with laughter that seizes them and steals the air from their lungs, tears streaming down their faces.
Jen is buried, deep inside her own body which feels too much, feels the breeze on the downy hair which covers her arms, feels the texture of the fabric that cradles her, feels everything.
When she used to get high with Ted, back before the kids when things still had spice, sometimes it would get like this and they would be alive inside their own skin. He would curl himself around her and suckle at her tits. They could stay like that for hours, warm lips undulating around her sensitive nipples, letting her head fall back and just relaxing her whole body into it, focusing on the steady pull and release at her chest, hot and warm and mesmerising. Her mind strayed on occasion to a place that she worried bordered on creepy age play territory but eventually decided that it felt too good to overthink it. When she recalls it now, the memory plays out across her skin and Jen can feel the rhythmic pull and release at her breasts as if a warm tongue strokes at them.
"Judes, I'm so fucking high."
"I'm so fucking h- ungry, oh my God, I'm so fuckin hungry. How is that even possible?"
"Fuck, now I'm hungry. Wait, I got you a cake! I'll go get it." At the very moment she says it, she really does think it's possible that she'll be able to get up and just walk into the house. A few seconds later it becomes clear how absurd that idea was. Jen's arms and legs are so slack, they lie on the lounger like dead weights. "Yeah, no, I can't. But there is cake, if you have functioning legs."
Judy returns carefully carrying the birthday cake, flames dancing on the tips of the candles. Jen can't help but groan. She knows Judy isn't mocking her, not intentionally, but seeing the candles that Judy's arranged and lit herself makes Jen want to be a better friend. She means to sing happy birthday but the tune dissolves into her tongue before she makes a sound.
Instead all Jen can manage is, "Oh my God, it's your birthday" in a tone which almost sounds reverent as it hangs in the air between them, overdressed for the party.
When she looks up at Judy's face, glittering golden in the light of the candles, she looks more beautiful than Jen’s ever seen her before. It seems so absurd, how this strange little gelfling of a woman tumbled into her life, like a barrel knocking down all her defenses. The whole thing is too astronomically unlikely, that she should be here together with the person who crawled through the Shawshank shit pipe and emerged to freedom with her on the other side. Judy had seen her at her lowest low and she came back, even though Jen's words had caused wounds that are still weeping and bloody.
They tear at the cake with their hands, digging into it and pulling away fistfuls, crying with laughter at their own savagery as they lick pale frosting from sticky fingers. Jen hears herself saying Judy would want you to punch the cake and realises she never told Judy about that, with everything that was going on at the time. But there's time now. They have so much time now, for Judy to hear about Jen using her name to lead her own children astray.
Judy casually places a little bottle on the floor between them and it hovers distantly in her periphery.
"Wait, what is that?"
"Oh, that's just the weed lube. It's the only thing from that gift basket that probably shouldn't live in the kitchen."
It's news to Jen that such a thing as weed lube even exists and she's struck with a jolt of mortification. It never occurred to her for a moment that she should check the contents of her gift for appropriateness and now she's pretty sure her cheeks are burning with the implication.
"Oh my GOD! I'm so sorry, that looks so weird and inappropriate!"
"You don't need to apologise! This stuff is a-may-zing. Wait, have you ever tried it?" Judy quirks a playful eyebrow at her, "Do you wanna?"
"No!"
"But it's my birthday."
Judy was all soft pleading eyes at her, dropping her shoulders to make herself look small and jutting a lip out in protest. If she was a dog, Judy would be a King Charles spaniel, all charitable eyes and soft curls that you want to bury your hands in. Jen thinks she would be a chihuahua, an obnoxious asshole that no one ever fucking listens to. God, she's so fucking high.
It's a terrible idea. Objectively the worst. And any other time, Jen would have immediately shut the proposal down, written it off as another one of Judy's little prods of flirtation, laughing at the absurdity of it; of course she's not actually flirting because we're friends, this is just our shtick . Right now though, Jen's skin is calling to her and, as a rush of images cross her mind trying to figure out what weed lube actually does, she feels her body pulse with want. It streaks through her and Jen can't stop a gasp at the rush of it, straight to her tits and she can feel it, her phantom nipples hard and attention seeking.
"Judy, I'm not going to lay here and, what, get my vagina high with you? No. Besides it's 1.30am so it's not even your birthday anymore."
"I was born at 2.57am so it's still my birthday for another hour and...some minutes? And it doesn't 'get your vagina high'! Well, it kind of does but not like that, oh my god."
"Judy, that's so weird. Don't you think it's weird?"
"No, I believe that women's sexual wellness is paramount."
"Of course you do."
It feels like the blink of an eye later when Jen’s fiddling with a pipette of oil on a sun lounger, trying to wriggle her underwear down for a moment while Judy sits beside her repeating “Don’t worry, I’m not looking. Just massage it all in there.”
If she was a little more sober, it certainly would have triggered an unbearable bout of self awareness but somehow Jen just goes along with it, as though this was a thing that friends did.
It's later that Jen's staring at a leaf which hangs from a small branch, caught in a spiders web. It spins like the ballerina in a music box she had when she was a little girl. She can hear the steel pronged notes of Greensleeves playing in her ears and before she's done filling in the details of the memory, the thought seamlessly transitions into an aimless yearning to dance. She can't stop thinking about how much she misses dancing. She sees Judy smiling at her and wants to drag her up, press her fingers into the flesh of her hips to close the distance and move with her to a rhythm, work up a sweat against her body.
"How are you feeling?" Judy asks her, her voice low.
"Fuckin' slutty." and oh god she means it. Her skin is crying out to touch skin. It doesn't even really need to be sexual. She considers asking Judy if it would be alright for Jen to strip down to her underwear so she could pet her like a cat, long rhythmic strokes over her skin that feels too much.
"Jen, I want to paint."
It takes Jen a moment to absorb what Judy said to her. Her brain feels thick as treacle and this is further away than anticipated, from the conversation she had kind of expected to have. It's oddly pleasing to Jen that while she thinks about dancing, Judy thinks about painting. Lying beside one another, considering their passions together; the art of the body and the art of the brush.
"What do you want to paint? I could probably fetch you a bowl of oranges or something."
"I don't want to paint oranges, I want to paint you."
Judy looks at her with an intensity that has clearly been building for some time as the idea has taken shape in Judy's mind, gathering traction until she can't keep it to herself anymore. Judy's so reluctant to come out and ask for what she wants that when she does, Jen is always loathe to say no. Even when the request is to sit and be stared at. She doesn’t even enjoy her photo being taken so the idea of being captured in a portrait - especially by Judy - with no control over the outcome, makes something stir inside her. Not fear exactly? But something close to it; the intimacy of being seen maybe. Historically that had never worked out so well; when people can see all the darkness and pain that she hides from the world every moment they have a tendency to disappear from her life soon afterwards.
"Are you sure? They're really good oranges."
In Jen’s mind, they are still dancing; one hand on Judy's lower back, the other in hers, pressed palm to palm. The dance is brand new but they just know it, organic choreography, creation, and movement in perfect synchronicity. And then Judy's hand is in front of her, an offer to step out onto the dance floor, a palm to press against hers that's real and substantial. Jen can’t help but reach out her hand to be held. She feels very strongly that in this moment, her hand should be held and it's very odd and unnatural that only a moment ago, her hand was unheld.
The hand tugs at her, pulls her from the lounger and her reveries; it’s less of a dance and more of a chase, dragging her impossibly heavy limbs that sink deep into the ground. Hours ago, she was so certain that her yard didn't have a quicksand problem. Now she couldn't be so sure.
Judy's room. Her little hutch, at the end of Jen's garden.
Smells like sandalwood. The air feels soft in a way that only rooms full of textiles can be. How does Judy make the air around her so soft? A gentle push against her chest and Jen falls back onto the daybed, her arms and legs settling where they land as she crumbles into a messy tangle of limbs. Exactly the sort of position which is comfortable right now and will be deeply uncomfortable tomorrow.
Tomorrow isn't until tomorrow though, and that's a million years away.
It's the sound she notices first, the hushed whispers of loose leaf paper being corralled into order and the soft scratches of Judy sketching. Sketching her. Then she's being moved, Judy's hands on her, lifting her weighted limbs, moving her and rearranging her with a laugh and Jen leaves her body loose to allow it. More pencil scratches. Judy humming. She tries hard to keep her limbs doing whatever Judy wants them to, resisting the urge to melt boneless into herself, but she can't manage indefinitely and soon stops fighting it.
"I'm sorry, I'm just so heavy," Jen murmurs into a pillow. It's velvety against her cheek and smells like Judy's conditioner and Jen immediately closes her eyes to focus all her attention on the feel of it against her face as she breathes deep. She’s hit hard by the vision of waking up beside Judy during the night, her face on Judy's pillow, her scent in Jen’s nose, in the infinite secrecy of the night-time.
"Oh, it's okay. Actually, just stay right where you are."
Jen opens her eyes a moment later and sees Judy staring at her over the side of a small canvas, doing long strokes at it with her pencil. She had imagined that she would hate this, sitting in the crosshairs of Judy's artistic focus, but it's entirely not how she pictured it. Of course, everyone is free to look at whoever they want, but without the distraction of conversation and movement of the day to day, this silent viewing feels impossibly intimate.
There are hands on her again, in her hair, loosening the grips until it falls around her face. Jen feels like she's caught in a dream; everything seems malleable and ethereal, and nothing really matters because she'll wake up back in the real world that doesn't fit her so comfortably. Gentle hands smooth over her hair and she's just about to tell Judy about the relief of this temporary unreality when she realises how close Judy is and that her fingers are still running through Jen's hair. Their eyes meet and it's like a spell has been broken, something fragile that could only ever exist while no one looks directly at it. Her fingers dart away and Judy smiles at her in a way Jen doesn't understand, a panoply of emotions that are too complex for Jen to investigate while her brain is mush.
Judy's hands don't move too far away from her, in fact they hover close by until she picks up the pendant that rests on Jen's chest. It's not a new one, quite the opposite. Judy must have seen it hundreds of times before now, but she looks at it like she's never seen it before, maybe as though she's considering the very core concept of what a necklace really is . She puts it down. The motion of it pops this delicate bubble universe that had formed around them, where they could fall against each other's bodies as they always found themselves doing, but see it from outside themselves; see this dance for what it really is.
She never thought Judy would want her like that. It never even occurred to Jen that wanting was what she has been doing this whole time. Now it seems so obvious. This isn't the 'grieving widow reaching out to a friend for emotional support' scenario which Jen had convinced herself of every time her hands reach out to seek comfort in Judy’s casual touches; if she were anyone else, it would have repelled her. She repeated it over and over to herself, every time her body gravitated towards Judy, welcomed her into her personal space in a way that no one except direct family had been in years. Decades, maybe. It wasn't some 'healing by human contact' project to Judy at all, it was desire. Judy wants her.
"Are you going to paint me like one of your French girls?"
"Only if you ask nicely"
"I want you to."
She means it as a joke at first, something to break the silent tension of being examined so closely. But the subtext of her words colours the air between them and then it's not a joke anymore. She wants Judy to really see her with all her scars and her pain on show. She probably wouldn't run away. Judy sees the good in everyone, even if there's none there.
Alone again, Judy leaves her to sit back in her chair. Jen feels the intensity of her stare as she undoes the buttons of her shirt, slowly. Not because she wants to take her time, although she does; it just takes so much effort to make her hands behave as she wants them to.
Before, when she was being looked at for art, they were beyond the social scripts that life prepares you for. No one knows what to do with the forced gaze between artist and subject. But this? The slow revealing of herself before a lover is a script she has rehearsed before and knows all the lines to. Jen can feel Judy’s eyes moving across her body and it seems unbelievable this isn't a physical sensation, Judy's focus on the exposed skin of her chest as soft as the barely-there strokes of a new paintbrush.
Jen gets to the last button of her shirt, wriggling out of it less gracefully than she imagines it in her head. She doesn't pause for a second to allow any awkwardness in the atmosphere; she can't give doubt time to creep in before she commits to this, so she flips open the clasp of her bra and sheds that too. Jen lies back, all skin and scars, and watches the lightning-quick flashes of emotion that dart across Judy's face as she processes Jen lying topless in her bed.
"Jen. Oh my god, you're perfect."
"Oh, fuck off." Jen says, because it's objectively not true that Jen’s tits are perfect, and when she hears the words, she hears them as sarcasm. But perhaps Judy was being sincere. Judy huffs a half-laugh through her nose and goes back to her canvas. She keeps staring at Jen and when their eyes meet, it feels electric, sparking across her skin. She watches Judy as she looks, trying to recreate her shape. These aren't snatched moments anymore, no accidental flash when leaning over or changing at the gym. Judy’s stares are blatant and gluttonous.
She had thought maybe Judy would pounce on her but she doesn't. She sits there, just out of reach, casting her eyes over Jen’s body and drawing.
"You do know the French girls were all the way naked, right?" Judy says with a smile as she starts to squeeze paint out, her eyes flicking quickly at Jen's tight black trousers then back to Jens face
"Are you sure? I thought it was just boobs."
"Nope. I saw that movie eight times at the theatre and you can trust me when I say Kate Winslet was definitely full bush ." She says the last part through the side of her mouth in a stage whisper and abruptly all the sleepiness that has been weighing Jen's limbs evaporates, replaced by this wrecking ball of affection that would have knocked her off her feet were she not lying down.
"Don't push it or I'll put my shirt back on. You're lucky you're getting tits."
"Yes, I am. And they're such beautiful tits."
She tries desperately to keep the whole tone light but the flush that creeps up her neck doesn't seem to get the memo. And she knows that Judy is looking. Judy is looking at her for the sole purpose of noticing everything; she’ll see at that scarlet blush of Jen's neck, just as she saw her mangled tits and told Jen she's beautiful. Maybe she'll hear what Jen’s skin is trying to yell.
It's ridiculous Jen hadn't realised before what this feeling is. When Judy looks at her, it makes her feel like a good person. So Jen started to act like a good person. Judy has made her better. She loves herself more when Judy is around, but that deep well of comfort that overflows inside her isn't just new-found self esteem.
She’s in love with Judy, and it’s so fucking obvious now.
Jen’s never slept with a woman before and there's a small, college version of herself that thinks "boobs are okay but eww pussy!" That voice reeks of the patriarchy though. How difficult could it possibly be, when Jen knew what she liked herself? If she had nipples, they would be hard, straining for Judy's attention. She feels a throb between her legs at the realisation that she loves Judy and she wants to fuck her.
Her brain still fuzzy and her underwear damp, Jen squeezes her thighs to get a little friction where she wants it and has to tense her hips hard to stop them rocking forward in interest. Judy's eyes flick up at her from her painting, dart across her chest and away again, brush moving across the canvas, hidden from Jen's view. It feels so fucking good that as soon as Judy's focus flits away from her she does it again, just a quick tense and release to try and relieve a little of the pressure that makes Jen's clit feel like it’s throbbing. Thighs together tight, clenching hard and releasing, Jen’s caught up in the moment that is more than she should be feeling right now, but much less than she wants. She needs to stop this, resist the syrupy thick pull of her own desires that usually she can fight and now she simply can’t.
Jen’s eyes flutter closed and she imagines pushing her hand below her waistband, letting her fingers quell the sensation that isn’t really hot or cold, just more. So much more. Shit. Jen realises that she’s embarrassingly close, choking off her breath to stop it becoming ragged and loud but it serves only to make the urgent throb between her legs deeper and more intense.
"Do you know that I can see you doing that?"
"I… did not know that, no."
She's so high and feeling so fucking good, better than she has in recent memory, that she got carried away in it all. She allowed herself to get swept along her own pleasure and hadn't thought for a moment that her best friend was sitting right there. And watching her! What the actual fuck is wrong with you?
If people could die of shame, Jen thinks there's a possibility that it's about to happen to her, which is exactly how she interprets the tight clench that her heart does when she meets Judy's glaze.
"How you feelin’?"
"If you ever tell anyone this, I will straight up deny it but, fuck, I think I could come from just this."
"Oh! Do you want me to leave you alone for a while to explore that?"
Judy's words slam hard into her chest and Jen finds herself at a junction that her brain feels too blurry to comprehend the full weight of. Her options:
- Get your shit together and be a person who isn't totally driven by whatever delicious thing is happening between her legs. They brush this off as a hilarious joke and Judy can finish her painting. Everything goes on as normal, they both behave like adults, and it's all just fine.
- Take her up on the offer. Judy can leave and she'll know that Jen lay in her bed and touched herself and buried her face into the pillows so Judy's scent could surround her as she came. Judy can write it off as supporting female sexuality and helping to close the orgasm gap, like good pals do. Jen can get back to suppressing the feelings she's only just realised she has.
- Tell her to stay. It's a high stakes gambit. She isn't totally sure that Judy feels the same way but it seems worth the chance of rejection to know what Judy's kisses taste like and to undress her; to touch the skin she's been hiding under her clothes and give in to this feeling that's been quietly gestating.
Another day, there might have been more to weigh up. She doesn’t allow herself to consider the other outcome: Judy rejects her and leaves this unlikely life they have built for themselves, another person in her sons' lives to love them then leave them. She could probably rally that situation eventually, she thinks; Apologise to Judy, write it off as that one night when things got out of hand, and smooth things over to return to normality. Probably. But that's not a thought for today.
No risk, no reward, right? she hears in Judy's voice.
"God, no, Judy. I want you to come over here so I can kiss you."
"Oh my god Jen, I want to but you're really high? Do you think that's okay, consent-wise?"
Jen can't hold in the laugh that rips its way out of her at the absurdity of it; Judy tidying away tubes of paint with a concerned expression that Jen might not want this, while she's lying there with her tits out, 30 seconds from just fucking herself stupid.
"You're really high too and if you don't touch me, I think I might fuckin’ scream."
"I'm so high! And I really want to kiss you, if you'd let me."
"Get over here right now."
Judy’s mouth is on hers and she arrives with so much inertia that it knocks Jen backwards into the pile of cushions. Judy surrounds her, her hair brushing against Jen’s face, her breath hot against her cheek, Judy’s lips on hers with a pressure that doesn’t hesitate, has no sign of uncertainty. Judy wants this. Has wanted this, she’s thought about it at least. It’s such a sudden and overwhelming assault on Jen’s senses that she needs a second to process it. She puts both hands to Judy’s face, stroking at her jaw to control her kisses, slows the momentum slightly until she can pull away enough to really look at her.
“Hey.”
“Hi!”
Judy smiles wide with an expression that’s so deeply affectionate that Jen can’t believe it’s for her.
“So. this is new.”
“This is new. But I’m feeling pretty good about it. Are you feeling pretty good about it?”
“I’m feeling pretty good about it, yes.”
“Would you feel pretty good about this too?”
Judy’s palm comes to rest on her torso and it’s then she remembers how exposed she is. It had felt so natural when their mouths were on each other and that’s all that mattered in the world. Now there’s a hand on her naked abdomen, slowly sliding upwards, asking the question.
“Yeah, that’s pretty good too actually.”
Fuck, Jen misses having nipples but she still loves this feeling of pressure and fullness as Judy kneads at her chest, her fingers stroking at her skin, exploring new territory. It’s unbelievable still that this is real, the hands that make her coffee in the morning, broad lithe hands weighted with the cold metal of rings that drag across Jen’s skin.
“I meant it, before, when I said I was close”
“What do you need, or do you think you come from this?”
It should be mocking but Judy says it with absolute sincerity, her nose stroking lightly down the sides of Jen’s, lips brushing against hers, ghost kisses as she awaits instruction.
“Judy, your mouth.”
The second she says it, Judy’s mouth is on hers again in earnest, sure and demanding kisses that will stay with Jen, if this turns out to be a one time thing they never speak of again; the softness of Judy’s lips on hers. She’d kissed a few women in college but she’d forgotten about this, the overwhelming softness of a woman. She groans into Judy’s mouth shamelessly. She’s so fucking turned on she feels like a teenager, wet just from kissing and rutting mindlessly in her own jeans.
Judy’s kisses start to venture down to her jaw, her neck, presumably lower but Jen isn’t ready yet to lose that talented mouth just yet.
“No, I need you to kiss me; this might be enough.”
It’s absurd to Jen that she means it, but she fucking does. Whatever this oil is that she’d smeared all over herself incredulously, it’s making her throb. She’s so deliciously sensitive that every buck of her hips sends a jolt to her clit. She’s never managed to peak without being touched before, not even when she was young and these feelings were brand new and everything felt like too much . It seems like a possibility now though, a tangible thing which she can race towards.
As Jen loses coordination, Judy starts to lap her tongue into Jen’s mouth in a way that really shouldn’t be hot but fuck . Judy’s tongue pushes into her, wide licks in rhythmic thrusts that feel just as intimate as any other kind of penetration. She feels Judy’s tongue pushing into her body, demanding access and taking what she wants as Jen falls apart beneath her. A low wail forces its way out of her throat and straight into Judy’s hungry mouth that she keeps pressed against hers as Jen comes, helpless to do anything but hold on and keep her mouth open to be fucked.
Jen rides out her orgasm, stretching and writhing into it, as Judy’s hands find her face, pressing desperate kisses all over it and whimpering when she hasn’t even been touched.
“Jen, you’re so fucking hot.”
“Oh holy shit, that’s embarrassing. I’m not usually-”
“I don’t think you should be embarrassed. I can’t think of anything I’d rather watch than you having an orgasm.” Judy buries a hand into Jen’s hair, dragging soft lines along her scalp that leave tingling trails and send chills down her spine. “With a little more… direct affection, do you think you might be able to come for me again?”
“Oh god, definitely yes.”
“Well, then I’d like to taste you. Can I, Jen?” She starts to move hesitantly down Jen’s body; her hands drifting to toy with Jen’s belt buckle, looking up at her with eyes pleading, “Please?”
“Fuck, Judy, I…” Jen’s so high and so overstimulated that for a moment her brain just stalls mid sentence and all her thoughts are too liquid, the words slipping through her fingers before she can grasp onto them properly. It’s absurd that this is happening; Judy’s impossibly kind, soft face looking up at her with pupils blown wide, smiling and leaning to kiss her stomach, graze her teeth over Jen’s hips. “I think I can help you with that, sure.”
They stare at each other, captivated. Judy watches her with a look of placid lust as she studies every slight movement and reaction to her touches, Jen watching as she undoes the zipper on Jen’s jeans, curling her finger under the waistband and motioning for Jen to lift her hips.
It seems so natural now, being in her own skin with Judy here. Natural in a way she has never found sex with men, or even really just on her own. Jen frequently has a difficult relationship with her body and even at her most confident, with men she always felt looked at and judged. Judy doesn’t make her feel judged. When Judy looks at her she doesn’t flinch at the pinched red lines of Jen’s scars or the silver ripples where Jen became a mother. Judy smiles and touches her lips to the skin there like she’s thankful for it.
Jen’s still so hyper-aware of herself that her skin knows the exact outline of Judy’s lips and she can trace her kisses downwards, feels Judy’s fingerprints as she slides down Jen’s underwear. She’s naked. Jen’s naked and Judy is still completely clothed and somehow that makes her even more naked.
“You’re wearing too many clothes.”
Judy smiles with a mischievous glint in her eye,
“Yes,” she says with the merest hint of a laugh, “I know.”
Before Jen has time to formulate a follow up, Judy’s hands are sliding up the insides of her thighs, quick and sure, parting them and Jen helps her. The air feels cold against her slick entrance for only a moment before Judy’s hot mouth is there and her body feels like it’s melting. Judy’s arms wrap around Jen’s thighs, fingers pressing into her flesh that help to ground her, a firm resistance to buck up into. Judy’s tongue presses inside her, insistent and letting Jen feel the deep moan that escapes her as she fucks into Jen with her mouth.
Judy pulls away from her for a moment, looking at her with lust soaked eyes.
“Oh my god, Jen you’re delicious.”
Her heavy eyelids flutter closed and she drops her head back into Jen’s lap, eager tongue licking broad laps around her soaked opening until a groan escapes Jen and she becomes more focused.
Judy.
Her Judy.
Her Judy pushing her tongue inside and shamelessly grinding her face into Jen’s bucking hips. Judy looks debauched, her bangs twisting into sweaty tendrils on her forehead, her face lax and unselfconscious with pleasure. Jen wants to touch more of her, anything really, just to have more skin touching hers. She reaches a hand to paw at Judy’s fingers gripping her hip until they squeeze her hand instead and Jen can weave their fingers together. Her body feels raw and overwhelmed, still sensitive from her first orgasm and it’s so rare that Jen feels this out of control. She needs this, the grounding hand of her best friend to reassure her when her body feels this electric and uncontained. Hold on, trust me, I won’t let you go, I promise.
Judy’s lips find her clit and and suck at her, deep slow pulls that she can feel across her whole body. It hasn’t been more than a moment and already her body is charging towards her second orgasm, her muscles twitching and tensing as she chases her pleasure. If they’re going to do this, transgress the boundaries of their friendship and step out into something new and uncertain, then Jen figures she may as well commit to it; she brings her free hand to Judy’s head, digs into her hair and grabs a loose fistful of it, setting the speed. Judy doesn’t falter for a moment, matching her, pushing back into her, groaning loud and open mouthed. Judy wants her and she wants Jen to know it, locking eyes with her and the expression on Judy’s face is obscene, an open invitation to use her mouth to take what she needs.
And she takes it, rutting her hips up into Judy’s face as she laps at her, tasting her and greedy for more. Judy groans loud and low, lips seeking out her clit and sucking hard like she needs this. Once, twice, three times and it’s enough for Jen, she’s coming again and Judy’s mouth stays on her, her nose buried in Jen’s curls as she bucks and writhes through it. Jen’s orgasm roars loud in her ears and she can feel the blood beating hard around her body, her skin pulsing with the heat of it. She feels more than hears the groan which escapes her throat. Judy’s mouth is still on her. Judy.
Everything feels so misty and soft and it’s easy to forget this is real, at last. It’s finally happening with this strange, beautiful woman who tore into her life and changed it all.
“Come here, I need to touch you.” Jen tugs on the hand she still holds and Judy resists her, eyes closed and still lapping her tongue where she’s oversensitive.
“You just taste so good,” Judy says softly as she licks at Jen, reverent little laps that make Jen twitch and writhe. Mournfully she retreats, showering Jen’s thighs and hips in kisses, soft little presses as she comes to lay beside her.
“Thank you,” Judy says as her fingers trace along Jen’s collarbones.
“Oh no, thank you.”
“Hey, you know what I mean!”
Jen isn’t entirely sure she knows what Judy does mean. Maybe thank you for finally getting this out in the open because who knows how long they could have dragged their heels, living in the same house and raising their children together. It’s absurd now really, that she was so fucking afraid. It feels like lying here, with Judy’s lips on her skin, is an impossibly brave act. It just feels so natural, like how Judy moved in but things were immediately normal. This feels like how she wants to spend her days. Hardly worth being afraid of at all.
“Hey, I still want to see you.” Jen says, running a lazy hand up Judy’s thigh and under her dress.
“And who am I to deny you anything you want?” Judy bites her lip in faux modesty, shifting to lift her dress over her head and drop it onto the floor, stripping herself naked for Jen.
Judy’s demeanor doesn’t change at all, she’s not more vulnerable or open than she would be at any other time; she bares her scars with much more dignity than Jen. Judy has polka dot marks that litter the underside of her breasts, cigarette burns, and she doesn’t recoil when Jen sees them. Judy always loved people too much, given too much of herself to people who didn't deserve it and wore the marks as a result. They both know what it’s like to have a body that requires 'a conversation'.
“Would you mind if I touch you?” Jen doesn’t know why she’s hesitant now but it seems momentous to have this much of Judy’s skin so close for her to touch.
“Yes.”
“Wait, ‘yes, you would mind’ or ‘yes, you want me to touch you’?”
Judy picks up her hand and kisses Jen’s palm.
“Jen, I would really like you to put your hands on me as soon as possible.”
Jen can’t argue with that. She touches Judy’s cheeks first as her fingertips hover there anyway, and they move as she smiles under her touch. Judy keeps watching her face as Jen explores her body. She’s allowed now, to explore Judy; it’s still so unbelievable. She’s cocooned in a beautiful dream where Judy smiles at her lazily, luxuriating under the attention and relaxed although her body still responds to Jen, leans in to her touch, sighs.
Jen runs her hands over Judy’s breasts, softer than velvet as she palms the weight of them. Her stomach lurches; if she ever finds out who hurt Judy, she’ll kill them, Jen decides.
Well, unless she already has, obviously.
Jen has this urge to keep Judy safe. Make her happy. She draws her thumb across Judy’s nipple and it rises to attention. She needs Judy to know how much she wants this; how Jen realises now that she has been holding back for so long, with Judy but maybe with everything. She wants more, needs more, and she finds Judy’s mouth again.
Jen tries to kiss her like she fucking means it.
Her hand ventures between Judy’s legs and dips in to the wetness she finds there, thighs slicked and ready. Judy groans into her mouth in encouragement, hooking a leg over her and rocking her hips into Jen’s hand. Jen breaks their kiss to watch while she slowly pushes two fingers into Judy, her face dancing between pleasure and pain as they disappear inside her. Judy whimpers. She fucking whimpers, her mouth forming a little ‘oh’ and fuck Jen wants to give her an orgasm so badly. She’s never tried to give another woman an orgasm before, so the plan itself is fairly academic but she needs to show Judy that she’s safe and home and wanted here.
She bottoms out her fingers, pushing her palm against Judy’s clit for her to buck up into and she does, hard.
“Judes, you feel so good."
Judy groans when Jen talks to her so she tries it again, more committed this time.
"That’s right, fuck yourself on my fingers.”
Quick hands find Jen's jaw and Judy's hips snap against Jen's hand as she chases her pleasure. Their faces are so close; Judy's hot breath strokes at her face as she pants, strangled pulls of air. Jen feels her begin to quiver and clench around her fingers as she starts to lose control.
"If you want some more, you just have to say please."
“Oh please, Jen. Please, please...”
Judy’s voice trails off into a whisper as Jen removes her fingers and rewards her with a third, stroking at her wet entrance as Judy repeats, please please pleasepleaseplease. Judy’s pleading, her hands pawing at Jen’s neck and twisting into her hair. Her forehead wrinkles into a frown as she teeters near the edge without quite enough to push her over and then she’s begging in earnest this time,
“Please, Jen, more.”
She watches Judy’s face, every tiny movement as Jen pushes back inside her, three fingers pushing into the resistance of Judy yielding body It’s overwhelming that she’s allowed this; she knows now how Judy looks as she rocks her hips desperately into Jen’s fingers, how it feels to bottom out inside her and make her cry out. Jen curls her fingers, pushing the heel of her palm firmly against Judy’s clit so they can rock into each other. She’s so close, she can feel the muscles in Judy’s thighs begin to twitch as she gets there.
“You’re so fucking hot like this, Judes.”
Judy tries to hide her face in the pillow as she comes. Jen doesn’t let her.
“No, no please I want to see you.”
Jen presses kisses onto Judy’s face as she rides it out, watches Judy’s mouth open wide as she loses control to the feeling that overwhelms her; a coil twisted tight and releasing her, shaking into Jen’s embrace. Judy’s mouth finds hers and she moans into it, loud and wrecked, as she still feels the crash of her orgasm that subsides into a long ache of pleasure which pulses through her.
Jen holds her through it, the long lines of their sweat-slick bodies pressing together.
“I’m so happy,” Judy whispers into the skin of Jen’s neck, her voice fragile like it might break. “I feel like we never just get to be happy, you know?”
“It’s been a really long time since I’ve felt this good.”
She presses a kiss into Judy’s hair because it’s there and she can. Drags her fingers up Judy’s naked body, up her thigh, her hips, her side, the long expanse of skin that Judy trusts to lay out for her to explore. It takes her a little while to recover, and Judy lies heavy on her bed as Jen runs her hands across her smooth skin.
Time is thick and slow here, in this little world they have made for themselves.
They explore one another’s bodies, shift and move together as they still swim in sensation. Jen finds herself straddling Judy’s lap, Judy sitting up against the headboard and dragging her fingers along Jen’s sides, just because.
“I love being able to just touch you like this. You’re so soft.”
They’ve been here for so long, running their hands over the soft expanses of each other and getting to know each other’s bodies, that Jen’s head is clearing and she can’t blame this anymore on ‘one crazy night’. The creeping clarity of sobriety makes this all seem so much heavier and more intentional but Jen’s ready, she thinks, to touch and be touched with intention. She kisses Judy again, wrapping her arms around Judy’s shoulders, and claiming her mouth.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Jen settles into Judy’s lap, cupping her jaw in Jen’s hands while they look at each other. She feels lucky. How did she get so fucking lucky? Judy looks at her with such undeserved kindness as she smiles up at Jen. Fuck, how has this person turned her into a heart eye emoji?
Jen drags her fingers down Judy’s arms, grabbing hold of her wrists tightly.
“I think I need…” Jen trails off and isn’t really sure why she doesn’t have the words to say it. Embarrassment maybe, at the fact she wants Judy’s fingers inside her again so soon. Even though Jen’s not sure she would be able to come again she craves that closeness of Judy being inside her body where she’s still sensitive and throbbing. Jen moves Judy’s hand so she’ll understand, won’t make her say it out loud, and Judy lets her, just watching as Jen takes what she wants. So she does, pushing Judy’s fingers inside her until she takes the lead and stretches her deliciously. Jen rocks her hips into the pressure, still holding on to Judy’s wrist tight.
“Yeah, like that. It’s okay, I got you,” Judy says softly, as she curls her fingers inside Jen.
She releases her grip, still clinging to her wrist but letting Judy have a little more control and she takes it. Judy flexes, pushing her fingers into Jen hard before slipping them out and adding a third and the force of it radiates through Jen’s whole body. A moment ago she just wanted to feel Judy there, but now it’s more than that and Jen wants to chase this ache which is building again already.
Jen kisses her, firm and sure but then desperate.
“Do you think you might be able to take another one?” Judy says, looking up at her with eyes that mimic innocence.
The question beats the air from her chest and when she tries to say yes it barely comes out as a whisper. But a whisper is enough. Four fingers then push at Jen’s soaked entrance and they feel thick and blunt against her but she wants this, to push her senses that have been so sated already. Judy stills and leaves her to make the move, sinking her hips down slowly and letting her body adjust to the stretch. Their foreheads fall together as Jen sinks herself down against Judy’s knuckles; fuck, she feels so fucking full. They sit still for a while and just listen to the sound of their own breathing; Jen can’t move, not yet or it’ll be too much and she’ll shatter into a million jagged shards so they just breathe, together. Her body quivers as it tries to adjust, clenching around the thick intrusion as it submits to the stretch.
Jen nudges her hips, small and exploratory in case it’s already too much but Judy rewards her; a thumb swipes across her clit and Jen is feeling greedy all of a sudden, lifting herself off Judy’s fingers until she feels the loss and sinking down again with a moan she doesn’t mean to release. Judy’s hand finds the small of her back, encouraging her hips as they work up a rhythm. Slowly then quicker until her hips begin to falter and Jen goes slack in Judy’s arms, letting Judy’s broad fingers fuck her, unforgiving knuckles pushing against her until- oh fuck oh FUCK
“Wait, hang on fuck, stop.”
“Jen, are you okay, I’m so sorry what’s wrong?”
Judy withdraws immediately, rapt with concern.
“No no, sorry! I’m fine, it’s just… I need to stop to pee.”
Jen assumes she’s blushing with embarrassment at this apparently new and humiliating consequence of aging and it takes a beat for Judy to react at all, then she smiles so widely Jen can only take it as an insult.
“Oh Jen, that isn’t pee.”
“Wha- oh, do you mean... oh, no I don’t think that’s actually a real thing, I’m pretty sure that’s just a pornhub fantasy.”
“I can guarantee you it is a real thing and all you need to do is relax into it.” Judy draws their faces close.
“Judy, I don’t know what kind of corners of the internet you’ve been hanging out in but I’m not going to pee on you.” She says it to her slowly, as though explaining something basic to a child, because really, she shouldn’t need to say this out loud.
“Will you just trust me, please?” Judy kisses the protest from her lips and Judy’s fingers begin to slide lightly through the wet folds that still ache for her. She whispers, lips close to Jen’s ear, peppering kisses along her jaw. “Please, Jen.”
Fuck, Jen really wants to trust her. They’ve been through more than a lifetime’s worth of shit together; she probably should afford Judy a little trust when she asks for it. That, and, walking away from a naked Judy whose mouth was making its way down to her chest to leave for the bathroom seems like an awful idea.
Judy’s fingers ghost light strokes across her clit and Jen’s hips buck helplessly in answer, still tense with her release hovering out of reach and desperate for sensation.
“Shit, okay fine I trust you.”
Before Jen’s even finished the sentence, Judy is pushing back inside her, four fingers that slowly stretch her wide and take her breath away.
“Now, just try to relax,” Judy’s voice is soft and the fingers are being pushed inside her rock to the rhythm of her words. “Listen to your body when it tells you what it wants, and just lean into it. It’ll feel good to let go, I promise.”
She builds up the pace, Jen’s hips rocking to meet her knuckles as her thighs begin to shake with exertion. Judy starts to build the pressure of her thrusts, curling inside Jen and rubbing at her g spot, that fullness coming back again. Fuck, I cannot pee on Judy.
Jen should stop her probably but it feels so good she puts it off, second by second, bargaining with herself to say something then just waiting a moment longer. Just another moment and she’ll stop her. She can hold it until then. Judy’s fingers push relentlessly against that spot that makes her cry out and she clenches her pelvic floor as tight as she can. She’s embarrassed herself enough for one evening, Jen thinks, as a hot blush creeps into her cheeks. She tears her eyes away from Judy, drops her gaze down and notices a smear of paint and the flex and release of her bicep as Judy fucks her.
“I can feel you trying to stop yourself, Jen. Relax and let me, okay? I just want to make you feel good and I think that you should let me.” Judy’s mouth hovers close beneath hers, so close Jen can taste her in the air she breathes. “Trust me Jen, I want to feel you come for me. I want you to wet my hands when you come on my fingers. Please.”
Fuck fuck fuck... it’s too much for Jen, watching the soft playful Judy that she knows turn into this sweat-slicked seductress who whispers absolute filth and grips hard at her hip as she fucks her. She tries to stop herself but her body has been so close for so long that it can’t hold back anymore. Judy’s thumb works in firm circles around her clit and Jen’s hips stutter and she can’t, she can’t, fuck, she is-
Judy groans when she feels Jen’s wetness splashing into her palm as she orgasms; she couldn’t hold it anymore and Judy was fucking right, giving in to what her body was telling her feels fucking incredible. The room fills with the sound of Jen’s cries and the slick, wet slaps as Judy fucks the last ripples of pleasure out of her.
It’s never been easy for Jen to really let herself go and she can’t think of any other night she had managed to come three times. She didn’t think she could manage three, honestly. She feels fucking wrecked with sheer relief of it, crumbling heavily into Judy’s arms as the last remaining bit of tension leaves her, collapsing onto the bed. Judy curls up beside her, wriggling a blanket out from the wrinkled sheets of the bed and draping it over them both, wrapping her arms around Jen as they let themselves melt into the bed.
“Jesus fucking christ, I think I’ve died.”
“I hope not. I think I’d really miss you.”
“You’d miss me so much.”
“Yeah, I would.”
“Happy birthday, Judes.”
Jen will put her hands up and admit that she fucked up. That morning a few days ago, when she woke up with Judy’s head on her chest and her naked limbs sprawled across her, it had all seemed too real and overwhelming for her to deal with. She had crawled out from the limbs that pinned her to the mattress and gone back to the house to take a shower. Told herself that she was going to get up and make coffee, go back to the guesthouse and give it to Judy, along with some breakfast maybe.
But then she didn’t.
The window of opportunity turned out to be fucking stupidly small and she missed it. Jen just didn’t have the words and Judy looked at her with those eyes that locked away tears behind a smile. Jen should have gone straight back that morning. But she didn’t and now the conversation that needed to be had was bigger and more complicated after festering in silence for days.
Judy isn’t in the guesthouse when Jen comes over to talk, bottle of wine in hand. She pauses for a second while considering leaving a note, then abandoning the idea when she notices the painting. It seems finished now, still propped on the easel. It’s her, but so far detached from how Jen sees herself that she doesn’t recognize herself at first. Jen looks out from the painting with an expression of strength and bravery and something else, vulnerability maybe. Her hair shines gold and her scars decorate her bare chest as vines, lush green leaves like some Grecian goddess.
Such a strange thing it is to see how someone sees her. Jen realises that the difference is that she thinks of her scars as angry jagged reminders of her own death and Judy sees them as patterns of her survival. She took action and she’s alive. She looks… beautiful?
Jen can’t remember the last time she felt beautiful. It’s always felt like an uneasy relationship between herself and how she looks, without anyone around her really seeming to care either way. Now Judy has seen her and this is what she made of Jen’s body. Her stomach drops, a momentary spike of panic she has to cast around to find the source of. It just seems too real, too fast for her and for the boys to change everything in their lives. She wants to run, even starts to turn when she feels a hand on her back and Judy appears, easing the anxiety that just seized her.
“Hey! Sorry, have you been waiting? I just had to run to the art store for supplies. I’m almost done, have you seen her?”
“I certainly have. Judes, I don’t know what to say. She’s beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful.” Judy’s light and casual about it, opening the guest house and beckoning her in. “Let’s get that bottle open.”
Judy’s air of normality does have a bit of an edge to it though. Because of course it does; Jen has kept her waiting while she freaked the fuck out for a little while and now no one knows how to behave. She’s ready though, mostly. They can have the conversation and Jen will ignore the part of her that wants to lash out at softness. Judy deserves clarity.
“Look, I had a fuckin’ weird few days.” Jen tries so hard not to sound defensive but she doesn’t have the words for this. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry, okay?”
Judy sits beside her and hands her a glass, touching them together with a clink.
“Can I ask you a question?” Judy cocks her head a little and the emotion behind her expression isn’t really obvious to Jen yet.
“Shoot.”
“Was it on purpose?”
“Was what on purpose?”
Jen can’t think what she could mean besides ‘did she sleep with her on purpose?’ which feels like an unexpectedly loaded question that Jen doesn’t entirely have an answer to. It’s certainly not what she had planned for that evening, but she wouldn’t take any of it back. How could she?
“When you bought, like, the horniest weed for me. Was that on purpose?”
Oh.
“I… No, I would not say that was entirely intentional no.” Fuck. Jen thinks back on The Evening, quickly tries to find all the signals she was apparently giving that she had no idea about. “But...enjoyable though?”
Jen isn’t good at this. She doesn’t know how to do these early stages when she just wants to scream, ‘Hey, I like you and you like me, isn’t that all we need?’ She hasn’t had to navigate these waters in decades and she doesn’t know how anymore. Possibly she never knew how.
“Oh. Right, okay.” Judy looks like she’s bravely toughing out a wound that has hurt her. “Do you regret what happened? I’m so sorry if I pressured you…”
“Fuck, Judy, no! You didn’t push me into anything. I don’t regret what happened. I’m just a fucking idiot and I’m sorry. I was just coming to ask if you wanted to maybe move some stuff into the house, into my room? Unless that’s too much. Is it too much? I don’t know how this stuff works anymore.”
She puts a hand on Judy’s, wrapping their fingers together and hoping that the contact says what she’s totally failing to.
She loves Judy. She’s sure of it now, it’s just that love had always felt like a burden before and she had so much to carry already. A weight of responsibility that had never sat naturally with Jen, all the expectation of great romance. The silent promise of happy domesticity had always been a poorly fitting yoke, pinching at her, disquieting the happiness which love was supposed to bring. The silent promise of love seemed more of a scream of her own discomfort; Jen a weighted bird, fighting her nature. But she didn’t feel that weight this time, not with Judy. Maybe this was how it was always supposed to feel.
Judy laughs, a shattered sound of the tension exiting her body and leaving behind a smile.
“Are you asking me to move in with you Jen?”
“Judy, you already live with me.” She tries to knock back the teasing accusation in Judy’s voice, but she supposes that is exactly what she’s doing. She wants to wake up next to Judy and have nowhere to escape when she tries to fuck it up. And she will try and fuck it up. The best she can hope for is that Judy won’t allow it, that she will put in the fucking work of loving her and will continue to see the best in Jen for whatever reason.
It doesn't feel like they ever chose each other. It feels like they fell into whatever this is by freak accident, because what logical person would pick this human wildflower to go beside Jen's thorns? Judy was in her life by accident, then a whole series of further accidents caused her to be such an important element, she has become essential.
“I think I really want to kiss you, if you'd let me.”
“I think I would like that.”
Jen has wasted so much time already not kissing Judy. Maybe she could get behind this new normal.