Jane's bed is a little smaller than yours, her mattress a little less supportive, and her bedroom a little brighter than you'd prefer thanks to the streetlight shining through her curtains.
But you like that she's comfortable here, and how the pillows smell like her.
"Do you have a favorite part of sex?"
Your eyes open. Oh. Alright.
You wonder if it's a coincidence that she waited until just after turning off the lights to say that. There had been no other indication all evening that she intended to broach this topic. However, the direct approach is refreshing.
"Would you consider it too unimaginative if I said orgasm?"
"I guess not."
"Why, is that not yours?" It dawns on you that her question was designed for you to ask it of her, and yet there's still a pause while she considers.
"Not really."
"What is?"
"Well, I- maybe favorite is the wrong word. But I was thinking about... if I could just have any part of it right now, like skip right to the part I want just by snapping my fingers? The part I kept coming up with is honestly the after."
"Afterplay?" you smile. "That's nice. What makes that your favorite part?"
"It's..." you hear her shoulders shrug against the sheets. "Not even so much the play that sounded good. Just that it's after. It's the part where you already did it and now it's okay, you're safe and it's over and you can just relax together and fall asleep. If I could have that feeling just, bottled, out of context. That's what I'd want."
You're sorry that feeling safe is an aspect of this fantasy that has to be specified and not merely assumed, but you decide against saying so.
"Couldn't you have that feeling, with a little imagination?"
"You can't just pretend that."
"Why not?"
"Because it's... I don't know, it's just a feeling you have to earn. You can't just pretend an actual feeling like that out of nowhere. Like if I told you to 'feel happy' on command, you know?"
"You've tried fantasizing, surely? And masturbation?"
She releases a louder breath than usual, and you aren't sure if that was too forward or just too clinically worded for her liking.
"Everyone does that."
If she's embarrassed, she needn't be. It's perfectly normal. You do it, and you have as active a sex life as you desire; pleasuring yourself makes you feel sexy and keeps you in touch with your body, although it's not always about that. Occasionally it's just something you do to relieve yourself of the day's tensions, and those times it's quite utilitarian, almost detached from erotic connotation. Press button; receive oxytocin.
With a job as stressful as hers and no sexual outlet, Jane must make frequent use of that latter type. (You escort from your mind an image of her with her eyes closed and one hand down her work slacks.) But it's the former that would involve sexual fantasy, and maybe she's struggling with that.
"And it doesn't help achieve your 'after' feelings?"
"Not really."
"Not even after orgasm?"
"Look," she exhales again and you hope she isn't annoyed, "it's not about just having gotten off. I don't know. I just.. couldn't get my head in the game."
You fluff the pillow under your head.
"When I'm trying to think creatively or figure out something complex, sometimes it helps to pretend I'm describing the matter to someone else who isn't familiar with it," you explain. "That gets me to consider aspects I might otherwise have taken for granted and overlooked. I think that could make for a more immersive experience for you. Writing it down might be helpful - what if you tried journaling some of your sexu-"
"I'm not writing this shit down," she interrupts you with a laugh. "I didn't even keep a diary as a kid."
"Okay," you raise your hands in surrender and let her hear them fall back against the sheets. "But here's what I'm thinking. If you want to imagine a resultant feeling, one that can only be earned, then the logical first step is to imagine earning it. So to have an emotionally pleasing fantasy of your ideal 'after', you would first need to have imagined what the preceding sex was like. Right?"
"Right.."
"So. How was it?"
"Uh. Well, as long as I'm pretending, let's say it was real good."
"Sure, but 'good' can be so many things. What was it this time?"
Her pause is long. The question was open-ended and she doesn't seem to like that; maybe she'll do better with multiple choice than fill-in-the-blank. You try again.
"Was it your ultimate, most elaborate, intense, kinky sexual fantasy fulfilled? Or was it what realistically would've felt perfect for you and your partner tonight?"
A deep breath comes from next to you.
"Second one. But we... we probably really didn't do much. If we're being realistic." Her voice is gentler. You're glad if that means she's relaxing and taking this more seriously.
Evidently even with limitless creative freedom, she's interpreting this as a realistic first encounter, and in that case, you can understand if that means it doesn't involve intercourse or orgasm for her.
"That's fine. It doesn't have to be much physically to be satisfying emotionally."
"Yeah."
You consider asking what exactly it consisted of. Kissing? Undressing? Touching? Arousal? You decide she would probably be more comfortable if you didn't ask for too many specifics.
"Then whatever you did do, how was it? If it were just perfect, and you were to sum up the feeling of it, the nature of it, in one word. What would it be?"
She's quiet and you're wondering whether she's actively thinking, or just waiting for you to say something else. So much time passes that you almost do, but then suddenly you know, even with no indication at all, that she is finally about to reply. So you wait.
When she does answer, you somehow feel like it's a different Jane than the one you had the rest of this conversation with.
She gives you one word, which her mouth seems to treat very gently, maybe even reverently. Like she's showing you something fragile.
"Soft." Her voice sounds the slightest bit thick. Not like arousal but like she's trying not to cry.
And then so are you.
Because would that be the word she'd have chosen five or more years ago?
Because you didn't think one innocuous little word could break your heart like that, and suddenly you're really very touched that she has entrusted it to you.
"Okay." You answer gently, and you notice that your voice sounds just like hers did.
You can't find it within yourself to ask any more questions right now, and you don't think she would want to answer them anyway.
You are correct.
"G'night." It is abrupt, but small and unoffended. She just doesn't want to speak anymore.
Unfortunately for how you're feeling right now, she doesn't tend to like hugs, much less sudden and unsolicited ones. You want nothing more than to gather her into your arms and hug her tightly; nothing to do with talk of sexual fantasies, but just because you love her and you are so sorry.
But you don't, because she doesn't like that, and one reason why she trusts you is that you respect her dislikes. So instead you try to conceal your hug and all the rest in these two words.
"Goodnight, Jane."
Your last vision of Friday is the outline of her back in the dim light of her bedroom.