The Jude Project
by Edward Kyle Stokes
Chapter 5
The Aftermath
I was a virgin. Not anymore. Jude? I didn't know. He didn't say. In fact, he didn't say much at all. We fell asleep together in my single bed. It was... cozy. My body felt exhausted and a little sore, but my mind was racing. I had so many questions about him, about myself. I hadn't forgotten Damien either. Yeah, I found out the kid's name. He was a second year, thirteen years old. I wanted to talk to him again, to try and make things right, but it felt like mission impossible. Right now, I just wanted to understand Jude.
The morning sun crept through my blinds, casting a soft glow on the room. I woke to the feeling of Jude's arm draped over me. My first thought was a jolt of panic, the memory of the night before crashing over me. But he was just sleeping, his face calm and angelic. He looked so different from the menacing figure he had been just hours before.
When he finally stirred, he didn't say anything about the night. He just looked at me, a soft, sleepy smile on his face. He leaned over and gave me a chaste kiss on the forehead. It was so simple, so gentle, it took my breath away. He was acting as if we were a couple who had been together for years. He got up, stretched, and then began to get dressed.
"You look like you're thinking too much," he said, pulling on his jeans.
"I have a lot of questions," I replied, sitting up and pulling the covers over my chest.
"Don't," he said simply, zipping his fly. "It's better this way."
He didn't explain what "this way" meant, but I had a horrifying suspicion. He wasn't interested in a relationship, at least not in the way I understood it. There were no promises, no whispered words of affection, just a complete and utter taking of what he wanted. He got what he came for.
"We should get some breakfast," he said, turning back to me, the smile gone. The transaction was over. He was no longer the lover, but the bully again.
I wanted to ask him about Damien, about what his intentions were. I wanted to know if what happened between us was just a game to him. Was this all just a part of a big game? But I was too afraid to ask. I didn't want to exchange the comfortable intimacy of the morning only to be left with the cold reality. That this wasn't a relationship; it was an act of possession.
That weekend was difficult. I couldn't get Jude out of my head, couldn't stop thinking about him—his looks, his body, his hard cock. I fantasised about us, I relived that night, but it wasn't the same. On my own, I couldn't summon up the same magic. Imagination, I realised, can only stretch so far. It was no replacement for the real, the physical touch, his scent, his whole being, the feel of his smooth skin, his sweat, his voice. Oh God, yes! I had it bad. If it was a crush at first, now it was an obsession. I wanted him again, and it was killing me to be alone without him.
On Monday, I went searching for him. My body moved with a desperate, single-minded purpose. My eyes scanned the school grounds, my heart pounding with a frantic rhythm. I caught sight of him by the bike racks, laughing and joking with his friends. The sight of him, so carefree and in his element, sent a jolt of both longing and jealousy through me. He looked magnificent, his head thrown back in laughter, his body a masterpiece of casual grace. It hurt to watch him from a distance, to see him so relaxed and happy with others while I was consumed by a desperate need for him.
Then, between classes, our paths crossed in the crowded corridor. He brushed against me, and the casual touch sent a shockwave through my body. The world seemed to stop, the noise and chaos of the hallway fading away. We were in a bubble of our own. He turned his head, gave me a smile, and then, a slow, deliberate wink. That tiny moment was a confirmation of our secret, a promise of more. I realised in that instant that I would do anything to be with him and do anything he wanted. My heart ached with the weight of my desire. He just had to say the word.
The rest of the day was an agonising wait. Every passing moment was a pang of longing. I felt like a junkie in withdrawal, my mind replaying our brief encounter, my body craving his touch. The anticipation was a living thing, a cruel torment that left me breathless. I was his now, completely and utterly, and I just had to wait for him to pull the strings.
Thursday afternoon was sports, and I was filled with a desperate, familiar longing. I don't know how he did it, if he had done anything at all, but when the teams were being picked, Jude chose me third. Not fourth, not fifth, not anywhere near the end. His third choice, right after Michael. It was a small gesture, but it felt like a monumental sign of his favour, a silent acknowledgment of our connection.
When the games were over, I found myself lingering in the showers as the water grew tepid, about to run cold. Everyone else was already done, the changing rooms echoing with the last shouts and slamming lockers. I grabbed my towel and turned, and Jude was suddenly there.
We were almost alone as he came over. Then, as if by magic, the place fell completely silent. The last of the guys had gone. The changing rooms were empty.
He was next to me, and his voice hit me like a shockwave. "I've been waiting," he said, and his hands reached for the towel wrapped around my waist. He pulled it away with a slow, deliberate motion, like unwrapping a gift.
I stood there completely naked, exposed under the stark fluorescent lights. He looked at me, his gaze sweeping over my body with a hunger that matched my own. His hand came to rest on my chest, his thumb tracing a slow circle over my nipple. My breath hitched. He was hard, and the urgency in his eyes was a terrifying promise. He didn't say a word. He just turned me around, pushing my body against the cold, tiled wall.
The excitement was a white-hot fire in my veins, mixed with the sharp, thrilling edge of fear. The fear of being discovered, of a teammate or a teacher walking in on us. But the fear only intensified the thrill, making it more urgent, more forbidden. He moved against me, his body a solid, warm presence, and I let go completely, giving in to the moment I had been waiting for without even realising just how much.
When it was over, we left the empty, echoing changing rooms together. My body felt weak and overwhelmed, but my heart was intensely, dizzyingly happy. We were the last to leave. No one had come to disturb us. The moment had been a complete, private one, even if it had been over all too quickly. As we stepped out into the crisp afternoon air, I knew I was his, completely and irrevocably.
As we left the sports fields, walking together up the deserted street, he turned to me. "You're a great fuck," he said, and I didn't know how to respond. A part of me, a small, desperate part, wanted to take it as a compliment. But at the same time, it was like he was saying that's all I was—a fuck, nothing more. Could I live with that? Did I want him so much that I'd do absolutely anything, be anything, however degrading, for however long it would last? And what about after, when it was all over, when he'd gotten tired, had enough, found another player?
"You've got a great arse," he added, and just as all my thoughts were arriving at the terrible conclusion that I was nothing more than that, a boy with a nice arse he could fuck, he stopped walking. He looked around the empty street, then turned to face me. Both his hands came to hold my face, his fingers cold against my cheeks. He leaned in, and his lips touched mine. The kiss was soft at first, but then his tongue found its way into my mouth, and it was a moment of pure magic.
We walked on in silence, side by side, and yet not quite together. We were a couple, but no, never that. We were two boys united by sex. Still, I felt there was something more, something unsaid, and I wasn't about to let it go. I stopped, and he kept walking for a few paces before he realised I wasn't with him. He turned and looked at me, a question on his face.
"Do you think you can just bully me into having sex?" I said, the words shocking even me. He stopped dead in his tracks, surprised, maybe even a little shocked. "Is that all this is?" I continued, pushing for an answer.
He looked sad when his eyes found mine. "I'm not a bully," he replied, his voice soft, "I don't mean to be anyway."
"And Damien? What was that all about?" I pressed. "And us?"
He didn't answer my questions directly. "You can come over to my place this weekend," he replied, "if you want to?"
Yes, it was definitely a question. He was searching for some kind of confirmation from me. Could I dare to think that Jude was actually vulnerable, actually asking me if... if I liked him? It was strange, not an answer to my questions, not any kind of giving on his part, except that in a way it was. An invitation. I was sure this was an enormous step for him. I don't know why I felt that, it simply seemed self-evident. He wanted something which at the same time it was almost killing him to ask for.
"And that'll be okay with your parents?" I asked, suddenly nervous.
"They won't be there," he responded quickly. "Only my brother... and Damien."
"Damien?" I felt a jolt of alarm.
"Yeah, you'll see."
That was enigmatic. The tone of our confrontation had shifted back in his favour. I'd posed the question about Damien, but I'd have to wait for the answer, and it wasn't likely to be anything simple. It was already getting more complicated, this game. But I would play it out, because I was under his spell. I was so deeply drawn to him I would do anything he asked, even if I tried to protest.
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