Page 16 of Gay for Pray (Arport Sacred Sacrament University #1)

Chapter Sixteen

Theodore

THE ONLY THING THAT could make this experience more surreal is the sound of the choir director’s voice. He starts talking he moment he enters the room, muffled at first but clearer as the practice room door closes behind him.

“We’ll work this into the next practice,” he says. “I think they can handle it.”

“Will it be a problem to change things up with the concert coming up?”

“No more of a problem than it was when three of my boys decided not to show up on Sunday morning.”

Mr. Jones heaves a sigh, a sigh meant for me, I’m sure.

I shoot a look at Jude, who climbs quietly off my lap.

He fishes around his backpack and offers me a tissue for my hand, and I guess for my dick as well.

I clean myself up as stealthily as possible, hardly daring to breathe as Mr. Jones talks about some kind of new song he wants us to perform.

Jude and I right our clothing, so that if the director bursts in here, it might almost look like we were doing something other than messing around.

Which means that, holy shit, I just messed around with Jude.

I don’t get time to process that mind-melting fact. Mr. Jones goes on speaking, and this time both of us freeze at his words.

“It isn’t like him to miss Mass, especially as part of the choir,” Mr. Jones says. “He hasn’t reached out to say he was sick. I just don’t understand. Theodore is an exemplary student. I know he plans to go to seminary school after his time here. This is so unlike him.”

Every muscle in my body tenses. All the warmth and relaxation that hit me thanks to Jude’s incredible mouth evaporates like dew in the sun.

It’s like my first sexual experience never even happened, and that strikes me as kind of sad.

What happened here was something I don’t have words for yet, but I don’t get to process it as whoever is with Mr. Jones speaks.

“Well, he’s been hanging out with that boy lately,” the person says. It must be a professor, but I don’t recognize them. “You know, that one…rather flamboyant student. Jude something?”

“Jude Vaughan,” Mr. Jones says. “Yes, he’s in the choir as well, but I didn’t think they got along.”

“They don’t, as far as I know, but apparently they’ve been spending time together. I’m telling you, that boy is a bad influence. He shouldn’t have been admitted to this university in the first place. We have a code of conduct for a reason.” The person lowers their voice. “He’s sinful.”

Jude tenses beside me. I want to reach out, to reassure him, to say or do something, but I sit there frozen on the floor of the supply closet.

“He…certainly does not seem committed to his faith,” Mr. Jones says diplomatically.

The other person scoffs. “No, I wouldn’t expect a sinner like that to have much in the way of faith.”

Thankfully, Mr. Jones steers the conversation away from Jude, though the damage is already done. Jude doesn’t even look scared anymore as two of our teachers talk right on the other side of the closet door. He’s staring at the floor, his face terrifyingly blank.

I don’t move until I hear the teachers leave at last, the door clicking shut behind them.

Only then do I finally reach out for Jude, gingerly grasping his shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

After what we just did, it’s a weirdly detached, impersonal gesture, but I have on idea what I’m doing.

How do you comfort someone who is also your first sexual experience right after that sexual experience?

“Jude, I’m sorry,” I say, as though I was the one who said those awful things about him.

He gathers himself, slapping on a smile as flimsy as wet tissue paper and shrugging off my hand. “Hey, whatever. They aren’t wrong, are they? I’m only here because the school offered me a full ride. I’m not like you. And clearly I am a bad influence.”

He quirks an eyebrow, trying to make light of the situation, but I’m not so ready to let those nasty remarks go. Not too long ago, I was the person saying stuff like that, and that knowledge burns a hole through my gut.

I take him by the chin, holding firmly, forcing him to look at me. The smile disintegrates, hurt shining in his light eyes. It makes me want to storm out there and confront Mr. Jones myself.

“They shouldn’t talk about you like that,” I say. “You’re a good person, Jude. Look at what you did for me. I don’t care if you don’t have Bible verses memorized. God knows what’s in a person’s heart, and your heart is good. I’m sure of that.”

His eyes go from hurt to shining with emotion. A lump corks my throat.

“If I’m so good,” he says, “how did I end up luring you into a closet?”

I let myself smile. “I started it, remember?”

“Yeah, I do. Is that…a problem for you? Are you going to hate me for this?”

It’s a reasonable question given all he knows about me, and I pause to muse over my answer.

I’ve known I had these feelings since I was a kid.

I tried confessing. I tried asking God for help.

I tried praying about it. Somehow, none of it made it go away.

Now that I’ve acted on it, it doesn’t feel like a sin.

It feels…good. It feels right and natural and real.

How can something like that be against God’s plan?

I’m not yet sure how to reconcile the God I’ve devoted my life and soul to with the feelings Jude inspires in me, but I know God put Jude in my path to help me.

He saved me at that party. He must be good.

It doesn’t make sense for this to be a sin.

“No,” I say finally. “I don’t hate you, and it’s not a problem. I…have some praying to do, but…”

My thoughts are a ball of tangled yarn. I pick through them, but it only seems to tie new knots.

Jude takes my hands and helps me to my feet. We shoulder our backpacks, and he brushes me off as thought tidying up my mussed clothes. He combs his fingers through my hair to set it right, and I catch myself leaning into that casual affection.

“I always look like a mess, but you don’t,” he says by way of explanation.

I don’t really care. I just like that he’s touching me. I like his hand in my hair and his consideration in helping me look like I didn’t mess around with him in a closet.

When he deems me acceptably put together, he goes to leave, but I catch him by the wrist before he can open the door.

It will break some sort of spell when he tears down that barrier between us and the rest of the world, and there are things I need to say before that happens, things I’m scared I won’t be able to say otherwise.

“I don’t think you’re a sinner,” I said. “Or a bad influence. I don’t think this was wrong.”

“Doesn’t your Bible say it’s wrong?” he pushes.

“My Bible also says not to mix fabrics, and…” I wave at our modern clothing. “Maybe the people who wrote it didn’t get every single thing right.”

He raises his eyebrows. “That’s dangerous talk coming from you, Choir Boy.”

“I know what I believe,” I say. “I know what’s in my heart. I…I don’t believe God would hate me for this, not if he’s the God I’ve been praying to all my life.”

I take a breath, because this is the part that’s going to require a bigger leap of faith on my part, a sober, blunt admission of things I’ve hardly let myself think, let alone say.

“Can I see you again?” I ask, clinging to Jude’s wrist.

His eyebrows climb higher. I love how expressive his face is, how he doesn’t try to squash and strangle the emotions that flit through his head.

He’s always himself, loudly and proudly, no matter what Mr. Jones and the rest of the world might think about it.

In some ways it’s terrifying, but mostly, it fills me with awe and jealousy.

I can’t imagine being like him, living like him.

Merely existing in his orbit is like standing closer to the sun, and I know with absolute certainty that I want an opportunity to bask in that brilliant light again, if he’ll let me.

“My dick sucking skills must really be something to convert you with one blow job,” he says with a toothy smirk.

Heat flushes through my face. I definitely wouldn’t mind if he wanted to do that again, but I would sit with him and watch that silly sci-fi show if that’s all he had to offer.

He comes closer, and I release him as he cups my burning cheeks in his cool, deft hands. We’re nearly toe to toe, Jude peering up at me under dark lashes.

“Yeah, Choir Boy, you can see me again,” he says.

His words brush against my lips. Then his whole mouth is there, soft and warm and tasting faintly different. I realize that taste must be me , and the knowledge that I’m lingering in his mouth almost gets me hard all over again.

I groan when he pulls away, my whole body aching for more of him.

“None of that,” he says gently. “You have class later, don’t you?”

I blink. I’d completely forgotten about class. Jude bursts into light, free, tinkling laughter. He steps away, and cool air rushes over my body in his absence.

“You are amazing for my ego,” he says. “You actually forgot about class?”

“I…”

“Well, thank you for the confidence boost. I’m not sure I’ve gotten a compliment this good in my entire life.

I’ll talk to Nick and see when I can kick him out of the dorm.

Apparently he had a good time at the party, so hopefully he has somewhere to go, and we can have the whole place to ourselves. ”

He drags his finger up my chest, stopping at my sternum.

“Then I can give you a real education,” he says with a wink.

My body burns, but I tamp it down. I don’t know what he’s implying, but I’m pretty sure I’d say yes to anything he proposed.

“Let’s get out of here before they come back,” he says.

After a glance to make sure we haven’t left anything incriminating behind, we finally leave the supply closet.

I’m weirdly sad to go. It’s a charmed space now, like a confessional booth, something private and sacred, something you don’t share with anyone else.

The thought of people going in there to grab music stands bothers me in a way it shouldn’t.

Perhaps it’s my lack of experience. Jude is far more nonchalant as he leaves the practice room, checking the hallway before waving for me to follow.

We use a side door instead of going back through the church, since we know there are at least two other people here.

When we step outside, I feel like that guy in the sci-fi show, an explorer venturing out of the safety of my ship and into an alien landscape.

The whole world feels different now, the air sweeter, the sun brighter, the birdsong happier.

“I have to get going,” Jude says, “but I’ll text you.”

He leaves me with that and a tiny smile, and my heart soars like I’m singing a hymn.