Page 113 of Confessions of a Virgin on a Dating App
It ended up being one of the worst experiences I’d ever had. With the first brand the doctor put me on, I didn’t even last one night. Nausea forced me awake at an ungodly early hour, and I barely made it to the bathroom in time to empty the meager contents of my stomach into the toilet.
The second pill was marginally better. For the first few days, life resumed as normal, giving me a false sense of security. But once the weekend rolled around, I began to feel fatigued and feverish, as if I had the flu. And on Sunday night, while I was hanging out over at Devin’s house, I had the worst mental breakdown of my life.
I was inconsolable, howling furious tears into my sweaty palms as I confessed to Devin that I felt like my life had no meaning. It was a frightening episode of cognitive dissonance—IknewI wasn’t suicidal, yet I couldn’t shake the emotions that all those hormones had spawned in my mind. It was dark, terrifying, and eye-opening. I wondered if this was how depression felt.
Devin didn’t leave my side all night, wrapping his body so tightly around mine that we were both soaked in sweat when we awoke the next morning. I called out of work, and thankfully Devin was off that day. We couldn’t get ahold of my surgeon, so Devin insisted on scheduling an urgent appointment with a local gynecologist to get this sorted. He even came with me, which, despite my protests, ended up being a godsend. I was in no mental state to explain my health issues to the doctor, so he was able to do it for me.
This time, I was put on the “minipill,” a progesterone-only pill that didn’t contain any estrogen. Afterwards, we went home and spent the rest of the day together, in fragile but much-needed peace.
When Devin finally spoke of that night, many weeks later, he told me it was one of the most terrifying ones he’d ever had. How he was scared to let go of me while we slept, just in case the sickening combination of hormones caused me to do something drastic.
Even in the days after, Devin kept me close, lingering in the kitchen while I cooked and curling up next to me on the couch while I played video games. I spent most ofmy time at Devin’s home now; what started as sleepover visits turned into me almost never leaving. I even worked from there several days a week to keep Gideon company.
Cassidy was doing the same with Aaron, meaning that our townhouse was empty most nights. The more time I spent at Devin’s house, the less my own place felt like home. Sleeping by myself left me longing for his touch, and waking in my own bed felt foreign and uncomfortable.
By September, I was stable and comfortable on the minipill, and I was finally reaping the benefits of the surgery. My periods came and went as nothing more than a minor inconvenience, and I could wear whatever clothing I wanted without my stomach bulging like a hot air balloon. I wasn't cured, but I felt a lot better, and even the few bad days where my symptoms returned seemed like a luxury compared to all the nights I’d spent cramping in bed.
Spending so much time at Devin’s house allowed us to develop a routine. We’d both wake early in the morning, and I would settle down with my work laptop while Devin made us breakfast. He preferred to hang around his house shirtless, even when cooking, which meant I was always stealing glances at his lean, tattooed figure as he bustled around the kitchen.
We’d sit at the dinette and eat breakfast together, which was one of my favorite parts of the day. I found it funny how often he made pancakes, and he told me it was nostalgic for him, as his dad would always make them on Sunday mornings after church.
It made me smile, as my dad did the same thing. But Devin explained it with a hint of sadness glazed over his eyes. Unlike me, he had no contact with his parents. He hadn’t spoken to them in almost a decade. I broached the topic of reconnecting with them once, and Devin immediately shut the conversation down with a darkness in hiseyes I rarely saw from him. I decided not to bring it up after that.
Critical Games usually opened in the late morning, no earlier than ten but no later than noon, which meant I had the townhouse to myself in the afternoons, with only Gideon for company. He was a haughty, standoffish cat, well into old age and very set in his ways, and the only scraps of affection I got from him was when he plopped his fluffy body behind my laptop fan. But according to Devin, he howled whenever I left the townhouse, so I guess he didn’t dislike me as much as I thought.
My workday ended at 5 p.m. Devin’s usually ended much later, so as soon as I shut my laptop for the day, I’d get started on dinner. Devin enjoyed cooking, but with his busy schedule, he rarely had time for it and usually resorted to takeout or frozen dinner. He was always so thrilled when he walked through the front door in the late evenings to a homemade meal packed away in the fridge for him.
On the days where he didn’t get home super late, we’d eat together at the dinette, and Devin always insisted on cleaning up afterwards.
“You know something?” He crept up behind me one evening as I piled leftovers into the fridge.
“What?” I asked, flashing him a coy grin as he wrapped his arms around my hips.
“I don’t tell you enough how much I appreciate you.”
“Aw, Dev…”
“Seriously. This place finally feels like home now that you’re here,” He pointed into the fridge. “And I’m not just referring to your cooking. I’m just so happy to have you here. Waking up to you in the mornings, coming home to you after work, relaxing together on the couch after a long day…” His voice drifted off, and his eyes became warm and hazy. “My life feels so complete.”
My heart bloomed with warmth as I leaned into Devin’s embrace, but a pang of sadness lingered in my throat. As much as I appreciated his honeyed words, I knew our life together was still missing something.
Sex. Over the past two months, we’d made some progress. I’d been going to physical therapy once a week, and she’d recommended I buy vaginal dilators to practice with at home. My stomach had bundled up in knots as soon as they arrived through the mail. They were silicon bullet-shaped devices, very simple in design and function, but I still couldn’t get over the fact that in my mind, these medical devices were thinly veiled sex toys.
It took a full month of daily practice for me to get the smallest dilator in. My therapist had suggested I try using them on myself first; she’d mentioned at one of my sessions that I seemed uncomfortable with that part of my body.
Gee, I wonder why.I scowled as I fiddled with the silicone device on Devin’s bed. I may have made progress making amends with my parents, especially my mom, but my religious hang-ups about sexuality still lingered in my subconscious. The therapist told me to expect this. The burning sensation wasn’t entirely from the endometriosis, as my body had to unlearn associating that area with both physical pain and emotional guilt.
But that didn’t stop me from nearly screaming in celebration when I was finally able to get the first dilator in. Devin wasn’t home, so I had to celebrate the achievement alone, but it was still an important first step. It made me feel like I reallycoulddo this. That sex wasn’t an impossible dream.
But then I removed it, which was an uncomfortable, awkward sensation since I wasn’t even aroused, and it occurred to me that the first dilator was even smaller than a tampon.
And I’d never been able to use those either.
I groaned as I lay naked in bed, flopping my head back on Devin’s pillow.
I had alongway to go.
To shorten the amount of time it took to get the second dilator in, I enlisted Devin’s help. We’d spend the evenings wrapped in each other’s’ amorous embraces, exploring each other with our hands and mouths as both he and I learned what turned me on. Even though I had such a primal fear of sex, I found that I loved straddling him, and we even experimented with him being at my entrance. It was an intoxicating feeling, one that drove me wild formore, but the one night where we decided to try ended with a burning vagina and molten tears streaming down my face.
