Page 31 of Confessions of a Virgin on a Dating App
“Me too. Being this close to the ocean makes me miss the panhandle.”
This prompted Tristan to ask me more about my childhood, which made my insides squirm. I loved the scenic beauty of my hometown but hated almost everything else about it. Everything went sour after I broke up with Tyler and was kicked out of college, and thoughts of home sent all those emotions boiling back up to the surface.
But Tristan didn’t seem to notice. We were still very early in our relationship, where our shields were up and we treaded carefully on conversations. The more I got to know him, the less our dates felt like interviews, but there was still a lot I wasn’t ready to tell him. I needed time before I could expose the less pristine parts of myself.
It made me wish that sex could wait. But I knew that in modern dating, it was practically a requirement to start a relationship. It was the final test before becoming official. People my age spoke of “sexual compatibility”, which made me feel even more inadequate. My sexuality was broken. I wasn’t compatible with anyone.
So as “Best of You” blared on the radio, I lifted my head, cleared my throat, and sang away my worries. Tristan joined in, and our impromptu karaoke session devolved into joyous laughter as we approached the main strip of Daytona Beach.
“You’re a really good singer.” He smiled.
“Thank you!”
I’d been told that before. My mother’s whole life revolved around church choir in her twenties, and I’d inherited some of her natural abilities. I hadn’t performed in a choir in years, but I could at least belt out a few notes without sounding off-key.
“We’re only a few minutes away from the rental.” Tristan studied the GPS on his phone. “It’s one of the high-rises further down the strip.”
And as I stared out the window, I realized Daytona was nothingbuthigh-rises. Huge hotels and condominiums sprawled along the shoreline, stretching twenty stories into the cloudless blue sky. It was an incredibly stereotypical beach town, jam-packed and heavily commercialized, with pristine resorts flanked by run-down arcades, greasy pizza joints, and a plethora of tattoo shops. Much of itlooked like it hadn’t been updated since the 1990s, giving it a garish, tacky charm that reminded me of beach trips in my childhood.
Further down the strip, where the flashy hotels faded away to more modest condominiums, we pulled into the parking lot of a tall white building crammed full of balconies. Tristan mentioned it was an older building, which meant we had to climb up four flights of stairs to reach our accommodation.
I was wheezing by the time Tristan unlocked the door. He’d jogged up the stairs without breaking a sweat, and I made a mental note to start working on my cardio.
“Here we are!” Tristan swung the door open, gesturing me inside. It was a cozy two-bedroom apartment, about the same size as the townhouse that Cassidy and I shared. It had stark white walls, wicker furniture in shades of cream and pale blue, and a whole trove of shells, starfish, and other beach-themed knickknacks. The smell of fresh linen and sunscreen hit my nose as soon as I walked in, and I inhaled the scent like I had just surfaced from below the ocean.
It was a perfect, nostalgic, sunny-and-cozy beach condo. As Tristan showed me around, plopping our belongings on the carpet in the larger bedroom, I started to feel like I was truly on vacation. Like this was a relaxing getaway, and not one of the most stressful overnight trips I would ever experience.
But that sense of relaxation came crashing down as soon as Tristan flopped down on the bed. It was king-size, with a plush seashell-patterned comforter and a variety of stiff, decorative throw pillows. He flashed me a beaming, wicked smile, his gentle eyes playfully inviting me to join him.
I wanted to. Every bone in my body wanted to leap onto the squishy mattress and lose myself in his embrace. To feel his soft cotton t-shirt against my skin and finally discover what waslurking underneath it. To let loose, strip away our clothes, and give each other what we both so desperately wanted.
But I couldn’t. I stood there, dumbfounded, until Tristan’s inviting smile gave way to a frown.
“You okay?”
I nodded, the stupid uncontrollable heat of tears prickling in my eyes.
“Sorry.” He chuckled as he sat upright, smoothing the comforter. “I know you’re scared. We don’t have to do anything right now. Besides—” He pointed out the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, where the ocean’s inviting waves roared in the distance. “—we should spend time on the beach while it’s still daylight.”
I nodded eagerly, relieved that Tristan was so understanding of my anxiety. Even if he didn’t know the full truth.
Tristan pulled a pair of flip-flops out of his bag and tossed them onto the carpet, slipping his toes through them. He then lifted his shirt over his shoulders, and as soon as I caught a glimpse of his flat, tanned stomach, I knew I was in trouble.
“You ready? There are umbrellas and towels in the hallway closet.”
I fingered the strap of my bathing suit, hidden under my beach dress. It was a bikini, one with a ruffled top to hide how flat my chest was.
“Of course.” I grinned. “Let’s go.”
As we stepped onto the beach, with soft sand sinking under our toes like pillows and a warm seabreeze carrying hints of salty brine and fried food, my stomach continued to sink.
I studied the ocean waves, churning and swirling in tall peaks, and knew this was the calm before the storm. It was all so picturesque: the sandy shoreline stretched out wide and flat next to the tumultuous sea, and the sound of churning waves, screaming children, and squawking seagulls hung in the salty air as Tristan shoved an umbrella into the ground. I couldn’t help but admire him as he fumbled with the pole, the muscles in his deeply tanned upper arms and back flexing under the blisteringly bright sun.
I wanted him. But I didn’t know if I’d be able to have him.
“Alright, should be in there good and deep.” Tristan wiggled the umbrella for emphasis. I grabbed the bottom of my beach dress, preparing to lift it over my torso as Tristan’s eyebrows wiggled in anticipation.
“Stripping on the beach, I see?”
