Page 34 of Confessions of a Virgin on a Dating App
“My sexual issues.” I crawled off the bed and stood up. My impending tears had vanished, my fear replaced by hard, cold indignation. “Because the truth is, I’ve had this problem my whole life. Sex has always been too painful for me. I finally got help yesterday and went to a physical therapist, but I don’t know how long it will take for me to fix this. It could be weeks. Months, even. Is that going to be a dealbreaker for you?”
Tristan didn’t say a word. His face was hard as stone, and I could see the realization sinking into his features.
After nearly a minute, I couldn’t handle the silence. Tears poured freely from my eyes, staining the carpet at my feet.
“That’s what I thought,” I hissed, barely able to hide the anger in my voice. “I like you, Tristan. A lot. If you’re going to get upset with me for not telling the truth, don’t you dare act like it’s not an issue. So, please, tell me honestly…is this a dealbreaker?”
Tristan was still silent. He looked…upset. Maybe even angry. His head hung low at his shoulders, and he refused to make eye contact. Instead, he slunk off the bed, grabbing a pair of boxers as his deep sigh of frustration hung in the heavy air.
I didn’t want to wait around for him to say something. I already knew what his answer was, and I couldn’t handle another round of tears. I stormed away from the bed, threw my beach dress back over my head, and wheeled my suitcase out of the condo.
Tristan was still lingering near the bed when I slammed the door behind me. He didn’t bother to pursue me, which gave me an even more definite answer.
I managed to hold in the tears until I was in the parking lot. My shaking fingers struggled to dial Cassidy’s number.
“Hello?”
“Cass? It’s me.”
“Avery? What’s wrong? Are you crying?”
She could hear it through the phone. My voice was muffled with sobs.
“Can you come pick me up from Daytona?”
“Of course. Can you text me the address?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there soon. Hold on, Avery. It’ll be ok.”
More sobs erupted as I hung up the phone. Avery didn’t ask what was wrong, but she already knew. Me calling and asking for a ride meant something went wrong with Tristan.
I sniffled, wiping my nose. I knew this weekend might end badly, and sobbing into a phone in a beach condo parking lot was one of the worst possible outcomes.
And the worst part was that he had every right to reject me. I was broken. Truly, horribly broken.
I couldn’t expect him to stick around and pick up the pieces.
I feared no guy ever would.
By the time Cassidy’s car pulled onto the condominium parking lot, it was already dark. Which was good, because it hid how red and splotchy my face was after almost an hour of crying.
I didn’t say much on the way home, and Cassidy didn’t press me for answers. She drove in silence, the car stereo playing pop songs at a low volume. But she occasionally reached out to place a hand on myshoulder.
I wasn’t ready to talk. My throat was too choked up to speak, and my mind was still processing what had happened. All weekend long, this is what I had feared. It was what I had anticipated from the moment I agreed to this trip. But what had kept me together, what prevented me from breaking down entirely, was hope. Hope that despite my fears and past trauma, I would be able to finally lose my virginity. Hope that our night would end with me curled up on his chest in post-orgasmic bliss, and not with me sobbing in a parking lot.
But now that hope was gone. And there was nothing left to keep me from coming undone.
I kept my sobs to a minimum on the drive home, letting defiant tears fall silently down my cheeks. But as soon as we made it home and I was alone in the suffocating sanctity of my room, I let it all out. As I howled into my pillow, I remembered how frustrated I felt when I learned about vaginismus a few days earlier. How I was so angry that I wanted to punch something.
Now I wanted to tear the whole bedroom apart. I wanted to watch it crumble around me. It already felt like the rest of my world was.
But I couldn’t. Because I still needed to wake up tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that, and continue life as normal. I had to pretend that I wasn’t a rejected, broken mess, with my heart hollowed out from the inside. I had to move on.
So I took my rage out on my pillow instead, gripping it in my fists until my knuckles lost blood flow. I remained that way for nearly an hour when a sudden buzz of my phone pulled me out of my distraught trance.
I scooped it up, and my stomach twisted when I saw Tristan’s name.
