It's just downright embarrassing. Art Donaldson, 32-years-old, one of the most successful tennis players in the world. One US Open away from a Career Grand Slam that would have his name cemented in the history books.

... And he can't get it up for you. It's not just you, of course. It was a problem when he was with Tashi. It's been a problem for years, if he's being honestly with himself. He can't blame it for the demise of his marriage but he's sure his inability to pop a stiffy for his wife contributed to the joint custody arrangement they've got going on now.

It turned out to be for the best, at least. He's got you now. Ten years his junior, fresh out of college. It makes him feel a little gross sometimes. Like he's taking advantage of you. But it's you who calls the shots in this relationship, really. The media is blind to what really goes on behind the scenes.

There's just one thing he denies you, though: sex.

Can't do it. Won't do it. Makes excuses every time things get a little too heated between you, like needing the bathroom or forgetting he was supposed to pick Lily up from her Grandma's. You know her schedule by now. Know that it's Tashi's day every time he blurts out that line when your hand wanders a little too low. And god, if it isn't making you insecure.

Why doesn't he want you? You're young, beautiful, eager to take that next step in your relationship.

He's never been to a doctor about the problem, though he knows he probably should. When the situation comes up, he makes up a million excuses: 'No time, traveling for work'. Hell, Tashi even suggested he see about going to a specialist before things fell apart for the two of them. But he's never been one to admit to problems.

... And you're starting to consider him the problem. You love him. You love spending your life with him. And he's wonderful to you every other way... but this? How are you supposed to be with a man who denies you physicality every time you broach the subject?

You refuse to give up. It's just a regular Saturday night without Lily. This part normally goes fine; the pair of you in bed with the TV playing distantly with some late-night talk show, your thighs bracketing his own as your mouths move together softly. But the gentle rock of your hips doesn't seem to entice him in the slightest. You don't feel anything.

If you ask him directly about it, he'll say something about being tired. And he does seem tired, dark circles clinging to his eyes, shoulders slumped, hair mussed and dishevelled. But, deep down, you know there's more to it than that. That if it were truly the case, he wouldn't be having this problem on a regular basis. Art knows you know, too. He can practically read your expression every time another excuse bubbles to the surface between his teeth.

"Am I doing something wrong?" The question is blurted out into his mouth. You would have liked to ask with a little more tact, but you don't regret it, leaning back to look at him properly. "Or... I don't know. Is it because I'm not Tashi? I just don't understand."

His brow creases at that, and he takes a moment to think over his reply. He wants to be evasive, but...

Art's hand rubs your waist lightly as he considers that. "... It's not your fault," he says with a heavy sigh, hand lifting to cup your face tenderly, "You're not doing anything wrong, baby."

The term of endearment slips from his tongue easily, enough to easy your anxieties just a little. Definitely not entirely. And it's the truth; the fault isn't your own, no matter how self-conscious his problem leaves you feeling. But he knows he owes you more than half-truths and excuses every time he pushes you away like this. The confused, sad little look on your face makes that much clear.

It's not fair of him to keep holding you at arm's length like this.