The examination room was small and utilitarian, designed more for efficiency than comfort. The walls were painted an unassuming off-white, with a single framed print of abstract art hung slightly crooked on one side--an attempt at warmth that didn't quite land. Bright fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a cool, clinical glow over everything.
In the center of the room sat the exam table, its padded surface covered with a fresh sheet of crinkly white paper that rustled at the slightest touch. That was where Greg found himself now. His husband of six years, Jackson sat on a side chair glancing through an outdated magazine.
Greg glanced at him and tried to smile, but before Jackson could return it, the door swung open with a soft knock.
A tall man in a white coat stepped in, holding a tablet.
"Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Mathews," he said with a polite, practiced smile. His gaze settled squarely on Greg, assessing, observant--but not unkind. "Sorry to keep you waiting."
Dr. Mathews stood tall as he entered the room, commanding presence wrapped in calm professionalism. He was a striking man--tall and broad-shouldered, with smooth, deep brown skin and a clean-shaven head that gleamed softly under the overhead light. A short, neatly shaped beard framed his face, adding to the quiet confidence in his expression. His eyes were dark and perceptive, yet softened by the warmth behind them.
A single silver stud glinted in his left ear, subtle but stylish, catching just enough light to hint at personality beneath the white coat. His lips were full and expressive, parting into a soft, reassuring smile that made the sterile room feel just a little less cold.
Greg gave a small nod. "It's alright."
The doctor looked amongst the men before turning his attention back to the tablet. "Jackson, right?" He extended a hand. The blonde tossed the magazine onto a counter at his side and took the man's firm grip, "You can call me Tyler."
"Thank you," Jackson said softly.
Turning his attention to his patient Greg he reached for his hand, which the man took. The doctor's grip was almost destructive.
"Nice to meet you Tyler," Greg responded, almost wincing in the man's hands.
"You can call me Dr. Mathews." The dark-skinned man responded. Greg felt his hand go back to normal when the doctor finally let him go. "So," the doctor continued, flipping to the next screen. "Let's talk about what brought you in today."
Greg opened his mouth to answer, but Jackson beat him to it, shifting slightly forward in the chair like he'd been waiting for the moment.
"We've been together for six years," Jackson said, voice even, but a little too ready. "Lately things have... plateaued. Our sex life's kind of gone cold."
Greg's head turned slightly, brows drawing together. He hadn't expected Jackson to launch in like that--not so quickly, not so bluntly. He gave a quiet sigh and glanced down at his hands resting in his lap.
Dr. Mathews nodded slowly, tapping something into his tablet. His attention had moved smoothly, almost naturally, to Jackson. "I see. And when you say it's gone cold, can you tell me more about what that looks like? Frequency, changes in desire, or maybe emotional disconnect?"
Jackson shrugged, crossing one leg over the other. "It's not even about frequency. It's just... not exciting anymore. It feels mechanical. We try things, but it's not really working." He gave a small laugh that wasn't quite a laugh. "I guess I started wondering if maybe it's not the routines--it's the equipment."
Greg stiffened slightly, looking up. "Jackson."
Dr. Mathews paused, his stylus hovering mid-note. "Do you feel there's a mismatch in physical compatibility?" he asked, still facing Jackson, his tone smooth--clinical, but not cold.
Jackson hesitated, eyes flicking toward his husband, then back to the doctor. "Honestly? Yeah. Greg's..." He trailed off, then pressed on, too committed now to back out. "He's just... not very big. And I know size isn't supposed to matter, but I think it does. At least, it does to me."
Silence.
Greg's ears burned. He stared straight ahead, jaw tight, his face a mixture of hurt and forced composure. He shifted again on the paper-lined table, the crinkle of it sounding too loud in the sudden quiet.
Dr. Mathews finally glanced at Greg, his expression unreadable for a beat too long before returning to neutral. "Greg, would you like to respond?"
Greg inhaled slowly, holding it for a second. "No," he said quietly. "I think he has said a lot."
Dr. Mathews nodded slowly, folding his arms as he leaned casually against the counter. "Well," he said, his tone measured but firm, "like it or not, size can matter. Physically, it makes a difference--how partners connect, how stimulation works. Emotionally, it can shape confidence, expectations, even how someone shows up in a relationship."
Greg looked at him, wide-eyed, not sure if he was being humiliated or helped.
"But that doesn't mean something's broken," Dr. Mathews added, pushing off the counter. "We'll do a basic physical today, Greg. Just to check that everything's functioning as it should."
Greg swallowed and nodded, his face tight.
Dr. Mathews turned, casually placing a stethoscope around his neck. "You can keep calling me Tyler," he said, glancing at Jackson with a slight smile. "Greg, let's stick with Dr. Mathews, alright?"
Greg's mouth twitched, but he said nothing.
"Let's start with your blood pressure," Dr. Mathews continued, stepping closer. He wrapped the cuff around Greg's arm, his touch professional but slow, precise. "Breathe normally."
As the cuff inflated, Jackson let out a quiet scoff from his chair. "It's not even about just sex," he said, voice rising with the tension he'd been carrying. "It's the confidence. He shuts down. I feel like I'm always dragging him back in. There's no spark."
Dr. Mathews nodded slightly, then released the cuff with a soft hiss. "Blood pressure's fine," he said, jotting a note. "Let's listen to your lungs. Deep breath for me."
Greg complied, lifting the gown as instructed, the cold stethoscope pressing against his back.
Jackson kept going. "Back in college... I used to be with...." Jackson hesitated "Black guys. It was... different."
The air shifted--sharper now, like glass held too tightly.
Dr. Mathews didn't respond immediately. He moved to Greg's chest, stethoscope tapping lightly as he worked. His face remained neutral, but his jaw ticked ever so slightly.
"Another breath," he said quietly, to Greg.
Jackson leaned forward, elbows on knees, looking at the two of them. "I'm just saying," he added, eyes on the doctor now. "There's something I miss. Something Greg's never really had."
Greg exhaled slowly, chest still lifted, and stared up at the ceiling tiles, counting the specks like they might offer him a way out.
