'My boyfriend is perfect in every way — apart from one major thing.'

In almost every way, I feel like I've won the relationship lottery. *Nick is everything I've ever dreamed of in a partner, and then some.

He's the kind of guy you nervously bring home to meet your parents, hoping that they don't point out any glaring behaviours that you're missing, just so you know that he is not too good to be true. Luckily, my parents couldn't fault the guy! He's got this natural charm that puts people at ease, and his sense of humour is the kind that catches you off guard. He is so witty and clever, with a quiet delivery that leaves you in stitches before you even realise what's happened.

My friends adore him. My mum beams every time I mention his name. Even my dad, who has an advanced degree in "being unimpressed by boyfriends," calls him "a good bloke," which, in my family, is practically a standing ovation.

Nick and I just work. He's thoughtful and generous in ways that matter. He remembers the little things, like my smoothie order, and the big things, like the anniversary of my dog's passing.

I feel like my heart is safe with Nick. There is no love-bombing, no disrespect, no gaslighting, no impending sense of doom.

It doesn't hurt that when I look at him, I am deeply attracted. It's distracting how much I actually fancy the pants off him. And I know he feels the same about me. I've never been so sure of a guy's feelings for me in my life.

Physically, too, things are great - mostly. He's the kind of guy who'll stop mid-sentence to pull me into a kiss that feels like it belongs in a rom-com. And I can't keep my hands off him either. It's all there: chemistry, connection, and that rare kind of love that makes you want to scream your happiness from the rooftops.

But, as much as I wish this story ended with a perfect bow on top, there's a problem. A big, glaring, pink-elephant-sized problem. That rooftop screaming doesn't happen in the bedroom.

Watch: Let's talk about sex. Post continues after video.

Nick has never made me orgasm. Not once. Not even close.

It's not for lack of trying — believe me. If enthusiasm could get you there, I'd be floating on a cloud every night. He's attentive, eager, and genuinely cares about my pleasure. He asks questions, checks in, and always seems ready to learn.

But somewhere between his effort and the, um, execution, the fireworks fizzle before they even have a chance to light.

At first, I thought it was nerves. Those early days were so new and exciting, and I chalked it up to us figuring each other out. I didn't want to make him feel self-conscious, so I went along with it. But as the weeks turned into months, and still, nothing… Well, let's just say the excuses started running out.

I tried to help him. Subtle at first - a guiding hand here, a whispered suggestion there. When that didn't work, I got more direct. I even, shyly, introduced my trusty vibrator into the mix, thinking maybe a little teamwork would save the day. But even that failed to bridge the gap. And let me tell you, nothing kills the mood faster than realising the toy that's never let you down is also falling short. But only when I use it with Nick. It's bizarre.

I tried drinking too much champagne thinking it might help release secret inhibitions I might be harbouring. It didn't. I'm not.

Listen: When You Love Your Partner But Not The Sex. Post continues after video.

Then came the faking. I hate admitting that. I swore I'd never be one of those women who fakes it, but there I was, moaning and gasping like a second-rate actress, just to boost his confidence. At the time, I convinced myself it was the right thing to do — better to keep the peace than have the awkward "it's not happening" conversation.

But here's the thing: every time I faked it, I felt like I was digging us into a deeper hole. Because now, there's this unspoken pressure. Every failed attempt feels heavier than the last, like a ticking time bomb neither of us wants to acknowledge. I don't think he knows I've been faking, but sometimes I wonder if he suspects. He's not stupid, and the tension is starting to show in subtle ways - a hesitation here, a forced joke there.

It's like the Big O has become the Big Omission in our otherwise perfect relationship.

I've spent hours Googling "how to help your partner improve in bed" and reading every sex advice column under the sun. I'm masturbating maybe a little too much just to make sure that I still can. I even considered calling one of those radio sexperts to ask for advice anonymously, but the thought of someone recognising my voice was enough to stop me in my tracks.

And the worst part? I feel guilty. So, so guilty. Nick is amazing in every other way. He's thoughtful, kind, and genuinely wants to make me happy. I know he'd be crushed if he found out how much this is bothering me. But I can't keep pretending it's not an issue. Because it is. A big one.

The truth is, sex matters. It's not everything, but it's important. And while I love Nick with all my heart, I'm starting to wonder if love alone is enough. Can we fix this? Or is this the kind of thing that breaks couples apart?

I saw my GP. She explained that sometimes people who have orgasms go through periods where orgasms are less frequent or absent. She said that Anorgasmia (a lack of orgasms) born from not being able to "let go" might be part of the problem. She assured me that the fact that I can still climax on my own proves that it's nothing physiological.

She recommended that we go to a sex therapist together. I'm totally happy to take the blame on this, but I know Nick will feel like it's him failing. And I don't know whose fault it actually is.

I don't have the answers. What I do know is that I need to have the conversation I've been avoiding - the one where I tell him the truth. Not the sugar-coated, "It's fine, babe," version I've been giving him, but the real, honest truth. Because if we have any chance of overcoming this, we need to face it together. No more faking. No more avoiding. Just two people, in love, trying to figure it out.

I don't know how Nick will take it. Part of me is terrified he'll be hurt or angry or embarrassed. But the other part of me — the part that believes in us - hopes he'll see it for what it is: a chance to grow, to connect, and to prove that even the perfect relationship has room for improvement.

Fingers crossed!

Feature Image: Getty.