Totally blinded at the age of twenty-two thanks to a Taliban IED, a widower for the past several years, I was lost in a fantasy, trying to satisfy physical urges by listening to an erotic, historical romance. Actually, it was just porn in an audiobook MP3 file on my laptop; and, it wasn’t working.

I’d been sighted as a teen and into my twenties, then, after Afghanistan, my second tour and the IED, there was total blindness. Some time later, as I recovered, came the discovery that I had a photographic memory. That eidetic gift worked without much effort. I could conjure images, visually review my past, and visualize anything. An explicit scene involving a corset and silk pantalettes had initially gotten me hard, teasing a submerged libido with the hope that masturbation might give me a few seconds of pleasure in that ultimate release.

Since losing my wife to cancer, I couldn’t stir up the motivation to find another partner. It’s hard to connect with a woman when you can’t see her expressions. A couple of livid facial scars didn’t help. Vanessa had been a nurse and somehow looked past my scars when we started dating, but she was gone. Grief, depression, and a general lack of initiative were additional roadblocks to a new, serious relationship. The inability to gratify myself had gotten worse over the past year or two. I was even starting to wonder if a vasectomy was somehow contributing to my growing impotence. Whatever the cause, I was spiraling down into despair. Sometimes, when I was getting close to orgasm, desire and arousal just evaporated.

Thoughts of my wife suffering kept intruding, then sorrow would snare me, quenching sexual urges. That happened again, my erection wilting. I tried harder, fisting my cock rapidly, but without any success.

A movement of air brushed my cheek, further disturbing the dissolving fantasy and all but killing my tenuous arousal. A whiff of my deceased wife’s favorite perfume momentarily confounded me.

“Vanessa?” I blurted, foolishly thinking, A ghostly visitation?

That seductive blend of musk and lilac was very familiar. It had been my wife’s signature scent. I’d purchased a very expensive bottle for an anniversary, only she hadn’t survived to celebrate that occasion. Over the past few years, our daughter had been appropriating the unused perfume, constantly dabbing on her mom’s heady fragrance.

In that instant, I knew my visitor wasn’t a ghost. By that fragrance alone, I realized that my daughter was nearby.

Jolted from my attempt at masturbation, exposed, I found my thoughts in a tangle. I was certain my bedroom door had been closed. Perhaps it hadn’t been locked. I jerked the sheet and blanket up over my middle, raising my knees and desperately covering the lower half of my naked body. I hit pause on my laptop, jerking out the earbuds.

“Laurie?” I breathed, hoping it was my imagination. It wasn’t. Our daughter was still living at home. Nineteen, working two jobs six days a week, she was trying to save enough money for college because my disability income couldn’t provide for the expense. It was late. She was due home from her evening job.

Unfortunately, my daughter was right there in my bedroom. I felt the mattress shift and a brush of a silky nightie as she leaned over me. Her fingers lightly brushed over my bare shoulder, then a slender, warm palm cupped my damaged cheek. She knew I appreciated that kind of tactile reassurance, but in that moment, embarrassment was clouding my thoughts.

“Tell me you didn’t see what I was doing?” I said lamely.

My daughter huffed out a breath. “I didn’t see you trying to jerk off, Dad,” she replied theatrically. “Even though I’ve been watching for a couple of minutes.” She stifled a giggle, doing nothing to hide the smile in her voice. “Pardon me for interrupting your ... fun.”

‘Fun!’ I thought ironically, cheeks heating as I realized plenty of light would be spilling in from the hall. She had seen everything. I took a couple of deep, slow breaths. “Not much fun,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Nothing much happening in that department.”

“Nothing?” she murmured, fingers stroking lightly across my cheek. “I’ve been noticing you were more down than usual, Dad. I’m sorry, but is the ‘not fun’ because you’re lonely? Because Mom is gone?”