I was fifty years old and totally blind, a widower for nearly two years, retired from consulting and computer work and trying my hand at writing. I was pretty much done grieving; but loneliness was something I couldn’t quite shake. My son was still living at home after finishing high school and working locally at a lumber mill. He wasn’t there much, except to eat, watch TV, and sleep, sometimes with a girlfriend.

We were in a small town, living in an end unit, one of three two-bedroom apartments, and I began entertaining thoughts of hitting on the lady next door. After only a few discreet touches, I could tell she was petite; and, much to my delight, shorter than me. Though my wife had been an inch taller, ‘big boned’ and overweight, I’d always had this persistent attraction to small women. Trouble was, they were seldom if ever attracted to me.

My new neighbour was around my age, single, and seemed at loose ends after a failed relationship and problems with a local business venture. The day she invited me over for supper, my brain started racing.

That afternoon, I visited the local florist for an arrangement of roses and baby’s breath, then the liquor store for a bottle of wine.

When I arrived, something seemed a bit off. First, Elaine introduced me to a young guy who was either living with her or just sharing the apartment. He didn’t seem interested in joining us for supper, retiring to his room instead. Next, there was a knock on the carport door, and Elaine was introducing me to Anna. Now, I may not be able to see, but hearing and touch go a long way. Anna was much taller, and definitely not a small woman like Elaine, though her soft voice did something to my insides.

Over decades of blindness, after many unusual, even uncanny experiences, I’d gotten what some might call ‘spiritually sensitive.’ Others might credit my awareness to something psychic. Whatever it was, I immediately felt attracted to this woman.

Without the other guy, the three of us settled at a small kitchen table, ate the meal Elaine had prepared, drank wine, and chatted. Anna told me she had an adult son and had been divorced for several years. At some point, Elaine mentioned having a cramp in one leg. I offered to massage her calf, hoping for more, fully prepared to enjoy the contact. She put her leg on my lap, and I worked on the muscles from her knee down. That was about all that happened, except for me finding out she had nice, slim legs, and hearing appreciative moans and praise for my innate talent. Then, Anna suggested I work on her shoulders. I got up, always glad to oblige, knowing my fingers and thumbs would reveal more than just her physical condition. She was wearing a loose, long-sleeved top. Within a few minutes, I knew that Anna was not only large but nicely shaped, her skin soft, her knotted shoulder muscles responsive. I discovered that her hair was thick and long. That it was tied into a ponytail hanging halfway down her back did a number on me. I loved women and girls with long hair-especially ponytails.

While my hands worked, we talked, and I learned that Anna was forty-five, fifteen years younger than me, with an adult son. She joked that his friends often called her a MILF. I hadn’t ever heard the term, so she explained.