It’s been a year today that my beautiful daughter, Patrizia, has been hospitalized and unconscious. One year ago today, during her twentieth birthday party, she tripped down a long stairway and broke some bones. Worse, she hit her head hard. The brain swelling changed her pretty face to a long-lasting grimace. Her bones healed months ago. Doctors induced a coma until the brain swelling abated, but she didn’t wake up. That was eight months ago.

During this year of agony, her mother stopped coming for daily visits with me when she lost hope. Doctors said there was nothing more they could do but wait. They said we should keep talking to her, remind her of early, pleasant memories.

I recalled how she refused to wear clothes at home until she was ten. How she experimented with sex far too early. I reminded her that she swore she was a virgin until her eighteenth birthday. She knew I knew better. No memories helped. The doctor said, “I’m so sorry, Mr. ---” I told him to call me Paul. “Paul, but if we don’t see some improvement this month, we must move her to long-term care. Have you tried music? That can be a trigger.”

Since she loved the Beatles, I began playing their albums for her with the phone by her ear. Yesterday was always one of our favorite songs and seemed sadly appropriate for us. Yesterday did seem so far away. She smiled, then frowned. I called the doctor. “That’s a good sign. Better if she can repeat it.” She didn’t. “Aromas are strong triggers for memories. Try some she loves, hates, or are unknown to her.”

I brought in many spices, raw onions, and peppers. Her reactions were mild at best. There was a scent I was reluctant to try. On a day she came home late from a date, she had the strong scent of sex wafting around her. When I hugged her, I smelled semen and the aromatic fragrance of female cum. I said nothing. When she went to bed, I cried. My little girl matured far too soon. I didn’t lose my virginity until I was twenty-two, and hoped she would wait til I was dead. Though no prude, I tried to set a conservative example. That obviously didn’t work.

Maybe exposing her to fragrant semen would wake her. I jerked off into an old pill bottle and brought that in. Waving it under her nose had no effect. I waited a few hours for the sample to ripen, and tried again with the much more potent sample. Still no effect.

That night, I told my wife, Piper, about the latest trial. Then, I suggested we needed to capture our mixed fragrances and expose Pat to the mix. We made love three times that night. I collected my cum and hers in a small jar and let it age overnight. Checking it in the morning confirmed the aroma was quite strong, yet arousing. When I waved it under her nose, she twitched slightly. The doctor said that it was promising. When he sniffed the jar, he pulled back wide-eyed. “WHOA! Is that...? Pheromones? Strong pheromones. From both of you, I hope. Keep it up.”

Piper and I used the frequent samples to revive our sex lives. We collected samples of our mixed cum and let some ripen for a week. Pat’s response was the same. We decided to try giving her fresh samples, so we fucked in the hospital and brought our mixed cum on my finger to her nose. Rubbing it on her upper lip gave a stronger result. We tried rubbing just Piper’s cum on Pat. It seemed to have an effect. Doctors removed her incubation, and Pat breathed without it.

Piper whispered a new plan, then blushed. She wanted to put her cum in Pat’s mouth and rub it on her lips. When that showed no improvement, Piper suggested a fresher sample. “Honey, there was just one minute between you coming on your finger and rubbing it on her tongue and lips. The only way to make it fresher ... No?” She drew the curtain, and I flattened Pat’s bed. Piper stripped off her clothes and stood naked where Pat could see her — no reaction.