“So what? Teagan will take you on a date.”
“What? I will?” This was news to her brother, obviously. Tara gave him a ‘well, duh,’ look. He frowned and then, as if he had clearly just said ‘Fuck it,’ shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, sure. I think I’ve got something decent to wear.”
I sighed, particularly because I’d just opened the ice cream bucket (punnet? I don’t know) and found it very nearly empty.
“No, Teagan, you don’t have to,” I protested, but Tara cut me off. She does that sometimes.
“It’ll be fun, Mum! Teagan’s a great date. At least that’s what Julie says,” she added, throwing a Look at her brother. Julie was Tara’s best friend and she hadn’t been happy when the two of them had been dating. Ignoring his eye-roll, she poked him in the arm. Pretty hard, by the look of it. “Go on, go have a shower and put something decent on!”
“He doesn’t want to be seen out on the town with his Mum, Tara.”
“Bullshit. Most of his friends would kill to date you. Hell, some of my friends would happily volunteer.” Tara looked again at Teagan, this time for support, and he reluctantly nodded.
I protested again. Teagan tried to say if I didn’t want to then Tara should leave well enough alone. Tara didn’t, because she usually doesn’t. Somehow, as things often seem to in this household, events panned out the way Tara insisted they do and it was decided: I was to have a date with my son.
‘Oh, aha! That’s the light-bulb moment,’ I hear you say. No, it wasn’t. Right then I was honestly just humouring Tara because it was easier than making her shut up. Teagan was doing the same thing, that was obvious. I think even Tara knew it but she was getting her way so that made her happy.
She’s not actually as selfish as I’m making her out to be, by the way. I just don’t like being railroaded.
Anyway, an hour later we’d both showered and changed.
I’d opted for something more sedate than my usual date-night dresses but that isn’t really saying much; I was still showing a lot of leg and my neck-line wasn’t exactly, um, virginal. I have huge boobs, a smallish waist and a generous butt, and all of my going-out clothes kind of… accentuate them. And believe it or not, when I was building my wardrobe over the years I never considered that my ‘going on a date’ section should have a ‘with my son’ subsection. Eventually I was clad in a figure-hugging wine-red velvet dress, black push-up bra (as if I needed any help in that area) and matching panties.
About halfway through my makeup I stopped resenting Tara’s pushiness and started enjoying myself again, so I guess the shade of lipstick I opted for was a touch racy. It was the stay-fast type, though, not one of what I call my ‘Strumpet Lips collection,’ the colours and the textures that make for vivid, intentional smears. A deep red matching the dress, a semi-gloss that somehow seemed to be made of velvet as surely as the dress it matched.
Following about three minutes of deliberation I put on a garter belt and my long sheer black stockings, the cat-paw patterned tops hid by about three inches of the hem of my dress. Shoes were next, red heels that gave me a little extra height and made my arse look incredible, if I do say so myself. I left my long, curly brunette hair out.