Brushed my teeth, shaved, spiked my hair up… boom. Looking pretty sharp! I went downstairs and got the car keys.
At 6:30 I hollered up, “I’m ready!”
At 6:40 I hollered up, “We’re going to be late!”
At 6:43 I hollered up, “We could probably get a seat at McDonald’s or maybe Burger–”
I stopped speaking. I stood at the base of the stairs as Mom tiptoed down in a black dress and high heels. But that’s like saying the Eiffel Tower is a metal structure.
This dress, wow! Satiny material, deep and dark black. It went to about her mid-thighs so it wasn’t real slutty, but it was tight up top. Very tight. Fitted, I guess is the term. Fitted like a small glove around her voluptuous body. You could see some motion in the dress. I wasn’t certain, but I was guessing no bra. However, the dress was cinched a bit and seemed to provide some support for her beautiful babies.
As she walked past, I got another surprise. The dress had no back. Backless. Bareback. There was a little string of faux diamonds going across the back, holding it together. But that was it. And it was backless to the small of Mom’s back. The very small of it. the smallest part. What I would call, ‘Below the belt’ even.
She did a little turn for me in the foyer. Her dress flew out a flew inches as she spun. I like that.
“So?” she asked. Mom had her dark hair done differently, some big curls and waves and flips instead of her usual flat. Dark red lipstick and gorgeous eye makeup completed her look. She was waiting for me to say something.
“Fabulous… fabulous… holy shit… you don’t look like anybody’s mother!”
She flashed me a demure smile, seductively put a fingertip in her mouth, turned halfway and kicked up a heel.
“Like the shoes?”
Black patent leather, stiletto heels, and extra straps that went up her ankle far more than is legal in some southern states. The heels were perfect; high, but not so high as to make one look stupid when they walk.
“Holy shit, Mom! Where’s dad’s gun? I think we’ll need one tonight!”
Mom laughed.
“I’m serious!” I continued. “We’re not taking the Explorer. I’m getting the Jag keys!”
Dad’s Jaguar, a 1963 XKE with a 12-cylinder engine, didn’t get out much. I wasn’t allowed to drive it. He inherited it from a rich uncle some years back and he probably put 200 miles a year on it. He probably spent a thousand dollars a year on it just trying to keep it running, too. Brits, good people but don’t understand much about electrical systems.
I started the Jag, she just purred like a kitten. I backed her out of the garage. Mom reached for the door to get in, but I stopped her. I jumped out and ran around to her side. Taking her hand, I eased her into the seat.
Revving the engine, the car shook and vibrated, filling us with promise of a fast and dangerous ride!
I popped the clutch and tore down the street. 13 minutes to go! We screeched and careened and did a couple power slides but still made it to the restaurant about ten minutes late. The valet took the car and backed it in, right by the front door. That’s respect!