“And yes, he is single.”
“And does he go with these groupies as well?”
“Actually, he does very well with the thirty somethings and older and of course with the bored expat wives.”
“Hmmmm I bet he does, he seems to be a nice guy and he’s quite good looking.”
“Just a phone call ma,” he smiled brandishing his phone at me.
“Don’t be daft I couldn’t do that.”
“But would you like to?”
“No, I am perfectly capable of finding my own dates thank you?”
“Maybe at home mum, but not out here.”
“I don’t need a date out here, I have you.”
“Yes mum you do don’t you?” he said looking serious and speaking quietly.
“Yes Peter,” I said in almost a whisper.
“But not for proper dates mum, not like Clive could.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well you know, a proper date. When was the last time you went on one.”
I knew as well as he did that he was really asking me when I last had sex. I couldn’t tell him the truth that it was getting on for three months.
“Not sure, can’t remember,” I lied sipping my wine to hopefully hide my embarrassment but then having an idea. “What about you Peter?”
“What about me I don’t fancy Clive and as far as I know he’s more attracted to you than me,” he smiled freshening our glasses.
“No,” I laughed. “When was your last date?”
“Oh last week some time, maybe the week before.”
“And your next one?”
“Nothing planned, I am saving myself as I have this hot woman visiting me from England.”
“Hot Peter, can mothers be hot?”
“Well Caln thought so and so did Clive.”
“So you say.”
“And mum so do I.”
“And on that note young man I am off to bed,” I garbled taking my wine with me to the bedroom.
I had only been there a moment or two and hadn’t started undressing when there was a tap on the door. I opened it.
“Seriously mum Clive did ask for your number.”
“Did you give it him?”
“No, but he is keen and will ring me tomorrow so shall I?”
“That’s completely up to you Peter.”
“Well he is likely to be my next boss so pushing some hot totty his way might not be a bad thing,” he said laughing before turning and going to his room.
“Why don’t you stay another week?” Peter surprised me by asking on the Thursday before I was due to leave on the following Sunday.
We had just got back to the apartment after dinner with his work colleagues including Clive who was very attentive.
“Looks as though you have scored there mum,” he said as we were going up in the lift.
“Don’t be silly.”
“Why’s it silly, I know he fancies you like hell,” he went on letting me into the apartment.
“That’s as maybe but I am not interested and in any case this is your territory not mine.”
“So you might otherwise?”
“Who knows? You didn’t give him my number then?”
Pouring us wine he said smiling. “Well that would be a new way of sleeping your way to the top, having your mum fuck your boss.”
“Peter please.”
“Please what?”
“You shouldn’t think of me like that, I’m your mother,” I said sitting on the large sofa in front of the equally large TV. I was wearing a tight white dress with a zip from the modestly cut neckline to my waist. To avoid flashing too much flesh, which is frowned on at times in Dubai I had worn a black bolero jacket that I had removed when we came in.