Chapter 8

I fidgeted about on the couch, waiting for my mother to finish fussing with her hair and make-up. When I heard her door slide back, I sprang to my feet, slid my hand into my pocket, and waited for her to come into view.

She was, in a word, glorious. The black cocktail dress was a tasteful yet sensual cut, which showed off the top of her mouth-watering cleavage, leaving me wanting to see her fully exposed again. The hem fell about three-quarters of the way down her thighs, displaying her long, lean legs sheathed in black nylon stockings. She'd finally settled on a pair of strappy black leather heels, which elevated her to an even six feet in height, and the whole thing was tied together with discreet silver jewellery and a small, black leather handbag.

She was gorgeous naked, but seeing her like this ... well, it was an even greater thrill, to know that she was dressing up in order to make herself more attractive to me. I hadn't thought that would be possible, and yet here she was, truly a sight to behold. I fumbled for the remote control in my pocket, setting it to buzzing.

She shuddered slightly, her cheeks colouring as the egg did its work. "Baby," she husked, "save it for later. At the restaurant. If you play with that thing while we're walking, I'll loose it and break an ankle. These things," she indicated her gleaming shoes, "aren't as easy to walk in as they look, OK?"

I stepped in closer, smelling her dainty perfume. I rested my free hand on her hip, gave her a quick peck on the lips, and switched the device off. Leaning back, I favoured her with a wry smile. "Sorry, mom. It's just that ... well. The way you look. That dress really suits you, you know?"

Her shoulders twitched, and she gave me a wink. "I bought it when we got here, from that Hon-Maru place. Hoped I might meet an eligible bachelor. But I guess," she said, her face falling slightly, "I don't hold up so well after all."

I bridled at that. "What? You think that because you could only get me you're not attractive? Honestly, mom, I just don't get you at all. You're easily the most beautiful woman I've ever met, captivating, sexy, funny, and smart. I just wish you could see yourself through my eyes. Then you'd never doubt the effect you have on men, how gorgeous you are."

That seemed to satisfy her; she stood taller, and the shy smile began to return. I risked another kiss, before turning, offering her my elbow like I'd seen old-time gentlemen do in black-and-white movies, and said, "Shall we?"

Her smile broadened, and we hastened to the restaurant. It was an odd hybrid of Western culture and Japanese design- rice paper walls and calligraphy clashed with the high dining tables and chairs, but still the understated decor worked. It was a French restaurant, and though each meal had a slight Oriental twist, it was served in large pieces, suited for the knives and forks awaiting us. I held out my mother's chair for her while she seated herself, earning a grateful smile. As soon as she was comfortable, though, I set the egg in motion, causing her to shift about in the chair, trying to master the sensation. I briefly set it to full blast, watching as she blushed, then dialled it down so that it was only barely- I trusted- in motion.