I put my bedding in the washing machine and set it to a forty-degree wash. I hung my dressing gown on the back of my bedroom door and got in the shower. I loved the way the hot needle jets of water stimulated. I especially liked them on my crotch; I shivered with arousal as the jets bounced off my clitoris. I gasped and almost had a moment, but it didn’t quite happen.

I padded myself dry and dressed. I wore a peach soft-cup bra, matching tight high-sided knickers, a semi-sheer blouse, and a tartan-patterned skirt. I sat on the edge of the bed and rolled on my 15-denier nude stockings; I loved the sheen they gave my legs. No need for a suspender belt; these were self-supporting. I put on a black faux leather jacket to finish the clothes and then zipped up matching black knee-high boots; I loved their kitten heels.

Okay, I was all ready. I was meeting Svetlana for coffee at eleven, but I was popping in to see Dad on the way. Dad lived in a small estate just off the ring road; his house had two bedrooms and was quite easy for him to maintain. I had bought him a couple of self-emptying robot vacuums, one for upstairs and one for down. All he had to do was dust the surfaces around the house. Today I planned to empty the robots and change their dust bags.

I knocked on his door and walked on.

“Only me, Dad,” I called as I walked through to the kitchen. I filled the kettle and flicked it on to boil. The downstairs robot lived in the corner of the kitchen; I would empty that one first.

“Morning, Mica,” my dad said. I hadn’t heard him come into the kitchen.

I turned and walked over, putting my arms around him for a hug. I pressed against him, feeling my breasts squash against his chest. I pulled back and grabbed two mugs from the mug tree.

“Tea or coffee, Dad?”

“Tea, I think, Mica.”

As I was waiting for the kettle to boil, I turned my attention to the robot. I bent down, flicked its lid, and removed the dust bag. I dropped that into Dad’s kitchen bin and grabbed a replacement from the utility drawer. Bending down again, I put the new bag in place and shut the robot lid. It was ready to go. I would do the upstairs one after I had made the tea. I heard Dad sigh, almost a groan.

“You alright, Dad?” I asked as I put tea bags in the mugs.

“Oh yes, Mica, I am fine.”

“Only you sort of groaned.”

“Yes.”

I poured the water into the mugs and turned to the fridge for milk. As I turned back with the bottle of milk, I looked at Dad; he was a little flushed.

“Come on, Dad, what is it? You are all red in the face.”

I added a little milk to the teas and replaced the bottle in the fridge. Dad had said nothing.

“I am waiting, Dad. What is up?”

“Oh God, it is just me being, oh, I don’t know, silly, I guess.”

“How?” I passed him his mug. “Let’s sit in the lounge, and you can tell me what’s up.”

I led the way to the lounge, and I sat in the single armchair that faces his sofa. I knew that Dad had his favourite side of the sofa, and it would be easier for me if I sat opposite; that way, I could see him as we spoke.

Dad sat down on the sofa and put his mug on the side table and turned to me. He made that sighing groan again.

“Come on, Dad, out with it.”

He looked at me and seemed to swallow and then take a deep breath.