J is for Josie

"But that skirt, Joseph. I got it for your Mum a couple of months ago, just before she left really. She's never worn it to go out in."

"Go out?"

I'd just realised. What Dad always did when he came in with a take-away was to put it into the oven to keep warm. And of course he hadn't.

I turned to face the fully laid-up tableware, nice plates and glasses, all the best things, what we usually did. He saw it.

"What I meant was we could actually go out to the Italian, that one we've seen in town by the market. I'm sorry, I didn't realise. But Joseph, I'm not kidding, you look so much more like your mother now, really, absolutely gorgeous. How have you - you know?"

He was looking at my figure, at my slim waist and my bulging 'breasts', and at the effect the sheer black tights and the black stilettos had on my legs. I told him about ordering things from the Internet, about the breast falsies and the shoes and so on.

"Well, Joseph, you really have done a remarkable job. And your make-up too, it looks so good."

"Well, I hope it's all right. I practiced a bit in the week and copied one of your photos of Mum. To try to get the eyes right, really, that was difficult. I suppose I was trying to look a bit older than I am really, to look like Mum, you know."

And -- Joseph -- how do you feel? You know what I mean. Dressed like that?"

I had to think for a moment. Actually getting dressed up had really been so much fun. And I felt ....

"Actually, Dad, I feel great. I feel -- different. Really girly."

I think I probably blushed. Dad smiled.

"I suppose I'd better go out again, see if I can get something from the restaurant. I didn't order anything though. Mind you, Joseph, if you went in looking like that, nobody would know."

I didn't reply straight away. Then I voiced the thought that had leapt into my mind.

"Well, we could if you like. Go there for dinner I mean."