Saturday Nights and Sunday Mornings

Hello and thank you for reading my story, I hope that you enjoy it. Love Mica xx Yorkshire England.

Mum and dad had tickets for an Edwardian Ball called the Good Old days. It was being held at the Alhambra Ball Rooms in town. They had managed to get a suite at the Grand Hotel next door. It was pretty much all they had talked about for weeks and now the day was here.

Dad, however was not, well, not exactly. He was in bed, covid or flu, who knew, he was just laid up and not going anywhere. Mum was so upset. I mean she was upset that dad was ill, but she was also upset that she couldn't go to the ball. It wasn't so much the money, it was the experience, it was going to be their highlight, a sort of renewing their vows, without all that fuss and rigamarole.

Their clothes, rather costumes, were delivered around two pm. It just made mum sadder that she couldn't wear the clothes, she had so looked forward to them having their photos taken by the photographer who had promised period photographs and prints to match the setting. It was all booked and cost them, from what little I overheard, rather a lot of money. After all, it was a once in a lifetime event for them

I went and checked on dad. There was no way he was going anywhere; I mean no chance. I went back down to mum who was doing her best not to cry.

"I'm the same size as dad, why don't I go in his place? At least then one of you can enjoy the evening."

Her face lit up for a moment, and then she said, "yes, yes that could work. Obviously it won't be the same without your father, we had planned a special ending to the evening that you and I couldn't do, but yes it could work."

Well, no prizes for guessing what the special ending that they had planned was, and no, that wasn't something I could entertain. The Uber arrived and we bundled all of our clothes and suitcases in and we were off. It was a bit of a journey, but the taxi fare was probably not to different from the cost of parking in town, without the hassle for us of driving. I paid the driver and he went, leaving us at the entrance to the Grand with a pile of bags and cases.

I was looking at them wondering where to start when a footman appeared.

"Leave this to me sir," he said, beckoning to someone out of my view.

"Thank you," I said passing him a five pound note. "come on mother let's check in."

Check in was easy, dad had already paid for everything, and I had the same surname as dad, so I just swiped my credit card for any incidentals we might incur, and two room cards were handed over. We went up in the lift, directed to the lifts by the footman who greeted us.

"Your luggage is already in your room sir, madam," he said as he pressed the lift call button, "top floor., press P for penthouse suites."

We got in the lift and pressed P. The lift creaked and groaned, and not in a particularly comforting way, but it slowly ground its way up to the top floor and then with a ping, we were there. I opened the inner lift door and then the outer, ushering mum through. I shut the inner lift door and then the outer doors. There were four penthouse suites, ours was to the left of the lift.

I took mother's arm, and we walked down the rather grand corridor to our room, it was all very art deco, and that was probably the last time the furniture was changed. I used my card on the room door, and it clicked green and in we were. Goodness, the room echoed the corridor, very art deco, and so very big, my God I thought we could hold a ball in the sitting room. Yes, the room had a sitting room, a large bath and shower room with twin wash basins, a bidet, separate walk-in shower, large freestanding bath and a plethora of gold coloured fittings and furnishings.

In the sitting room was a very large coffee machine, in stainless steel. It took very large Nespresso pods, catering only I guessed, a fridge with small bottles of milk, various soft drinks, mixers and large bottles of rum, whisky, gin and vodka. On the table in the sitting room was a bowl full of fruit and a silver cooler with ice and a bottle of champagne. Wow, dad had gone all out, no wonder mum was so upset at nearly missing out.

One very large bed, and I thought that at least we could manage to miss each other if we kept to our own sides.

"Champagne mother?" I asked, she was busy taking in all the details in the room, taking photo after photo on her phone, perhaps to send to dad, perhaps just for memories.

"Yes, please, let's sit on the sofa."

I poured two glasses of champagne and handed one to mum after she had sat, I took the other and sat next to her.

"Cheers mum," I said as we clinked glasses. "Dad pushed the boat out this time."

"Well, we chose everything together, it is just a shame he can't be here to enjoy it." She took a large sip of her champagne, almost finishing her glass. I topped her up. That went nearly as quickly as the first one, crumbs she would be squiffy before we even got to the ball.

After a few glasses of Champagne mum suggested that we get ready.

"You have the bathroom, I'll have the bedroom," she said, "I have to lay all my stuff out and work out how it goes together."

"Okay mum, call me if you need a hand with anything."

"Ha!" was her reply.

I grabbed my various hangers and bags of clothes and laid them out on the sofa trying to work out what was what. Underwear was the most confusing. It seemed to comprise of a left leg, a right leg, and then a sort of gusset that went underneath, it was all tied together with strings down the sides. Unfathomable to me, I was just used to pull on a pair of tighty whities, or boxers. But mum had insisted we did everything authentic. I wonder how she would get on as far as I knew they didn't have bras in Edwardian England. Downton Abbey had a lot to answer for in my book.

"Simon, don't look, but come in here," Mum called.

"Yes mother, but I need to look otherwise I will bump into things."

"Don't be facetious Simon. Now have I got these things on right, I need this layer right before I attempt the next layer."

I looked, mother was adorned in white cotton and lace. Not being an expert in women's' under things, especially Edwardian under things, I shall do my best. She had a camisole on, quite loose and from what I could tell was not in any way supportive. Below that was a petticoat, and as she lifted that I could see underneath were what I could only call bloomers. Real old fashioned knickers.

"Well it looks okay to me, what should I be looking for?"

"Well, can you see anything you shouldn't?"

"Mother I can hardly tell it is you in there, there is so much lace. You are fine."

"Thank you. You can go now."

Fearing another call, I rushed out and stripped. The underwear was key, I sort of assembled it on the sofa, shuffled it up my legs and then tightened it up around my waist. How the hell I was supposed to go to the loo was beyond me. Next a loose vest, and then a white shirt with separate collar. I attached the collar on first with the studs, then put the shirt on, and fastened the front with yet more studs. The cuffs were fastened with loose chain links. A tie next, white again, not shaped like a modern tie, it was pretty much the same size all the way down, so the knot was more like a ring of material. Trousers next, dark blue, and they were somewhat too large for my waist, but were held up with white braces. There were some button adjustments around the waist, and using them I managed to reduce the waist until it more or less fit.

Next was a gold waistcoat, pockets each side, a buttoned tightener at the back to adjust the size. Awkward to do, no wonder they had valets or footmen to dress them. Finally the jacket, a black mourning jacket, long and buttoned almost to the neck. The instructions said to only button the top button. There was a swagger stick with a silver end. Shoes were black patent with highish heels, luckily dad and I have the same shoe size. I wore my own socks. The whole thing was finished by a Top hat and white gloves. It all seemed a bit over the top to me, but having seen Downton Abbey, it all looked about right.

"Simon," Mum called again, "in here."

"Yes mother," and In I went the dutiful son.

"Do me up please."

Her dress was a bit stunning, certainly something the dowager would have worn. Full length in a beautiful pheasant blue, with a gold feature at the bust. There was a closeness to the dress that accentuated mum's figure, and mum's shape quite held the dress as it slinked down her back. She turned her back to me. There was a line of buttons going up the back, and they just needed adding to the buttonholes on the other side of the dress.

I started at the waist and worked my way up. As I go to what was basically the fullness of her breast I was struggling to do the buttons up. I was pulling quite hard as I had to overlap the buttons and the buttonholes in order to push the button into the hole. I was pretty sure I was squashing my mum's boobs somewhat. Finally, I go to the top where there was a final hook and eyes, thus leaving about four inches of mums back bare.

"Done mother, do you want some more champagne?"

"Yes Simon, I want some more champagne."

I went out and got the bottle and poured mum another glass. So far I had finished one glass, mum the rest of the bottle. Mum stood in front of the mirror affixing a rather large hat to her head, when I say large, I meant it reached out as far as her shoulders.

"You look very dashing Simon, I shall be proud to go to the ball with you."

"And you mother look elegant and very beautiful, I am proud to be your beau. Shall we go, although I am not sure we shall all three fit in the lift."

"All three?"

"Yes mother, you, me and your hat."

"Idiot. I am not sure I am going to bother with the parasol, it is not as if it is a lawn event."

"No. I have a swagger stick, I don't think I want to take that. I know we are only going a few yards down the street, but technically it is an offensive weapon. Don't want some uppity PCSO getting the wrong end of the stick. No pun intended."

"No Simon, I agree, probably best to leave it here."

"Do you need a room key, or shall we take just the one."

"There is only room for a hanky in my bag, leave it here, I won't be coming back without you."

We set off down the corridor and called the lift. After what seemed like a decade of waiting the old thing hove into view and dinged. I opened the outer door and then the inner shutter gate and ushered mother inside. I pulled the outer door too and then slid the shutter closed and press G for ground. The lift lurched and then in its very slow way it trundled down to the ground floor.

As we exited the lift the doorman that helped us earlier greeted us.

"Good evening Sir, Madam. I hope that you have a wonderful evening, please enjoy."

"Thank you, we certainly intend to." I answered, smiling to myself as mum seemed to have the hiccups which she was trying desperately to suppress. He opened the large side door for us and we left the hotel and turned to walk the thirty yards or so to the Alhambra.

As we approached a fully suited and booted doorman greeted us and asked us for our names. I duly provided the required information and we were escorted in and shown to our table. We were located right next to the dance floor and near to wear the band would play, their instruments were all in place ready for them.

"Some Champagne madam, sir," a waitress asked, she was also period correct, white blouse, black skirt and a white pinny.

"Oh yes please, mum said." I half expected her to leave the bottle, and then lo and behold, the waitress left us the bottle after pouring us a glass each. In here the champagne glasses were not the modern flute, but the big round 'Marilyn Munroe' style glasses that we were used to seeing in the films of the forties and fifties.

"Chin chin" mother said clinking glasses.

"Bottoms up," I answered.

"Perhaps later" mum said with what I could only describe as a dirty laugh.

The tables were filling up quite quickly now, and as well as the champagne, each table was being adorned with a bottle of Chablis, and a rather nice looking bottle of Chateau Neuf du Papes.

There was a dinging of a bell, and a man in fine period clothing stood and greeted us.

"Good evening mes dames et monsieurs, and welcome to our Edwardian evening. Your meal service will start shortly and then the band will entertain us and those so disposed can dance on our beautiful dance floor. We have a troop of dancers who will perform authentic period dances that you may wish to copy, but there are no rules you may dance as you see fit. Thank you and enjoy your evening."

There was a ripple of applause as he sat down and then almost is if on queue our hors d'oevres arrived.

When the highly polished plate was placed down I could see that it was oysters and a selection of buttered brown bread. Mum almost squealed. "I so love oysters' she said, 'your father thinks they are a bit naughty."

"Naughty?"

"Yes" and she got closer to me and whispered, "he thinks they look like lady parts, you know, down there."

She pulled herself back up and laughed. As I looked it my plate I could see what he meant.

"He does have a point mother," I said as I slipped an oyster into my mouth making an exaggerated slurp and smiled at mother. She almost howled. Adjacent tables must have wondered what we were laughing at. "They taste similar too mum," I added. Mum almost fell of her chair laughing. A waiter topped up her champagne and asked if we cared for wine. We both went for the Chablis, thinking it would suit the oysters better than a full bodied red.

After we had eaten our dozen oysters, the table was cleared and the soup arrived. It was oxtail consommé and we were served a glass of Madeira to accompany. Much to mum's delight they put small silver platters of olives, anchovies and pickled herring at the same time as the soup. I think nowadays we just have bread.

As we ate the band came in and started playing quiet music, focussing mostly on piano and viola. Very pleasant.

Whilst the soups were being cleared away we were offered a light entree of vol-au-vents with prawn and marie rose. Light and delicate, they were just a single mouthful, and utterly delicious.

Next was fish, a cold salmon served with asparagus in a hollandaise. Not my favourite fish, I prefer trout If I am honest, but it was very well prepared and cooked.

Next was the roast, a veritable slab of beef served with French beans, and a globe artichoke with mayonnaise and tomato garnish. The Chateau Neuf du Papes was served with this. The empty Chablis bottle was removed, replaced with a sweet

Sauterne.

Next was the entremets, a beautifully light souffleé, which we accompanied with the CNdP.

A selection of cheeses, blue and hard white were next, allowing us to finish the red, a port was offered, but mum and I stayed with the CNdP, finishing that bottle.

Finally we came to the deserts, Escoffier's fruit tart and a very sweet sorbet. The Sauterne was perfect for this.

As I sat waiting for the coffee to arrive, I realised that over dinner mum and I had consumed a bottle of champagne, a bottle of white, a bottle of red, a glass of Maderia, and most of a bottle of sauterne. The night was yet young. With the coffee came an XO Brandy.

The eating part of the evening concluded tables were cleared and fresh champagne delivered to our tables. Small selections of petites fours were also placed on the tables.

Mum was finding it all quite amusing. "Why," she asked me with a giggle in her voice, "are all Edwardian women so thin? If I were to eat like that every night I would be as fat as a toad."

"Well mum, I suspect that wasn't a typical Edwardian dinner, I suspect this was banquet meal, reserved for special occasions."

"Maybe, but after that lot, and none of it was cheap fare, I can see why it was so expensive."

"True mother, all of it high quality. Pity the cost wasn't in Edwardian equivalents."

A group of people got onto the dance floor, the troop to show us how to dance I supposed. The first dance was a minuet, only finger tip touches were allowed the compere explained. After the demonstration was complete we all got up and had a go, bearing in mind that we had all consumed roughly the same amount of alcohol, it was amazing how well we all did. Then came a waltz, forbidden by the church at the time, the compere explained, well we all pretty much knew how to waltz, I grabbed mother, and we waltzed our way around, mother rather clingy, so much busier than the minuet, we got back to our chairs puffed. I poured us champagne, which we quaffed like water.

The compere came back and announced a demonstration of the next dance, an Argentinian Tango. Oh goodness, now that was a sexy dance, good job mum had gone for the slinky dress, not the bustle option. I had forgotten that mum and dad used to go ballroom dancing when they were courting, I could see now why this evening would have been so important for their journey down memory lane.

The Argentinian meant mum and I dancing very close, mum flicking her leg backwards between my legs, there was little modesty, this was full body contact dancing. The evening went on, the dances got closer and more intimate, the champagne went down like the Titanic and by the end we were flushed, tipsy, and had been very intimate with our dancing.

"Oh Simon, the best is yet to come," she said, kissing me wetly on my lips, pressing her body against mine.

"Time, my lady, to escort you to your chambers." I said, although I am not sure how clear I was with my enunciation. We walked arm in arm back to the grand, were escorted in by the night porter and went up to our room, mum swaying in the lift as we waited for continents to drift as the lift made its way up to our floor. I opened the door and ushered mum in.

"That was a good evening mother," I said.

"It hasn't finished yet, I want my original ending," and she put her arms around me, pressing her body against mine kissing me passionately. My dick immediately responded, hard jutting, mum felt it.

"I need you. Now."

I was taught not to argue with my mother.

"Good boy, I am sure you won't let me down" she said as her hand rubbed my dick through my trousers. "Now get me out of this ruddy dress."

I turned her around and undid the catch at the top of her dress, and then the buttons, slowly working my way down to her waist. Not so easy when you are a few bottles of wine into an evening. I slipped my hands under the shoulders of her dress and eased it down her arms, letting it fall in a puddle at her feet.

I turned away and undid the tie, studs going everywhere as I removed the shirt and then the vest, the trousers almost falling as I slipped the braces off my shoulders. My bloody undergarments wouldn't undo, bloody knots. I eventually managed to get them over my hips and off. I turned to mum, she had just pulled her knickers off and was stood naked before me. A light grey down covering her mons, her fanny lips clear and hairless, looking quite fat and inviting.

I walked across to her, she grabbed my hand, and we went to the bed, which we just noticed had been turned down with chocolates on the pillows. They went straight onto the side tables.

Mum looked fabulous, and that wasn't the copious alcohol we had consumed, it was the truth. Her boobs were a bit gravity droopy, but there was no excess fat, no mum tum. She looked good. She sat on the edge of the bed and swung her legs up. She shuffled across to the middle and I knelt beside her and bent down to her groin. Her aroma was very sexual, I used my fingers to tease her lips apart and licked her valley, Mum squealed, "Oh God Simon, no one has ever..."

I licked again, seeking her clitoris to salivate over and pull into my mouth, my hand under my chin seeking her opening. I found her clitoris and used my tongue to bring it out of hiding and dabbed gently at it. Mum's breath stopped, she was holding it as my tongue played with her clitoris, perhaps her pleasures were building up. I slowly pressed two fingers into her opening, seeking her depth, easing out and back in, mum's back stiffened.