Thank you for reading my story, I hope that you enjoy it. Love Mica xx Yorkshire, England.
The train was noisy and hot. I was in what was supposed to be the quiet carriage but people still talked loudly, used their mobiles phones and were generally anything but quiet. I had a table seat, but the downside of that was that there were people opposite looking at me. I pretty much detested the train, but I couldn't get there any other way. The car was ridiculously expensive these days with all the congestion charging and parking fees as well as the cost of fuel.
Years ago I would go down the M1 and park on the outskirts and get the tube in, but the last time I had done that, I was hassled on the tube and it had been a frightening experience. Now in my forties, I preferred as easy and safe an journey as I could. The train and then a taxi was the only option really. I supposed I could fly, but that ended up taking so much extra time, what with the connections, that it was almost a non-starter, and dad, in his sixties, couldn't really come up to me. It would be worse for him, it really would.
It was dad's birthday this weekend and it was important to get down and see him for a few days. Hopefully we could go out and grab a meal somewhere, perhaps an Italian, I know dad is not keen on spicy food so an Indian would be unlikely. We could do a Chinese, perhaps one of those restaurants that did the dim sum selections.
Opposite me on the train was a man with a beard, neat and tidy, but still, he had facial hair. He was wearing a white shirt, well pressed it looked, but no tie. Open at the collar, not when I was young, collars were done up and a tie was worn, these days standards are different. Next to him was a woman wearing a dress that was open well below her bust, her cleavage and almost all of her breasts showing. Again it seemed a little modern for my tastes. I had the window seat, next to me in the aisle seat had been a man with a turban, but he had seemingly gone to the toilet or restaurant car and not returned.
I was wearing a blouse buttoned fully up and a flower print skirt, just above the knee. I had a wheeled carry on in the luggage rack and my handbag at my side. I was, I judged, dressed appropriately for both my age and my journey. Turban man had not reappeared as we pulled into Kings Cross, I mentally shrugged and wondered if he had found sitting next to me offensive or perhaps breast woman opposite. I didn't care if it was me, I wouldn't have been surprised if it was breast woman though. When the train stopped I collected my handbag, had a good look around to ensure I hadn't dropped anything, and then went to the luggage rack and retrieved my carry on, I didn't release the handle until I was stood safely on the platform.
I began my walk to the barriers with my little suitcase wheeling behind me. It was so busy, there were people everywhere, and there was a bit of a hold up at the barriers, but eventually I was through and headed to the taxi rank. There was a man stood there at the end of the queue asking each of us where we were going, cab sharing I supposed. Mine being a bit of a way out got me shunted to the head of the queue and a taxi of my own. Thank goodness.
The journey out of the centre was frankly tortuous, cyclists screaming past, banging on any vehicle that they deemed in their way, busses everywhere, apparently stopping as and when they wanted. I could not have driven, it was too intense. The taxi driver simply took it all in his stride and soon we were out of the mayhem of the centre and into the relative calm of the rest of London. I was not in any way looking forward to the return journey.
I was staggered at the taxi fare, thirty five pounds, my Lord, but anyway, here I was at dad's. I rang his bell and opened the door and stepped inside.
"Hello dad," I called as I shut the front door behind me. Dad's house was a typical early twentieth century semi, long corridor with stairs to one side, a front room, a dining room and then a kitchen. Dad also had a conservatory beyond which was his garden, mostly paved and with astro turf, looks good and easy to maintain, no grass cuttings to worry about for a start. Plenty of pot plants to add shape and colour.
"Hello love," dad said coming down the stairs. We embraced and then dad asked if I wanted a cuppa.
"Yes please dad, the tea on the train was awful. I need a decent one to take away the memory of it."
"I don't know why you don't drive down, you can park outside the house, it would be fine." He had a point.
"Well I am here now dad and I am really looking forward to a nice cup or mug even, of tea."
Dad went into the kitchen with me following. He filled his kettle and turned it onto boil, two mugs from his mug tree and two Yorkshire Tea bags, one per mug. When the teas were made we went and sat in the conservatory, opposite each other, me in a cane chair, dad on a cane sofa.
We sat and we talked about how he was doing, was retirement a good thing for him, was I making plans for mine and so on. It seemed that dad had a lot of spare time and so sat around a fair amount. I suggested he join a gym with a swimming pool so that he could go swimming, an excellent form of exercise. He could also use some of the gym machines, perhaps not pumping iron, but some of the resistance machines, they can be very beneficial too. He said he would look into it.
Dad had arranged a meal at a local Italian Restaurant for 7pm. We could get an Uber there, or walk. I said let's walk, we can Uber back if we want. Walking meant no heels, good job I had some flatties. Dad had an ensuite, so I had sole use of the family bathroom. I went up, lugging my case with me and put it in the guest bedroom. A nice room, looking over the back, so possibly quieter than dad's room which was basically the front half of the upstairs of his house.
I opened my suitcase and hung the dress I planned to wear this evening. I stripped, and headed to the bathroom and turned the shower on, a shower cap over my hair, I didn't plan on washing my hair this evening, just my body. I turned the shower to needle setting and I washed everywhere, it felt like being on the receiving end of a fireman's hose, goodness it was powerful, I swear it gave me a douche when I pointed it upwards at my crotch.
Back in my room, after a quick naked dart across the landing, I worked on my presentation. A little eye liner and mascara, well, I am a girl and I like to look like one. Some foundation and a little blusher on my cheeks and my décolletage, to enhance the shadows, if you know what I mean. I am a C cup, and so a little help is always welcome. My bra was a Wonderbra, and it was a necessity for a woman of a certain age, like me.
No knickers, can't stand them, they just make my crotch clammy, but hold ups. Technology so good in the field of hosiery these days that suspender belts are not really needed, unless it is for their visual effect when seduction is the plan. This is my dad I am going out with not a prospective lover. Hold ups in a nude colour with a faux seam up the rear of the legs.
My dress for the evening was a waisted V neck mid length flared dress from Yves Saint Laurent in a blue polka dot cotton, dual lined which helped it flare. One of my favourite dress styles, but I found only Laurent made them that fitted me well. Dad deserved me to look good, and so I ensured I would.
Fully dressed I went downstairs and waited for dad. He came down wearing a cream linen suit and open necked shirt with brown brogues. Unlike the man on the train, dad looked appropriate. We headed out and I took dad's arm as we walked down the street, dad, correctly insisted on walking street side. I wondered how many loose horses he thought he would have to protect me from.
The restaurant was only a few streets away, on a corner so double fronted across two roads, and we were greeted as we entered and asked to wait momentarily.
"Sir, Madam, please, this way, your table is ready," the greeter said. We followed him to a window side table. I was seated first, and then dad. We were given menus and a glass of water from a jug was poured for us.
"I shall be back shortly sir, madam, and take your orders."
I looked at the menu, comprehensive for sure, hoped that the quality would live up the prices. Back in Yorkshire, even the most expensive Italian restaurant had prices half of here, but then, London overheads are probably significantly more.
I decided I would have Sicilian Red Prawns to start followed by Red Mullet, dad said he would have beef tartare followed by lobster linguine. All the menu was in Italian, but we used the English translations as neither of us were even remotely proficient in Italian. We selected a bottle of Gavi di Gavi to accompany our meal.
"Do you come here often dad," I asked.
"Crumbs love, no, special occasions only. Your brother brought me here a couple of years ago and I have waited for an excuse to come back ever since. My recent Italian food excursions have been courtesy of Tesco. Spaghetti Bolognese has been a recent favourite."
"Well it is good to have a reason to return. Spag Bol is so easy to make, I do it frequently, freezing the unused bit so that the next time, I just take it out of the freezer."
