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A fashion consultant REALLY likes his job.

Mother drained half the glass in one swallow. She began talking about some TV programme that she had been watching the day before. I couldn't tell you what she was on about, because all I was concerned with was watching for the effects of the pill. Mother took another long pull on her wine, leaving just a small amount left at the bottom of the glass. I held it up to her mouth, encouraging her to finish every last drop, and then I called for the bill. As I tried to signal the waiter, all I could hear was Mother bleating on about some poor man who had lost everything in a hurricane or flood or some such disaster. Eventually, I caught the waiter's eye and indicated for him to bring me the check. As he turned away, I suddenly became aware that Mother's incessant drivel had stopped mid sentence. I turned, very slowly to face her.

I couldn't believe my eyes. Mother was still upright in her seat, but her eyes were half closed and the expression on her face was like that of a zombie. I asked her if she was OK. It was as if she didn't even hear me. She just sat, mesmerised, staring blankly through half closed lids straight ahead. It had worked, holy smoke, it had worked.

I paid the check pronto and then wrapped the stole around Mother's shoulders. I wondered if she would be able to walk. Man, I hoped I wouldn't have to carry her.

I stood up and went to her other side. I put my hands around Mother's waist and hauled her to her feet. I apologised to the waiter for how drunk she was. The look he gave me made me think that he had seen men spike a woman's drink many times before, and he knew exactly what my motives were. As I took my first step from the table, I prayed that Mother would follow. Somehow, although she looked like a coma victim, Mother managed to put one foot in front of the other and I guided her to the car park.

I leaned Mother against the car while I opened the door. I moved her towards the seat and pressed her down with my hands on top of her head. When she was seated, I took hold of her ankles and swung them into the footwell. It was time to test what I could do. All evening I had longed to know what type of hose Mother was wearing. Carefully, I placed my hands on the hem of her dress. I looked at Mother's face as I slowly pushed the dress higher up her legs. No movement. Her half open eyes just kept staring through the windscreen. I remember grinning with self satisfaction as I confidently pushed the hem further up Mother's thighs until, at last, I could see that she was wearing stockings and suspenders. I crossed her right leg over her left to give me something to feel and look at as we drove home. This was going to be a night to remember.

I caressed Mother's nylon clad thighs all the way home. She looked down as my hand touched the bare flesh at the top of her stockings, but I thought that it was probably just gravity acting on the weight of her head. After about a ten minute drive, I pulled the car up as near to the front door as possible. I helped Mother into the house as I had helped her from the restaurant; her legs still managing to move one at a time. Once inside, I turned on the lights at the foot of the stairs and leaned Mother against the wall. She looked at me through the slits of her eyes and I wondered if she was aware of what her son was doing to her. Maybe it was like one of those bad dreams when you're half awake and desperate to wake up, but the screams just don't come.

When I was sure that Mother was perfectly balanced, I let my hands wander up her milky white arms towards her shoulders.

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