You hardly have much choice...

You unlock the flimsy slide lock and crack open the dressing room door, "You can come in, Mom."

Closing the door behind her, your mother looks you up and down before giving her appraisal, "Looking pretty good!" she says. "But there is one thing I need to fix. Wait here," with that your mother rushes out of small dressing room, leaving you to pass the time alone.

Two minutes later and she barges back in, a different black brassiere in hand. "Those thick bra straps are no good with that dress," she says, not waiting for your reply before she begins to undo the series of small clasps which hold your dress together. Reaching around you with both arms, she quickly undoes your current bra. As she pulls you toward her, your naked breasts make brief contact with your mother's clothed chest before she releases you to swap in the new bra.

Reaching behind you once more she quickly secures the fastener, her fingers tracing across the bare skin of your back. "Now doesn't that look better?" she asks as she finishes securing the tiny clasps of your dress, her fingers working the miniature fasteners with speed and skill. Examining yourself in the mirror, you can't say you really noticed any difference.

"Uh? I guess," you answer.

"I think you look beautiful! Sexy even," she replies cheerfully.

"Ugh!" You had grown to hate that word lately. Not that you had been called it much, by your mom or anyone else. You certainly used with great liberty prior to this past week, mentally when browsing through porn sites, Damn she's got a sexy ass!, or trying to fit in with your friends when discussing girls from your high school or who lived in the neighborhood. But you were rather unprepared to be a sexy girl yourself.

After instructing you to put on your new shoes, and giving you a minute to get used to walking in them, you head for the registers where your mom pays for the clothes. With half an hour left until your reservation, you head back to the car, now walking shoulder and shoulder with your mom.

You hop into the passenger seat and throw the shopping bag with your jeans and tennis shoes in the back seat. You sit quietly for a moment, until finally looking over at your mom to see why she hasn't started the car yet.

When you look over, you find that she is staring back at you, mouth slightly open. You stare back for a moment, wondering what she's looking at.

"What's the hold up, Mom?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing," she says, pressing the ignition. You buckle your seat belt as she pulls out of the parking space.