&nbsp; &nbsp;It was the cruise of a lifetime for Mom and Dad, sailing off into retirement in style. For months, they'd coasted around Europe, calling in at Venice, the fjords, and the Cote d'Azur, doing all the things they always wanted to do. I was a little envious of the photos they sent back, wishing I was there, but knowing they never stayed docked in one place long enough for it to be worth the plane trip to visit them.<br /> Towards the end of the European leg of their cruise, they had a stopover in London for a week. I offered to fly over but they declined. Dad had scheduled a long-postponed appointment while they had a few days on land - he was being reskinned, so would be in no state to entertain guests, they told me. "Besides, we want it to be a surprise," they added enigmatically.<br /> How much of a surprise could it be? I'd seen enough of their old wedding photos to know how Dad looked as a young man.<br /> Reskinning was fairly standard these days, expensive but not much more complex than getting new dentures fitted, and popular among retirees. The new autoflensing machines had turned the procedure from a major surgery to a brief appointment, as they could meticulously strip away the layers of skin without the need for a human surgeon, leaving the delicate nerves and veins untouched. The device would start at the feet and slowly work its way up the body, peeling it like a banana, while a second machine followed in its wake, spraying down a layer of quick-healing gel onto the exposed flesh, and rolling the pre-molded synthskin over the top, like slipping someone into a fleshy scuba suit. Beyond vanity, the health benefits were numerous, chief among them the resistance to sunburn and cancer, which was vital as my parent's cruise swung West towards the Caribbean.<br /> For some reason, they even refused to video call after the surgery was complete. I called them, voice only, as they made the Atlantic crossing. By all accounts, Dad was laid up on their cabin bed, recuperating from surgery.<br /> "How are you feeling?"<br /> "Awful. But better than your mother," he replied, his voice deeper and more gravelly than usual. He paused to let the background sound of Mom throwing up down the phone line. "We hit some rough waters. Your mother still hasn't found her sea legs."<br /> "You must be a real horror show if you don't want to video call. Did they stitch the skin on backward or something?"<br /> "Uh-huh. And back to front. I got my ass where my face is supposed to be."<br /> "I doubt anyone will be able to tell the difference."<br /> "Little wise-ass," he rasped, breaking down into a hoarse cackle. "Oof. Don't make me laugh. Hurts too much. I've had an anesthetic tube shoved down my throat for three days."<br /> "So that's why you sound like James Earl Jones," I laugh. "So how are you finding the dreadlocks?" I ask, thinking back to the faded photo of Dad at his wedding. That had been before I was born. He'd been bald for as long as I could remember.<br /> "Oh, they didn't bother with the dreadlocks," he replied with a low laugh. "We're berthing in Barbados for a few days. Your mother's got her own reskinning booked at a clinic there. You should come to visit. You can see the new me. Might be the last chance you get before we head down Mexico way."<br /> So that weekend I flew down. Mom texted as I landed, saying to meet at a cafe down by the harbor. I saw Mom as soon as I walked in, seated at one of the tables. Dad was nowhere to be seen. My gaze fell on an unfamiliar young woman beside her. The two were sat close, chatting quietly.<br /> A waitress perhaps? No, the girl was too glamorous, beautiful, too... plastic. Even from a distance, her physique displayed the obvious signs of cosmetic alteration, her huge silicone breasts bulging above the cups of her clinging white dress. Passing dock workers and sailors swiveled their necks to stare at her. I figured she must be an entertainer from aboard the ship. A dancer perhaps?<br /> Mom waved me over excitedly. The girl remained enigmatically silent as I sat across from them, watching me with a wry smile on her lips. Closer, it became clearer just how unreal her figure was. Her body was an eyewatering hourglass, his massive bust contracting down to a waist so painfully tight one couldn't help but pity her internal organs, which ballooned out into an impressively-sized ass. In proportion, she more resembled a living sex doll than a real woman. Her exposed skin, which she flaunted eagerly, gleamed in the Caribbean sun, glossy and flawless like plastic. She lowered herself to wrap plump, painted lips around her drinking straw, and I realized with a blush that I was staring.<br /> Mom ordered for her. The waiter bent low as he placed their food down, his eyes inches from her proudly presented prow. I tried not to stare myself, while trying desperately to place that face. Those eyes... Those eyes were so familiar. I extended a hand politely, confused as she cuddled close to Mom.<br /> "Hi! I don't think we've met...?" I said uncertainly.<br /> "Well if that isn't an endorsement, I don't know what else," Mom said to the girl, as if they were sharing a private joke.<br /> The girl leaned close to Mom and planted a deep kiss on her wrinkled lips. I stared in shock and dawning realization as the kiss continued, feeling nauseous as their tongues entwined. The girl broke away, smiling at my expression of horror.<br /> "Oh, we've met!" she rasped in Dad's rumbling baritone. The waiter fumbled his tray with a crash. An ogling dockhand stumbled off the pier with a splash. Dad's pink lips broke into a grin, flashing pearly teeth implants. "Take a photo, boy, it'll last longer."