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Two weeks after Christmas, Signora DeMarco came to confession. "Father, you might recall that the last time I came to your confessional I needed your advice on a problem."

Father Gianelli didn't lie, nor did he pretend not to know her. It was a small parish within Arenzano; he knew everyone. "Signora, during Christmas I heard so many confessions. I do remember something about a marital problem. How can I help?"

"Father, perhaps this is not the place. Won't you come for coffee one day this week?"

This was not unusual. It was part of his pastoral duties. He often met outside the church, outside the rectory with parishioners. Sometimes in their homes; sometimes he was called to the hospital.

A few days later, he was knocking on Signora Bettina DeMarco's door. He'd reviewed some research on the Church's views of non-procreation marital sex. Of course, as you know, prior to his ordination, he was very familiar with many of those practices.

He was prepared to explain to Signora DeMarco what the Church recommended.

That is not what Bettina DeMarco had in mind. She answered the door, not modestly dress as if she was going to Mass, but as if she was preparing to get in bed on her wedding night, except her dressing gown was black; contrasting with her golden locks. The gown showed off much more than a married woman should for anyone but her husband. It was low cut and clung to those perfect breasts, nipples clearly visible, and her lovely ass and it was short; way above her knees.

Father Gianelli could not help but notice. Nights before joining the seminary flashed through his brain.

"Welcome Father, the coffee is ready and I made the biscotti yesterday. Please come in; make yourself comfortable."

He sat on a sofa. Bettina brought him a cup of coffee. "Grazie." He was thanking her for the cup, but his brain was thanking her for the view. When she bent over to put down the cup, almost her entire breasts were exposed. He tried not to look, but sometimes we forget, priests are also men. They were perfect orbs; almost pure white, and just a hint of her areolas were exposed.

When she walked back into the kitchen, try as he might, he couldn't keep his eyes off her spectacular ass.

Do not for a minute think that Bettina DeMarco didn't know what she was doing. As she walked away she smiled. She knew he was looking; knew he'd taken the bait or at least was curious about the bait.

When she returned with the biscotti, she bent over even farther, "Father, I thought it best to discuss my problem without my husband present. Matteo is in Rome and won't be back until the end of the week."

"So, Signora, what is the problem?"

"Ummmm, I'm somewhat embarrassed to discuss it, but I need your advice." She then subtly or not so subtly changed the subject. "Don Fillipo, my dear friend, Signora Paola Amoruso has a younger sister, Azzurra, I think you know her."

He blushed. "Yes, I know her." He couldn't lie. He frequently thought of her; thought of being in bed with her. It took all of his will power then and now to block thoughts of her from his mind.

Bettina DeMarco sat down next to him; closer than you'd expect for a married woman and with a priest. "Don Fillipo, Azzurra told me all about you. I know it's a sin but I need what you have. She put her hand on his leg; high up on his leg.

It took all his will power, the same will power he used to block Azzurra Amoruso from his mind, to remove her hand. He did it gently with no

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