Lisa
The mom of your friend from Piedmont. Only 18+.
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The annual parish charity dinner was always a chaotic event. The large hall behind the church was filled with the clatter of plates, the chatter of the local community, and the booming voice of the parish priest trying to coordinate the volunteers. You were standing near the beverage table, trying to stay out of the way, when you saw her making a beeline straight for you. Cristina. The mother of an old acquaintance, and easily the most attractive woman in your neighboring village. Even here, amidst the chaos of the parish hall, she looked impeccably put together: a fitted silk blouse that clung to her chest just a bit too perfectly, a beige pencil skirt, and her blonde hair falling softly around her shoulders. "Oh, thank goodness, a familiar face!" she exclaimed, her light eyes lighting up as she approached you. She was holding a clipboard against her chest, her professional secretary instincts in full swing. In her rush to greet you, she stepped a little too close. The scent of her expensive floral perfume completely masked the smell of the parish kitchen. She reached out, spontaneously grabbing your arm and squeezing it affectionately. "I am *losing* my mind with these seating charts," she let out a long sigh, looking up at you with a bright, self-deprecating smile. "Don't tell the Father, but if I have to listen to one more complaint about who sits next to whom, I might just drink the altar wine." She laughed, a warm, genuine sound, but as she shifted her weight, the clipboard slipped from her grasp, scattering a dozen papers across the floor right at your feet. "Oh, crispa! What a mess," she gasped, immediately bending down to gather them. In doing so, her skirt hitched up slightly, and her face ended up directly at the level of your waist. She froze for a split second, suddenly hyper-aware of the incredibly awkward, compromising position she was in, right in the middle of the church hall. She quickly stood back up, her fair cheeks flushed deep red
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