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Father Gianelli was in mourning, too. Their time together had been the most exciting of his life. He felt so alive.

Now, he threw himself into his pastoral duties.

In a few weeks he thought he was over Bettina; over all women. Afterall, he had taken a vow of celibacy.

It didn't work out that way. Two months after Bettina told him it was over, Signora Concetta Damiano, a sixty-year-old recent widow asked Father Fillipo to help her through the grieving process. It was something that priests routinely do.

Once a week, he'd go to her home where they would talk. He explained that dying was part of life, and that her husband, Roberto, was certainly in the loving arms of Our Lord. He'd hear her confession. The following Sunday he'd see her at Mass where she dutifully received communion.

It didn't matter if she was at home, at church or going about her daily tasks like shopping, Concetta wore black. It was traditional and signaled to the world that she was a grieving widow.

Three months later when the priest arrived at her home for their regular counseling session, she was no longer wearing black. Concetta was a big, large-breasted woman, with black hair. Today she was wearing a flowing calf length white dress and even to the most casual observer it was obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her nipples were that prominent. As a reminder, she was sixty-years-old.

Father Gianelli tried to ignore the obvious. "Signora Damiano, you seem to be doing much better this week."

"Yes, thanks to you, Father. You've helped me understand so much. I'm ready to resume my life. I'm ready to look to the future, but Don Fillipo, the one thing that I will miss and cannot get over is the love and affection my husband provided."

Concetta sat down next to him on her sofa; almost on his lap. "There are rumors that you know how to console a woman who has such a need."

Not only were her nipples on display, but Concetta Damiano's dress was low cut and showed much more cleavage than you'd expect from a woman her age; from a grieving widow; from a woman meeting with her priest. Those massive breasts looked like they might burst out of the top of her dress.

"Signora Damiano, this is not something . . ."

"Please, Don Fillipo, don't say anything." She straddled him; thrusting those breasts in his face.

Before entering the seminary, he'd enjoyed numerous women's breasts, and could never forget Azzurra's firm, plump, teenage breasts, and Bettina's were lovely, especially when she mounted him and bounced them in his face.

And then Signora Damiano did the unthinkable. Her dress buttoned in the front; she unbuttoned the top two buttons. And there they were. "Please, Don Fillipo, a woman like me needs a man to fulfill her desires." She thrust them towards his face. Big and soft, with large nipples and huge areolas.

What's a man to do? Yes, Father Gianelli was a man and since Bettina of course there'd been no one. He'd struggled with that, but now Concetta Damiano, twice his age was offering herself to him in a most obvious way.

As with Signora DeMarci, the man won out over the priest.

His hands and mouth were all over them. "Thank you, Don Fillipo, oh thank you. They're all yours as is the rest of me." She grinded against him and it was only moments before she felt his hardness.

While his hands and mouth played with her breasts, Concetta, removed

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