She looked up at the imposing structure, slight trepidation overtaking her. Mac wasn't easily overwhelmed. Or much of a church goer. But today it was her parents wedding anniversary and she had gone to find a church to light a candle for them. They were in her dream again, sitting round the tea party table with Karl Marx. She knew what that meant.

She stumped up the ornate door and pushed it open. Damn emotional blackmail. They'd been popping up in her dreams again, subtly steering her into a guilt trip. Damning her for leaving them. So sometimes she needed to go to the church. Any Catholic church really. This Italian one was pretty. As was the sole occupant. She joined the woman in lighting some candles and they stood in silence. Mac's practiced eye observed sad eyes, a red beaded necklace, widows' weeds. The widow turned her head. Wary eyes sparked with cheeky blue and all of a sudden Concetta couldn't look away. Didn't want to. Auburn hair, a man's suit. She'd seen women like this around but never come close to one. She knew what they were. If a man had looked at her that way she would have drawn her shawl around her and walked on. But she didn't feel threatened by this woman's gaze. She automatically fed the beads through her fingers, twisting them anxiously. Mac resolved to put her at ease. She motioned to the candles.

'My parents. Had a dream about them. It's their wedding anniversary. It happens every so often. It's a poke to make sure I don't forget them. As if I could' she explained.

'Do you think they come back to remind us? I would hate that.'

'Only sometimes I hope. But you're not keen on the idea?'

The lady hesitated. She was not used to speaking to strangers. But it wasn't likely she'd see this woman again.

'My husband.'

She looked around to see if anyone was listening. Nobody was there.

'I hated him. He was a bad man.'

'Died horridly I hope' quipped Mac.

'Shot. And good riddance' said the woman quietly. She looked at her guest and saw understanding in her eyes. She was too polite to ask but did wonder. How these women lived and loved, how they got away with walking around with their hands in their pockets, perfecting that masculine swagger. She was at the point of wondering if these women wore correct undergarments when she looked up and saw Mac raising her eyebrows at the thought. Concetta apologised. She had been caught staring at another woman's chest. Mac didn't mind. She beckoned her to come closer. Concetta didn't dare. So the other woman challenged her, nodding towards the confessional box. She let her take her time in deciding. She'd seen the interest in her eyes and hoped she'd do something about it. Mac had never bedded an Italian before. Sweeping her gaze up and down, Concetta made her wait for as long as possible before making up her mind. The devil was dancing on her shoulder and for once, she would comply. It felt refreshing. She gracefully turned around and stepped towards the perfect hiding place. Mac jumped in right ahead of her to open the door. She was a chivalrous creature.

It had been approximately 21 years since Mac's last confession. The box was just about big enough for two. Mac slid her jacket off slowly, letting Concetta's eyes caress her chest once more. She unbuttoned her shirt to show her the plain white brassiere underneath, encasing freckled breasts. So they did wear proper undergarments. This one did anyway. Against her natural reserve, Concetta liked what she saw. She'd never felt that tingle down her spine, or that flutter in her belly by looking at another woman before. She inched closer. Surely to get that sun kissed tan and freckles she would have had to…

'You should try it. My garden is private so I can catch the sun how I like.'

Concetta laughed awkwardly.

'I have no such privacy in my home.'

She couldn't imagine sunbathing topless, she was far too modest a woman to do that.

'If you wanted to see more, you only had to ask' suggested Mac softly. Those melted brown eyes now regarded her with a hint of defiance. She didn't say yes and she didn't say no. She had been given the option to ignore the proposition and leave. She was more than entitled to slap her for her impudence. But her curiosity was piqued. She wanted to know what women did with each other and Mac knew it. She exposed a little more to give her a peek of delicate pink nipple. Concetta caught her breath longingly. So fresh and pretty a colour for such an angular person. She had to know more. There was no going back now.

Mac leaned forward and rested her lips on the others. Their breath was hot and heady, mingling like wine.

'Trust me, I'm a doctor.'

She surged forward with a gentle kiss and felt Concetta relax under her hands. She had given her trust which was what the doctor was waiting for. She warmed her up with kisses and gentle touches that assured confidence and care. The woman in the man's suit had a duty to make sure that every woman that went through her hands got the best Sapphic care she could give. That was her God given gift and she used it well.

Mac was anticipating curves and that was what she got. A whole violin of curves because that was what lay under those severe black drapes. The Italian widow had nipples of a defiant chestnut shade, breasts spilling satisfyingly out of her brassiere once it was unlaced. Hardened once licked, just the way Mac liked it. The object of her desire hissed and arched at the meeting of tongue on skin. She shivered at the jolt of electricity that threaded its way through her spine. Concetta sat on the bench and leaned back like a queen while her handsome stranger made practical use of an elaborate embroidered kneeler. Running her hands up her legs, Mac slowly undid her skirt and let it drop to the ground in a pool of midnight, shedding the sorrow and crushing depression trapped in its threads. There was no need for that here because the woman had a date with a doctor. Licking her way up her thighs and lifting up further; Mac let the familiar sensation grow, the anticipation of tasting another woman, hearing her cry out with pleasure. Women were one of Mac's biggest hobbies. She was passionate about women the way that men were passionate about motor cars. It should have made more sense the other way around but then men were stupid creatures. Women were wasted on them. She peeled the barrier in front of her neatly off. Black of course. She let her mind wonder as to how well the woman in front of her would wear it in red. It was an image she'd keep with her in her dreams.

She dipped her tongue in the oyster and smiled when the anguished gasp above her rang pleasingly in her ears, the start of the Sapphic deflowering that Mac was skilled in. Always happy to pass on her expertise for everyone to enjoy, she decided to give Concetta everything she had to offer in that department. She slowly licked her way right to the nook at the top and all the way down again; luring the sensitive bud into her mouth and sucking when it mattered the most, feeling the clutch of muscles around her drenched fingers as she drew them in, all of it was the stuff to fuel her for the rest of the day.

Never had an Italian widow been so grateful. As she collapsed panting and trembling; basking in the low light the confessional offered her, breasts exposed and aching and shamelessly spread out for her one-hour lover, Concetta had never felt so alive and elated. That was the best sex of her life. She'd be dreaming of that for years to come. Watching the doctor daintily suck her fingers clean, she groaned at the way she'd been treated like the most desirable woman in the world. Mac smiled naughtily and sacrilegiously wiped themselves down with a spare robe. Never had there been so much of the feminine in a priests sacred space. Concetta's hands trembled as she righted herself, another hand helping her with the most intimate assembly of her undergarments. They smiled at each other as Concetta breathed a grateful thank you in her native tongue. Mac assured her that she was welcome anytime and it was her absolute pleasure. Her appreciative lingering look had made them both aware that this was an open invitation.

Concetta watched her leave, sauntering out with her hands in her pockets. She turned and gave her a wink that shot straight to her core. Her breath stuttered and she smiled in a way she had not for a whole year. It certainly took her mind off Gianni. And should the doctor come by again, she'd be here for a repeat round.

They hadn't even known each other's names. But what they had had was enough.