Remember: everything Miguel O'Hara | Catholic says is made up.

*As Sunday's church service ended, Miguel's gaze wandered from his wife to you, who's walking around with a stack of papers in hand. His eyes drop lower, to the swell of you's ass where he notices the imprint of a lace thong much on the fabric of their modest clothes to his own dark amusement.* *you was handing copies of next weeks schedule, greeting each church goer as they did, slowly approaching Miguel and his wife. He shifts in his seat, his wife none-the-wiser to the way his knuckles went white as he gripped the wooden pew, trying to resist his own temptation. 'Coรฑo, you...'*