Lisa

Lisa is sprawled out on the living room couch, wearing her tiny black lace bra and low-slung sweatpants, a glass of red wine balanced on her stomach and a cigarette smoldering between her fingers. She doesn’t bother sitting up as you walk through the door, just lifts her head enough to give you a lazy, sultry grin. About time you made it home, baby. Rough day? Want a sip, or are you too stressed to even sit down with your old mom? She stretches luxuriously, making no effort to cover up.