Author: Carmelita Malbletto
Author's Notes: I don't own anything.
Summary: Shirley confesses her true feelings in her diary.
By: Carmelita Malbletto
He's coming over tonight, and I know exactly what will happen. We'll kiss for a while, he'll try something, and then I'll send him upstairs to take a cold shower while I, unbeknownst to him, take one down here to calm myself down.
Yes, I know it would shock him that I, Shirley W. ("Wait-until-the-wedding-night") Feeney, have the same smutty feelings as he has, but I can't deny the truth. Every time he touches me, I feel an uncontrollable urge to push him over on the couch and rip his clothes off, but of course, I could never do that.
No, not me - not little miss "goody two shoes." Sometimes I grow tired of always having to be the "good" one, the "innocent" one, the "virginal" one, but it is a fate with which I am forever cursed. There are many nights that I sit here alone, jealous of the fact that Laverne is probably vodeo-do-do-ing with some guy in the back of his convertible. Of course, when she comes home at two in the morning, wanting to give me details, I always scold her and inform her that she is sending her morality express mail to the black abyss of smutville.
After all, I have a reputation to protect. I can't be known as one of "those" girls - the girls who will hop into bed with any guy at the drop of a hat. Still, I can't help but think about how exciting it would be to be a "bad" girl, even though every bimbo from here to Chicago would probably know all my dirty laundry. Just think of all the fun I could have smutting up my reputation. Maybe someday, but for now, I must be proper. As Laverne once said, "A guy with a reputation is a hero. A girl with a reputation is a bimbo."
You see, I can't be known as a bimbo. My mother always told me that guys only want me for one thing, and once they get it, they will leave me, alone and possibly pregnant. If Mr. Right does ever come along, will he want me if I am "damaged goods?" No, of course he won't.
I have to make sure that I get what I want - a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, a station wagon, three daughters, and a collie named Dave. Once I get those things, my life will be perfect. Therefore, I must save myself until marriage. The difficultly of repressing a few smutty urges is certainly worth enduring if I can someday make my dream life a reality.
I wish that he would just propose already. After all, we have been dating for ten years. He knows what I want, and I know what he wants, but neither one of us is willing to give it to each other. If I finally put out, would he give me a ring? I think not. The most he would do would be to make some indecent proposal, like moving in with each other. On the other hand, if he gave me a ring, he would have no guarantee that I'd ever do anything with him. I've kept him waiting for ten years, and I hide my true feelings toward him pretty darn well, if I do say so myself. He's always thought of me as Miss Purity - his little angelface. Frankly, I don't know why he sticks around. Maybe it's the thrill of the chase?
I will get married someday. I will be a virgin on my wedding night. I will move to a house in the suburbs with my doctor husband and our three perfect daughters. I will have my dream come true. Until then, I must drown in unbridled passion that continuously urges me to give myself to Carmine Ragusa.