I Never Believed This Would Happen To Me
By Missy

Title: I Never Believed It Would Happen To Me
Author: Missy
Fandom: Laverne and Shirley
Pairing/Characters: Laverne/Shirley, with some Lenny and Squiggy
Rating/Category: PG-13; humor
Spoilers: Post-canon, but nothing specific
Summary: Shirley and Laverne return from seeing 'Deep Throat'. Or DO they?
Notes/Warnings: Contains femmeslash and plot twists


***
Shirley Feeney primly crossed her legs at the ankles as their cab hurtled down to Fifth Avenue. Suddenly, her ankle-length skirt seemed far too short.

Laverne pouted into the passing lights, feeling not the least bit less sorry for what they'd just seen. It WASN'T her fault! The paper called it an 'experience' a swinging experience, and darned if they hadn't had one!

"Coca-Cola glasses. In...in..." Shirley wheeled on her friend. "Honestly, Laverne!"

"Hey, I didn't know what kind of movie that was supposed to be!" She cried out. "Lenny and Squiggy said it was one of those new 'now' comedies, and that it was real popular!"

'It's certainly 'now'," Shirley retorted. "A bit too 'now'. I've never seen so many..."

Now the memories were getting to her. She recrossed her legs. "...Or so much..."

Shirley's smile turned libidinous, her fingers skating across the seat to Laverne's lap. "You know, I did like that girl's style. Maybe you and me could..."

***

"Splat-o!" Lenny remarked, and Squiggy's head shot up.

"Whattya mean, splat-o?" Squiggy pointed to badly-typed page of prose jammed into the typewriter. "This is hot stuff! It's better than Anise Ninny!"

"I ain't sayin' it's not hot," Lenny replied, "I'm sayin' these two broads in the story ain't acting like Laverne and Shirley!"

"Oh yeah?" Squiggy retorted. "What makes you say that?"

"Shirl is in Prussia with three kids and her old man and Laverne's in a commune in Israel," Lenny pointed out needlessly.

"That's why it's called fiction, bird-brain," Squiggy replied.

"You sure they can't sue us for usin' their names?" he worried.

"That's why it's called fiction, Len," Squiggy said loftily. Turning to his typewriter, he read aloud as he typed, "'the wiry redhead giggled, like Jayne Mansfield on a champagne high..."


The End











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