I come to you today, a reformed good girl.
My background is Italian-Canadian but also Roman Catholic. I’m sure that already conjures up certain images for you, and honestly, they’re probably all on the money. I went to Catholic school all my life, even wore the kilt. There were teachers at my high school who were nuns and priests, but not many by the time I arrived. I am the older sibling in my family, and was always focused on setting a good example for my younger brother. I paid attention in school, got awards and good grades and read lots of books. I never came home late from school dances, and waited until an appropriate age to start dating. I sang in the church choir for years and enjoyed being a part of my church community. My single mother never really had terrible concerns about my welfare, and knew she could count on me to do the right thing.
To be a good girl.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph…how in God’s name did this good girl end up writing erotic romance? We’re still trying to figure that one out. Was it the lure of the forbidden? Did I pay more attention during Mass to the sometimes-lurid bits from the Old Testament? I’m not sure. I do know this: somewhere along the line, I developed an appreciation for being naughty.
My husband has a favorite photo of me as a child. It was taken when I was 7, on the day of my Holy Communion. In it, I’m sitting in church, sweetly attired in my white gown and veil, my little hands clutched in a prayer position. I’m eyeing the camera, grinning, one eyebrow arched, as if contemplating great mischief. Hubby says I resemble a little devil in that photo, and he’s right. What was I thinking then? Did I have some sort of premonition I’d be penning stories about cute boys? No, I don’t think the naughty had activated yet.
It must have kicked in during high school. I guess seeing all those boys in their grey wool pants did something to me. When I was sixteen, I joined the photography club. I still recall the subjects of some of my photos: the backsides of male friends. I’d creep up on them when they weren’t looking and snap pics of their asses. Depraved, really. (I think I still have those photos…)
And now, a married mom of two boys, I don’t feel the need to hide my naughtiness any longer. I embrace it. My poor hubby just rolls his eyes. He’s used to my cheeky moods. Now that we’re old, married folks we flaunt our kisses and squeezes in front of the children. They just love that.
I’m not quite sure what kick-started my appreciation for the sensually sublime, but I’m just glad it happened. This good girl is having so much more fun now.