His Camera Under My Skirt

My name is Bianca Roscente, and I teach a subject most faculty avoid—human sexuality. I thought I'd seen it all. I was wrong.

The morning of the parent observation day started like any other, until I opened my lingerie drawer. It was empty. Completely, utterly bare. All forty pairs—vanished. Even the black lace set I'd left drying on my balcony railing was gone. Panic shot through me. I tore my dorm room apart, but it was no use. I had ten minutes to get to class.

With no other option, I did the unthinkable. I slipped on my sharpest blazer and a knee-length skirt with a delicate lace trim, my skin prickling with a terrifying sense of exposure. I had to go commando.

I rushed into the lecture hall, my cheeks already burning. As fifty students and a handful of parents turned to look at me, a gust from the air conditioning hit my bare legs under the skirt. A fresh wave of heat flooded my face. Oh, God. This was really happening.

And the cruelest twist of fate? Today's carefully planned lesson was our monthly Sex Education seminar. The topic I was about to deliver: "The Social and Practical Reasons for Underwear."

The irony was so sharp I could taste it. There was no backing out. I took a steadying breath, walked to the podium, and did my job.

"Good morning, everyone," I began, my voice miraculously even. "Today, we'll be exploring a fundamental question: why do people wear underwear?"

I swear my face could have powered a lighthouse. Standing there, lecturing on the very thing I was desperately missing, felt like the most absurd performance of my life. A few students snickered, but they quickly quieted down. This was, after all, just another day in my classroom.