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The Underwear Fetish

Bob Johnston

    Jack Shaughnessy, self-styled Defender of the Downtrodden, found himself in court on a Monday morning, badly hung over, defending one Annabelle Livingston. An ex-debutante with aggressively blond hair and the smile of an angel, Annabelle was hardly one of the downtrodden. She was charged with breaking and entering, armed robbery, and sexual assault. According to the police report, Annabelle had allegedly broken into the apartment of a single man while he was sleeping, rifled through his underwear drawer, left an erotic message in lipstick on the bathroom mirror, lay down beside the victim and fondled him until he awoke, then held him at gunpoint while she stuffed his underwear into a duffle bag and made her escape.
    The presiding judge, the Hon. Matthew Jackson, was not known for his sense of humor or tolerance of legal shenanigans. Early in the trial, he had threatened several times to jail Jack for contempt of court.
     Jack was cross-examining the alleged victim, a middle-aged accountant named Oscar Biddle. “Tell us, Mr. Biddle, how and when did you first become aware that someone had entered your bedroom?”
    “It was just about midnight. Something woke me up, and I took off my sleep mask and saw this young lady at my dresser.” He pointed at the defendant. “She appeared to be examining the contents of my underwear drawer.”
    “Your underwear, you say!” Jack paused dramatically and glanced back and forth from Mr. Biddle to Annabelle. “And did you take any action at that time, or did you call out?”
    “No, I thought I was dreaming.” Mr. Biddle wiped his glasses.
    “Sure, and these dreams can seem real. Mr. Biddle, please tell us about your dreams and fantasies. Do they often involve young ladies examining your underwear? And, just to clarify matters, do you wear jockey shorts or union suits?”
    Mr. Biddle hesitated and wiped his glasses again. “I guess I have had a few dreams about ladies’ underwear. And no, I don’t wear union suits. I wear boxer shorts.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Biddle. We have established that you have an underwear fetish.”
    Before the prosecutor could get to his feet, the judge intervened. “That’s enough, Mr. Shaughnessy! Mr. Biddle is not on trial here. His dreams and his type of underwear are not at issue.”
    “Certainly, your honor. I was merely trying to establish whether we have here a case of consensual underwear.”
    Judge Jackson banged his gavel. “Mr. Shaughnessy, if you persist in this line of questioning, I shall hold you in contempt. Proceed!”
    “Yes, your honor. I apologize.” Jack noticed that the judge seemed to be stifling a smile.
    The trial dragged on all morning. Jack produced several character witnesses who testified that Annabelle had never before engaged in this sort of bizarre behavior and that she had always exhibited normal attitudes toward underwear.
    Fortified by two martinis before lunch with his client, Jack outlined the alternatives. “Annabelle, we can fight this thing all the way, demand a jury trial, and probably get you off. But I’m also sure that I can plead you down to simple sexual harassment, one year probation. Whaddya say?”
    Annabelle leaned over and patted his arm. “Anything you say, Jack honey, let’s get this mess cleaned up in a hurry. I don’t think I can afford to pay you if it drags on much longer.”
    “No problem, Annabelle my gal. Just don’t jump bail before we’re done in court. And about my fee, why don’t you come over to my place tonight so we can talk about it?”
    “Can do, Jack. But first, tell me: what kind of underwear should I be expecting?”

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