College was a time of bad decisions and great stories. This one, though, takes the cake.

I was dating this girl who was into photography. She needed practice taking posed shots, so I agreed to help. Nothing crazy—just some standard underwear modeling. At least, that’s how it started.

She had a few pairs of briefs for me to try on. I didn’t think much of it—young, dumb, and up for anything. She assured me this was all just for her, just for practice. Then, of course, came the moment where she talked me into taking the underwear off.

She had a way of convincing me. Next thing I knew, I was stark naked, posing while she snapped away. Then, she wanted more—me, hard, from all angles. It felt strangely empowering in the moment.

Fast forward a few weeks—we broke up. Life moved on, or so I thought.

One morning, my mom called. She wasn’t happy. “Is that you in the newspaper?”

I grabbed a copy. There I was—second page of the lifestyle section, standing there in one of those damn pairs of underwear, now being used in an ad for a sale on men’s briefs.

I called my ex. She laughed, told me not to worry. “Just tell people you got paid $500 for it!”

“Wait, I get $500?”

“Oh… no, you don’t. But your mom should be proud! You’re such a good-looking boy.”

I was less concerned with the underwear ad and more with the nudes. “What about those?” I demanded. “I want them destroyed.”

She assured me they were safe.

Then summer rolled around. Walking through the student art exhibit, I stopped dead in my tracks.

There I was. Not just one print—several. Full nudity, perfectly lit, displayed for the world to admire.

Gotta admit… she was one hell of a photographer. And I did look pretty damn good.

I made sure my parents weren’t planning a visit that week.

My ex told me later she sold every print she had displayed at the exhibit.

Sincerely
Jason R in TX