Yes, it's overly dramatic. But I love a bit of drama. So do my students. This is how I keep them engaged while teaching them about history and the science of archaeology. Honestly, that stuff is rather dull on its own.
I push through the curtain and saunter up to the lectern, which has a microphone attached to it to ensure everyone hears me. The spotlight sheds its backwash onto Cat, where she still hides in the dark alcove. Her hand flies to her mouth, a gesture that I'm sure masks a smile.
My students gasp or laugh or simply look stunned.
Well, I am wearing a pink kilt with glitter-coated pink flowers sewn onto it.
Catriona had given me this kilt on the day last year when I'd first seen her again after eleven years apart. Logan and Serena had essentially abducted me, dragging me to Scotland and to the MacTaggart family Highland games, held in a field behind Rory's castle. Anyone who participates in the games has to wear a kilt. Naturally, Rory and his brothers let Cat choose a kilt for me, since I didn't own one. She had, no doubt, hoped I would be embarrassed.
Was I? Of course not. I do not get embarrassed. Not even a pink kilt can accomplish that feat.
Now, I stand at the edge of the stage, lit by that solitary spotlight, wearing the pink kilt—wearing it for Cat. I survey my students, trying to get a final read on their moods. Their shock over my kilt has faded, and most of them seem genuinely interested in whatever I might say.
"Look at that! He's wearing a skirt!"
The first heckler turns out to be a scrawny twat in the third row who wears thick glasses and is illuminated in the ambient glow of the spotlight.
A brawny tosser in the first row half rises from his seat to laugh and say, "Always knew you were a sissy boy. Where's your tiara, princess?"
This isn't the first time I've been harassed by obnoxious children. But I'd hoped for something more creative when the taunts started.
I lay one hand on the lectern, aiming my gaze directly at the tosser who called me "princess." I stare at him for several seconds, doing nothing more threatening than lifting one brow. Still, the boy glances around, his expression anxious, then drops down in his seat.
Yes, it's that easy to silence an irritating buffoon.
"Good afternoon," I say to the crowd. "Would anyone else care to speak up before I begin the lecture?"
Silence. Deep, rapt silence.
I love this part, when the room falls silent and I have their undivided attention.
"Good." I move behind the lectern and place my hands on either side of it, my fingers curled over the edges. "Let's begin. Today's lesson focuses on sexual practices in the ancient world. Or, as I like to call it, The Forbidden History of Shagging and Wanking."
Some students laugh, some gaze at me enraptured, while others look uncomfortable. No one leaves. Even the embarrassed ones want to hear what I might say next.
A solitary hand raises in the front row.
"What is it?" I ask. I smirk when I add, "I haven't gotten to the naughty bits yet."
The lass who raised her hand asks, in a tentative voice, "Will this be on the final exam?"
"Naturally." I wink at her. "Take copious notes, love. I'm sure they'll come in handy outside of school too."
The girl is blushing.
I slant toward the microphone and lower my voice to a deeper register. "Before we begin, a word of warning. If sex and explicit language offend you, please walk out the door. It won't affect your grade."
No one moves. I wait a minute, maybe longer, but every student stays put.
"All right, then," I say. "We need a bit of graphic imagery to excite your…curiosity and stimulate…your minds."
"Oh yes, please!" shouts a female voice.
A girl in the second row fans herself with a sheet of paper, but I have no idea if she's the one who shouted.
I reach under the lectern to pull an item out of the shelf hidden inside it. Raising the item, I ask the class, "Anyone care to guess what this artifact represents?"
"A headless dachshund," a freckle-faced female suggests.
"Sorry, no." I shake the artifact, making the bells attached to it clang. "This is a fascinum, a wind chime in the shape of…" I grin like the devil himself because I always love this bit. "A winged penis with three heads and two legs."
The tosser who'd called me a sissy guffaws and slaps his leg. "Damn, you're a real perv, aren't you? Three-headed dicks? I thought this was a history lesson, not show and tell from your toolbox of freaky shit."
He guffaws some more.
Idiots always think they're hilarious.
"The fascinum," I say, "was a powerful totem in ancient Rome. This one is a wind chime that people used to hang in their homes to ward off disease and promote fertility." I hold out the fascinum as if I'm offering it to the tosser. "Here, you probably need this more than I do. Maybe it will improve your virility. Then again, it may not be powerful enough to accomplish that feat."
Laughter echoes through the hall.
The arrogance floods out of the tosser, who slumps in his seat.
I raise my hand, and the audience settles down, quiet again.
"Romans did more than hang flying penises in their homes," I say, hanging the fascinum from the microphone stand. "Sex was an important part of life in the Roman Empire, and they weren't shy about it. They loved erotica." I pull out the remote control for the large screen that was revealed when the curtains parted and click the button to start my slideshow. "Take a good, long look at this one."
"Is that guy killing a goat?" a boy wearing glasses asks.
"No. Look between his legs."
The young man pushes his glasses up and squints at the screen. His mouth twists this way and that while he studies the image. Suddenly, his eyes go wide. He glances around like he's done something wicked, then slowly raises his hand.
"Yes?" I ask.
"That, uh, looks like the hairy-legs guy is, uh…with the goat…" The student pushes up his glasses again, which I decide is a nervous gesture. "He's sort of…"
"Spit it out. There's nothing to be ashamed of." I wait a few seconds before I decide the boy can't make himself speak the words. I lean closer to the microphone. "That's the god Pan getting a leg over with a goat. Or as my Scots friends might say, he's having a poke at it."
Everyone stares at me. Ah well, I am in America—and these are college students. I can't expect them to grasp my meaning without an explicit explanation.
"He's fucking the goat."
"Ew," a female voice says, though I can't see who spoke. "That's, like, so gross."
"The god Pan is half goat himself, so let's give him the benefit of the doubt on this, eh?" I smile and wink at my audience. "Moving on… Something a bit more mainstream, but no less titillating." I tap the button on the remote, changing the slide. "Romans loved a good shag. This lovely lady and two gents are enjoying a three-way."