It's a rock... in a stream. I'm looking right at the fucking painting. I see the rock. I see the stream. What I don't fucking see is a fucking metaphor for women's struggle against social inequity in 1880 France. It's a fucking rock in a stream.
My struggle in art appreciation is itself a representation of my first year of college. How do you study for a class that tries to tell you to 'see' the meaning behind a fucking rock in a stream? I'm Kelly and at 19 years old, am trying to figure out how the heck I'm going to continue beyond my first year of college.
Don't get me wrong I want to go on, but after coming to school on a partial scholarship it has been nothing but a struggle. The scholarship was nice, but what it didn't pay for was more than what it did. Rent, food, books, fees, and supplies were all uncovered. My parents sent me a small allowance to help fill the gap, but mostly I worked various jobs around campus, but this cut into my study time and so my grades suffered, which as the semester drew to a close put my scholarship at risk. So, I had quit my last job to focus on grades and spent next month's allowance from my parents on food.
As I had opened my mail my rosy situation got even better as I saw a notice about my overdue school charges and an increase in my room rent starting next month. Shit.
I was in a fucking mess. How was I going to pay fees, increased rent, and regular living expenses, while maintaining my grades? My parents did not have any more to send, especially now with Mom out of work. Again shit.
"Can you feel how the artist has made the rock appear to be on the verge of being overrun by the water? Every moment could be the last breath for this tiny stone surrounded on all sides by the relentless rush of society?" Professor Smith was saying as my mind snapped back to the present "Now for tonight's homework I want you to see something differently. Go and live differently!"
The last was drowned out in the rustle of bags and books and shifting of bodies as the small class ended and everyone, myself included, headed for the door.
Art appreciation was a required core class, but I have never been a deep thinker nor a rebel, so for me it was a constant frustration, besides it did nothing to get me any closer to solving my current financial problem. Outside the classroom there was however an announcement bulletin board, upon which various notices, requests, and other announcements were posted.
Pausing after class I one again scanned the cluttered board. This was frustrating as I had to scan and sift through the various old job listing, requests for a variety of study buddies, and of course the assorted furniture, textbooks, and cars for sale. There was nothing new. Shit still.
Turning away I almost bumped in a guy who smiled, and said, "Hey beautiful, need money check this out," and handed me a flyer before walking off.
The flyer was a photocopied sheet of paper which read:
Having money problems?
Need cash desperately?
Immediate opportunity for:
* Future adult movie stars
* Tremendous pay potential
* Privacy and safety guaranteed
Still not sure? Cash paid for just an interview, with no obligation beyond the initial interview.
Call xxx-xxx-xxxx to set up an anonymous appointment.
What the hell, who would ever call that number? Looking again at the sheet I crumpled it up and was about to throw it in the trash, when Professor Smith walked out of the classroom and almost into me. "Oh, I'm sorry" The small wiry haired professor said as she looked up sharply at me. " Kelly isn't it?"
Quickly slipping the wad of paper into a pocket I smiled and answered, "Yes ma'am, Art109".
Smiling the professor walked on reminding me "to live differently! "before disappearing down the hall.
Thinking again about that flyer I of course thought about sex. Like anyone I liked the sex. I had had up until now, but I was no professional or even a seriously experienced amateur. Being plain I had never captured the boys' attention. At 5'7" and 130 pounds I was of a generally average size. I was blond, which allowed me a little notice, but I cut a decidedly normal figure. Having played softball for a few years in junior high I had stood out for not standing out. My bust was there, but not large and my hips had curve, but just enough to tell anyone interested I was indeed a girl. I had only dated four very sexually inexperienced boys and never been a big party scene girl. All of which meant that while I might not be a virgin, I was not very experienced.
I had been dating since I was 16 and never was attracted to or sought by the suave and sexually experienced boys. I had eventually decided that women who found a good sexual partner, must just have an abundance of good luck. My luck rarely ran in that direction.
My first boyfriend was Billy, who was also 16 and I met during the summer of my sophomore year. He worked at the local pizza place with me. We went out a few times after work and he was nice enough, but just not my type. We lasted through the summer and into the start of my junior year, but I dumped him fast when I discovered he was bragging about me as his summer sexual conquest. That made me so made, as all we had stumbled through were a couple awkward hand jobs and one amazingly fast blowjob. The threat of revealing his speed and lack of equipment worked to kill any attempted post-break up sabotage. Strike one.
Tom followed during the spring of my junior year. He was my prom date for junior prom. We actually went on a couple dates before the prom, during which we engaged in some heavy petting, including a trip to third base, and a couple of blowjobs, which he lustily enjoyed. However, I knew he was not going to work out long term, when he refused to give me oral sex after the first time, claiming he was "just not into that." But I kept him since I really needed a date to prom. After the prom we took a limo to a local hotel room, both provided by his parents, and I had my first actual sexual experience. It was a night I have tried to forget, but it did lose me my virginity and apparently my second boyfriend. It seemed he had only wanted a trophy and the next day had dumped me for Wendy Wilson, daughter of the mayor and queen of the easy girls. It was never going to last. Strike two.
Boyfriend number three was Will, who a 24 was the oldest guy I ever dated. During the summer before my senior year I met him at a local coffee shop. He was so not a high school boy, that I fell instantly in love. His hair was long and often in a ponytail. He tended to wear torn-up jeans, t-shirts, and worn out sandals everywhere. My parents hated him instantly, so he was perfect. We dated all summer. I took every chance to hang out with him, as we drove around often in his yellow Ford Escort. Many a dark trip back to my house would involve a detour to a deserted road or parking lot. There we fooled around, with most nights ending with one or both of us partially naked in the back seat. He loved cumming in my mouth, but initially refused to return the oral sex. I resolved this by threatening to stop unless he reciprocated, which he reluctantly did giving little enjoyment on either side. I began to wonder about the whole oral sex thing with guys... what gives? The problem was solved however, when after an evening of smoking weed we had sex. The next couple of weeks found us half naked in the back seat of his car every night, but he only did missionary, which was painfully awkward in such a tiny back seat, but we managed as he never lasted very long. I ended it with him just before school started when I caught him fucking Sally Jones, he had forgotten he was meeting me that night. Strike three.
Steve was my last boyfriend. He and I had dated all the way through my senior year. He was my age and just a wonderfully sweet and caring guy. My parents loved him and still ask how he is doing. Sexually he was my best experience. We were inseparable until about four months ago, when he decided that he was gay. That kind of put a crimp in the whole dating thing, but I still consider him a friend. The sex with Steve had been okay. He enjoyed getting oral sex and tried hard to give back a version of oral sex. Maybe I should have known his preferences at that point, since he seemed clueless about my female anatomy and how to manipulate it properly. We had good sex, even if unimaginative. I had begun thinking other possible sexual positions after my time with Will, but Steve only wanted to have sex in a missionary position. No matter how I tried or positioned myself, we always ended up with me on my back, legs spread. He did have endurance on his side however and was even able to cum once recharge and cum again during sex. This was more of a foul than a strike, if I am still using softball metaphors.
During those years I did master one thing... masturbation. I had never managed to reach an orgasm during any of the boys' ministrations or during sex, so I learned to pleasure myself to reach an orgasm. That had been my constant relief during the past four months. I now relied exclusively on my five trusty friends to bring me whatever sexual relief I needed.
As I arrived back in my one-bedroom apartment I started to unload my stuff. As I dumped my keys and phone on the table, I noticed a waded-up piece of paper that had been in my pocket. The flyer. Flattening it out again I looked at it more closely.
Sex is not a big hang up with me. I had done it and it was a great way to be close with someone or to let off a little stress. But sex with a stranger, on camera, and for money was something way different, and something I had never even considered ever doing... that I was not ready to consider even now, I quickly added, putting the notice aside and pulling out my books. I had to get through this semester first.
Several weeks into the new semester I was sitting at home staring at the pile of notices in front of me. In the weeks since the end of last term I had used up every penny I had paying some of the fees and now had nothing left for the rent, which was already late. I was falling farther behind with each day of the new semester. Every job on the notice board had been filled and every source of extra cash had been tapped, and I was still way behind on my bills.
It didn't help that my grades had suffered during this time as well. I had managed to finish last term with a enough of a GPA to keep my scholarship, but now as I got more stressed I studied less, and as I studied less my grades fell. Finally, as my grades fell, I got even more depressed about the mounting pile of bills. The cycle was relentless. I was even eating less and less, since I had no money, having gone to the local food pantry for a handout. It was hopeless.
"AAARRRGGH!" I screamed and pushed everything from my counter on to the floor in a cascading avalanche of pens, paper, and books, then dropped my head to the newly cleared counter. Shit, shit, shit.
Lifting my head, I noticed a crumpled piece of paper sitting beside me. It was the flyer I had been given weeks ago. Eyes widening at the thought and refusing to even think I picked up my phone and dialed the number.
After a couple of rings a man's voice answered "Sea, Sun, and Snow Productions. This is Bill."
"I'm calling about the flyer?" I say quietly.
There was a pause on the other end, then he said "Ah yes. Well that is wonderful. My name is William Sharp, but my friends all call me Bill. I run the production company. Now normally I would ask your name, but I think we are better off without that added stress. So how about I call you Helen?"
I answer softly, but with rising strength "Okay. I like that. Thanks Bill."
"So, would you like some more information, or would you rather just come by for an interview Helen?" Bill asked.
"Um how much does the interview pay and what do I have to do?" I asked feeling more comfortable in this pseudo-anonymity.
"$500 cash and you don't have to do or commit to anything. I just want a chance to meet you and explain the opportunity. After that we can see what higher paying opportunities there might be for you or you can just leave and take the $500, no strings attached. Would you like to set up an appointment Helen?" Bill answered.