The Power of Three

To: [email protected]

Subject: Business Offer

Dear Christine,

Our operations believe you've shown promise as a model. And, as such, we'd like to extend an offer to you.

We would like to extend an offer to you for a solo scene. Compensation for a solo scene is $300. A solo scene using a vibrator or dildo will increase compensation to $500. In your time with us, we request you participate in a minimum of three scenes, though more will be available. Should you choose to participate in a partner scene, compensation would increase.

We are based out of Los Angeles, CA--round trip airfare will be provided for you and one other person as well as lodging during your time with us.

We look forward to hearing from you.

Christine gasped.

A solo scene? What?! She read it again. Yep. It said dildo. They wanted her to do porn.

How did they find me? Eh. Who knows. But they want me. Three scenes...three times five, carry the zeros. That's $1500! That's way more than I'll make working at Red Lobster in a month, maybe more! It's so damn slow in the summer. If I talk to Bob, I could request a schedule change and maybe get out this weekend. It's....Monday. I could leave on Thursday, spend a long weekend in LA, make $1500...

Fuck! Porn? What are you thinking?! How the hell did they find me? OK, maybe not a good idea. You're going to school to be a teacher. What if a future student finds you and your career is over? You can't do that. You're 20. This is a terrible idea. But, it's $1500! You're already $60k in debt. You have no idea what you want to do with your life. You've changed your major eleven times. There's no way you'll get out of here for less than $100k. There's gotta be another way.

Christine feverishly opened another tab, typing, 'married in college, financial aid'.

She scanned. Processed. Computed. OK, cool. If I...fuck! The lead snapped. She groaned, scanning the room for another tool. Where are you, you motherfucker...

"Ah ha!" she said as she bounced out of bed, glancing in the mirror, sucking in her stomach. Somehow this cheddar biscuit diet was working in her favor. Damn, I look good. No wonder why they want me. Oh, yeah! Pencil. She dug through her backpack .

"Where the fuck are you?!" she shouted to her Eddie Bauer backpack. No doubt, she knew she had picked up a nasty-ass, chewed-up pencil from that cold-ass floor in chemistry this morning. Right? Oh, it's in the laptop pocket.

She ran back to her Mac, but not until after she had pulled her tits up and out of the cups of the navy, satin Victoria's Secret bra she was wearing. Hair flip. Look good, feel good.

Okie dokie...if Sam and I get married now, I can use that with FAFSA... Christine scribbled and calculated. Opening more tabs, writing more numbers. Somehow, it worked. If Sam and Christine could get married now, it would save her thousands. It didn't have to be a real marriage. In the eyes of the law it'd be real, but not between them. They'd only been together for, what, a year? Two? Not long enough. She knew she wasn't into him like that, not long term. Well, maybe. If he could get his allergies under control, get a job, do better in his classes, and not treat her like a forgotten piece of trash, then maybe. Maybe he loves me enough for this plan to work.

Christine glanced at the clock. The red number said 3:29. Swipe. Tap. Scroll. Tap. Pinch to zoom.

"Ugh," she sighed. Front of house 4:00PM.

Find the foreword here!

Chapter 2 is soon to come.