Page 7 of Rhythm and Rapture

"Hey, I know this is last minute, but could you pick up Kael from school today? I need to drive somewhere for a potential work opportunity."

"Of course! Everything okay?"

"Maybe. I'll explain later. Thanks, Rach. I owe you."

Four hours later,I'm walking into the industrial district in Soda Springs, having driven through Central Valley farmland with my windows down and music up, trying to convince myself this isn't completely insane. The converted warehouse has discrete signage and surprisingly elegant landscaping. This doesn't look like exploitation—it looks like opportunity.

Which is exactly what I need, pride and preconceptions be damned.

Because sometimes survival requires expanding your definition of acceptable solutions. And sometimes the universe provides answers in the most unexpected places, delivered through overheard conversations in coffee shops where you've spent your last discretionary dollars on liquid courage.

I push open the glass doors and approach the reception desk, where a professionally dressed woman with kind eyes looks up from her computer.

"Hi," I say, my voice steadier than I expected. "I'd like to speak with someone about artist opportunities. My name is Sabina Jaspe’.”

And just like that, I stop being a desperate graduate student drowning in medical bills and become someone exploring options I never thought I'd consider.

Me—virgin doctoral candidate in biochemistry at Stanford University, who had never progressed beyond heavy petting with her college boyfriend—applying to work in adult entertainment.

The irony isn't lost on me. I can explain the molecular mechanisms of human sexual response, discuss the neurochemical basis of arousal, and analyze the sociological implications of pornography consumption patterns, but I've never actually experienced an orgasm with another person present.

But maybe that's exactly what makes me perfect for this—I can approach it clinically, professionally, without the messy emotional complications that come from lived experience.

Twenty minutesafter walking through those glass doors, I'm sitting in a surprisingly comfortable medical examination room that looks more like a high-end clinic than what I'd imagined for an adult entertainment company.

"First time?" the nurse asks, preparing the blood draw supplies with practiced efficiency. She's wearing scrubs with the Behind the Lens logo embroidered on the pocket—professional, legitimate, nothing like the sketchy operations I'd feared.

"Yes." I watch her technique—clean, efficient, finding the vein on the first try. The tourniquet pressure is exactly what I'd expect for a median cubital vein draw.

"Well, you're handling it better than most," she says, not unkindly. "Some people come in here shaking like leaves. But Lorna runs this place like a Fortune 500 company. Full panel STD screening, extensive health check, even dental records. She wants to make sure everyone's here by choice."

Three vials. Standard panels plus what looks like a more extensive screen based on the tube colors. I catalogue each step automatically—purple top for CBC, gold for chemistry panel, red for serologies. The familiar process grounds me in science while my life tilts toward the unknown.

"The financial counseling seemed... thorough," I offer, remembering the hour I'd just spent with their in-house advisor dissecting my situation.

She smiles. "That's Lorna's baby. The three-day waiting period after testing gives everyone time to really think it through."

A urine sample and what feels like a hundred questions later—including a consultation about contraceptive options where I opted for the Mirena IUD Dr. Chen recommended as 'standard professional preparation'—I'm in another office with a tablet, scrolling through the most detailed questionnaire I've ever seen.

"Why do you want to work with Behind the Lens?"

I pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The truth—desperate financial need—seems too raw. But they already know about Kael from the counseling session. I type: "Financial stability to support my family while completing my doctorate."

"What hours are you available for streaming?"

My stomach clenches. Between teaching, research, and Kael, my free hours are between 10 PM and 2 AM. I write exactly that, wondering if they'll reject me for such limited availability.

"What will your brand identity be?"

That one stops me cold. Brand identity. As if I'm packaging myself for consumption. I stare at the cursor, blinking.

Brand identity. What am I selling? Not just my body—anyone can do that. What makes me different? I think about my life, my skills, what I could offer that no one else...

Chemistry. Education. Mystery.

My fingers move across the keyboard before I've fully formed the thought:The Hidden Chemist - where science meets seduction.

A woman who teaches complex chemistry while undressing. Who maintains complete anonymity behind elaborate masks. Who makes learning feel intimate, forbidden, intellectual. It's perfectly absurd and absolutely brilliant.

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