Art School Gangbang
By Polera North
Copyright 2012 Polera North
Smashwords Edition
“Buncha cocksuckers.”
The insult was audible to the students in the classroom above the muffled conversation going on in the adjacent office. Shannon strained to hear any shred of the discussion she could, giving hardly any attention to her painting. Ewan Wells, teacher of this particular Life Painting II class and Chairman of the Classical Arts department of the school was once again grumbling to his assistant about the school board taking more and more funds and resources away from his department and diverting to the Digital Mediums department. His department was dying a slow, withering death. The most recent blow dealt by the school board was finding out the their art exhibitions had just lost it's cratering budget. The Interactive Entertainment curriculum needed new development consoles, each one carrying a hefty licensing fee in addition to the cost of the hardware.
Shannon could see how the fights with the board had been affecting Ewan in everything, the way he looked, the way he instructed class, how he interacted with students, how much he smoked compared to when Shannon was a freshman. It pained her to see the man being continually worn down from fight after fight for every scrap of the money and resources his shrinking department had. Ewan, he refused to be called 'Mr. Wells' by his students, had changed her life, given her the tools and environment to express herself in ways she'd only dreamed of in her hometown. Through this expression, in 3 years she'd shaken off the years of repression placed on her by her parents, her small town friends, and her old fashioned high school teachers.
Shannon had always taken a more impressionistic method to her art and Ewan encouraged this where other people in her life questioned or ridiculed her. “I don't get it, this looks weird.” her friends would say “You're not painting the fruit accurately, they are not rotting, nor are they covered in chains.” her teachers would say. “When are you gonna paint a real picture?” Her parents would say. Ewan, on the other hand would say “The bowl would contrast better if you used more orange with your ochre, and what about making the tablecloth very clean and untainted?”
The class's current assignment was a watercolor of an old barn in a pasture. Shannon's interpretation showed a black barn, because that's where a small boy had been repeatedly molested. The grass surrounding the structure was red and violet, because they were angry at the abomination against nature that had been committed in the barn. When Shannon explained the thesis of her work, Ewan met her with an affirming nod and thumbs up before heading into his office to smoke and vent to his assistant.
She had been trying everything she could think of to help him, and the Classical Arts department as a whole, volunteering to organize and work at every event, campaigning at area high schools to convince students to major in a classical art once they went to college, even starting a Save the Classical Arts FaceBook page. None of it seemed to help either Ewan or the department. If only she could figure out a way to change the minds of enough people on the school board, she could solve everything. She would have been happy just to take some of the stress away from Ewan.
That was an idea. She didn't have access or influence to the school board, but she could think of something to help relieve Ewan's stress. She could think of a few things, actually. It was crazy and he'd probably refuse. She doubted he would go so far as to kick her out of school for her potential transgression. If he did, she figured she'd threaten to tell everyone he came onto her, forcefully. She hated the thought of causing him more trouble, she only wanted to help him. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that, though. Shannon silenced her internal rambling and resolved to offer her services to Ewan that evening.
At the end of the school day Shannon returned to the painting classroom. The light in the main room was off though there was still a glow coming from the office, the smell of cigarettes crept into her nostrils from across the room. She crossed towards the half open door, past the slightly haunting circle of empty seats and easels, and heard the sounds of paper rustling as the acrid tobacco scent intensified. She knocked courteously before poking her head through the threshold. The office walls were cluttered with shelves of art supplies and mounted works of student art. Music came from a small CD player on a filing cabinet in the corner. It was playing what sounded like Emerson, Lake and Palmer, she wasn't sure. All the music he listened to tended to blend together for her.
Ewan was, as expected, behind the desk, a cigarette in his mouth, writing away at a stack of papers, forms of some kind. He was in his mid-fifties, Shannon guessed, a little over six feet tall, and had the stocky build of a former athlete, rugby, she recalled. He'd gone mostly gray, but there were still occasional sand colored streaks on his head. His face was worn with years of alcohol, tobacco, insomnia, and the strain of fighting the school board, though his jovial and kind nature easily shone through the cracks.
“Hey, darlin'.” he looked up from his papers, a half smile on the side of his face not holding onto a cigarette. “What can I do for you?”
Shannon entered fully into the office, coming to a halt in front of Ewan's desk. “Um. I was just wondering how you were. I mean, I know you've been having a hard time dealing with the board.”
Ewan let out a weighty sigh, smoke streaming from his mouth and nostrils. He moved his half-consumed cigarette to an already crowded ash tray. “Yeah, it's been rough, fighting with those old jackasses. The way it's going, I'll probably have to cut the number of exhibitions we hold next year. Year after that, well, hell, you'll have your degree by then so it won't concern you any.”
“I do care. People my age are too stuck on computers and digital things. More people need to appreciate things like classical painting. There's a feel, an energy to a real painting you can't make in Photoshop.”
“I wish I had more kids like you, honey.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“If you can figure out a way to pull the joysticks out of the board's asses, I'm all ears.”
“And what about you?” Shannon inched closer, putting her hands behind her back and leaning forward slightly, her small breasts proudly displayed through her tight t-shirt. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
Ewan chuckled slightly and said “Don't worry about me, love'. This is nothing a bottle of scotch and my Yes albums can't take care of.”
Shannon leaned even farther forward, strands of mahogany falling off her shoulders, looking him in his crystalline eyes. “Are you sure there's nothing I can do to help you?”