I was sat in the studio surrounded by my brothers and Isaac’s two friends from home who I refrained from getting to know too well considering Jimmy, the loud mouth y’all saying jock was the bastard I happened to witness making out with the girl from the coffee house that we visit that Isaac’s had his eye on for months and months. Rest assured my goofball of an older brother doesn’t know and I won’t be the one to tell him- he thinks Jimmy and Garth are the high school buddies he never had.

Aside from that little sidetrack, I’m sat here 4 days on still mulling over Saturday evening. Overwhelmed was defiantly the word of choice when I think about that and all it involved. I was partly disappointed to wake and find Season gone, but I wasn’t that surprised anyway, I knew she wouldn’t want me knowing anything more about her for another week, after all, she wouldn’t want to rush coming round to the idea of trusting me as a friend, that wouldn’t do. Thing is though, the reason why it’s been going round in my mind is because, what she did share with me was very confusing, mixed and unsure. Whilst it was equally, if not a little surprising and impromptu to find her exposing me, sketching roughly through my protests as if she had done it to a thousand men before, it was also something that I’ve been lead to believe isn’t done. I don’t know, it’s hard to fathom in general contexts, after all, we come from two very different ends of the spectrum and in my end friends don’t do that, just like they don’t kiss. Maybe in hers they do and it’s harmless and okay but I had a hard time trying to justify it.

Not that it was bad, oh no, it was sweet to taste her lips and touch her skin but I was getting my wires cross a little by now. She’d told me I didn’t turn her on, she wasn’t attracted to me in that way whatsoever and even though I used to find that kind of thing insulting, I could totally take that from her, but if I was all those things, if I was just the curious being she said- why did she give me head, something which I’d consider to be something classified for being drunk at parties and boyfriend and girlfriend activity. It was to help me out. She’d inadvertently caused it and she felt she should put it right, no sexual tone behind it no sexy purr in her voice when she said it, she didn’t even swallow- so why can’t I just believe her words?

I’d found a lot out on Saturday, right from the start when I turned round to see her standing there in the chine to when I ended up carrying her up to nap on my bed, and despite the fact it all showed different things I was grateful for it. She could still get sick and she could still be stubborn, thing as normal human does but she could still be so creative through it all. If anything, the sketch in bed showed me that. She left that for me, with the note saying she’d take care of the pictures and even though I thought I’d have a problem keeping a sketch of me nude, erect and with a look of pure agony on my face, I didn’t hesitate to put it in my memorabilia box at the bottom of my wardrobe, keeping it for posterity when I become a wrinkly old man who wants to reminisce about how youthful he once looked. I couldn’t deny it was sexy yet so artistic in a few rough strikes of pencil on pulp.

Surprisingly, no one had asked much more about Season and her flying visit at our house. They had other things on there minds, and truth be told so had I but it didn’t stop me from wondering on more about Season Mally. I’d seen so much yet so little, I wanted to know things, things she said paved the way to more questions and those sprouted off into small subsidiaries that seemed to be forever dividing smaller and smaller in my mind. But there were prominent things, little things aside from her art that I was growing fiercely curious about. Her actions and reasoning could be dealt whenever, her artistic inhibitions I knew somewhat about but one things I wanted to know more than anything as I sit here zoned is just this:

’You are put on this earth to serve others not only yourself. Yes I made life so I didn’t serve others because in my experiences it only earned me trouble- but your different, you’ve shown me you are and I’m slowly coming round to the idea of us being friends. I’m the most giving person in the world and I expect little in return, but no one’s ever let me so I never gave,’

Why would no one let her give? Who would shut out such a talent, such a mind? So many clues about a life I’d barely even scratched the surface off, so many artistic desires I didn’t have the first idea where to start.

I’d picked up the pictures this morning and I almost fainted when I saw them. I had no idea that what he was asking to do would actually turn out so well. It sounds like I under estimated him but I didn’t, not in the slightest but there is always room for a bit of welcomed surprise.

I laid them out on the table in my apartment, pushing all the art materials aside I looked at the large glossy photos, black and white gloss to be exact, so very very exquisite. I had so many favourites, the one on the rock, when he’d taken time to smooth my hair down over my breasts, placing the flower, moving my arms, I remember it all very clearly as I looked down at the finished product. There was not even the slightest embarrassment now I think back, especially of the last one standing under the fall, the only fully naked frontal that showed off everything. Some may call it porn, I call it art- breathtaking art in still picture form. It was temping not to keep his negatives but I knew I couldn’t I couldn’t keep any of the examples of creativity and imagination before me- except for my picture, the one at the end of the roll that I doubt he knew remained.

There it was all glossy and fresh, a fin picture of morning disarray sprawled out with the covers, laying provocatively and invitingly as if I’d moved him into that for camera purposes only. The fact it remained untouched in anyway just inspired me more as I took the still and paper clipped it to the small chalkboard I used to scribble down notes around the inspiration, photo, sketch or material that is causing me to pick up brush and paint. I pulled out some soft paper and rummaged in the toolbox I kept all my materials in that I carried to the chine and set about musing over his picture. Saturday night’s impromptu sketch had fired something in me that I’d lost a few years down the track, the desire to take up charcoal once again, charcoal and nudes. Even though he wasn’t fully nude the picture it painted, the hap hazard manner it presented was a perfect start for me.

Maybe there was things like this that would warm me more to my newfound friend. Maybe it would drown my stubbornness, my recluse and adamant independence. But I liked being independent, I liked being able to live my life the way I liked it but I couldn’t honestly own up that it’s all been fun and games. It had been lonely but I’m just running scared of getting attached to anyone.

Years of bullying got me paranoid, everyone was talking about me, pulling me apart behind my back and no one believed me, the adults took children’s sides and I was left on my own. So much so I figured it was best that way, I was to be scene and not heard. Taylor didn’t believe that, he wasn’t going to give up, but now, why can’t I get rid of this feeling that I’m so out of touch with this my free and uninhibited actions would scare him just like his bold life and honest statements scare me.

I gladly face the challenge head on but I just know that Saturday may have been too real too soon for him, but he’d have to get used to it. He’d have to understand I’d give and I’d give in the ways that most usual friends wouldn’t. I didn’t want his body or to be by his side forever and eternity. I just wanted to share a mind, an imaginative mind that stirred the hearts of many. I could teach him and he could teach me and already I felt a little scared I’d lost him through being so honest about such a thing as giving him a little head. He knew what it meant but did he really? Did he know what any of me so far meant?

Why was I so scared when I was just coming round the idea of him being a constructive part of my life?

Why was I fearful that I scared him when he scares me just as unknowingly?

Was my paranoia coming back once again, but this time because I knew I wanted to make a friend and I was so intent on getting it right that I’d sit alone and worry if I’d said or done the right thing?

Could I just be me? Would he fully understand that?