How did I know she was going to show up? How could I be sure that this illusive and most individual of women would keep her promise and be my muse, all be it only for a fleeting couple of hours? There was no way I could get in contact with her, she was secretive about her personal information, and I already knew that. So there was a huge possibility that I could be sat here, the night sky darkening by the second, the night lights that lit the cove and enhanced the tumbling waterfall getting brighter as the sky grew dimmer, looking like a right fool with my camera and stand (so conveniently swiped from my father). Would she do that to me? How I could be sure? Exactly, I couldn�t.

It was very true to say I was nervous, the same sort of feeling you get when you perform a new song for a pack of hungry fans who have been waiting for that particular moment to arrive for months. I was sat by the rocks, on one of the old rugs Zac used to stand the base drum on, twiddling my thumbs and trying to keep myself occupied until she arrived-if she arrived. I wanted to know what kind of thing she would come up with to let me capture, I was also dying to know if she could tell that I was in total awe of her and her life-not that it would be a lifestyle I�d wish to lead, but the admiration I had for her guts to battle it herself was mounting more and more every time I thought about it. What a stark contrast from myself.

I picked up my camera, double checking I�d remembered to put in a brand new black and white film, deciding that for night time, the hue of the surroundings and of course Season would be pigmented better in light and shade tones of the black and white press. My brothers had actually stumbled across me whilst I was rummaging for equipment, asking why Saturdays had become such a religious ritual for me instead of just cruising the strip and mooching round the boutiques and retro markets for yet more clothing that I knew I didn�t need. I simply said I�d found another calling, one that would enhance my music and visa versa. They looked at me like I was demented but I didn�t expect any less, I did exactly the same when Isaac proclaimed he wanted to look into media and Zac wanted to look into technology and electronics. We all had second callings that we felt would help us more musically and hopefully that will prove the case- if this creative dream turns out to be the experience I so desperately want it to be.

In all of the art books I have read in my time I�d never seen such beauty until I found an old scrapbook on the library shelves, left there by an artist of classes gone by. Jorim Shelly must have only been my age back in 1981 but he�d obviously found the chine way before anyone else. The scrapbook contained his pastel and charcoal sketches of the waterfall and stream with imaginary silhouettes, ghost like fairies dancing in the forefront of his sketches. These genius scraps of artwork gave me the motion to start thinking properly on trying to help Taylor out. After all, I owe him for that A he got me. There�s just something that makes me a little weary, not at all in the negative sense but why was he so open, why am I being told all these things, these wants and these needs? I�m very flattered he�d tell me but is he angling for something more, for a friendship, for a�a date?

Whatever it is he�s pinning whatever hopes on I focused on the task in hand and promised myself not to get so defensive, he knew independence was my thing and he seemed intelligent enough to understand that. I�m selfish and life�s about me�sue me.

Complete with the idea of what I was going to let him photograph I made my way to the chine just as the moon started it�s violent glow from up above. I knew Taylor would not arrive until 8 and it gave me enough time to get accustomed with my idea, trying to make it work and more importantly, seeing if I could put it into practise, that I would screw it up for him at the last minute, my people skills aren�t that great but I know if I let him down he�d find it hard to mask his disappointment- he seemed so open last weekend that I just knew that would be the case, his open attitude towards me making disappointment hard to conceal.

I saw him arrive, sitting down by the rocks with his things, facing towards the small cutting that was known as the makeshift entrance. He looked radiant, nervous and cautious, the rustlings of his movements echoing round the deserted space. Looking down at myself I closed my eyes tightly, praying that this would be as creative as he wanted and as muse-like as I thought it should be. I crept up behind him, leaning over the rock, my bare feet nestled in the cool water. I laid myself down against the rock and rested my chin on my hands, using one finger to tap his shoulder.

�What the fu�.shit Season you scared me!� he exclaimed, turning his head at a snapping speed. I smiled apologetically as I watched him shuffle round to see me, his face displaying an unreadable look, either shock or disgust, I couldn�t decide which.

�My god,� he chuckled slightly as I stood up properly showing him the angle of imagination I was hoping he�d go for.

I�d swept my hair up in a sleek French twist, threading one of the flowers of the water lilies at the side of the cove at the side of the twist and that was it, apart from white bikini bottoms, tied together at the sides.

What was Jorim Shelly�s scrapbook of pastel artwork called?

Sirens

There she was, looking expectant her body perfectly aligned, her hands on her hips as she waited for me to open my mouth and say something. The first reaction for any sane male in this situation would to either run for the hills, or get one enormous, instantaneous hard on. Yes, it was an arousing site but my male hormones didn�t kick in the way you would think, not at first in any sense.

�So this is what you came up with then?� I asked, my voice strong as I furrowed in my camera case bringing it out and adjusting the settings whilst she waded a little in the water.

�Well you certainly can�t paint nudes and I just think that there�s something beautifully alluring about sirens,�

�That�s what your portraying? You�re a siren?�

�I�m certainly not doing this for sexual gratification Taylor, I�m giving you an opportunity, you need something to be able to assert control when it comes to your limitations with a camera. If you can�t photograph this then just say so, but I had you pegged for a man open to any imaginative challenge,�

�That�s what I am, I didn�t say I couldn�t photograph you like this it�s just, I didn�t think you�d come up with this!�

�Why be like everybody else and photograph material things, when you can photograph a live human in an artistic, non-pornographic way?�

She had a strong point, made even stronger by the fact that, as I took my shoes off and rolled up my trousers I noticed she was in no way turned on by the prospect, her pert breasts still tanned and smooth keeping in the same proportions as the rest of her body. She was stunning, but then I knew that, not just any face could prompt a photographer to reach for his camera in a muddle of spontaneous excitement.

�Are you embarrassed? Why should this surprise you? Surely if you have an open mind it should not shock you that the body is perhaps the most entrancing thing any artist, whatever his canvas is, could capture?�

I stood up facing her, watching as she knelt down in the shallow water looking at me pensively. I could only smile at her, stepping carefully over the rocks, dangling my feet into the waters below. There was yet another side to this woman, a second confidence that stemmed way beyond simple independence. That confidence was one only a truly unnerved being can achieve, being able to accept anything and do anything she pleased.

�We better start, last thing I need is for my muse to sue me after contracting hypothermia a la Ophelia,� I laughed wading a little deeper in the water, taking a much more relaxed comfort in her pleased smile.

How does this happen? Why is it that just as you think you have life and the people around you sussed out, that it all turns out that there are much more people in this world besides the outlined stereotypes? I praised the lord for being able to take her for what she was, know the limits of what she was doing for me here and why she was still prepared to talk to me after one chance meeting.

But one question still dogged me, and I knew that there was literally no hope of my wish but I still liked to think that I�d found something plutonic, at least somewhere inside of her.

How possible is it to befriend the independent?