Chapter Text
Life is Strange ~ Capturing your Soul ~
Chapter 17: Beginning of an Obsession
Interlude ~ Milano, 1999 ~
It was still early in the morning as the sun was slowly beginning to rise above the horizon, illuminating the beautiful blue sky to a radiant gold color. One lone man stood close to a terrace railing high above the hectic city life of Milano. His overall appearance was inconspicuous, he was dressed in typical grunge-style clothing with ripped blue jeans, a black leather biker jacket with a plain white t-shirt underneath it, and a red flannel shirt tied firmly around his waist. To others the man probably looked like a typical foreign tourist who wanted to catch the first rays of the Italian sun.
Mark Jefferson enjoyed the tranquil atmosphere here, to have a quiet moment to himself before his busy work schedule started, savoring that pleasant feel of the cold wind touching his skin. Soon that nasty summer heat would return. It was a time when most residents of the fashion capital fled in droves to the parks, choosing to spend their remaining time in the cool shadows under a big oak or chestnut tree. Mark hoped his next photo shoot would take place in an air-conditioned studio area. He couldn't bear this oppressive temperature any longer.
With a cup of espresso in one hand and his Hasselblad 500C/M in the other, the 24-year-old fashion photographer was the first visitor at Milano's duomo rooftop terrace. One of the world's largest cathedrals offered a spectacular view of the city and the alps. Especially the streets showed an intriguing arrangement, following a spider pattern with the duomo as its center point.
“I see you're living la dolce vita now, eh?” A deep male voice asked him and Mark turned around to see that his friend Alessandro Neri had finally arrived, seemingly out of breath.
'Why didn't he take the elevator?' Mark wondered to himself, not being in the mood for early-morning exercise. His job was already exhausting enough.
“The view is fantastic this morning. Brilliant blue skies and not one single cloud obscures the heavens. Look, over there, you can even see the alps today.” Mark pointed out and took one last sip of his hot espresso, tasting the luxuriously creamy aroma on his tongue.
Alessandro laughed and stood at his side now, their eyes looking into the distance. “One could almost wonder if you've turned into a landscape photographer now, amico mio.”
“Sometimes I wish I am. I'm so tired of this bullshit, Alessandro.” Mark grumbled and crushed the little espresso plastic cup in his hand in an irritating motion.
His friend gave him a worried look. “What happened this time?”
The young photographer could barely contain his anger as he listed the number of things that drove him mad, his voice filled with intense hatred and scorn now. “Oh, the usual stuff. The makeup artists were much too late, as always. The stage was one big mess and don't get me started on that one idiot who's responsible for our lighting setup. That amateur did one shitty job there. The light arrangements were all over the place. No focus, no direction... pure chaos. And on top of all that shit pile you have these self-centered french newcomer models running around with their star allures, believing they know it all so much better than me. Me... the pro who was actually hired to do this fucking job.”
When he was finished with his rant, he shook his head and murmured. “This isn't what true art is meant to be.”
For a lack of a better term Mark felt dissatisfied with his job in these past few months. Everything had become a boring and tiring routine. There was no creativity, no artistic value anymore. The higher-ups of the fashion industry expected that their american prodigious star would just repeat his usual, flawless performance, allowing no experiments or unconventional methods. It was a daily business. Nothing more. His biggest problem was the fact that he wasn't in the zone lately anymore as some photographers liked to describe it. That tiny little bubble, a moment frozen in time where only he and his model existed. The only thing that mattered. Only him and the one he wanted to capture.
“If you're hoping to create art you've come to the wrong place, my friend. Milano's fashion scene is as artificial and obnoxious as all the others out there. There's no exception. Maybe you should really switch to landscape photography. I mean, come on, you're an Ansel Adams fanboy. I think you should go for it.” Alessandro suggested, obviously trying his best to cheer him up again.
His buddy was also a fashion photographer, though he only worked for the smaller fashion design studios and not the big brands as he did. Furthermore, Alessandro had a tendency to prefer colorful photography in contrast to him. At least their unbridled passion for their art was the strong bond which tied those two different men together.
His eyes narrowed and he let out a deep sigh, slightly leaning over the rail. “If I could, I would. Unfortunately, nature doesn't move me the same way as humanity does. The rise and struggle, the ups and downs of life. All that emotion written on my subject's faces. I seek emotion in its purest form. Honest, bare, raw, and without any filters.”
Alessandro patted him on his back and concluded. “You just need a break from all this stuff, Mark. Look, you'll have my fiancée Elea posing as your model this afternoon. Maybe she can give you some new sparks of inspiration, eh?”
“I'm sorry, I almost forgot about that session, Alessandro. Don't worry, I won't be late. And a new impulse for my photography might actually be quite helpful.” Mark smiled at him, his restless fingers already playing with his camera strap in an excited manner. He hadn't met Alessandro's soon to-be-wife yet and was more than curious about her. Though the most important thing was also the fact that a new subject always meant new opportunities for him as a photographer.
'I can't wait to have you in front of my lens, Miss Neri.' Mark savored what small satisfaction he could in the thought that he would have her all to himself today. The anticipation alone would be enough to endure another stressful day at work.
The long-awaited afternoon had arrived at last. When both friends walked into the sunlit living room they were greeted by a young lady dressed in a white, floaty, low-cut summer dress which fluttered slightly in the breeze of a ventilator.
The italian woman had lightly tanned skin and luscious long hair, flowing down her back like brown, silky waves. The simplicity of her dress suited her slim curves and with her shoulders bare and her chest nervously quivering he found her quite alluring. What fascinated him the most was that lively sparkle in Elea's black eyes. Those eyes were practically bursting with life and intellect.
A shy and infinitely gentle smile adorned her lips, reminding him of dappled sunlight streaming through the trees. “Buongiorno Signore Jefferson.”
“Buongiorno.” Mark caught his breath silently, though his voice didn't betray how he felt right now. Intoxicated and mesmerized by her sheer beauty. It was that kind of beauty that inspired great philosophers. For a long moment he froze, standing riveted in spite of himself.
Only the loud voice of his friend dragged his senses away from her appearance, pulling him out of his trance. “La terra to Mark Jefferson. You still there?”
Mark paused and cleared his throat. “Ah, yes.”
“Bene, I'll leave you two alone now. Buon divertimento!” Alessandro winked at him and added in a warning tone. “And no flirting here, capito?”
“Yes, yes, understood.” Mark promised him, already urging the other man to get out of the room.
When they were finally the only ones left, he took off his leather jacket and breathed. “Alright.”
A smile played at the corner of his mouth as Mark approached Elea and offered her his hand in greeting. “There's no need to stand on formality. Please, call me Mark.”
“Okay, Mark. Pleased to meet you, I'm Elea.” She introduced herself and his fingers curled around her own, caressing her palm and placing a gentlemanly kiss across her knuckles.
“Elea... It's the short form for Eleanora, I presume?” He asked her and could already feel her obvious nervousness rising. Her slender hand was slightly trembling in his firm grip now.
She nodded in response and visibly struggled to suppress her rising tension. “Si, that's correct.”
Mark tried to break the ice with another smile, assuring her. “There's really no need to be so nervous around me.”
Elea forced a smile and her facial expression became flustered, the color of her cheeks turning to a pretty tint of red. “It's just that... you're Mark Jefferson. The famous Mark Jefferson. This feels almost surreal to have you here in our home. I must confess I'm an appassionata of your work. I so adore your black and white fotografia stile. You express so much through your imagery, it's truly splendido. Like a poet without the need for language. You only need your camera and nothing else.”
Oh, how he loved these moments when others stroked his ego, especially in her case it was deeply flattering and charming to hear Elea's words of appreciation. To him, it seemed like he had discovered an oasis in the desert. It was so rare to find a muse who possessed the capability to serve as a source of inspiration. Sometimes every artist sought ways to enhance their creativity and imagination. Mark himself had ventured into the worlds of music, theater and art, taking an interest in more forced expressions of the artistic impulse such as poetry recitals, classical music concerts, or even ballet performances.
He leaned forward, his warm breath ghosting over her skin as he said. “Thank you, Elea. I can see you also have the soul of a poet, just like Alessandro. And it's always a pleasure to meet someone who is so deeply moved by black and white images as I am. But enough about me. Alessandro told me you're working as a fashion designer for that little studio near the Palazzo delle Scintille. Would you allow me to have a look at your sketches and drawings? It's always fascinating to see what promising, young designers such as yourself come up with these days.”
“Oh, si, molto volentieri.” The young woman rushed away in a hurry and returned with a red leather portfolio in her hands, opening the clasp and taking out a few pages of her drawings.
Mark's intent eyes noticed how she was glowing with excitement now, her enthusiasm apparent in her voice as she explained her work in progress. “My goal is to express a personal form of elegance and balance through an aesthetic I would define as pure, sensual and spontaneous. I'm experimenting with a new pattern-making style, different materials, and unusual sewing methods to achieve a connection with a wider audience. As you can see I've decided to opt for a restrained palette of colors, with touches of red and white, letting the silhouettes of our models shine.”
This was almost too much. Her smile was infectious. As if Aphrodite, the greek goddess of beauty had made her smile even more ravishing to his eyes. For a few seconds, he regarded her in silence before his expression softened, admitting with a hint of respect in his voice. “Your conceptual drawings are wonderful, really. Your design reminds me of a fusion of italian tradition and modern fashion. That capacity for creativity and passion, that's where your true worth lies, Elea.”
After hearing his thoughts her elegant lips resolved into another smile. “Grazie, Mark. You've worked in the fashion industry for such a long time, your praise really means a lot to me. Thank you.”
“No problem. I'm always interested to see what kind of vision promising designers like yourself have. It's inspiring.” Mark complimented her and was pleasantly surprised that this woman seemed so humble and kind, unlike some other cocky fashion designers working in the industry.
Elea couldn't believe his words of praise, that this experienced man regarded her work as a source of inspiration. After all Mark possessed a household name in the business and had also worked with many great artists who had served as her own main inspirations. She had studied at the Milan Academy of Art and had soon discovered her love for fashion design which led her to attend Moda Milano, a fashion institute. Here she had delved into the world of fashion and accessory design, deepening her expertise, especially in Italian traditional clothing and creative methods to fuse technology and handcraft.
It felt like a very long journey and there was still no end in sight. Her biggest dream was to own her own studio one day where she could conceptualize her own brand of fashion. However, for now, she was content with her work at a smaller agency. A pleasant and also friendly work atmosphere where she could give free rein to her artistic inclinations and set her creativity free. Although Elea was far away from the glamour of the big fashion shows and their exciting spectacle she still heard rumors from time to time. Her two best friends Noemi and Raffaella worked as makeup artists and loved to share their stories about the handsome american photographer. Many young ladies had developed a crush on this cool hipster who was also a construct of culture and intellect. Only a few minutes had passed but the young woman swore she could already feel that mysterious appeal too. Mark Jefferson was as an irreplaceable presence as the sun. She just couldn't take her eyes off of him.
What immediately caught her attention was his choice of clothes. In Elea's eyes, clothing could offer you a glimpse of who a person really was or where they came from. His fashion choice clearly represented the current 90s grunge and punk style which didn't surprise her. This man had achieved his breakthrough in Seattle, the city where punk rock music was born.
His casual attire probably helped him not to stand out too much in the crowds of the city. Apparently, he was someone who valued his privacy. Even though he looked like any other attractive, young man in Milano, there was something that set him apart from the others. He had the firm, well-balanced body of a gymnast but his most striking feature was his brown eyes. There was something about his eyes. They were like a deeply sunken well, giving a mystical impression that drew everyone in. As if there was wisdom residing in these dark depths when they observed every tiny detail with great interest. She had this strange feeling that his eyes were like a camera, able to unveil the hidden corridors of someone's soul.
Maybe that was the reason why some coworkers called him the diavolo. The devil. Because this man undoubtedly possessed a dark, enigmatic aura, especially his feared mood swings were a constant topic at work. According to the gossip this photographer got carried away easily and this often led to tense situations between him and his models.
Still, many regarded him as an artist who was more passionate about his work than others. Through his unique black and white style Mark Jefferson had managed to distinguish himself enough to rise within the art world where he had reached a level at which he was even called a genius, a true master of his craft. And Elea felt honored and thankful that Mark took time out of his busy schedule to perform this private session with her. It was his wedding gift for his friend Alessandro and her.
She guided him to the black leather couch and they sat down, being so close to each other that the fashion designer could already feel his radiating body heat.
“I've never done such a session before, Mark. How do we...”, she paused for a second and gave him a nervous look, “um, how do we even start?”
To calm her nerves he rested his hand on her forearm, giving her arm a slight, comforting pat and explaining. “Well, first it might be helpful if you would tell me what you have in mind. Do you have any ideas about how you want me to capture you?”
Elea shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She was aware of the heat rising up her neck to engulf her cheeks as she cleared her throat and began. “There's this one scene in the movie Titanic where Rose asks Jack to draw her like one of his french girls. When I watched this I thought it was a beautiful moment and I had this idea to do it in a similar way. But I've never asked Alessandro about sensual art before. I'd like this to be a surprise for him.”
Of course, Titanic. All women seemed to love this one movie, especially that one particular scene between Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio. Nevertheless, it piqued his interest. He cocked his head to the side, studying her for a long moment and finally making clear. “Ah, sensual art photography. It's the celebration of sensuality. You must know that it's a very delicate topic. You have to be confident and bold in expressing yourself in such a way. When you're naked you see yourself and find out who you truly are. You discover your true face. Some people can't do that. They never take off their clothes their entire life, too afraid to face themselves. Also, there's a thin line between fine art and tastelessness. That's why it's a vital issue to place your trust in your photographer. It's my job to make you feel at ease and to empower you... to strengthen your soul so that you have the confidence to celebrate your body.”
Mark rubbed his chin thoughtfully, both his expression and voice became soft as he went on. “To photograph you is to see yourself through my eyes. I will visualize your ideas and explore the hidden beauty of your body. That's why I need to ask you this. Do you trust me, Elea? Do you trust me completely?”
“Alessandro trusts you.” She quickly replied, thinking to herself that her fiancé always praised the work of his friend.
But he furrowed his brows in response and gave her a serious look. “Please, it doesn't matter what Alessandro thinks. It's you who has to trust me. You would be my subject and every photographer has their own approach what they want to focus on a nude model. Let me explain what the general concept behind my work is so that you can decide for yourself if you're okay with it or not. What I want to capture is pure emotion. I want my audience to get lost in the ethereal detachment, unburdened by all things except pure feeling. In sensual art photography clothing is a distraction because it can define a culture and the mood of an image. To me, this style isn't about the anatomy of the human body. No, to me it's most of all about spirituality, about the soul of a subject. You show yourself in a vulnerable and helpless state, yet at the same time, you are brave. You free yourself from your inhibitions, from your fear by doing this kind of session. Do you understand?”
Her lower lip quivered as she seemed to be mulling over his words. It was one of the most captivating movements he had seen in quite a while. Then Elea nodded slowly, folding her hands in her lap and setting her mouth into a firm line, determination in her dark eyes as she answered. “Si, che capisco. I understand and your concept is close to how I would envision it. I'd like the focus of the image to be on the sensuality too. It should look... tasteful and beautiful. I don't know how to express this well in English... What I mean is the photos should be revealing but at the same time they shouldn't reveal too much.”
“Yes, I see. I'm sure we can work this out together. When it's over I promise that these images will let you see yourself from a different angle. In a sense, you will learn to accept your true self. For some models, it can be quite a life-changing experience because they gain more confidence and strength after a Boudoir photography session.” He pursed his lips and admired her beautiful visage. The gentle slope of her face was alluring and he brushed the back of his hand against the curve and whispered softly. “I must confess, to me a naked mind can be far more intriguing than its physical counterpart, Elea.”
A shiver of a thrill passed down her back when his eyes drank her sight in. And the moment Mark Jefferson touched her face Elea thought she could melt under his touch, right there on the spot. Unsure how to react she swallowed audibly and gestured towards the couch, asking him in a shy voice. “I would like to do it here, on the couch. But I'm really, really nervous. I've never done something like this before. Is there anything we can do to make it easier somehow?”
A look of yearning rippled on his usual calm face when his mind began to conjure a mesmerizing image of her sprawled across the couch, her dark hair fanned out across the pillows. Oh, Christ, she was so beautiful, so pure. A balm to his battered soul.
“We should take our time and allow you to relax first. Why don't you put on some music and get us something to drink? Nothing can beat alcohol to wash the nervousness from your mind.” Mark suggested and got up with a lithe movement to prepare his Hasselblad camera for the upcoming photoshoot. The ISO was set to 400 and he widened the aperture to make the most of the natural light. To soften the harsh sunlight he had moved the white curtains in front of the windows, basically turning every window into a giant softbox. It wasn't a perfect setup. The translucent material of the curtain would serve as a diffuser and the color temperature would depend on the weather but still, it was satisfactory. The final steps involved the removal of any clutter around the couch area so that no objects would distract the viewer's eye.
The sound of a cd player filled the quiet room with music now and he instantly recognized a familiar song. It was Cosas de la vida by Eros Ramazotti and Tina Turner. A very popular song that every radio station seemed to play these days.
His model also returned with two glasses and two bottles in her hands. One bottle was Ramazotti Amaro, a herbal liqueur and the other one was Wild Turkey Bourbon whiskey. An American brand known for its spicy and honey taste, with hints of oak.
“An excellent choice.” Mark remarked and poured the amber liquid into his glass, his keen eyes admiring the golden color swirling inside it like melted fragments of sunset.
Elea smiled at him and took a sip of her drink, telling him. “Alessandro bought this whiskey. He was sure you would love it.”
The strong smell of his whiskey gently intruded his nostrils and he gave her a playful wink as he added. “My friend knows me all too well. And now I have the pleasure to get to know you too.”
The young woman put the liqueur to her lips to buy herself some time. Sparks seemed to fly from his brown eyes and she was so affected that she couldn't bear to look into his eyes any longer and glanced away to collect her thoughts. There was this weird sensation that she could drown in those eyes. It seemed futile to resist his charm but she hoped to be at least a little more composed. No other man had ever made her feel like this.
'Get yourself together, girl. You're going to be a married woman tomorrow. Don't forget that!' She warned herself in her thoughts and brushed back her luxurious, dark hair falling over her forehead with her long fingers.
The american photographer watched as she took another tentative sip and couldn't suppress an inward smile. Since his teenage years he had always drawn the attention of women and Elea was apparently no exception. The light of one deep in thought danced on the surface of his dark eyes when he contemplated the concept of marriage. Mark himself never wanted to marry. He didn't feel the need to commit to any woman in such a formal and binding manner. Similarly, he never had any serious relationships. Yes, there had been women from time to time. He possessed a sexual hunger but like all things, he never let his desires rule over him or dictate his life. There were a few discreet dalliances here and there that never lasted once relations were consummated. To onlookers, it looked like nothing more than indiscriminate womanizing but he didn't care what others thought. This approach kept things simple and uncomplicated. After all, love was a strange and foreign feeling to him. He regarded it as an emotion that blinded men to the inevitable consequences of allowing feelings and passions to overcome good judgment. So he chose to withhold himself from any deep and meaningful connection. It was also a defense mechanism to protect himself. As an accomplished manipulator, he was familiar with the whole spectrum of emotions yet his own had always been invariably clear cut. Mark Jefferson knew exactly who he was and more importantly what he wanted, without any possible doubt. His own feelings were examined, processed, cooled, stored, and released only when it suited him. His inner flame had been ripped out long ago in his childhood, replaced with ice so deep and cold, that it burned within him. The scars that his uncle had inflicted upon him both physically and mentally ran far deeper than he wanted to admit to himself.
For a second a cold glint flashed in his eyes and he quickly banished the unbidden memories from his mind. Now was not the time to reminisce about his past. No, this was the time to savor each and every little moment with this impressive woman. His eyes found hers and once again he was enthralled by her comely visage, her face like a lovely portrait made with paints infused with the muse's breath.
They took their time and chatted about their life and work here in Italy. Mark enjoyed it immensely to share some funny tales and jokes, especially the little mishaps and accidents that often happened during a photoshoot. The sound of her cheerful laughter and giggles were like music to his ears. Getting to know each other helped a lot to loosen the tension and Elea seemed much more easygoing than she was before. Several refills later the alcohol had worked its magic, slowly taking effect inside her body. Drunkenness lurked in her glazed eyes and her cheeks burned a nice shade of red. Carefully, Mark cradled the side of her face and looked deep into her eyes, watching her with that intense way of his and his tone dropping an octave lower when he whispered softly. “I think it's time for our session... Elea.” Her name had such an elegant ring, he relished the tone on his tongue like an exquisite wine.
Elea had this impression that her mind and body felt sluggish, almost out of control. And it certainly didn't help to sit this close to a man like Mark Jefferson. At this very moment she couldn't recall ever seeing a man who looked quite so striking. Her gaze automatically swept over his form, admiring how his white t-shirt plastered to his upper body, his biceps particularly defined and the toned contours clearly outlined.
'Mamma mia! Why is this man so sexy?' Mortified about the crazy thoughts that flashed through her heated mind she blushed even more and secretly hoped the photographer would attribute her heightened color to the high temperature inside the living room.
Diverting her attention away from the attractive image he presented she murmured nervously. “Si, um, could you help me with my dress, please? I think I had too much of that Ramazotti.”
“Of course.” With that he aided her to take off her garments, revealing her body piece by piece.
His heart burned with a familiar desire and Mark felt a pull weaving its spell around them. There was something between them. An energy of sorts that try as he might was difficult to ignore. When she finally shed her light summer dress and let it slide down her bare shoulders until it pooled around her ankles this ache to feast on her beauty became almost unbearable. The taste of the forbidden fruit had its own special appeal. Holding himself back would prove to be a challenging exercise in restraint. It was his principle to not attempt to pluck any other blooms from another garden. Unfortunately, Elea belonged to Alessandro now. If only he would have discovered her sooner then she could have been his primary model. His own muse. His inspiration. Sadly, it was too late and he couldn't dwell on these thoughts of missed opportunities any longer.
When the photographer finally got his breathing and heartbeat under control his voice was smooth and measured, concealing his want behind a mask of professionalism. “Shall we begin?”
Elea wet her lips and muttered “Y-Yes.” Her lungs and heart were leaping within her breast when Mark guided her back to the couch, assisting her to slowly lay down on her back on the leather surface. His warm touch was so careful, so gentle. It made her feel at ease with him.
Together they searched for the right pose and in the end they decided to move her arms above her head, one hand grasping the wrist of the other. The arm of the furniture served as support for Elea's upper body, creating a curve along the hips and back. One leg was straight while the other had one knee bent to create some subtle shadows around her legs and lower belly. It was a fitting pose that made her body flattering and aesthetically pleasing. The last step involved the arranging of her long, brown hair that it looked splayed out all around her face.
One last time he took a sip of his whiskey and rolled it with the tip of his tongue. The warm sensation spread out through his body and burned hot within his chest. But it came nowhere close to fill the empty space therein, to satiate this thirst to get that one perfect shot. He always wanted more and more. More time, more models, and above all more opportunities. It was a sensation that seemed to sweep through his soul, his mind, his heart, and his body. It drove him to some sort of overwhelming longing. As if he had that feeling like he only existed for the sole purpose of engendering his vision into the world of reality. And often times he wondered, did he control his obsession, or did his obsession control him? The problem was he felt restless lately. There was nothing that stirred something within him. It all felt hollow and dull instead. What he needed was an idea, a spark to ignite a new flame. Would he ever find what he was looking for? Or more importantly, what exactly did he want to capture? So far his vision remained vague and aimless.
Maybe this session could give him the answers he sought. His preparations were almost complete as he positioned the ventilator near his model and connected his Hasselblad camera to a monopod. This way he could still move around freely without needing to handle a bulky tripod.
Mark advanced a half step forward, his brown eyes shining with the light of a keenly polished lens as he turned his focus on his subject. His eyes registered her uneasiness. There was no emotion he couldn't quite pinpoint and Elea was an open book in that regard. A hint of anxiety was residing in those black eyes and her breathing quickened, her chest visibly rising and falling rapidly.
'She looks so pure and innocent with that fear in her eyes. As if I'm about to corrupt her with the eye of my camera.' He mused, tempted by this enticing image of her. Yet, it wasn't perfect. Something was missing.
He looked around the room and discovered a black silk scarf on a nearby table. Without thinking he took it in his hands and pressed it against his nose. He could feel himself melting into the scent, her sweet, fruity perfume still lingering in the threads of the thin fabric.
The young man mentally snapped his fingers as an idea struck him. The dark side of his soul wanted more and this scarf was the exact tool to get what he was looking for.
Smiling cryptically he knelt down in front of her, his eyes giving nothing away of his thoughts and intentions as he suggested calmly. “I have an idea, my dear. Edward Weston once said that photographers shouldn't be repressed in their work. That they should dare to experiment, to consider any urge. And if it's even a new direction all the better. I'd like to use this scarf as a prop to add a new powerful dynamic to our pictures. What do you say?”
Elea eyed the scarf quizzically and after the span of a breath, she responded. “Mark, I'm afraid your musings surpass my understanding of art.” An artless answer but she didn't feel like competing with this man's eloquence and simply said. “Please, if you think that it works better with this sciarpa, then yes. Why not? Let's try it out.” She had this feeling that she could entrust herself to him, giving him the reins over this session.
“Good, I promise you won't regret it.” Mark gave her an approving nod and tied down her wrists with the silk material, making sure it wasn't too tight. It was of utmost importance that she felt comfortable in this session.
For a very long moment, he just stood there, motionless like a statue. There was admiration in his eyes when he watched her silently, appreciating her natural beauty. Her lightly tanned skin flawless, devoid of any cosmetics, and unblemished from any tattoos or piercings. An appealing rosy hue appeared on her cheeks and her lips slightly parted as she stared up at him. Due to the effects of the alcohol her eyes drifted in and out of focus. There was a fascinating mixture of innocence and uneasiness in her facial expression. As the seconds passed by one by one he found himself feeling something. If he had to put a word to it, maybe excitement would be the most appropriate term. It felt like a rush, swelling in his chest like a rising tide. The anticipation to have her in front of his lens growing. With his camera, he would capture her purity and loveliness against the backdrop of the warm summer sun.
From one moment to the next his body transformed into an extension of his camera. Mark began to circle around his subject in a way that was both captivating and ominous. Every step and every single motion was fluid, elegant, and graceful. Much similar to an experienced dancer. In a calculated manner, he constantly switched positions, always trying to find that one ideal angle that would offer him the best shot. The shutter went off. Again and again. Click, click, click. This was it. That familiar sensation he'd been waiting for. Once again he was encased in this tiny, magical bubble where only he and his model existed. Only he and his Elea.
“Yes, just like this. Perfect.” He commented enthusiastically, the tip of his tongue darting out and sliding over his lower lip as he changed into another position.
Finally, he could bask in his obsession. An intimidating gleam flashed in his dark eyes, his expression almost feverish when he lined his eye to the eyepiece of his camera to take another shot.
Confusion, tension, shame, nervousness, arousal, fear. All these emotions fused together in his subject, harmonizing into a thrilling blend. A realization slowly came to him. This was the significant element that had been missing in his art. Elea was barely conscious. Her face showed a raw and honest expression and her weakness made these photos even stronger and more expressive. Her nakedness was an added bonus, highlighting her vulnerability. Yet, the most compelling discovery to him was this sight of her barely conscious form. Her mind drifting so dangerously close to the verge of losing consciousness.
“Oh, Elea. From the moment I first saw you I knew you were going to be special.” He purred as he viewed her through his eyepiece, taking a step forward to get a few excellent close-ups. Adopting Weston's technique to use light like a chisel, he regarded the landscape of her body as an unending revelation of forms where the shadows accentuated her presence and sensuality.
Her breath became noticeably faster now with all the adrenaline pumping through her veins. Just watching the famous photographer working with his expensive camera left her breathless. There was an artistry to it in the way he moved. Confidence and an overwhelming ardor in his voice whenever he spoke to her. His approach was so different from Alessandro's. It was intense. Yes, to a certain degree it was even a bit terrifying.
In this pliable state, caught in a spell of alcohol and the comforting sound of Mark's voice, her dilated pupils made her eyes look considerably darker. A curtain fell over her vision and her view of reality receded along with her consciousness. When her faded vision grew brighter again she registered a movement. Elea's voice was quiet, beginning to fall below even the lowest levels of audibility as she uttered his name. “Mark?”
“It's alright. I'm still here, my dear.” The tone of his voice was soothing, almost deceptively so. He approached her, removing his white t-shirt leisurely and admitting. “This damn heat is killing me. I hope you don't mind me taking off my shirt here.”
Dio Mio! Did she hear him right there? Elea scrambled to collect her thoughts and gave him a shy look, catching a glimpse of his naked torso. As expected he had a well-built body, looking like a young athlete. This was too much. A wave of attraction rolled over her like an ocean breaker and it became harder and harder to stay unaffected.
To make matters worse Mark joined her and sat down on the couch. One hand still held his camera while the other flicked away the loose brown hair strands stuck to her forehead with sweat.
“If only you could have seen yourself through my camera eye. You are truly breathtaking.” He complimented her and cradled the side of her face, the pad of his thumb tracing the contours of her cheekbone.
A feeble voice leaked out from between her lips as she wanted to know. “Are we finished then?”
There was the low sound of exhaled breath when the man bent down, letting his gaze feast on the flawless symmetry of her face, promising her. “Soon, mia bella. Soon. Our photoshoot isn't over... yet.”
Elea felt a searing breeze blowing through her nerves. “M-Mark, I don't think...” She began but he gently placed a finger over her lips, cutting her off and assuring her in a quiet tone. “Sssh, it's alright.”
His fingers touched her soft lips very carefully, giving the impression he was barely restraining himself from going any further than this.
The slightest glance and the subtlest inflection could tell him much about a soul and the flush of her cheeks, and her slightly faster breathing were obvious signs of her yearning. The more Mark Jefferson saw of her, the more he felt himself gaining access to her soul, to the core of her being.
His brown eyes settled on her black ones and time seemed to move by in slow motion as he let himself wallow in these depths for a brief moment. If only he could savor her, even just an ounce of her passion before their session ended. Even if it would only last for a single moment, for a single occurrence he wanted to taste her. In his mind he was already visualizing her writhing form, crafting her mesmerizing image, painting her within his own brain like a magnificent masterpiece, right down to the very last detail.
In the end, he reached a decision. This woman had helped him to plant a seed, a new idea in his mind how he wanted to frame his models in the future. The vision of the slightly unconscious model awakened something in him. Something to explore further. Right now this was his time, his moment. This one afternoon she belonged to him and only him. He would have her all to himself. His darkness would consume her purity with a single kiss.
“You are a remarkable young woman and Alessandro is truly a lucky man to have you in his life. I wish we could have spent more time together but unfortunately, our session has almost come to an end. The only thing left for me to do is leave you with a parting gift... A little something to remember me by.” Mark whispered and pressed his lips against her neck, nibbling and biting her skin playfully.
A surge of incredible heat flowed through her as if liquid fire had been injected into her veins. The photographer proceeded to leave a scorching trail of feathery kisses up her neck. Soon his lips reached the hollow of her neck where he paused for a moment, observing that vaguely out-of-it look in her eyes and the red tint of her blush on her cheeks, like watching the sun shine through virgin snow on a rose petal.
His hand skimmed the side of her body, gliding down to her hips and back up again. The young woman couldn't help but surrender to his affections. The unbearable heat inside was only growing further. Her mind told her she should have stopped him right then and there but she couldn't. It was the last thing Elea wanted to do right now.
The artist continued to trail a line of kisses up to her warm cheek and Elea had that strange impression that the touches of his generous lips sensitized her body in a way she had never thought possible before.
Her breathing hitched and changed as his hand slid up her chest and moved further upward, his fingers beginning to twine through her long hair curls, the composition reminding him of a dark waterfall.
He paused in his motion and tightened his fingers around the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him so that her face was only mere inches away from his own.
“Elea... My beautiful muse, my noir beauty.” Mark said in a deep, thick voice, his eyes sinking deep into hers as if he was looking at the very core of her soul. Her black eyes captivated him. It wasn't just his favorite color black. No, it was the incredible depth that went so deep it was like staring into an endless sea. And her eyes were shining like the glitter on a dark ocean bathing in the light of the moon.
The expression on Mark Jefferson's face showed that there was something more, something else, going on under that calm and quiet exterior. A mysterious smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It was the smile of an artist who had a secret hidden within the deep recesses of his complicated mind. Elea was taken aback by the intensity of his gaze. And just hearing his voice made her knees buckle and her heart pulsate. It seemed like both of them were caught up in the heady excitement of the moment. The tension between them only skyrocketed to new heights when she longed for him to finally claim her lips with a kiss.
Both stared deeply into each other’s eyes. Neither of them said a word. Everything was still and silent as they looked at each other as if they were locked in a silent conversation that only both of them could understand.
His free hand moved up to the bound wrists above her head and held her there. He had her. She was his. It was a thrill being with her. A triumphant feeling of dominance and control as everything about her was open, exposed to him. Elea looked so vulnerable, so fragile and the photographer wanted all that powerlessness, all that innocence for himself.
He would finally see a side of her that no one else had ever seen, except for her fiancé Alessandro. Oh, he could sense her nervousness now. Her breath shaky against his lips. Mark lowered his head and began to kiss her, lightly at first. It was a mere touch of his lips on hers and Elea found herself responding to the kiss, returning it, trying to match his movements with her own. The world around her began to spin as the contours of his form pressed against her while his lips continued to caress hers. It was a strange feeling of being owned and controlled by him.
They continued to engulf one another in passionate kisses. It was an exquisitely slow parting of lips as his tongue sought out the sweet recesses of her mouth, meeting hers in a slow and thorough exploration, coaxing her into play by stroking her with his own, tasting the lingering aroma of the herbal liqueur's alcohol on her tongue.
It was an onslaught of passion as he greedily devoured her. Elea didn't want him to stop. She felt lost in his desire, swallowed by it. In this very moment she wanted to surrender to him, to succumb to him completely.
Mark felt as if his soul was on fire. He was burning from the inside and wanted more of her, so much more than he could take. He felt high as if he was drugged by her mere presence. It was as if something within her called to his very soul. Like an all-consuming need, he had never felt before.
He wanted to make this last as long as possible and let his hand wander once more over her velvety skin, memorizing every curve and line of her body along the way, skimming down to her abdomen, feeling her sharp intake of breath as two of his fingers probed into her, sliding along her most intimate flesh.
His expert fingers began to move in their own precise rhythm, causing her to whimper softly into his mouth. Her sensitive skin still tingled like an electrical current where his warm hand had caressed her skin just seconds before. All the while their kiss continued, his hot tongue stroking and brushing deliciously against hers, never letting their lips part for more than a second, as if each contact was their first and could be their last. Her mind went blank as she melted beneath him, her eyes falling shut, blindly responding to the urgency of his demanding kiss. The sound of their quick, deep breathing filled the living room. Desire spiked through her veins when his delicate fingers found the source of her heat. The sheer sensation alone was clouding her ability to form any rational thoughts anymore. All she was capable of was feeling.
Soon his fingertips discovered that one particular spot that would make her quiver in pleasure. He stroked the sensitive area repeatedly, making his model slowly slip into the realm of ecstasy. Every motion became unhurried and agonizingly slow as he delivered the most exquisite, delirious torture. Prolonging this pleasurable sensation and bringing her so close to the precipice was his gift to her.
It was a joy to satisfy her like this and Mark relished in the thought that he was the one who made her body tremble like this, that he was the one who held this power over her.
This wonderful, pleasurable feeling only increased, growing higher and higher when he touched the most erogenous parts of herself which made her gasp and moan in between their kisses.
The touch of his digits became sure and controlled as they accelerated his ministrations, finally pushing his pretty muse over the edge.
Lightning flashed across her vision, before it took her away, away into another world, into a spinning vortex of pleasure.
Mark pulled away from their kiss and watched her with an oddly artistic appreciation for the beauty of the moment as her slender body became taut, almost arching as he reduced her to trembling flesh, her form shuddering in the final moments of bliss. This image consumed him in his entirety, the exceptional picture coursing through his soul. It was perfect, far too perfect. His concentrated gaze caught every single detail. How the sensation had blossomed in her dark eyes, how she had let her head fall back in complete abandon and how her quiet moans had escaped her lips, the sound the chorus of her climax.
For a few seconds, he took in as much of the sight of her as he could and occasionally snapped a few photos, winking at her. “I think I will add these to my own private collection.”
Her eyes fluttered from the afterglow and it was like slowly awakening from a daydream. What had happened between them felt so surreal. The vivid memory of their kiss swam in her head, filling her mind like swirling wine.
Before she could clear her mind to say anything his lips were once again locked with hers. It was the kiss that would mark the end of their session. He would memorize the sweetness of her lips, like a kiss that he would forever savor in his imagination.
When the kiss ended, Mark looked deep into her eyes and ran a finger down her cheek, whispering to her. “It's regrettable that our time together was so short but I believe we made the most out of it. Grazie, Elea. For being my model today and for working with me on this memorable session. I feel I've gained some new interesting ideas for future photoshoots. Though it will require some time to develop these concepts further.”
Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson and her muscles became tense as she wanted to know in a worried voice. “A-And Alessandro? You won't tell him?”
“Tell him? Of course not. It's one of my rules that everything that happens during a session stays between me and you... my model.” Mark assured her and averted his eyes for a moment as if he had to deprive himself of her beauty, explaining further. “You see, it's very important to me as a photographer to draw the viewer's eye to the intimate, emotive power of my model's expression. It's like stripping the frame to nothing but a face-to-face confrontation with you. From an artistic standpoint I always try to test the limits, just as one of my idols, Diane Arbus did. “
He took her hand in his and gave her an assuring squeeze. There was an apologetic look on his face, his voice calm and comforting, caring and concerned. “I understand if this went too far for you and I apologize if my unusual approach seemed invasive.”
“I-I understand your reasoning. It was... unexpected but I”, Elea's voice trailed off for a moment as she looked away and when she found her voice again she blushed, admitting, “Well, if I'm being honest I enjoyed your approach. It was different, yes. Yet I think I can see what you wanted to accomplish.”
The young woman was aware that their session had gone too far but at the same time she reminded herself that the reason behind it all was an artistic choice. There were no feelings involved. It had only been a kiss, a one-time occurrence. One that would stay a secret between them and that would never happen again. It was undeniable. Mark Jefferson was a dangerously seductive man. She had found herself under his spell, like prey easing up to a predator who talked in a voice so sweet and made her relax with his charming smile, while his eyes caused her mind and stomach to stir in some kind of deep intoxication. If manipulation would be considered an art form he was a true master in this field. Wasn't he? Maybe this outcome had been inevitable.
She tried to sit up, her head still feeling fuzzy and disoriented from the alcohol as she asked. “May I see these other photos too?”
Mark nodded at her and put his camera down on the nearby couch table. “Yes, you will receive everything as soon as I get back to my lab to begin the processing of the film. It won't take too long, I promise.”
Something was brimming in his eyes now. Emotions poured out through his voice as he remarked thoughtfully. “Maybe, one day, I hope we can work together again.”
And Mark truly meant what he said. Because in this fashion world full of lies and selfishness Elea was standing out, shining brightly like a beacon of purity amid all those other jaded models out there. If he could have another chance to control the lights and shadows, to pose her in his own vision and marvel at the beauty of her soul once more. Oh, he would give everything to have her again. Inside a studio. Only him and her. Wouldn't that be perfect?
~ Portland, Guardino Gallery, 2013 ~
“No, not every woman, Elea. Only those who are special, one of a kind... like you.” His voice was very quiet, so that only she could hear him. Once again, there was that same glimmer, that same spark in his eyes when he had met her for the first time in that little apartment in Milano. As if nothing had changed and no time had passed at all.
While Mark awaited her answer, one part of him wondered how his life would have been if Max had been his first model to awaken his obsession. If he would have only met her earlier in his younger days, they could have conquered the art world together. The photography teacher had reached an age where he had to take a step back to let the younger, promising talents take center stage, so that they could flourish under his guidance. Being a teacher was his role now and he didn't have the time to ponder any what if-scenarios in his head. No, that didn't get him anywhere. His focus had to be on his muse Max, especially at a critical time like this where she still didn't quite comprehend the full extent of his obsession yet. Maxine didn't know all the finer details and it wouldn't be easy to explain it all to her, particularly his wish to have Elea Neri in front of his lens again. Although the question remained if Alessandro's wife would accept his proposal at all.
Turning his attention back to his subject he placed his warm hand on her lower back and stared at her intensely, like a painter imagining the finished portrait in his mind.
She let out a quiet sigh, her elegant lips slowly resolving into a smile as she said in defeat. “You have such a way with words. How can I say no? You're the most persuasive man I know, Mark.”
“Indeed.” He smirked in return, knowing that he was playing with fire and that Alessandro wouldn't like this idea one bit. But he didn't care. It was all for the sake of his art. His vision. To turn it into reality. Elea would have the honor to become one of his last dark room models.
And Maxine... She would be his final magnum opus.