The Photographer’s Muse

AFTER DARK DIARIES | BREATHLESS | THE PHOTOGRAPHER’S MUSE

Claire had expected the camera to make her feel exposed. She hadn’t expected it to make her feel seen.

Answering the advert had seemed like a much better idea at eleven o’clock on a Wednesday night, when Claire had been sitting at home with a glass of wine and enough confidence to believe she could absolutely become a life model for an afternoon.

Three days later, driving alone through the countryside towards a converted barn belonging to a photographer she’d never met, the confidence had become considerably less convincing.

She could still turn around.

She considered it twice.

Then curiosity won.

The Road to the Studio

The directions took Claire away from the main road and along a narrow lane bordered by hedgerows still wet from an earlier shower.

She checked the address again.

Definitely here.

At forty-three, Claire didn’t consider herself particularly reckless. She had a respectable job, paid bills before they were due and had reached an age where a spontaneous Saturday usually involved buying something unnecessary for the house.

Yet here she was.

The advert had caught her attention because it hadn’t asked for professional models.

Natural female model wanted for artistic portrait study. No modelling experience necessary. Character more important than perfection.

That final sentence had stayed with her.

Character more important than perfection.

Claire had spent years doing what many women did when confronted with photographs of themselves: immediately finding whatever she disliked.

Her stomach.

The lines around her eyes.

The fact that her breasts no longer seemed quite as interested in defying gravity as they once had.

Friends told her she looked lovely.

Claire usually assumed friends were contractually obliged to say things like that.

Then she’d seen Daniel’s portfolio.

His photographs weren’t glossy magazine portraits. His subjects had lines, freckles, scars and bodies that looked lived in. Somehow, he made those details beautiful rather than something to hide.

So she’d sent the email.

Now she was beginning to question the wisdom of Wednesday-night Claire.

The converted barn appeared at the end of the lane.

Claire parked and looked at herself in the mirror.

“Well,” she murmured. “You wanted character.”

She got out of the car.

Daniel

The studio was larger than she’d expected.

One wall consisted almost entirely of tall windows overlooking open fields. Inside were backdrops, light stands, reflectors and several cameras arranged with the slightly chaotic precision of someone who knew exactly where everything was.

Framed photographs covered one whitewashed brick wall.

This was unmistakably a photographer’s studio.

“Claire?”

She turned.

Daniel was perhaps forty-six or forty-seven, tall without being imposing, with dark hair beginning to grey at the temples and a short beard. He wore jeans and a faded black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms.

He was attractive.

Annoyingly so.

“That’s me.”

“I’m Daniel.”

“I was hoping you might be.”

His smile appeared slowly.

“Otherwise you’ve wandered into a very strange barn.”

That helped. Immediately.

Daniel offered coffee, showed her around and explained how the afternoon would work. Nothing would happen without her agreement. She could stop whenever she wanted. They would begin fully clothed and only progress as far as she felt comfortable.

“If that means we spend three hours photographing you in a jumper,” he said, “then we spend three hours photographing you in a jumper.”

Claire regarded him.

“Not much of a life-modelling session.”

“I’ve photographed a potato before.”

She blinked.

“Professionally?”

“Very.”

“Did it have character?”

“More than the client.”

Claire laughed, and the nerves loosened another notch.

The First Photograph

She changed behind a screen into the silk chemise she’d brought with her.

When Claire had packed it that morning, she’d thought it sophisticated. Standing alone behind the screen, it suddenly seemed approximately the size of a handkerchief.

She studied herself in the mirror.

The champagne silk skimmed her body rather than clinging to it. Thin straps left her shoulders bare and the hem stopped halfway down her thighs.

There was nothing outrageous about it.

So why did stepping from behind that screen feel like walking onto a stage?

Daniel was adjusting his camera.

When he glanced up, he paused.

Only briefly, but Claire noticed.

“All right?” she asked.

“Very.”

Something about the simplicity of his answer sent warmth creeping into her cheeks.

He gestured towards a linen-covered chaise positioned near the tall windows.

“Sit wherever feels natural.”

“I haven’t felt natural since I got out of the car.”

“Then we’ll start with unnatural and work from there.”

Claire sat.

The first click of the shutter made her shoulders tense.

Daniel lowered the camera.

“You’re thinking.”

“I do that occasionally.”

“Stop.”

“Excellent professional advice.”

“You’re wondering what your stomach looks like.”

Claire stared at him.

“How did you know?”

“Because nearly every woman who sits there does exactly the same thing.”

He raised the camera again.

“Forget your stomach.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“It isn’t in charge of the photograph. You are.”

Claire wasn’t entirely sure what that meant.

But she tried.

Learning Not to Pose

The first twenty minutes were awkward.

Claire didn’t know what to do with her hands. Apparently, hands became completely foreign objects when someone pointed a camera at you.

“That looks ridiculous.”

Daniel checked the photograph.

“It doesn’t.”

“My hand looks enormous.”

“That’s perspective.”

“It looks like I’ve borrowed it from somebody else.”

He laughed.

“Try again.”

Gradually, something changed.

Daniel didn’t constantly tell her she was beautiful. Claire appreciated that more than she’d expected.

Instead, he talked about light, angles and expression. He asked her to turn towards the window, then away from it. To lie back. To sit with one knee raised. To stop looking at the camera and think about something that made her happy.

“What?”

“Anything.”

Claire thought about her sister falling into a paddling pool at a family barbecue.

She smiled.

The shutter clicked.

“That’s it. Don’t move.”

Several more clicks followed.

Daniel lowered the camera.

“Come here.”

Claire crossed the studio.

He turned the screen on the back of the camera towards her.

The woman in the photograph surprised her.

She wasn’t posing. Her head was slightly turned, her hair falling across one shoulder, and she was laughing at something nobody looking at the photograph would ever know.

“That’s me?”

Daniel looked amused.

“I didn’t hire a stand-in.”

She ignored him.

There was something about the photograph she couldn’t quite explain.

She looked alive.

Not younger. That wasn’t it.

Nor thinner.

She simply looked comfortable inside herself.

“I like that one,” she said.

“So do I.”

Their eyes met for a fraction longer than necessary before Daniel returned to the camera.

“Ready for some more?”

This time Claire didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

When Confidence Changes the Picture

The afternoon slipped away.

Outside, another shower passed across the fields. Rain whispered against the windows while the studio remained warm and cocooned from the world.

Claire stopped worrying about her hands.

She stopped pulling in her stomach.

Eventually, she stopped thinking about her body as a collection of things that required improvement.

Daniel changed the lighting.

“Would you mind losing one strap?”

Claire glanced down.

“Which one?”

“Your choice.”

She slid the left strap from her shoulder.

The silk loosened slightly across her chest.

Daniel looked through the camera.

“Turn towards the window.”

Claire did.

“Chin slightly down.”

Click.

“Eyes towards me.”

She raised them.

The camera remained between them.

Click.

Something about Daniel’s expression had changed.

Not dramatically. He was still working, still concentrating, but Claire had become aware of the man behind the camera in a way she hadn’t been an hour earlier.

Her gaze dropped.

“Why did you stop?”

“Because you moved.”

“I thought photographers liked movement.”

“We do when we ask for it.”

Claire smiled.

“Control freak.”

“Occupational hazard.”

He came closer to adjust the fabric, then stopped before touching her.

“May I?”

Claire nodded.

Daniel lifted the fallen silk slightly and repositioned it across her shoulder.

His fingers barely touched her skin, yet Claire felt it.

He stepped away.

She wished he hadn’t.

That was new.

Seeing Herself Differently

They took a break.

Claire put on a robe and accepted another coffee while Daniel transferred some of the photographs to a large monitor.

She stood beside him as the images appeared.

Some she immediately rejected.

“My face is doing something peculiar there.”

“It’s called smiling.”

“Delete it.”

“No.”

“Daniel.”

“I’m the photographer.”

“I’m the woman with the peculiar face.”

“You signed a release.”

“I can still damage your computer.”

He laughed and moved to the next photograph.

Claire became quiet.

It was one of her lying on the chaise.

The chemise had fallen slightly from one shoulder. Her legs were loosely crossed and she was looking towards the window rather than the camera.

There were lines at the corners of her eyes.

Her stomach wasn’t perfectly flat.

Her body looked unmistakably forty-three.

And she loved it.

Daniel noticed her expression.

“You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“Looking for faults.”

Claire continued staring at the screen.

“Actually, I’m not.”

That surprised both of them.

She folded her arms.

“I thought I’d hate these.”

“Why?”

“Because photographs don’t normally agree with me.”

“Photographs don’t have opinions.”

“Mine do.”

Daniel leaned against the desk.

“Maybe you’ve been asking them the wrong question.”

“What should I be asking?”

“Not whether you look twenty-five.”

His gaze rested briefly on her face.

“Whether you look like yourself.”

The room seemed quieter.

Claire returned her attention to the photograph.

For once, she did.

The Last Set

By early evening, the rain had stopped.

Golden light began spilling through the western windows.

Daniel glanced outside.

“We’ve got about twenty minutes of that.”

“Is that good?”

“It’s perfect.”

Claire returned to the chaise without putting the robe back on.

The chemise felt different now. Earlier, it had seemed revealing. Now it felt almost unnecessary.

Daniel photographed her standing in the warm light.

“Turn.”

She did.

“Again.”

Click.

“Look over your shoulder.”

Click.

“Claire?”

“Yes?”

“Would you be comfortable with the chemise lower at the back?”

She reached behind herself and loosened it.

The silk slipped to her waist, leaving her back bare.

Daniel was silent for several seconds.

Claire glanced over her shoulder.

“Lost for words?”

“Concentrating.”

“Of course.”

But she saw the smile.

And this time she knew.

The attraction wasn’t something she’d invented.

Claire slowly turned towards him, holding the silk across herself.

Daniel lowered the camera.

Neither spoke.

Something between them had changed.

Perhaps it had been changing for hours.

When the Camera Came Down

Daniel placed the camera on the table.

That simple action felt more significant than it should have.

Until now, the lens had given them a reason to look at each other. Without it, there was nowhere to hide.

Claire gathered the silk loosely around herself.

“Are we finished?”

“Photographically?”

“Yes.”

“Probably.”

She smiled.

“That’s a very specific answer.”

He came a little closer, then stopped well before reaching her.

“Claire.”

There was a question in the way he said her name.

She decided to answer it.

“You’ve been very professional all afternoon.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Has it been difficult?”

His eyes held hers.

“Recently?”

“Yes.”

“Extremely.”

Claire smiled.

“Good.”

“Good?”

“I’d have been offended otherwise.”

He lifted his hand towards her face, then hesitated.

Claire closed the remaining distance herself.

Their first kiss was slow, almost cautious.

It felt completely different from being photographed.

The camera had allowed Claire to surrender a little control while still remaining separate from Daniel.

This didn’t.

His hand settled at her waist.

Claire touched his beard, feeling the roughness beneath her fingertips.

When they separated, neither went far.

“Still okay?” he asked.

“Very.”

She kissed him again.

No Longer Posing

The second kiss had none of the uncertainty of the first.

Claire’s hands moved into Daniel’s hair as his mouth travelled along her jaw and down her neck.

The silk slipped again.

This time neither of them corrected it.

Daniel kissed the shoulder he’d adjusted so carefully earlier, and Claire closed her eyes.

It was astonishing how different the same touch felt now.

Earlier, every movement had been controlled and professional. Now his mouth lingered against her skin while his hand travelled slowly along her back.

Claire pulled his shirt free from his jeans.

“Impatient?” he murmured.

“I’ve been standing around half-dressed for several hours. You’ve had an unfair advantage.”

Daniel laughed against her neck.

“Would you like me to even things up?”

“That would seem polite.”

He removed his shirt.

Claire took her time looking.

Daniel raised an eyebrow.

“You’re staring.”

“I’ve spent all afternoon being stared at. Consider this restorative justice.”

He kissed her before she could say anything else.

The chemise finally slipped from Claire’s body and pooled around her feet.

For a moment, instinct made her want to cover herself.

She almost did.

Then she remembered the woman on the monitor.

Daniel didn’t rush towards her or fill the silence with compliments. He simply gave her the space to decide what happened next.

Claire let her hands fall to her sides.

“Well?” she asked.

His gaze returned to her face.

“Come here.”

She did.

The Chaise

They reached the chaise almost by accident.

Claire sat first.

Daniel knelt in front of her.

His hands moved along her thighs, slow enough that she could feel every inch of the journey.

When his mouth followed, her breathing changed.

There was nothing artistic about the sound Claire made when he kissed the inside of her thigh.

She looked down at him.

“Still photographing me in your head?”

Daniel smiled.

“Not even slightly.”

“Good.”

His mouth travelled higher.

Claire’s fingers tightened against the linen.

The afternoon had made her intensely aware of being observed. Now the pleasure came from something completely different: touch, warmth, the roughness of his beard against sensitive skin and the anticipation of not knowing exactly what he would do next.

When his mouth settled between her thighs, Claire gasped and let her head fall back.

The carefully controlled woman who had arrived that afternoon worrying about the angle of her stomach disappeared completely.

Daniel took his time.

That was almost unbearable.

Claire’s fingers moved into his hair, guiding him when instinct took over. Her breathing grew louder, then irregular.

When the pleasure finally broke through her, she pressed a hand against her mouth before remembering there was nobody else to hear.

A laugh escaped her instead.

Daniel looked up.

“Why are you laughing?”

Claire shook her head.

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“Good?”

She gave him a look.

“Don’t become smug.”

“Too late.”

She pulled him towards her.

Nothing Rehearsed

Claire kissed him deeply.

This time it was her turn to explore.

Her hands travelled over his chest and down his stomach, enjoying the way his breathing changed beneath her touch.

Daniel’s control wasn’t quite as effortless as he’d made it appear.

Claire liked discovering that.

Very much.

They moved together on the chaise, bodies warm against the linen, kissing between half-finished sentences and quiet laughter.

There was no performance now. No instruction about where to look or how to hold herself.

When Daniel moved between her thighs, he paused.

Claire met his eyes.

“Yes.”

He entered her slowly.

Claire drew in a breath and wrapped her legs around him.

For a few moments they barely moved. The closeness itself was enough.

Then Daniel began a slow rhythm and Claire held him against her.

The old barn had become completely silent around them. Outside, the last daylight had faded from the fields. Inside, there was only their breathing, the faint creak of the chaise and the occasional whispered word that neither would probably remember the following morning.

Daniel kissed her.

Claire moved with him, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency as pleasure began building again.

She no longer thought about what her body looked like.

She thought about what it felt like.

That distinction seemed enormous.

Daniel’s mouth found her neck.

Claire tightened around him.

“Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

Her second climax came more slowly, gathering through her until she could no longer hold herself back.

Claire clung to him as it rolled through her.

When Daniel’s own control finally broke, he held her tightly, his face buried against her shoulder, his breathing ragged.

Afterwards, neither of them moved for some time.

Eventually, Claire opened her eyes and noticed one of the studio lights still pointing towards them.

She started laughing.

Daniel lifted his head.

“What?”

“If that camera has a timer, I’m going to kill you.”

“It’s switched off.”

“You’re absolutely certain?”

“Completely.”

“Good. I’m not explaining that one to Boots when I order prints.”

Daniel collapsed beside her laughing.

After the Light Had Gone

Eventually, they found the energy to move.

Daniel brought a blanket from somewhere and draped it over them.

Claire settled against him on the chaise.

The studio felt completely different in darkness. The windows that had filled the room with light now reflected them back at themselves.

Daniel’s fingers moved lazily along her shoulder.

“Do you regret answering the advert?”

Claire considered it.

“I regretted it for most of the drive here.”

“And now?”

“Ask me when I’ve located my underwear.”

“I think it’s near the reflector.”

“Of course it is.”

Their laughter faded into an easy silence.

Then the conversation became quieter.

Claire told him why she’d really answered.

Not because she wanted photographs. Not entirely.

She’d wanted to do something that frightened her a little. Something unexpected. Something that belonged only to her.

Daniel listened.

He didn’t turn it into a speech about confidence or tell her she should love every part of herself.

Claire appreciated that.

Eventually, he said, “You were different at the end.”

“Different how?”

“You stopped asking me whether you looked all right.”

Claire hadn’t noticed.

Now she did.

Morning Light

Claire woke beneath a blanket with pale sunshine spilling across the studio floor.

For several confused seconds, she couldn’t remember where she was.

Then she saw the light stands.

The chaise.

Her chemise lying several feet away.

“Oh.”

Daniel wasn’t beside her.

She sat up, wrapped the blanket around herself and smelled coffee.

He appeared from the small kitchen at the back of the studio carrying two mugs.

“Morning.”

Claire accepted one.

“Please tell me I didn’t snore.”

“You didn’t.”

“You’re lying.”

“A little.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Photographers are supposed to preserve flattering versions of reality.”

“I thought we’d established that wasn’t the point.”

Claire smiled into her coffee.

The monitor on the desk was still on.

One photograph filled the screen.

Claire stood.

It was the photograph from earlier in the afternoon, the one where Daniel had told her to think about something that made her happy.

Her head was turned.

She was laughing.

There were tiny lines around her eyes. Her hair wasn’t sitting perfectly, and one strap had twisted slightly.

It wasn’t glamorous.

It wasn’t seductive.

And it wasn’t the photograph Claire would once have chosen.

Daniel came to stand beside her.

“That one’s my favourite,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not trying.”

Claire turned back to the screen.

Perhaps that was why she liked it too.

The woman in the photograph wasn’t asking permission to be attractive. She wasn’t pulling in her stomach or wondering whether she looked younger from the other side.

She was simply there.

The Photograph She Didn’t Take Home

An hour later, Claire was dressed and standing beside her car.

The fields glittered with rain from the night before.

Daniel walked outside with her.

“So,” he said, “professional modelling career?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Shame.”

“I was traumatised by the working conditions.”

“Coffee?”

“Terrible.”

“Chaise?”

Claire considered him.

“The chaise had potential.”

Daniel smiled.

He kissed her.

Not urgently and not as an extension of the previous night. Just a warm, lingering kiss in the morning sunshine.

Claire opened the car door.

“I’ll send you the photographs.”

She hesitated.

“All of them?”

“Even the ones with your enormous hand.”

“Delete those immediately.”

“No promises.”

Claire laughed and climbed into the car.

As she drove away, she expected embarrassment to arrive.

It didn’t.

Instead, she kept thinking about the photograph on Daniel’s monitor.

Not the most polished one.

Not the most sensual.

The imperfect one.

The woman laughing when she didn’t know the exact second the shutter would click.

At the end of the lane, Claire glanced into the rear-view mirror.

Her hair was slightly wild. She wore no make-up. There was a faint mark on her neck that hadn’t been there yesterday.

She looked at herself for a moment.

Then she smiled.

For once, Claire didn’t correct anything.

She simply drove home.