<a class="postlink" href="http://img98.imageshack.us/img98/7283/bhkhbkhb.jpg">[ img ]</a><br/><br/>Name: Marco (Lens) D'Salle<br/><br/>26<br/><br/>Early afternoon light always paints landscapes well, never piques the boundaries of perfection, but often comes close, always and forever the easiest time of day to capture; only ever competed by the brief cover of evening, bejewelled in shuddering, forced sodium lights and neon worms. The daylight, however, held one perk that the night never did-- it was when the people crawled out.<br/><br/>Shutterbug drunks were ten a penny. Whores and addicts crawling out of pubs at gone 3AM were common place in galleries-- these, these diamonds were old hat. Who hadn't seen them!<br/><br/>No, Marco was after a much greater prize, his hunt involved a much darker depravity, preying on the unsuspecting, snapping secret shots of anyone in particular, capturing them at their most vulnerable, watching them, stalking some without their knowing.<br/><br/>The thought alone stirred the heat in his belly and set a string of adrenaline loose in his blood, during the chase? During the chase the heat roared into flame, raw gasoline tore through his veins.... it was all about the thrill, baby.<br/><br/>Daylight photography was all about voyeurism, following these people, these animals into their 'safe places', their 'comfort zone' through the finely compact space of a shiny, black ten inch lens. ... entire weeks went by, sleepless, restless, wild, punctuated by the occasional drop in on the dark room to process that terms pictures and thoughts....<br/><br/>Besides... you never knew what kind of pets you could pick up along the way....<br/><br/>Sometimes and particularly on this occasion he'd go through long barren months without a muse, big empty stretched in his life, voids filled with teeth gnashing, nail pulling frustration-- it was this cooped anger that drove Marco onto the beach-- if only for the air.<br/><br/><br/>****      ****      ****<br/><br/>Sand crunched and ground under the heel of his boots as he strode out into the open, the warm air sailed through Marco's hair and tugged on the straps of his jacket, whistling in the gaps of his cameras holster. It stunk mostly of salt, but as always in this part of town there was an underlying sickly sweetness, the kind of scent that rose from ice cream baking into the sticky asphalt. It was a wretched smell, a tourist smell and it meant nothing but to further his irritation.<br/><br/>Plunging himself into the dark space behind his eyelids Marco let out a long, controlled breath before his black eyes opened a slit, parasol lashes casting shadows across his cheekbones, pupils narrowing to predatory pin pricks.<br/><br/>He sunk his gloved hands into his jean pockets, striding down the dunes, shoulder blades set back in what could only be described as a stalk.<br/><br/>He scanned the beaches.<br/><br/>Old men sunbathing, beautiful girls in bikinis tossing about a ball, roller skaters taking advantage of the dirt path, gulls rummaging through burger boxes, kids making sand castles, young couples scaring the fish away with their toes, squealing when they met crabs, another old couple in deck chairs and--<br/><br/>--- Marcus froze.<br/><br/>His breath snagged midway up his throat, every muscle stilled like death.<br/><br/>Him.<br/><br/>The camera, his weapon of choice, his baby, found it's way into his hands, the slightest of crooked smirks creeping across his slender lips, "You're a piece..." he breathed, hunkering down a good distance away, wanting, aching not to get caught. The thrill of it purred through him. And they fucking paid him to do this....<br/><br/>Oh if only he looked good on film, Marco would--<br/><br/>--- It was too much to be true. The shot was sex in ink, an orgasm on a page. The young man sat, curled up in the sand like cat on bed, almond eyes lulling closed, features, exotic features rested in perfect angelic peace.<br/><br/>What a sweety!<br/><br/>The grin twitched across features before he could stop it, once it reached his eyes they glistened with the same dark humour that came with any social taboo.<br/><br/>He was beautiful.<br/><br/>Marco couldn't resist.<br/><br/>Hanging his camera back around his neck he sauntered over, almost skipping a step or two for sheer excitement. When was the last time he'd found such an ideal subject? This one was fascinating, exotic and downright unusual, not a scratch off of what he'd been looking for.<br/><br/>He slowed up, stopping himself a good metre from the boys side, a perfect stranger sharing the same stretch of beach, that was all. He stooped down carving symbols into the sand, "Speak English?" his deep voice curled out like hot smoke amongst the lull of the waves washing ashore.<br/><br/>He looked sideways, watching the boys face, sharp gaze glistening like a wet blade.