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I don't know who first dubbed me a bad girl. Maybe no one, maybe I just fell from the graces of being a good girl that it's all that were left to call me. I wasn't this way as a child, or even really a teenager. A psychiatrist I saw in my later years of high school ventured the term "sexual deviant". That never made much sense to me. To me, deviant meant to venture off the beaten path. I'm not taking a path that many other people haven't taken. I'm just better at it than most.

My behavior really shouldn't surprise people. I was predestined to be a bad girl some might say just by my name alone. I am Anna Synclair Jordan; my friends call me Syn. I'm a photographer for a high profile men's magazine. Surrounded daily by the weak and artistically challenged male species; I seek out the strong, the virile, and the wicked. People in this industry are so preoccupied with hiding their true selves, shielding others from their truly twisted sides that they have lost the spark. I thrive on that spark, the moment that lightening strikes, boundaries break and desires unleash. I live on these moments. They are what drive my work. What I seek to capture in the blank faces of the bodies I mold into print.

It's a Thursday afternoon when one of these moments began to stir. A crisp fall day in downtown Denver. The sun shone brightly in a cloudless cerulean blue sky, it's rays bouncing delicately off my long blonde hair. As typical I wore my black leather jacket, black jeans and a tight black sweater with my high-heeled black leather boots. Someone ...

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