Date: Sun, 05 Nov 2000 14:51:25 -0800
From: Meaghan Meyers
Subject: LIFE IS GOOD By Meaghan Meyers

LIFE IS GOOD
By Meaghan Meyers

 Life is good. Yesterday, I became a divorced woman, my company thrived,
and my daughter started her second year at college. Plus, it was a
beautiful late-fall day, my favorite: warm enough to show off my tan,
cool enough not to sweat.
 Oh, maybe I should introduce myself. Rachel Phillips (my name not his).
I'm 37, newly divorced, mother of one, and the sole owner of a catalog
business catering to women's lingerie. I've got to say that while I
can't compete with the main line lingerie catalog we all know about, I
do okay. I'm going to interview a new photographer this morning. We
caught the old one in a delicate situation with one of our models. I'm
glad this one's a woman photographer. I'm hoping she'll have a better
feel for the models and their outfits.
 I'd never met her before, though she came highly recommended. I stopped
in front of my office to look over her resume and portfolio one last
time. Roberta Michaels. Her photos were good, very good. She'd included
standard catalog type shots, but also some candid shots of models,
unaware there was a camera anywhere near. It was these photos that were
most interesting yet more than slightly disturbing. There was one that
drew me back time and again: it was of a young model standing in front
of a mirror, glazing her hands across her breasts, her eyes focused
backward in the mirror toward a barely seen woman in the background,
communicating a silent message of lust and love.
 Opening my office door, Ms. Michaels stood up to greet me. "My stars,
how tall are you?" I asked in astonishment.
"Six feet even" she answered in a silky voice like good whiskey on a
late night. She stepped over and shook my hand. "Mrs. Phillips, I've
seen wonderful things from your catalog. I'm pleased to meet you."
"Rachel, please. Thank goodness I'm not a Mrs. any longer. Please, have
a seat. These photos are extraordinary. May I call you Roberta? What
drew you to photography in the first place?"
"Please, call me Berta. I used to be a model myself, and would sometimes
argue with the photographer about the best way to place the subjects or
light the product. I seemed to find ways that pleased me more and would
make a better photo. So, I quit modeling, honed my craft, and here I am.
That was 6 years ago and I've loved every second of it. I've always
liked your catalog. It's small enough to be personal, you feel as if you
could melt into the lingerie. In fact, I have a drawer full of your bras
and underwear. I don't know where you find such deep, pleasurable colors
and fabrics. I always feel more special when I'm wearing your stuff."
We spent the rest of the afternoon talking, laughing and looking over
the collection of cameras and the studio where we did a large part of
the layouts for the catalog. Of course I hired Berta, how could I not?
She had a way with her photographs that drew a viewer in and made them
feel a part of the scene.
With a start, I realized it was early evening and everyone had gone
home. "Berta, it seems we're the last ones here. If you don't have any
plans tonight, why don't we grab a bite to eat and continue talking? I
find you fascinating, and while I've never been a photographer, you make
it sound like something I'd like to try."
Dinner was this amazing little Chinese place just around the corner that
I'd loved for years. It seemed few other people knew of it since there
was almost never anyone there. Berta and I talked, laughed, and even
cried a little as we talked over our pasts and the loves we'd had. She
frankly admitted being a lesbian, saying she'd known since she was about
10 and had been out since the age of 14. I found myself drawn to this
woman as I'd never been drawn to another person before. She was funny,
insightful, had a wonderfully quick and keen intelligence, and was one
of the most compassionate people I'd ever met.  To say she was beautiful
wouldn't do her justice. Since quitting modeling, she'd filled out some
though she was plenty slender. Berta had these almost almond-shaped,
liquid brown eyes with brows that gracefully arched over them. I wanted
to touch them to see if they were as soft as they looked. She had a
perky little button nose, and an amazing mouth. If I could find a model
with such a mouth, I'd feel incredibly lucky. It had full, dark red lips
always moist looking and she had a subtle almost secretive smile lurking
around the corners. She sat back after finishing her meal and tossed her
fingers through her curly, short, nearly black hair. If you took her
face apart, each portion would be pleasing by itself, but put all
together, she was captivating. I could see why she'd been a successful
model.
We said good night at the door after arranging the next week's worth of
shooting for the spring catalog.  Berta had expressed some great new
ideas for the spring shoot. I was excited about going home and sketching
them out.

The next few weeks were over in a flash. The models seemed to love Berta
and were responding to her work as I'd hoped they would. They seemed to
feel completely at ease with her.  I'd watched Berta at work, leaning
over the models to arrange their hair, reaching down to adjust a bra or
panty leg, snapping the catalog shots, and using a camera of her own
between layouts to catch the models in candid shots.  She didn't play
favorites among the models, devoting as much time to the filler models
as she did to the "stars".  She was becoming as vitally important to
what we did as the models and the clothing.
The last layout of the shoot happened at the zoo. It was Berta's idea.
The whole catalog was more primal and elemental in the way it looked,
taking the viewer deeper into the new colors and fabrics.  She thought
having the models photographed around the animals would add a deeper
dimension to the catalog.
Our focus model, Miranda, was an incredibly leggy deep red head. We had
her in the latest clothing release: a wine-colored teddy. She was going
to shoot with an albino tiger. We were hoping that Miranda's dark red
hair and clothes would contrast sharply against her white skin and the
tiger's white coat. Miranda had spent all of yesterday with the tiger,
forging a relationship and getting to know her training routine.
During the afternoon's shoot, Miranda and the tigress seemed to dance
with each other, stalking each other across the grass and around the
arena. The last shot of the day had Miranda pinned to the ground beneath
the tiger. I'd been watching Berta all day, my eyes drawn to her again
and again. She had on hiking boots, khaki shorts and a white tank top
over one of last season's bras. I remembered the dark blue color as one
of my favorites. Her tanned legs drew my eye up into her shorts where I
could just glimpse the matching panties, damp from her exertions. My
skin flushed moistly and my breasts felt heavy. I hadn't had this kind
of flush for a very long time, but I remembered the feeling. I found
myself attracted to Berta, deeply.  The notion disturbed me. Could I be
attracted to another woman? I'd always considered myself a one-man kind
of woman. Oh sure, my ex had always fantasized about me finding a woman
to bring home so we could have a three-some but I'd always ignored that
part of his fantasies.  I had to admit though; the thought of being with
a woman had been an important part of my almost daily masturbation
routine. Watching Miranda lying beneath the tiger was so fierce and
basic, I completely responded to it. I could see where this would be our
best catalog yet.  All thanks to Berta.
Afterward, I gave Berta a hug and thanked her for her work and her
ideas. "I think for a celebration we should go out to dinner and get a
little drunk."  We arranged for me to pick her up in an hour, giving
both of us time to shower and get ready.
At home, I explored my closet and finding nothing went to my daughter
Wendy's closet to see what she'd left behind. There I found a simple
black sparkly sheath dress Wendy had worn last summer to a wedding. I
stepped into the shower thinking about that weekend. As I turned on the
water, a jet of cold water hit my breasts. I gasped at the tingle,
realizing how heavy and hard they were. I soaped up, running my hands
around my breasts again and again. I have to admit, I have beautiful
breasts.  They are the perfect size 36D with large dark brown nipples.
My breasts have always been a source of pleasure for me. My ex never
paid them enough attention. But I did, privately in the shower; I'd
sometimes bring myself to orgasm by pinching and rubbing my breasts. I
realized with a jerk that I'd better get ready for tonight.  I selected
the same scarlet-color Miranda had worn that day, only I had a bra and
little bitty matching panties.  My crotch tingled as I slipped the
panties up. Thank goodness I had naturally curly, almost blond hair. As
I was running late I simply blew it dry in a bundle of curls. Finishing
my make up quickly, I changed purses and drove to Berta's to pick her
up.
I'd never been to her home before, though I knew where it was. Berta
buzzed me into her apartment and said she'd be in the bathroom
finishing, to come on in.  Her home reflected her same basic, primal
nature with lots of rich deep colors reflected in throw rugs, deep sofa,
and pillows.  Lots of pillows.  I strolled around looking at the
collection of artwork on the walls, mostly her photos blown up and
framed. "I love these pictures Berta!  And your home is so comfortable
and rich feeling."
She guided me down the hall with her voice to show me more of her
photographs.  There, I saw the largest bed I'd ever seen, covered with
deep purple satin sheets and even more pillows, all in deep colors:
blue, teal, black.  For a moment I pictured Berta lying against the deep
purple with her beautiful black hair tossed about her face. I stepped
across the room to look at more of her pictures and there she was, in
the bathroom, wearing just a scrap of black underwear, no bra, her leg
on the counter as she lotioned it.  I couldn't breath for a moment. My
God, she was fabulous! She had these little tiny breasts that seemed to
be nothing but nipple with these amazing coral colored nipples. She
stood up to finish her hair and her nipples instantly hardened. She
stepped unembarrassed to the closet where she slid a black dress over
her head. The dress looked almost more like a slip than a dress and I
could see her nipples as the dress slipped over her head. I flushed and
tingled again, wondering what they'd taste like.
Dinner was endless.  Every time she moved her arm, I thought of those
amazing breasts within the dress. Berta laid her hand on my arm when she
talked about the day's shoot.  Her hand slowly played with my fingers as
she talked about how excited she was to look at the photos of Miranda
especially.  She circled my fingers and rubbed my wrist as she talked
about how good the contrast between the scarlet underwear and the white
of Miranda's skin had looked within the camera.  Berta stopped suddenly
and suggested we dance.  I looked around, embarrassed at the idea, and
noticed there were no men in the restaurant.  There were only women,
singly and in couples. I glanced at the dance floor and saw the same.
Berta pulled me to the floor; where there was a Kenny G tune wailing
across the speakers.  I must have been stiff and uncomfortable because
Berta commented on it, saying I should just enjoy the music and not
worry about the dance.
Soon, I found myself relaxing. Berta was a good dancer and helped me
feel at ease.  The tune changed, got a little faster, and she broke away
and started dancing on her own.  I stopped trying to move so I could
watch her.  She seemed totally unaware of anyone else in the room as she
threw her head back, closed her eyes and began moving to the music.  She
let it become part of her as she swayed and stepped.  Soon, she caught
my hand and pulled me to her, grasping my ass and pulling me tight
against her.
"God, Rachel, I've watched you these past few weeks and can't believe
how much I've come to want you.  This may be a mistake but I have to say
it.  Everything about you is sexy to me: the way you laugh, the way you
chew your inner lip when you think, your amazing breasts.  I could think
of nothing else this afternoon as I was shooting Miranda, than how
wonderful you'd look in the same color, sprawled in passion on my bed.
I know being with a woman is a new idea for you.  I can only hope it's
not repulsive to you.  Please, come to my house and let me show you the
joys of woman love."
I finally allowed myself to swallow and breathe. "Berta, today in the
shower I found myself fantasizing about you. That's why I was late
picking you up. Promise you won't hurt me? This is a new idea for me,
but one I've found myself being increasingly curious about.
On the drive back to her place, Berta stroked my thigh, bringing her
hand slightly higher with each stroke. I was glad the drive to her place
was a short one as I was increasingly distracted.  Once inside, she got
us each a glass of wine, and turned on the stereo to something slow and
sinuous.  She kicked off her shoes and said she would be right back.
When she reappeared, she had on a tiny black robe, parted slightly in
the middle so I could see her black panties and just a glimpse of her
breast.  She pulled her feet under her and sat next to me, stroking my
hair, circling my fingers and finally touching my neck.
Ever so slowly, she reached over and brushed her lips across my neck,
beginning just below my ear. Her hands were lying simply in her lap.  I
boldly reached down and brought one of them up to my breast.  "Stroke me
please, or I'll die.  Let me kiss you.  I've been so turned on by your
mouth."  She brought those amazing lips tantalizingly closer to my own,
brushing them against mine as lightly as a feather.
"Stand up for me."  And with that she rose, kissing me deeply and fully
the way I had dreamed, slipping her feather soft tongue just within my
lips.  "Come with me, Rachel, your joys are just beginning."

Copyright 11-05-00