Exposure Compensation Factor

All characters in the following work of fiction are over the age of eighteen.

This is a new stroryline. I hope you enjoy it.

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It was a Friday night, typically one of the busier nights at your local watering hole. Even though I wasn't a local, it still applied.

"I'm sorry...say it again?" I laughed, pretending not to hear her. The bar was loud, but not that loud. It was my one and only trick, but it always worked. She leaned closer, and I tipped my head down, so she could get closer to my ear. While she repeated the name I'd heard just fine despite the din, I took a deep breath, inhaling the strawberry scent of her hair, and took a good look down the top of her burgundy coloured dress, finding a very nice, full, round rack residing in the scoop neckline.

"I said, my name's Deirdre," she reiterated, cupping her hand around my ear. I checked out the dusting of freckles that adorned the upper curves of her breasts, and then replied.

"Deirdre? That's a very nice name," I said loudly. Nice tits, too, I thought. "Unusual, but nice. You don't meet a lot of 'Deirdre's. It's sexy."

Okay. I guess you could say that was also a trick, but I considered it common sense. Most people would rather talk about themselves than any other subject, and I had found that to be especially true of exceptionally attractive women. They always liked to hear that they were gorgeous. Deirdre qualified in spades.

Tall, slender, shapely in the most feminine of ways, and stunningly beautiful, I wondered how the hell no one had approached this goddess yet, but I had found her sitting alone at the bar, and merely introducing myself had already paid dividends. Maybe the myth was true : men were afraid of beautiful women. Wanted them? Oh yes. Lusted after them? For sure, but afraid of the potential rejection.

I was looking at her face, trying to figure out who she resembled. Paget Brewster? Sort of. She did have Paget's stature, but the face was not quite right. It took another few seconds before the light bulb went off. The huge, dark soulful eyes...the lustrous, sweeping waves of brunette hair, reaching well beyond her shoulders...the full, delicious looking lips. Yeah that's it. Sometimes, being trained to observe the nuances of shadow and light pays dividends.

Salma. Hayak. Oh good lord. She looked like Salma Hayak, but taller, with what appeared to be bigger tits, and an absolutely incandescent smile. That smile was glowing right now.

"I think I'm in trouble," she blushed, looking down. When her eyes came back up, they met mine again. "The way you're looking at me is turning me to jelly."

"Sorry," I replied. "I don't mean to stare. Do you mind if I tell you something? I know we've just met and all, but..."

"Go ahead," she said, and the loud cacophony of background noise abated, as if also wanting to hear my words.

"I know it sounds like a line, and you probably hear it all the time, but I mean it. I think you... " The rest of my compliment was lost, as the wall of noise returned, washing away any possibility of civilized conversation. Deirdre cocked her head, trying to hear, but it was a lost cause.

She held up her hand. Standing, she took two steps away taking her drink with her. I thought my chance was blown, until she turned, tilting her head and gesturing for me to follow her. No problem there. I'd follow that ass to the moon, and stayed close enough to keep any interlopers at bay, while being far enough back to watch. The skirt of her dress swished from side to side, following the sexy wiggle of her hips with each step she took. Her legs were long, strong and smooth, with calves that flexed and rippled as she walked. We weaved through the raucous crowd, finally reaching the dining room entrance, where Deirdre held up two fingers.

I don't know if you've noticed this, but I have found that beautiful women rarely spend much time waiting in line for anything. Sure enough, we walked straight in, despite the crowd waiting around at the entrance. Maybe they were all together, and waiting for a table for 20.

The waitress seated us, and left us with our menus.

"I hope you don't mind" she laughed, suddenly sounding very loud in the much quieter dining area. She lowered her voice a bit. "I haven't eaten yet, and I'd really like to talk to you, without either going deaf or losing my voice."

"Not at all, Deirdre," I replied opening my menu. I had eaten, but I could scarf something else down if it meant spending more time with her.

A few seconds of quiet perusal followed, and she closed her menu softly. I followed her lead, and the waitress returned. We placed our orders : a caesar salad, with garlic bread, and some wine for the lady, with me getting some stuffed mushrooms, mozzarella sticks, and a soft drink. I was driving.

"Now, before you were so rudely interrupted, you were saying?" she asked, leaning in, both arms on the table. She formed a tent with her fingers, and rested her chin on them, giving me her undivided attention. Those spectacular eyes, so warm and deep, batted a few times, then waited patiently.

Okay buddy, this is a test, I thought. Do not...repeat, do not look directly at the cleavage, no matter how much you want to. Shit! She was doing the 'resting her boobs on the table thing', and that view was incredible. Thank god for peripheral vision.

"Yes Deidre, " I started.

"Call me Didi," she suggested. "That's what my friends call me."

"Really?" I asked, genuinely touched. "Well, thank you... Didi. I'm honoured that you consider me a friend."

She laughed. "You're welcome. Now?" I noticed that there was a subtle tone in her voice that had been lost in the noise of the bar. Just a hint of sarcasm. Looking carefully, I could see that her eyes, while beautiful, were a bit cynical. I'd missed that too.

"Oh right. You derailed me," I apologized. "What was I saying?" I paused, as though trying to remember, but actually just stalling for time and courage. She would hear every nuance of every word in here, so I had to get it right the first time.

"I...think you...are the most beautiful woman...I've ever seen. You have the most remarkable eyes, and the most luscious lips. I consider it a privilege to have met you, and your beauty will be remembered by me, long after this night is forgotten." Through it all, I stared attentively into her limpid pools, never deviating, trying to adequately convey my honest intent.

Silence. She stared back, her mouth slightly open. Otherwise, her face was neutral. I couldn't tell if she was happy, or pissed. Eternity seemed to pass, until her lip twitched, just on one side, and a crooked smile broke out. Her eyes fluttered down again.

"Jesus! You don't mess around, do you?" she hissed." First you give me that look in the bar, now you drop a bomb like that on me? You're not playing fair!" The thinly veiled sarcasm was more evident.

"Didi, I get the feeling that you're messing with me," I laughed.

"Maybe just a little," she smiled, as the waitress arrived with her wine.

"Yeah, I thought so. I didn't think I had a look capable of 'turning women to jelly'," I replied.

"Well, you know, as lines go... that whole 'your beauty will be remembered long after this night is forgotten' thing?..."she giggled, "that was pretty good. Well above average."

"You know, you are reasonably good looking," I said, letting my facetious nature show as obviously as possible. "It is possible, as hard as it may be to accept, that what I said wasn't a line at all. I might have been sharing my true feelings."

"I'll accept that it is possible. I do rather enjoy the way you look at me. That's why I'm sitting here with you," she said. "Did that come out as conceited as it sounded to me?" she laughed.

"Maybe just a little," I replied, mocking her previous reply. She was not only gorgeous, but witty, and obviously not lacking in confidence. Good. I would have accepted a roll in the hay with a pretty pushover, but I didn't mind having to work a little harder. This could be fun.

"So what's your next move? Are you going to tell me you're a photographer, and that you'd love me to model for you?" she asked. A bit smug. Her first mistake.

I laughed. Then I laughed some more, shaking my head. This was just too good to be true. I reached into my inside jacket pocket, and came out with a business card. My business card...and no, it wasn't a fake. I put it face up on the table, and pushed it across with one finger.

Her reaction was quite gratifying. Her perfect brown eyes, looked down, opened slightly wider, and fluttered closed.

"Is it too late to take that last barb back?" she whispered. "Kenneth Winslow, freelance photography? Really?"

"Yup. Really." I replied. I smiled, watching her squirm a little.

"Sorry," she said quietly.

"It's okay, no real harm done," I laughed. "You were just protecting yourself." I leaned closer.

"So if I were to say I'm a photographer, and I'd love it if you'd model for me...knowing that I'm not lying...what would you say?" I paused, for effect. "If I said that, in my professional opinion, you are an exceptionally beautiful woman, and that you should seriously consider modelling as a career...what would you say?"

"I'd say 'thank you', and that I already am a model," she volleyed, with a smile, sipping her wine. Her confident swagger was back.

"And I'd say that I'm not surprised. You certainly are very photogenic, and it would be a shame not to share that beauty with the world," I returned.

Didi put her wine glass down, and smiled. It really was some smile. At the risk of blowing my reputation as a professional photographer, I pulled my phone out.

"Just in case this evening should end without me having the opportunity to do this properly, I'd like at least one shot. May I?" I asked.

"Oh, I suppose. Go ahead," she laughed. "Any particular pose?"

"Let's start straight on. Put your hand up," I began, and she beat me to the pose, lifting her chin, making it look like she was resting her head on her hand, but just hovering, so that her perfect lines weren't ruined. A sultry smirk on her lips, her stared me down. Click.

Now she smiled, her 1000 watt version, and turned slightly in her seat, tilting her head back playfully, and giving me a glancing view of her eyes. Click.

Turning back face on, she tugged a few perfect curls out of place, dangling them across her left eye, and tilting her face down. She licked her lips, gave a slutty pout, and glared her best sexy gaze through her hair. Click.

"That will do," I smiled. "It's such a pleasure to work with professionals." I took a few seconds to check the pictures. Despite having been taken with what had unfortunately become most peoples definition of a camera...the ubiquitous, but photographically inferior cell phone...they were good. The soft light, and the shitty lens, made for a naturally soft cast to the images, giving her an angelic look. Except for the one where she looked like a seductress. No angel there.

Didi sighed, and held out her hand. I passed her the 'camera'.

She looked at the images, flicking back and forth, before smiling.

"Okay, I'm impressed. If you can do that with this piece of shit, I'd like to see what you can do with a real camera." She handed it back.

"Well, you make it easy. You really are beautiful," I replied. "Still think I was feeding you a line?"

"I'm beginning to reevaluate that stance," she giggled. She hadn't fixed her hair yet, and gave me the seductive look again. This one was a little different, though. This one was looking into my eyes, not the camera's lens.

"We might need to do something...something that might make tonight more memorable, just so you don't forget so quickly, and be left with only my beauty. If it's alright with you?" she purred. There could be little doubt that she was jerking my chain. Despite being proven wrong once, she was hedging her bets.

"Are we talking about a private modelling session?" I smiled.

"Oh yes. Very private. These photos will not be for sharing," she whispered.

"So there will be photos?" I asked, curious how far she'd take this.

"Well, that depends on two things," she parried. "First, that you have your camera nearby... "

"In my car," I nodded, "parked outside. What's the second condition?"

"That you pay for dinner," she whispered, "I am a professional, after all. You normally couldn't afford me. What do you say, Mr. Photographer? I've got a room in the hotel upstairs. I'll show you my portfolio, then I can show you some other things you'd probably like to see."

Like I said... not lacking confidence. She was a modern woman, and despite a career in what most feminists would consider an objectifying business, she was far from being exploited. Didi was strong, with strong opinions, and she made the decisions. Tonight, I was just fortunate to have her decision include me, even if she was playing games. I wondered how she'd react when she leaned the whole truth.

"Would you excuse me for a moment?" I asked, slipping out of the booth. She smiled and nodded.

I had decided not to take any chances. I was going to get my camera now, and since my car was only a few yards down the street, I would be back very quickly. Indeed I was, and within a minute, I walked back in, with one bag over my shoulder, and a small rolling case behind me. She looked up as I approached.

"I like a man who's eager. It's a compliment," she giggled. "Anxious?"

"Maybe just a little," I replied with a smile, placing the bag gently on the seat. The rolling case I parked out of the way under the table. "Back in a sec," I said, and walked quickly to the bathroom. I was fast, but not fast enough to keep her from snooping, which is what I wanted her to do anyway. Better she figures it out on her own, than to have me point out how wrong and arrogant she was appearing.

"Okay," she laughed, as I sat back down. "I think I owe you an apology. You're not full of shit. You really are a pro," she said casting her eyes down.

"I thought we'd settled that?" I asked, tapping the card that still lay on the table.

"Yes. Well, part of me still thought you were just hitting on me," she replied. "I'm sorry."

"Well, I was hitting on you...but not 'just' hitting on you," I answered. "I meant what I said. So what makes you believe me now?"

"I peeked in your bag, and that thing costs more than my car!" she admitted sheepishly. "Sorry. Again. I'm not making a very good impression, am I? Acting like a conceited bitch, calling you a liar...now invading your privacy? Can you forgive me?" The tone of her voice and look in her eyes told me this was sincere.

"Of course Didi. Want to start again?" I laughed. Her eyes lit up, followed by her smile. Before she could answer, our food arrived.

"I'm terribly sorry about the wait," the waitress said, "we're short staffed tonight. Want anything else while I'm here?" she asked, obviously being run ragged.

"No, we're fine," I replied. She scurried away.

"Hi, I'm Deirdre," she laughed, extending her hand, "but my friends call me Didi. Nice to meet you Kenneth. I'd love to model for you, yes." I was still holding her soft hand. She looked around for prying ears, and lowered her voice conspiratorially.

"Would you like to know what my really good friends call me?" she whispered. "And by 'really good', I mean those who are friends of an, ahem...horizontal...nature ."

"I'd love to know," I whispered back, "but why don't we eat now, so we can get out of here, and up to your room. Tell me when we're horizontal." I winked, and she blushed, giving me the seductive look again. We were, at last, both on the same page, and knew where this was heading.

"Deal."

I know I'd just told her to hurry up, but now that I had my camera, I just had to capture that look properly. She really did look beautiful in this light.

Digging into my bag, I came out with my toy. She was right ; it did cost more than most people's cars...and a few smaller houses.

For those of you who aren't in the imaging business, let me enlighten you a little. Back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and film was still used to capture photographs, a film negative from a 35 mm camera measured about 24 x 35 millimeters, hence the name. A good image, but if you wanted to crop, or enlarge it, there were limitations, as the negative wasn't that big. Professionals, especially in fashion and studio work, used the much larger 6 x 4.5 format, measured in centimetres, which produced a negative over three times bigger in area. Given that the film emulsion and grain were the same, the bigger negative gave much better resolution, especially for enlargements.

Got it so far? Good. Now, digital photography follows the same idea. There are DSLRs on the market with resolution levels in the mid 20 megapixel range. Those take images better than most film cameras did, with mind-blowing clarity, and will set you back between five and ten grand, depending on how fast you want to take sequential frames. Essentially a faster computer, and expensive enough to weed out most of the wannabes.

The Phase One 645DF I held in my hand had a digital back in place, capable of 80... yes you read that right... 80 megapixels! And it's forty thousand dollar price tag put it in the realm of professionals only. That concludes our photography tutorial. We now return you to our regularly scheduled programming, joined in progress...

I brought the camera up to my eye, and she smouldered at me. I adjusted the iris, opening it to allow for the dim light and provide a nice shallow depth of field. Click. Click. Click.

Isn't it funny how you get what you pay for? Cars, hookers, and cameras all fit that category, and with cameras, there was a sub-category ; lenses. The cell phone shots were okay...good, even, but these were remarkable, largely because of the intricate optical and mechanical device that processed and focused the light before capture. The brilliance and clarity of her eyes...her lashes, so long and sexy...the deep, soft brown of her shining hair...and, of course, the ruby redness of her moist, succulent lips, so perfectly rendered I could almost taste them, something I hadn't done yet, but would really like to.

I turned the camera around, and showed her.

"Oh my god! Don't I look ready to fuck!?" she laughed. "Damn, you're good!"

"I have my moments," I replied, trying not to let her words go to my head. I mean the head on my shoulders...the other head was more interested in having those perfect lips wrapped around it.

Currently, those lips were eating garlic bread, and their close personal, friend, her tongue, swept out quickly to remove a few renegade crumbs. Watching this was giving me a stiffy.

"Am I the only one eating?" she asked, grinning slyly. "You'd better catch up, because I'm rather looking forward to what comes next. I want to show you my portfolio."

"Oh..." I said, looking disappointed, I'm sure. "I thought you were referring to the other things you were going to show me."

"Patience, Mr. Photographer. Besides, I think you'll find my portfolio interesting," she smiled, and winked.

I waved at the waitress, and started to slam back the mushrooms in rapid succession. She was back with the bill just before the last mozzarella stick met the same fate. Moments later, with the bill paid, we were waiting for the elevator.

***

"May I ask how old you are, Didi?" I asked, adjusting the strap over my shoulder.

She eyed me cautiously for a few seconds. "Twenty-eight," she whispered. "I've been modelling for almost ten years now. You?"

"Forty-one... Sixteen years behind the camera." The elevator doors opened, and we stepped in.