1903 Only a Photograph Remains

With the advent of widely available photography, the Edwardian era was when, for the first time, we could see the everyday clothing of ordinary women. Those floor length skirts that showed so little yet promised so much. Letters to newspapers and articles in various publications give us an insight to public morality. What we have absolutely no idea about is what the women in the photographs were actually thinking. I like to think that, secretly, beneath those beautiful clothes there lurked a repressed sexuality just longing to burst out.

What if, very briefly, their fantasies could be revealed by the the pictures?

I'm sure that I don't need to say that this is a work of Historical Fiction. It is not real!

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He says it is going to be a serious branch of art one day; like painting or sculpture. Me, I'm not so sure. I've been to Art Galleries. Paintings have colour. Things look alive. Photographs are just shades of brown.

Weymouth is a lovely place to live. Well it is in the Summer. The Winters can be a little daunting. On sunny days holiday makers stroll along the seafront or promenade on the pier. Families play on the beach. Women wear their best and gayest clothes. Things used to be a quite drab when the old queen was alive but since King Edward has been on the throne everything has been more colourful.

Being a photographer in a seasonal town can be a precarious way to make a living. It can be but my husband has found a way to make it pay.

His bread and butter work is portraits. A young lady needs a likeness to give to her sweetheart. A young man has to prove to a girl that he is doing well enough to be able to have his photo' done. And, above all, families who wish to show their relatives what a lovely time they had by the seaside.

Some years more money is made than is paid out. But in bad a Summer the opposite happens.

Clive works hard. There is no doubt about that. But it takes more than that to make business a success. Sometimes you just have to spot an opportunity when it arises and grab it with both hands.

The opportunity arose during a conversation with a sailor while taking artistic photographs of the harbour.

The old salt made a twice weekly trip taking goods to and fro across the channel. He asked Clive if he had much call for the dirty postcards. Clive told him that he had no idea what he was talking about.

So the sailor showed him.

When Clive told me about it I was shocked. I am forty-one years old and I thought that I knew what went on in the world but I never thought that women would allow themselves to be photographed doing lewd things. And the idea that men would want to buy the pictures certainly didn't occur to me.

Obviously, I knew about nude paintings in the Art Gallery. But that's what they were; Art.

Well, it turns out that the sailor had a box of these risqué images. He had purchased them from a photographer in Le Havre. He said that it was a well established sideline of the frenchman's.

The sailor thought that maybe Clive could sell them in his shop to discerning gentlemen. They would split whatever money they made. The old man said that he was giving up going to sea so the money would be useful.

I doubted that he would sell any but as there was no monetary risk I agreed that Clive should try. It had been a slow season and our finances were dire.

It's not the sort of thing that you can advertise in the Dorset County Herald, is it? Resourceful as ever, Clive knew the Concierge and Front Desk Clerk in every luxury hotel in Weymouth. They steered potential sitters his way. He asked them to keep an eye out for gentlemen who may have exotic tastes in art.

For a long time nothing happened.

One morning a elderly man came into the shop. He looked around until I left the room. He told Clive that Freddy, the Concierge at The Gloucester Hotel, had suggested that it may be worth popping in. He purchased half a dozen photos.

After that there was a steady stream of clientele. All paying good money. The timing was perfect as we had final demands for payment from some of our suppliers.

Clive and I were behind the counter when Freddy himself walked through the door. He was accompanied by an expensively dressed gentleman wearing an overcoat that had an Ascrocan collar. With a diamond tie pin in his silk cravat, he exuded wealth. He was in his late fifties, a little older than Clive, with slightly greying temples.

Freddy said to Clive, "Mr Fox, this is Sir Gordon. Sir Gordon, Mr Fox the photographer."

"How do you do? asked Clive.

"Pleased to meet you," replied Sir Gordon.

I said, "I will leave you gentlemen alone." I turned towards the back of the shop.

"No! Please stay, Mrs Fox," commanded Sir Gordon. Not loud but with authority, like he was used to being obeyed.

He asked Clive to show him the postcards. He viewed each one closely. It was obvious that he was taking pleasure from my embarrassment.

Sir Gordon purchased all of the remaining stock.

"Thank you Mr Fox. And thank you Mrs Fox." He said before he left the premises.

Freddy remained behind.

"Sir Gordon is a collector of original erotica and would like to buy more from you. He owns several factories up north. Him and his missus come down here every year for a couple of months so he's loaded, " said Freddy.

"I'm afraid that he has bought everything that I have and I don't think that I can get any more from France," mentioned Clive.

Freddy laughed slightly, "That is why he took all of them. They are a bit tame for his taste. He wondered if you could be persuaded to take on a commission to produce some photos that are more bespoke in nature.

"I will come back in a few days to see what you think."

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The next day we had two portrait sittings booked. An officer from Nothe Fort wanted his likeness done in full dress uniform.

A family from the Midlands required a group photograph.

In the evening Clive and I spoke about Sir Gordon.

"Do you think that you could produce what he wants?" I asked.

"I'm not entirely sure what he wants. But taking the pictures is not a problem. The trouble will be finding a model." Clive replied.

"How would you feel about me doing that sort of thing?" he went on.

I had to be honest, "Anything that keeps the business afloat is alright with me. We've already sold plenty so it's a little late to be prudish now."

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About a week later Clive told me that Freddy had been to see him. He had brought a Barmaid from a local public house with him. Evidently, according to Freddy, Vera was a good sport.

Vera was quite proud of her attributes. Her party piece was to slowly change her clothes while the landlord charged his patrons a shilling to watch her through a spy hole. She would pretend that she didn't know she was being observed.

Freddy said that she would be willing to have her photograph taken in any pose required.

Clive showed me some test pictures of Vera that he had taken. They ranged from fully dressed to completely naked. Most of them featured the stages in between.

I must admit that the young lady lady had a magnificent body. Those photos that showed her in her underwear but with her private part on show were closest to the french photographer's work.

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The first commission session had been arranged.

These should have simply involved Clive and Vera but, God forgive me, I couldn't resist concealing myself behind some scenery at the back of the studio to watch.

Clive kept referring to a sort of prepared scene list that Sir Gordon had sent him.

'Vera, you are required to undress down to your intimate attire while leaving your stays in place. Are you alright with that?" he asked.

Vera replied, "Very well, Mr Fox." She took her time. It was almost as if she was accustomed to being watched while she disrobed.

"Now, you need to recline on the chaise longue. I'm not sure how to put this politely so I will just say it crudely. The instructions are for you to be photographed with various items protruding from your vagina."

"Don't be embarrassed. That is not anything that I haven't been asked to do before. Although, I've never had my portrait taken while doing it before," laughed Vera.

"Give me a few minutes to prepare myself. If past experience is anything to go by, it won't be anything too small." she added.

With that she licked all the fingers on her right hand and proceeded to work them around and into her vaginal area.

"I'm ready now Mr Fox. What's first? "

"A very large carrot. Don't worry, I've washed it thoroughly."

Clive handed it to Vera.

"Fairly standard stuff so far," said Vera as she pushed it into herself, leaving enough of the end with the green leaves protruding to make it obvious what was up there.

Clive positioned the tripod and camera to get the best shot. He had the Lionel Lamp to one side so as not to cast a shadow over the subject.

"Right hold perfectly still. Three, two, one," called Clive from under the black cloth.

The flash light flared momentarily before the shutter opened. All heat and white light at one time.

"Good girl. Well done," said Clive just as if he were capturing the image of some young lady in her Confirmation Dress.

"Can I whip this out now? What's next?" asked Vera.

"Please do. A rather knobbly cucumber. It's quite thick, I'm afraid.

"Will you be alright with that?" said Clive.

"Oh yes, I should think so. This is not my first charabanc trip." chuckled Vera.

It took longer for Clive to prepare the camera and lamp than it did for Vera to position the vegetable. She just lay there patiently.

Once he was happy with the set up Clive said, "Right hold perfectly still. Three, two, one."

"Excellent!"

Far more professional, I thought.

"And what's next?" asked Vera.

"A rolling pin," said Clive.

"Good grief! Men!" tutted Vera, "Is there no end to their imagination?

"You'd better give it here.

"I'm not sure who will be in position first, me or you, Mr Fox." Vera said.

Vera won by a short margin. She refused Clive's offer of some Petroleum Jelly as it would ruin the rolling pin.

The whole process involved a lot of wiggling about. It made my eyes water and I was simply watching.

When Clive had taken the photograph, I couldn't help thinking that it was a lot of preparation for a very quick result.

But like Clive always says, "That is the nature of Art".

After that, several photographs were taken of Vera's parts in an empty state.

When Clive was packing away his equipment, Vera said, "Would you care to fuck me now, Mr Fox? I believe that it is the usual Photographers' perk."

I nearly choked but managed to keep quiet. I'm not sure if I was most shocked by the casual proposal or the language.

Clive nearly choked but was less successful at being silent.

"That is very sweet of you Vera, but I think that I would prefer to keep this professional," said Clive.

Once Vera had dressed, Clive paid her the agreed fee and she left.

I stepped from behind the scenery and said, "I am very proud of you. Not all men would have refused an offer like that."

Clive was startled. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Right from the start. I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself.

"Would it be unprofessional of you to lock the shop door for half an hour, Mr Fox?" I asked.

"Not in the slightest, Mrs Fox."

Later that evening, Clive and I were talking about the day's events.

"It does seem rather strange to see sex distilled into frozen moments like that," I said.

"That's the point, I can't speak for the collectors of pornographic art, but for the participants it is not sex. It is more like tableau or an artwork.

"I sincerely hope that I demonstrated earlier that sex involves some sort of movement." Clive said.

"And very nice movement it was. I think that I understand what you are saying but I am yet to be totally convinced photography is art." I laughed,

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A wet summer's day. Even the sea-front was deserted. I was helping Clive.

The shop door rather burst open and a gentleman backed in closing and shaking his gamp.

"Fox, a word if I may?" the man said.

Clive turned to me and asked politely, "If you wouldn't mind, could you leave us?"

"Certainly," I replied, leaving the shop. I made a pretence of climbing the stairs noisily but then quietly took up a position in the office where I could hear what was said. I know I should be ashamed of myself but I can't help it.

"A chap at my hotel tells me that you can take dirty photographs."

"I prefer to think of it as erotica art, but yes," said Clive.

"Yes, yes. Would you take some photographs of my wife?"

"Is this something that your wife would consent to? It would not be possible to do this sort of thing candidly." Clive added.

"Of course, the whole thing is her idea. She has some crazy notion to hold me to my word."

"Could I be so bold as to ask the details?" said Clive.

The gentleman hesitated but then said, "Well, if you are to be involved, I don't suppose that it would hurt. You obviously must be a man of the world.

"I am extremely rich. My wife on the other hand comes from a very aristocratic family who frankly don't have two farthings to rub together.

"I thought that it would be easy to woo her. But I was wrong. She resisted me at every turn.

"Eventually, I managed to persuade her to tell me what her objections were.

"It turns out that as she is a lady, everybody treats her as a lady. She has no objection to this but her concern is that if she gets married her husband would extend this to the bedroom.

"I assured her that it was my intention to treat with respect on all occasions.

"She went into a rage and said that that is precisely what she doesn't want.

"To cut a long story short. I had to swear that I would always treat her as a common slut in the bedroom." he concluded.

Clive said, "Women can be strange, Sir. But I don't quite understand the necessity for the photographs."

"Ah, well we have been married for two years now. It is Lady Cynthia's belief that I am not living up to my end of the agreement.

"She is threatening to leave me, with all the disgrace that that entails, unless I can provide some cast iron guarantee that I won't renege in the future.

"Her proposal is that we have these photographs taken and copies made. If I should, at any point, fail to treat her like a common slut in the bedroom she will send the photographs to every member of my club." he concluded.

Clive thought for a moment and then said, "And how do you feel about this, Sir?"

"To tell you the truth, it's got me bloody excited. It has spiced up our love life so much," he said.

"Would Wednesday afternoon be too soon for the both of you?" asked Clive.

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For the first time since Clive opened his photographic studio our finances were looking good. Sir Gordon's commission had paid really well. Now it looked as if this may be leading to more business.

Lady Cynthia strolled into the shop looking like the epitome of a Gibson Girl.

"Good afternoon Mr Fox", she said.

Clive replied, "Good afternoon, your Ladyship. Is your husband not with you?"

"Following behind," she said.

He did his usual door crashing entrance.

"Is everything ready, Fox?" he said loudly.

"It certainly is, Sir," Clive said, "Mrs Fox will assist me, if that is alright?"

"By all means," said Lady Cythia, before her husband had a chance to have an opinion.

We went through to the studio after I had locked the shop door and turned the 'Closed' sign.

The camera and flash lamp were all set up in readiness.

Professional as ever, Clive said, "Would your ladyship prefer an indoor or outdoor backdrop?"

"Oh, outdoor please, Mr Fox.

"Claud, sit in that armchair and say nothing," she said to her husband.

Clive rolled the appropriate scenery into position and then manoeuvred a park bench in front of it.

"If your Ladyship would care to step behind that screen and remove as much of your attire as you think necessary," requested Clive.

"Mrs Fox will have photographic plates and fresh flashes to hand to minimise the time between shots," he added.

When her ladyship emerged she was wearing only her corset, stockings and shoes. Oh, and she had kept on her large straw boater.

Her breasts were large and full and so was her pubic hair. Its luxuriance equaled that on her head.

She reclined gracefully on the bench. "Like this I think, don't you Mrs Fox?" she asked me as if I were an expert.

"Very good, my Lady," I said.

"Right hold perfectly still. Three, two, one," called Clive from under the black cloth.

The flash light flared momentarily before the shutter opened. All heat and white light at one time.

He quickly removed the plate and replaced it with the one I handed him. He did the same with the flash tray.

"Please say when you are ready, my lady," he said.

"This time a little more wanton, I think," she said as she lay back and opened her legs.

Clive said, "Right hold perfectly still. Three, two, one."

Once things were set up for the next shot, her ladyship asked me, "What would be a lewd position for the final picture, Mrs Fox?"

I replied,"I am no connoisseur of these things but perhaps from behind, my lady?"

"Excellent idea. But Mr Fox must ensure that I can still be recognised. That is the whole point of the exercise."

She turned and put her hands on the bench. Twisting slightly, she gazed over her shoulder and straight at the camera.

Clive said, "Right hold perfectly still. Three, two, one."

"Very good Lady Cynthia," declared Clive.

She stayed exactly where she was while Clive removed the photographic plate.

"If you have finished, perhaps you could leave us alone. My husband and I need to have a conversation."

"Twenty copies of each photograph should be sufficient," she told Clive.

As soon as we were in the office, I leaned across the desk and opened the sliding hatch that overlooks the studio just a fraction and peered through.

"What are you doing?" Clive whispered.

"I am not going to miss this," I said quietly.

Lady Cynthia had not moved but now her husband had his trousers around his ankles and was servicing her from behind.

"You dirty common slut. Slut! Slut! Slut!" he said.

Clive lifted my skirt and did the same to me. Minus the name calling, of course.

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It was obvious that Clive was unhappy. He is not one to show his anger but I could tell it lurked just below the surface.

"Is there something amiss, my love?" I asked.

"Nothing major but I fear that we can take no more commissions from Sir Gordon," he replied.

"Why ever not?"

"His latest instruction is unreasonable."

"In what way?," I enquired.

"He wants scenes of a Sapphic nature between Vera and an older woman," Clive said.

"Oh! I see. Does Vera not know such a woman who may be interested? " I said.

Clive hesitated for a moment before speaking, "That is the problem. Sir Gordon is adamant that the woman should be you."

"Oh," I said blushing.

"I told Freddy that it was out of the question. But he said that Sir Gordon has commanded him not to accept my decision until a week has passed," added Clive.

"Oh. Is Vera aware of this? And if she is, does she agree to take part?"

"Vera has no objections. It is just work to her. Besides, Sir Gordon has offered a considerable amount of extra money," Clive said.