The Actress and the Aristocrat

Chapter One: Charlie

Chapter One: Charlotte/Charlie

If you happened to poll most up and coming actors or actresses, many would tell you there isn't anything they wouldn't do for their big break. Okay, maybe that isn't entirely true. Let's say anything that might land you in an unflattering orange jumpsuit behind bars was definitely out of the picture. Or any film that might be screened on Pornhub, rather than Netflix, was out too. Well, at least it was for me. I might not be opposed to a nude scene or two with strategic angles, but anything hardcore just wasn't happening.

It should go without saying that the road to stardom sure isn't easy. It's paved with broken dreams and lots of blood, sweat, and tears, and I mean that literally and figuratively. Now that I'd potentially gotten my potentially career making role there wasn't anything I wasn't willing to do to keep it. That was precisely why I was currently in the sweat and potential tears aspect of the road to stardom because I was allowing myself to be tightened into the equivalent of a medieval torture device.

I've learned there is a true hell on earth that few twenty-first century women have had to endure, and that is an old-school corset. Sure, there might be a small subgroup who have donned one in anticipation of some sexy time, but it's not like the torture device stays on long...at least I hope for their sake and their internal organs sake it doesn't. I thought underwire bras were heinous. I mean, they're an epic pain in the ass as well, or I guess I should say pain in the tit. You count on them to keep your girls corralled, and then some errant stave pops out of line and stabs you for no apparent reason.

Underwire bras just wrap themselves around your breasts and back. But this dreaded artifact digs itself into your ribs and waist. It leaves you breathless while also shoving your boobs under your chin, which forms a perfect chitit or chin tit.

"Oomph," I muttered as the principle dresser jerked the threads of my corset tighter, cinching my waist further. Yes, my corset. The torturous device I'd wear for twelve to fifteen hours.

Leaning over my shoulder, she asked, "Too much?"

While my ribs screamed in protest, I wheezed, "Maybe a little."

"No problem. I'll loosen them a bit."

Since I didn't want to be perceived as a diva, I quickly replied, "Oh no, I don't want to be a pain. I just need to toughen up and get used to it." I'm not sure how convincing I sounded since I sounded like I'd just run a marathon.

With a smile, she shook her head. "While they're not supposed to be overly comfortable, they're not supposed to be overly painful either. After all, we can't have you passing out or unable to say your lines."

"I suppose you're right." Groaning, I added, "I can't imagine how absolutely horrifying it would be to face plant on my first day of filming."

The dresser, whose name was Marjorie, laughed. "Now that would be a memorable first impression."

Once she adjusted the strings a bit, I exhaled a relieved breath. "It's been a couple of years since I've been in one of these medieval torture devices."

"I thought this was your first time shooting in England?" Marjorie asked.

"Oh, it is. This was for a made for television movie that we filmed in Canada." I couldn't help wrinkling my nose at the thought of some of my earlier work. While I might have twenty plus titles on my Internet Movie Database page, they were predominantly supporting roles. I'd done everything from be a literal snack for some zombies on a popular post-apocalyptic show to being a demon who got staked by two very handsome supernatural slayers.