Betty Pearl's Sissy Stories 20.1
Menu => Active Sissy Stories => Topic started by: sissyboy1212 on August 01, 2026, 09:02:06 PM
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I must start this with a disclaimer.
This story is an unabashed homage to the (I think) unfinished 2002 story "Under Aunty's Control" by Vicky. It can be found in Betty's archives here: https://buffalobetties.net/storytime/index.php?topic=611.0 (https://buffalobetties.net/storytime/index.php?topic=611.0)
This version is certainly not a direct replay, but anyone who reads it will immediately see many important borrowed elements from Vicky's story. I want to be very clear that my reinterpretation is a loving reboot that keeps many of her same themes. I enjoyed Vicky's original and want to give credit where credit is due. There are a small handful of key lines, usually spoken by a character, that are copied directly from Vicky's original. These are intended as intentional callbacks to her wonderful story.
I also used some AI, but I've heavily edited most of those sections. Thankfully, AI still has a very hard time striking the right tone for this audience (or any others who are paying attention.) Humans still matter.
Lastly, although the title echoes the title of the Oscar Wilde classic, there are no true similarities to that great work.
Wherever Vicky is, I thank her and hope she is well.
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A Rainy Saturday
In the late spring, when school afternoons began to feel brighter, and summer was just around the corner, thirteen-year-old Edward Gray sat down awkwardly in the family den to play a video game. It was a rainy Saturday afternoon, the sort of afternoon when the windows blurred silver and the cozy house smelled faintly of potpourri. As he logged in, he absentmindedly wondered what his mother and Aunt Patricia were up to in the dining room.
He sighed slightly as he rejoined his game. He quickly realized that he couldn’t really concentrate on his game with his aunt here, especially with the way he was dressed at the moment. He had always felt a little self-conscious around his Aunt Patricia. She had been a constant figure in his life in particular after his father passed away several years ago. She was very well-off from a long-ago divorce settlement, and he vaguely knew she helped his mother out financially. He didn’t know much about the specifics. She had always been kind and generous to him and his mother, but often it all felt… smothering. With a subconscious shrug, he tried to shift his attention to the game.
Meanwhile, his mother and Aunt Patricia were going through some old family items in the dining room. Earlier, they had opened a long cedar chest that had sat untouched in the corner of the dining room for years. They now had a small collection of family odds and ends spread out on the large dining room table and were sorting through them.
“I told you Marian!” Patricia exclaimed, “look at that old photo… the resemblance is uncanny!”
Marian Gray looked at the old, sepia-toned photograph in her hand with a new appreciation. She hadn’t seen this photo in years. The oval photograph in a tarnished silver frame depicted a demure young girl who sat very straight up in a pale Victorian gown on a carved wooden chair. Her eyes were lifted as if she had just heard someone call from another room. “It is striking, Patricia,” she had to admit. She looked from the photograph in her hand to the partially unwrapped package on the table before her. The old tissue paper crinkled at the touch, and it smelled of lavender sachets and the deep, secret scent of old cloth.
“Let’s just see what he thinks,” Patricia urged. After a brief pause, Marian nodded silently.
In the very next instant, Edward heard his Aunt Patricia calling him. “Edward, dear,” Aunt Patricia’s voice rang out, “would you come join your mother and me in the dining room, please?” Although it was phrased as a question, her tone was insistent.
Edward was annoyed at the interruption. He grimaced slightly. Although he had learned over time it was usually best to see what his aunt wanted, he was tempted to just keep playing. After another few seconds, however, he thought better of it. He reluctantly paused the game. It was nearly impossible to ignore her, and stalling usually just made it more uncomfortable.
As he stood up from the couch, he heard her voice again, this time louder, “Oh Edward sweetie, did you hear me? Your mother and I are waiting for you!”
“I’m coming… Aunt Patricia!” he called back. She always looked a little peeved if he didn’t address her as “Aunt Patricia” or “Aunty Patricia” or sometimes just “Aunty.” He always tried to remember to add that and forestall any additional drama. It all kind of seemed silly to him, but he had no interest in rocking the boat when it came to his aunt.
Rounding the corner into the dining room, Edward saw his mother and aunt standing next to the open chest. His mother was holding what looked like an old dress that Edward had never seen. His Aunt Patricia hovered beside her sister with an eagerness she did not bother to conceal. The dress, Edward would soon learn, had belonged to his great-great grandmother. As Edward looked at it curiously, it seemed to him less like clothing than a preserved piece of another century.
“My goodness it took you so long I thought we might have to send out a search party!” his aunt chided him with a cheerful smile.
Although it had been no more than twenty seconds since she first called him, Edward replied meekly, “Sorry… Aunty.”
“Oh you little rascal,” she said with a barely stifled giggle, “always up to some shenanigans!” Then, for the umpteenth time it seemed, she beamed, “I still can’t get over how handsome you look in that darling suit!”
Edward cringed to be reminded of his attire, but he kept silent. If anything, he was a meek and obedient child most of the time compared to his peers. He was naturally shy, and now in his adolescence he tried to avoid the spotlight even more. For a moment, his thoughts drifted.
He was well aware of certain things about his appearance, mostly because other people often mentioned them. For example, his mother had always kept his light brown hair a little long for a boy. It was not deliberately fashionable but difficult to keep trimmed because it curled at the ends and never seemed to lie as short as he wished. His face, too, had a delicacy he could not deny: a narrow chin, fine-boned cheeks, dark watchful eyes, and a mouth that looked more thoughtful than bold. He did not dislike these things exactly, but he knew by now that they projected a certain softness to others.
His Aunt Patricia had always noticed these things too. She had no children of her own, and so, from the time Edward was small, she had poured a great deal of her unused attention onto him. She was loving in her way, lavish and admiring, but her admiration often made him uncomfortable because it seemed to pass over everything boyish about him and settle instead on what she called his prettiness. “Such a pretty child,” she would say, smoothing his hair or turning his chin toward the light. “Those eyes, Marian. And that mouth. Quite refined.”
Over time, Edward had learned to endure the remarks by pretending not to hear them. Her gifts to him had always followed the same pattern. Other boys received baseball gloves, toy race cars, model trains or video games. Aunt Patricia brought Edward things like fine stationery and monogrammed handkerchiefs. She once presented him a porcelain keepsake box for small photos and trinkets, and another time he received a little velvet case containing pearl shirt studs for occasions Edward could not even imagine. She seemed to have no conception of what a typical boy might want. Everything she chose was polished, scented, folded in tissue, or tied with ribbon, as if refinement itself were a present. It seemed to Edward that she meant every gift kindly, but her generosity always leaned in a very particular direction.
For his birthday when Edward was ten, for instance, Aunt Patricia had arrived with a parcel about the size of a book, wrapped in ivory paper and tied with a satin ribbon so pale it was nearly white. Edward had accepted it with a slight sense of trepidation.
“Open it carefully,” Aunt Patricia had said, settling beside Edward as if the ribbon itself deserved respect. Inside was a small leather case lined with blue silk. Nestled in it lay a silver-backed hand mirror and a matching comb, both engraved with a delicate spray of lilies.
Edward stared, unsure what expression would be safest. “For me… Aunt Patricia?” he had asked with a squeaky little voice.
“Of course, sugar,” Aunt Patricia had gushed, delighted. “For that lovely honey brown hair of yours! A young person with such refined features ought to have refined things.”
The mirror was beautiful; that was the trouble. It was cool and heavy in his hand, made with a care he could not dismiss, and yet it seemed meant for someone quieter, prettier, and more willing to be admired.
“Thank you, Aunty,” he had croaked, because Aunt Patricia had been watching him with such hopeful pleasure. She had kissed his forehead and smoothed the hair the comb was meant to tame.
“There,” she said cheerily. “I knew you would appreciate it.” Edward did not know whether appreciation was the name for what he felt, but he kept the case closed in his drawer for months, taking it out only when no one could see.
And just last year, when he was twelve, she had announced her intention to buy him a proper new suit for Easter. This had all sounded innocent enough until he saw it on Easter Sunday morning. When his mother brought a pink garment bag into his bedroom and unzipped it, Edward recoiled and cringed at how childish and fancy it was! With a looming sense of dread, he had pleaded with his mother not to make him wear it, but she insisted. Aunt Patricia was coming over soon, and they were all going to a fancy Easter dinner at his aunt’s country club. His mother had told him almost sympathetically, “Sweetheart we can’t disappoint your aunt after she made all this effort for you.”
When Aunt Patricia had swooped in to pick them up, she had gushed over how handsome and refined her nephew looked dressed in the monstrosity. “Absolutely gorgeous,” she had proclaimed. “It fits you beautifully, sweetie! It makes you look so cultured and dapper!”
Edward’s exquisitely tailored “proper new suit” was a baby blue wool blend, and the coat was actually a little waistcoat paired with matching blue knee pants that gathered with elastic at the knees! Underneath the coat, he had been buttoned into a billowy white silk shirt with French cuffs and subtle ruffles down the front. A baby blue ribbon tie was daintily knotted at the rounded collar, and the floppy silk bow looked much more prissy than handsome in Edward’s opinion. Crisp white knee socks and a pair of matching baby blue loafers had completed the juvenile look. He had felt like such a sissy!
“Thank you, Aunt Patricia,” he had managed to spit out. After a reproving glance from his mother he had reluctantly added, “It’s very nice.”
Then, as if that weren’t enough, she had presented him with another daintily wrapped Easter gift. The wrapping paper was patterned with vintage Easter bunnies and tied with a fancy pink bow. When he had tentatively opened the second box, he discovered a large vintage doll. The doll was a young boy with lifelike features and honey-brown hair dressed in a darling blue suit that exactly matched the one he had been wearing!
His aunt had beamed as he held it up gingerly, “Now you have a little twin! Isn’t he precious?”
Flabbergasted, Edward had been at a loss for words.
His mother had piped in, clearly taken aback but trying to be polite, “It’s... quite charming, Patricia!” then with a pointed look at her son, she added, “and what do we say Edward?”
“Th.. thank you... Aunty,” Edward had stammered, “It’s… great.”
The elaborate doll now sat prominently displayed on a shelf in the den. He shuddered as he recalled the memory of all the people at the country club gawking at him and the muffled giggles he occasionally heard from other children at nearby tables. No one else had been dressed in anything remotely like the outfit he had worn. He had felt so sissified wearing it, especially with the way his aunt had continually adjusted his floppy bow and brushed invisible lint off his coat throughout the dinner. Ever since, his pretty doll on the shelf had been a constant reminder of the experience, and the horrible suit still hung menacingly in his closet.
To his chagrin, Edward was now fastidiously dressed in that same fancified and juvenile suit today.
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A Strange Request
Edward’s thoughts bounced abruptly back to the present. At his mother’s insistence, he had been put back into the horribly childish blue knee suit for his aunt’s visit. “That suit was not cheap, Edward, and she loves seeing you in it,” his mother had said as she had tied the floppy bow before his aunt’s arrival.
Now in the family dining room, he looked to his mother and aunt with hesitant curiosity. He felt like such a sissy in his little knee pants and loafers. Already nervous, Edward heard his aunt speak first, and she was so bluntly direct it befuddled him.
“Miss Clara Vale has agreed to paint you in it, dear” his Aunt Patricia announced with a smile.
“What?” Edward asked, very confused. As she often did, his aunt had seemed to skip over any explanation and just assume everyone would go along with her wishes. He had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
His mother continued, glancing almost involuntarily at her sister. “A proper portrait, dear. Not merely a photograph. Something we can keep in the family.”
Aunt Patricia piled on before she could stop herself. “My idea, really,” she said. “And my treat. I’m going to pay for the whole thing. Marian only needed convincing that you might be brave enough to do it.”
Mrs. Gray gave her sister the mildest possible look of warning, but then she turned back to Edward. “Sweetheart,” she began, “you look so uncannily like your great-great grandmother at your age that Patricia thought—and I have come to agree—that we should not let the moment pass without capturing it properly.”
Still befuddled, Edward gulped nervously, “Wait… what… a portrait?” It was starting to dawn on him what they were getting at. “Me?” he asked incredulously, his cheeks reddening with embarrassment.
His mother smiled, but there was something nervous and almost shy in the expression, as though she were still borrowing courage from her sister. “Yes, you. I know it is an unusual thing to ask. There would be several sittings, perhaps over a few weeks. You would just pose as your great-great grandmother did, in this gown, and let the artist capture a unique moment of our family history.”
Aunt Patricia nodded vigorously. “Miss Vale is absolutely perfect for it. I have spoken with her already. She understands likeness, delicacy, family feeling—everything.”
His mother’s smile tightened now at the edges, but she did not contradict her sister. “By all accounts, this Miss Vale is very talented,” she said. “And I’m sure she would capture you beautifully.”
Edward realized, with a sinking clarity, that this request had been arranged long before it reached him. Aunt Patricia had already found a painter, offered a fee, convinced his mother, and now stood beside the cedar chest as if waiting for the curtain to rise on an idea she had already decided on. His mother seemed carried along by Patricia’s certainty, acquiescing to each bright suggestion with a soft nod or a quiet “perhaps.” That made Edward feel trapped. The unusual request had been presented gently, but it had gathered momentum before he had even been asked.
Edward’s first feeling was not refusal exactly, but a quick, hot flush of embarrassment so complete that his lip quivered. To be painted wearing a girl’s dress seemed absurd. The more he thought about it the less he knew how to respond. Boys his age climbed trees, scuffed their shoes, forgot to comb their hair and pretended not to care how they looked. They certainly were not asked to sit in a Victorian dress for a painting. His heart wanted to say no immediately. He didn’t want to hurt his mother, but the idea of wearing this dress made his ears burn with discomfort. Still, there was a very small part of him, quieter and harder to name, that was a bit curious. Unfortunately, it made him hesitate. The way his mother touched the gown made it seem less like a costume than a keepsake with a heartbeat.
Aunt Patricia obviously detected this barest hint of uncertainty on his blushing face, because then she handed him the old photograph they had pulled from the cedar chest. Edward stared at it. It was like looking in a forgotten mirror. The face was not his, and yet it was. This girl had his same narrow chin, his same watchful eyes, and the same slight crease between the brows he displayed when thinking.
Aunt Patricia watched him with barely contained triumph, while his mother watched more anxiously. Seeing the photograph made the request feel different. He was not being asked merely to dress up. He was being asked to stand in a place where memory and likeness met. He had to admit he really did look like the girl in the old photo… or she looked like him.
That was what troubled him most. If the likeness had been only slight or passing, Edward might have been able to summon some strength to refuse. But the photo made him feel suddenly divided: one part of him was the boy in the den playing video games, certain he wanted no part of old Victorian gowns; another small but insistent part was curious about the old image, wanting to understand something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Still, when he tried to imagine actually doing it, he cringed. It was one thing to say, in the abstract, that he resembled his ancestor. It was another to picture himself buttoned into her ornate old dress for his portrait to be painted. It all seemed a little absurd. He tried to think of a way out of this.
The room was silent for several long moments. Edward nervously wondered what “several sittings” actually meant. Who was this Miss Vale? Where even would this portrait be hung? He had too many questions to make sense of them. Meanwhile, his mother and overbearing aunt waited expectantly. He looked from the photograph to his mother’s timid face, then to Aunt Patricia’s enthusiastic one, and finally to his great-great grandmother as a young girl in the pale lilac gown. The flush of embarrassment had not vanished, but it had changed shape. Despite himself, he now felt a weight of expectation on his narrow shoulders. This was accompanied by the uneasy knowledge that Aunt Patricia had already presumed his agreement.
After a few long moments, he surrendered to the pressure without really meaning to. He didn’t agree, exactly, but he simply stammered, “I… I guess…” The words slipped out hesitantly and quietly almost of their own accord.
Aunt Patricia immediately took that as a “yes” and squeezed his shoulder with open delight. “I knew you would understand,” she said. “Marian, you see? I told you he has the temperament for it.”
Mrs. Gray took his hand tenderly and spoke softly, “Thank you, Edward.” She seemed relieved that Edward was not going to protest her sister’s plan. Although she looked as if she might correct the word “temperament,” instead she only nodded and smoothed the tissue paper around the gown.
Edward noticed the nod. It was the way his mother often yielded to Patricia’s confident intentions, especially when Patricia wrapped them in generosity. At Aunt Patricia’s urging, his mother carefully held the old dress in front of him while he stood meekly. Still wondering how this had happened so rapidly, he felt the weight of the lush fabric brushing against him.
Aunt Patricia exclaimed, “it looks to be nearly a perfect fit!” Then, she added, this is going to be wonderful!”
From that moment forward, Edward would find himself unable to separate the portrait from Aunt Patricia’s will. His mother’s tenderness mattered to him, but Aunt Patricia’s certainty was the engine beneath it all. She had imagined the portrait before Edward knew there was anything to imagine, arranged the painter, offered the money, and spoken as if his agreement was merely window dressing on a course that was already laid out. That made him wary of her affection. It was real, but it also seemed to arrive with other intentions sewn into the lining.
Edward now thought uneasily about what might lie ahead. Belatedly, he began to fret about what he had really agreed to. He hadn’t even really agreed as much as he had just surrendered. Sighing nervously, he realized it was too late now. Things seemed to already be in motion.
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First Preparations
Edward’s first portrait sitting was arranged for the following Tuesday after school. He was excused from his usual piano lesson, which made the portrait seem slightly more agreeable. By four o’clock, however, with the school day behind him and the whole afternoon somehow already claimed, he had begun to realize that his music lesson might have been easier.
Soon after he got home from school, Aunt Patricia arrived with a large white box tied in pink ribbon and announced that she had brought “a little gift to begin properly.” Edward didn’t know exactly what to expect, but he hesitantly opened the large box. He lifted the cardboard lid and gasped involuntarily at what he saw. Inside, folded in tissue paper, lay a summery pink girls’ dress with a rounded collar and flouncy flutter sleeves! The adorable dress had a ribbon tie at the waist and a flared skirt. There was also a pair of pristine white tights, a delicate pair of satin panties trimmed in lace and a shiny pair of black patent Mary Janes shoes.
Edward stared at the clothes in shocked surprise. “Who are these for?” he asked futilely, though there was no one else in the room they could possibly fit. “You mean…?”
Aunt Patricia interrupted with a smile. “Of course. Miss Vale and I had a long chat. Sitting for a proper portrait means getting you into the proper frame of mind. If you are truly to echo your great-great grandmother as a young girl, Miss Vale and I think that achieving that right girlish mindset is crucially important.” Her lips curled in a slight grin as she continued, “I suggested to Miss Vale that getting you a dress of your own to wear might be an elegant way to accomplish that. She giggled a bit, but then she agreed that it would probably do the trick.”
Edward looked disbelievingly at his mother as he tried to process what was expected of him now. Aunt Patricia had gone too far! Unfortunately, he was deflated when he saw his mother’s reaction. His mother gave him an almost apologetic look as she gently lifted the dress from the box. “Miss Vale says proper preparation for a true portrait begins well before you are in front of the artist, dear,” she began softly.
Aunt Patricia piped in, “your mother is right, sweetie, and you’ll need to get into a more feminine frame of mind to do your great-great grandmother justice.” Then she beamed and practically licked her lips, “You’re going to make an adorable little girl!”
Edward opened his mouth in protest, but no words escaped. Over the past couple of days, he had tried to come to grips with the idea of posing for a portrait dressed as a girl. He hadn’t dared mention it to anyone at school, and he was already worried that somehow they would find out. As he had wrapped his brain around the prospect, he had at least taken solace in the fact that it would just be something he did in the privacy of the artist’s studio.
Now, his Aunt Patricia had breezily tossed aside those expectations. With a sinking feeling, he realized he would be wearing this adorably girlish dress when he left his house today. His cheeks flushed red. What if someone saw him? He grimaced as he realized that preparing for his portrait sitting would be its own process.
Then, things begin to happen fast. In short order, Edward was swept helplessly along as his aunt and mother set to work on him. He was ushered into his mother’s large bathroom to get ready. Soon, he was getting scrubbed clean as if he were going to church. His mother pulled off his tee shirt and went to work on him with a damp washcloth and some sweet-smelling soap. Then, his face, hands and ears were washed, and his fingernails were brushed free of dirt.
Once he was deemed suitably clean, his mother held out the lacy pink satin panties from the box and said, “Put on your panties, dear, while your aunt and I wait for you in the bedroom.”
In a tiny voice, Edward asked, “can’t I at least wear my normal underwear?” He added helplessly as he grasped at straws, “no one will know…”
“YOU will know, sugar,” Aunt Patricia chimed in with a chuckle, “How could you possibly feel girlish wearing your boring boys’ briefs?”
Wordlessly, he took the lacy garment with a look of disbelief. He stood almost frozen holding “his” panties as his mother and aunt walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind them. Alone in the bathroom, he stood there several seconds just looking at the satiny underwear he held gingerly between his thumb and index finger.
“Don’t dawdle now, Edward!” his aunt called loudly from outside the door, “we don’t have time to waste!”
“Yes… Aunty,” he replied meekly. Cringing, he slipped off the khaki shorts he had been wearing. Then, with a feeling of helplessness, he pulled on the panties. He shivered as the silky, lace-trimmed fabric slid over his skin. He saw there was a precious little pink bow on the waistband in front as he pulled them into place. After several more moments, he reluctantly emerged red-faced from the bathroom, holding his hands uselessly in front of him.
“Oh my goodness, how darling!” Aunt Patricia exclaimed when she saw her pantied nephew for the first time.
Edward just stood there speechless while his mother smiled nervously. Everything seemed to happen in a blur as he was quickly cocooned into the precious new outfit his aunt had bought for him. His mother helped him pull on the clingy white tights, and his pulse quickened as they slid up his slender legs. Next, it was time for the dress… his dress. His aunt held it out and gestured for him to step into it. She pulled the darling sleeves over his arms and then cheerfully buttoned him into it. As he felt its delicate contrast mesh top wrap snugly around his chest, Edward was dismayed how well everything seemed to fit. The generously ruffled short sleeves settled cutely over his shoulders, the ribbon circled his waist daintily, and the bouncy skirt fell to precisely the right length just at his knees. His mother buckled the perfectly sized Mary Janes neatly onto his feet while Edward stood helplessly at the rapid turn of events.
Aunt Patricia watched with open approval. “There,” she said. “I see I got the sizes just right. Just look how naturally his dress drapes him, Marian.”
His mother nodded quietly. Edward got his next unpleasant surprise when she sat him down at her vanity and reached for a bottle of nail polish.
“Nail polish, too?” he managed to squeak.
“It was your aunt’s suggestion, sweetheart,” she explained a bit sheepishly.
As his mother brushed pale pink polish onto the first nail, Aunt Patricia explained, “It will make your nails look much neater, and it will complement the rest of your adorable outfit, dear.”
“It’s just a hint of color, dear,” his mother added almost apologetically. He watched in glum disbelief as she painted all his fingernails with the pale pink polish.
Edward held his fingers apart while the polish dried to a glossy shine. He felt so sissyish and absurdly aware of his own hands. While his nails dried, he watched in the mirror as his mother tied his golden-brown hair back in a loose ponytail with a pink satin hair ribbon “to keep things tidy.”
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Meeting Miss Vale
When he was finally dressed, his mother guided him to the full-length mirror, and he looked uneasily at the girlish figure staring back. Blushing, Edward gaped at his adorable pink dress and shiny shoes, unsettled by the feeling that the outfit had been waiting for him before he knew it existed. He stood motionless while his mother fluffed the sleeves and smoothed his skirt. Being buttoned into a delicate girls’ Sunday dress as a prelude to being put into an older, grander dress felt totally surreal.
For several seconds, Edward could only stare. It was not merely that he was wearing s pink dress... it was the way his feminine outfit seemed to look so natural on him. The flutter sleeves made his shoulders look narrow and soft, the ribbon at his waist gave him a dainty shape, and the flared skirt stood out prettily over the white tights as if it belonged there. He looked shockingly girlish. An embarrassed heat crept up his neck as he shifted one shiny Mary Jane awkwardly behind the other.
Aunt Patricia, in contrast, was thrilled. She seemed unable to contain herself, smiling at him as though some cherished hope had suddenly stepped out of the mirror. “Oh, Marian, just look at him,” she breathed, delighted. “Isn’t he darling? That dress suits him even better than I imagined.” Edward’s blush deepened. He wanted to deny it, but the mirror made denial feel useless.
The whole ritual seemed to serve its purpose, however. He felt as if had entered a girlish daydream completely separate from his ordinary life. Still a little in shock, he couldn’t deny how feminine he looked… and felt. Most unsettling was Aunt Patricia’s confidence. She seemed so delighted to see her plans for him finally coming to fruition.
“You look like a pretty little princess!” Aunt Patricia exclaimed, “I’ve said it more than once to your mother. You are much too pretty to have been born a boy!”
Studying his sissified reflection in the mirror, Edward found it hard to argue. Now, it was time to depart. They all stepped outside and got into Aunt Patricia’s large, fancy sedan. It had rained earlier, but the rain had stopped. The car engine purred to life, and she drove them straight to Miss Vale’s studio through the wet streets.
Edward sat quietly in the back with his skirt smoothed carefully over his knees and his patent Mary Janes placed together on the floor mat. His thoughts and emotions tumbled restlessly. His mother sat in the passenger seat in front, and Aunt Patricia glanced back at him from time to time in the mirror with a look of satisfaction.
Edward watched the streets pass and felt oddly displayed even inside the car, as if the sedan were a polished carriage carrying him toward something magical. They parked near a small square, and the studio was only a short walk away. The square contained a little park and playground, and on that first Tuesday the playground was damp and nearly empty. Still, a few children chased one another between puddles, shrieking whenever mud splashed their shoes.
From the safety of the concrete sidewalk, Edward slowed without meaning to, his eyes following the flash of their shoes through the wet grass. For a second he imagined stepping off the pavement, running after them, letting the darling black patent Mary Janes darken with mud and the demure pink skirt get splashed with rainwater. The very thought made him glance down in dismay. His pretty dress felt much too visible in the gray afternoon, its pinkness practically announcing his dainty appearance. His unfamiliar white tights showed every careful step, and his Mary Janes clicked on the sidewalk with a tidy sound that seemed impossible to hide. The satin ribbon in his hair was a reminder that he was already becoming someone else. He felt a flash of humiliation and wondered whether the other children would notice him.
“Not too close, Edward,” his mother reminded him gently, laying a hand on his shoulder before he could drift toward the gate of the playground. “You are dressed far too nicely to get near that dirt and mud.”
Aunt Patricia added with a tone of warning in her voice, “That’s right, darling, we simply won’t have you ruining your pretty new dress.” Edward looked down glumly at his pristine skirt, smooth white tights, shining shoes, and pink-polished nails. He felt a sharp unfairness of being kept spotless and dainty for something he wished he could escape. In a few minutes, he knew he would not be running or shouting or even standing like himself. He felt a pang of jealousy before his sitting had even begun, and his aunt purposefully guided him toward the studio door.
Miss Vale’s studio occupied the top floor of a narrow brick house near the square, and soon they were welcomed inside. Miss Clara Vale herself was a lively lady with inquisitive eyes. She had silver-streaked brown hair pinned simply at the back of her head, dark eyes that missed very little, and hands stained faintly with paint. Her studio felt less like an ordinary workroom than a private retreat. The tall windows were draped in sheer white curtains tied back with rose-colored ribbons, so the rainy light entered softened and pearly. The pale walls were touched with a faint blush tint and hung with small gilt-framed sketches of flowers, swans, and serious young ladies in lace. Shelves on the walls held jars, brushes, rolled canvases, plaster hands, and little bowls of pigment. The air smelled of linseed oil, lavender soap, turpentine, rain, and the powdery sweetness of roses.
“Welcome, please come in!” she said warmly. Looking intently at Edward for the first time, she added, “and of course this must be our little Edward!” Admiring his dress, she added, “what an adorable frock!” She continued, “when your aunt suggested it, I thought it seemed a little odd. But now seeing you in it, I can honestly say it becomes you.” With an approving look, she said. “And what a brave young man for taking this project on!”
Edward cringed, but he managed to put on a weak smile.
She looked at him seriously, “I assure you, this will be an experience you will never forget!”
Edward gulped, and said shyly, “Thank you Miss Vale.” He didn’t really know what to say. Dressed as he was and knowing why he was here, his emotions were all over the map.
She gestured to a second lady standing in the studio, “And of course let me introduce Mrs. Bell. She is a stylist who often helps me with achieving just the right look for my subjects.”
The slightly younger woman with a sturdy build and friendly eyes spoke up, “So nice to meet you all!” Appraising Edward for the first time, she added, “It’s uncanny how much he looks like his ancestor. She gently touched Edward’s hair and said approvingly, “I think this gorgeous honey-brown hair will work just beautifully!”
Edward shifted his feet skittishly and blushed pink. He didn’t know how to feel about that.
“Ladies,” Miss Vale turned to Edward’s mother and aunt, “You are welcome to have a seat over there.” She gestured to a pair of comfortable-looking nearby chairs. Turning her attention back to Edward, she said eagerly, “Let’s jump right in, shall we, and get our young Victorian lady properly dressed.”
In no time, Edward found himself immersed in the afternoon’s second intense flurry of preparation.
-
The Old Lilac Dress
This “dressing” took nearly half an hour, and by the end of it Edward felt less like a boy being femininely dressed than a small monument being assembled piece by piece. Miss Vale had a well-appointed dressing area in her studio space complete with a large tri-fold mirror, a padded chair and a side table. Miss Vale led him over, and the ladies helped him out of his pink dress and shoes so he stood again just in his white tights before the large mirror. Edward felt very nervous and self-conscious. The ladies, meanwhile, seemed wholly unperturbed and began getting him into the ornate Victorian outfit.
First, he was surprised when Mrs. Vale laced a firm little corset snugly around his waist. She explained it would keep his shoulders open and his spine tall. The first quick tug of the laces stole a little of his breath, and the second made him feel as though someone had drawn a careful line all the way around the middle of him and cinched it closed. The stiff fabric was cool at first, then quickly warm where it pressed against his skin. He immediately felt confined in a totally unfamiliar way as she tied the laces securely behind his back. It was not painful, but it was intimate and inescapable.
Miss Vale then slipped a white silk chemise over his corset, soft but unfamiliar beneath his arms. Its lace-trimmed edge danced over his skin, impossible to ignore. Edward shivered despite himself. Everything felt strange and new. His nerves were electric, and every new sensation only heightened his embarrassment.
With his chemise in place, Miss Vale carefully tugged and straightened his white tights so the seams were properly aligned. Then she had him step into a crisp white petticoat! When she pulled it up around his waist, it stood out with a noisy whisper. She had him hold up his slender arms, and a second fancier petticoat followed right over his head. He had never even worn one petticoat, and now he had on two! The second one was trimmed in rows of ruffles that brushed together whenever he turned. He was immediately conscious of electric sensations in his panties as his petticoats rustled gaily over his pretty white tights.
Edward’s thoughts kept darting between obedience and alarm. Each elaborate layer made the process feel less theoretical. The chemise slithered against his skin, and the tights made his legs feel so girlish. The petticoats erased the straight lines he was used to and swished against his legs. He felt his breath quicken, but it was shallow due to the corset. The feeling of being inexorably encased in elaborate layers of vintage femininity was overwhelming. A part of him kept helplessly asking what sort of thirteen-year-old boy found himself being transformed into a prissy Victorian girl for a portrait on a Tuesday afternoon?
Next came the gorgeous gown itself. The velvet was a pale lilac color, silvered in shadow and almost pearly where the light touched it. It had panels of satin that caught the light in glossy folds like the inside of a seashell. Edward felt the fabric before he felt its weight. The velvet brushed his skin with a cool, dense softness that seemed gentle until it settled over him and became heavy. The scent of lavender assailed his nostrils. The satin panels slipped and whispered against his petticoats incessantly. The fancy Victorian frock boasted gauzy overskirts that were edged with scalloped lace, tiny faux pearls, and delicate beads that shimmered at the slightest movement. Once the high collar was fastened around his neck, it was impossible to ignore. Cream lace climbed the stiff collar all the way up his throat so that it brushed his chin. It then spilled in delicate frills down the front of the bodice and around the cuffs. Pearl buttons on the bodice formed a shiny line, while silver threads and tiny embroidered blossoms had been sewn into sprays like enchanted vines along the waist and hem. The skirt widened in graceful layers, so that when Edward looked in the mirror, he realized he looked almost like a fairy-tale princess from an illustrated book. Mrs. Vale fastened all the hooks and buttons on the old dress with care, smoothing the fabric as though greeting an old friend.
More accessories were added. A cameo brooch was pinned at Edward’s throat, and a narrow pale lilac velvet sash was tied at his waist in a bow with long trailing ends. His feet were fitted into the ornately embroidered saddle shoes, stitched with tiny lilac vines, pearl-colored thread, and little loops of silver that looked like gifts from a fairy godmother!
At this point, his Aunt Patricia could no longer contain herself. She stood up and walked over for a closer look with a broad grin of satisfaction on her face. “Oh, it’s just perfect… just as if it were made for him!”
The other ladies smiled in amused agreement. She was the one bankrolling this entire endeavor after all, so no one had any incentive to contradict her.
She addressed her nephew directly, “Doesn’t it feel wonderful to know how lovely you look my dear? You look like a perfect little Victorian miss!”
Edward flushed again. Meekly, he answered, “Yes Aunt Patricia… thank you.” At this point, he knew it was much better just to agree. He really had no words to describe how awkward and self-conscious he felt.
Miss Vale gently touched his shoulder and had him slowly turn so his aunt could see the full effect. Edward felt the heavy velvet and billowing petticoats rustle ceaselessly as he slowly twirled under the unfamiliar weight.
Aunt Patricia practically squealed with delight, “Simply wonderful!”
His mother looked on shyly but remained silent as her sister momentarily seemed to take up all the space in the room. After another moment, Aunt Patricia returned to her chair.
Miss Bell then took the lead. She had a case full of combs, pins, little covered jars, and a narrow curling iron that looked very imposing to Edward. She had him sit carefully on the dressing chair and quickly snapped a white nylon cape around his neck to protect the lovely dress. Mrs. Bell deftly divided his hair into small, exact sections and wound each one into golden brown Victorian ringlets, matching the old photograph curl for curl as closely as she could. Edward was keenly aware of the sensations as she gently tugged and combed his long hair back and forth. He very much felt like a doll on display as his Aunt Patricia, his mother and Miss Vale watched cheerfully.
Mrs. Bell took pains to tease each ringlet into place exactly where she wanted it. She misted it all with enough hairspray that Edward could smell the sharp sweetness of it whenever he turned his head. He was amazed how quickly and carefully his new ringlets were arranged and then fixed with even more spray. Finally, when she was satisfied with his curls, she meticulously fastened an extravagant Victorian bow of pale lilac velvet and cream ribbon into his new ringlets. Its loops were arranged almost like a soft crown and its long tails fell behind his ears like royal streamers.
She stepped back with a little flourish said, “Ta da!”
Aunt Patricia and even his mother seemed thrilled with the adorable results.
Edward gasped as he looked at himself in the mirror. The sight of his carefully arranged ringlets made him feel so exposed and sissified.
“Hold still just one more moment, darling,” Mrs. Bell murmured as she adjusted the hairbow.
“I’m doing my best,” Edward said helplessly.
“I mean inwardly as well,” Mrs. Bell replied, smiling. Edward had no idea what that meant.
Miss Vale looked over the old photograph. “He is doing very well. The first sitting is always the hardest because we are all learning the shape of the work together.”
Again, Edward had little idea what the “shape of the work” meant, but by now he was well aware of the unwanted tingling in his panties. It was all confusing, but deep under his dress, petticoats, tights and panties, his body was reacting in an unexpected way to all these sensations. He tried to take shallow breaths, but he was full of restless, uncomfortable awareness. The corset held him so upright that every breath felt measured. The petticoats shifted whenever he moved, whispering around his legs, and the weight of the gown made his shoulders feel smaller beneath it.
He was dismayed to learn there would also be makeup. Mrs. Bell began by smoothing on the thinnest veil of foundation, blending it carefully around Edward’s nose, chin, and brow so that even the slightest blemish seemed to vanish. Then, she brushed the faintest pink blush onto Edward’s cheeks and stepped back again to judge it. Too pale, she said, and the painting would look chilly. Too bright, and Edward would look as if he had run up the studio stairs instead of arriving from a fairy-tale carriage. After a few minutes, they found the exact rosy shade Miss Vale wanted: light enough to seem natural, but warm enough to echo the glow of the pale lilac velvet around his face.
Edward recoiled slightly as a trace of pale pink lipstick was next applied to his lips, soft as the inside of a rose petal. Acutely aware of the slick feeling of the lipstick, Edward sat stiffly. It felt so emasculating and feminine to be made up this way as Miss Vale studied his face closely. It only added to the tension under his skirts. He felt a small bead of cold sweat dribble down his back under all the layers.
“Just a touch more pink I think Mrs. Bell,” she decided after a few moments.
“Of course,” Mrs. Bell replied. Then she traced over Edward’s delicate lips with another coat of slightly brighter pink lipstick.
“That’s perfect,” Miss Vale said approvingly.
Edward sat helplessly while Mrs. Bell then touched a little mascara to his lashes so his eyes would stand out demurely. Satisfied with his hair and makeup, Mrs. Bell removed the nylon cape, and Edward gazed at his unfamiliar reflection in the mirror. The makeup unsettled him in a different way from the gown. The foundation and powder changed his own face by degrees into something softer. He looked smoother and much more fragile. The blush gave him a doll-like complexion. He was keenly aware of his slippery lipstick, and he tried not to press his lips together too much after Mrs. Bell cautioned him not to smear it. The mascara made his lashes look strangely accentuated and doe-like.
Edward flushed as he studied himself in the mirror. The boy looking back had not disappeared completely, but he was overtaken by softness. His stiff ringlets cascaded girlishly, and his delicate features were much more prominent. His pale pink lips gave him a demure and feminine air. It was as if someone had taken the daintiest parts of his face and arranged the light around them. He had to look away.
During these preparations, he was continually aware of the way he just sat so passively while others made decisions about how he would look. Edward felt a fleeting urge to interrupt, to demand they understand he was not their doll. A fragile and precious doll, however, is exactly what he felt like now. His cheeks burned as he sat there being studied and adjusted relentlessly, but he managed to swallow his protest.
-
Sissyboy, what a great start, I'm looking forward to where you take this in the coming months .... (years?).
I don't see any issues with getting inspiration from Vicky's story, in fact I'd say most stories are a result of earlier works of fiction. I think you're doing a wonderful job with your interpretation. Keep up the good work and as always, it's great to see you back here.
Ace
-
Finding the Pose
With Edward now fully dressed in the old vintage gown, Miss Vale and Mrs. Bell studied him closely. They had the old photograph of his great-great grandmother handy, and they looked repeatedly back and forth from the photo to Edward. After some quiet discussion between them, Miss Vale led Edward into the studio where he would pose. The real work was about to begin.
She sat him on a carved wooden chair beside a small table covered with fine white lace. She had staged the table with a slender vase of pale roses, a china dish painted with violets, and a tiny silver bell. The chair itself had a high back and curved wooden arms padded with faded rose silk. Behind it, Miss Vale had hung a length of cream damask so the background fell in soft folds, and a gilt oval mirror nearby caught the window light and returned it in a gentle glow. Perched daintily atop the chair, however, Edward discovered that it was somewhat narrow.
Belatedly, he was taken aback when he saw the size of Miss Vale’s blank canvas… it was huge! It looked to be nearly four feet tall and at least three wide.
“That’s really big, isn’t it Miss Vale?” he asked questioningly.
She smiled and said, “Well, yes it’s on the generous side I suppose, but your Aunt Patricia wanted me to capture all the fine details, so I suggested we go for a grander scale.” She added, “that’s why we will need more sittings than normal… I expect twelve to fifteen sessions should do it.”
Edward’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t realized that he was signed up for all that. “Twelve to fifteen?” he repeated softly. He was chagrined to hear that he had that much time in dresses before him.
Aunt Patricia merely smiled in satisfaction. The look on her face made it clear that she thought it was wonderful.
Miss Vale and Mrs. Bell continued their preparations. As Mrs. Bell appraised her subject to see if any last touches were needed, she said to herself, “A little tighter on the left side, I think.” She explained, “in the photograph, that curl sits nearer the cheek.”
“Nearer, yes, but not on the cheek,” Miss Vale added. “If it hides the line of his face, I risk losing the resemblance.”
Mrs. Bell nodded, “then we shall persuade it, not force it.”
Edward sat very still on the chair while they circled him. He found that it was easier not to speak, and he didn’t trust his voice now anyway. The constant fussing over his appearance felt stifling.
Finally, Miss Vale began posing her subject. Edward soon learned she had an array of special supports and stays to ensure he held the correct pose. From a cardboard box she began to pull slender lengths of covered wire, padded at the ends with soft cloth, and various pale, smooth supports made of plastic. These invisible tools would help him keep his position. The process of placing them was almost as elaborate as the dressing itself. First Miss Vale made some chalk marks on the floor for the chair legs. Then, she had Edward sit, rise, and sit again until the skirt fell properly around the cushion. Mrs. Bell lifted the gauzy overskirt while Miss Vale referred to the old picture again.
One stiff support slid gently beneath the ruffle of Edward’s right sleeve, guiding the angle of his elbow. Another lay hidden inside the left cuff so his arm would turn the right way. A narrow padded stay was slipped behind him, invisible against the high back of the chair and fastened discreetly so his shoulders rested just so without slumping or leaning too far forward. Miss Vale tested it with two fingers at his shoulder blade, then adjusted it by the smallest fraction. “There,” she said. “Just to remind you where the portrait needs you.”
Then came his knees and legs. Miss Vale knelt before the chair with a measuring ribbon while Mrs. Bell lifted the layers of petticoat just enough to see the white tights and the line of his shins. Edward’s knees were brought together, then eased apart a breath, then brought back until the fall of the skirt matched the photograph. Soft plastic rests were tucked beneath the overskirt at either side to keep the fabric from collapsing. Narrow ribbon stays were fastened from the chair frame to the hidden guides near his knees and ankles, firmly enough to ensure his legs would not wander out of the pose. Miss Vale placed each embroidered shoe on a chalk mark, turned the toes to a demure angle, and slipped tiny fasteners beneath the soles. After a moment, Edward realized she had tacked these down to the wooden floor to keep his feet from wandering.
Edward was keenly aware at this point that he was basically a life-sized doll to be posed, primped, fluffed and positioned. He felt pretty and delicate in the most humiliating way, a fragile and precious keepsake that Miss Vale and Mrs. Bell handled with doting care. The thought made his cheeks warm more.
Miss Vale stepped back, took a photo with her phone, and compared it to the old image of his great-great grandmother. Then, she frowned and returned to adjust his feet again. Every detail was assessed. By the time the velvet, lace, and gauzy overskirts were smoothed properly, no one looking at Edward would suspect all this hidden little engineering. That was almost the worst part. From the outside, he would look serene and willingly delicate while underneath he would feel all the little restraints and reminders that enforced his compliance.
“Chin up a tad darling,” Miss Vale instructed, “and think of seeing something far off that interests you.”
Edward obeyed because there was very little else he could do. He thought of a large ship. Then he thought of a speeding car. Then, with a suppressed sigh, he thought of the playground outside, where the other children moved however they wished. Through the open window he heard a burst of laughter, bright and careless, followed by someone shouting happily. The sound struck him with almost physical force. Out there, boys his age were racing through damp grass and yelling to their heart’s content. In here, Edward sat wearing immaculate pink lipstick with his girlish ringlets arranged just so. He was cocooned in layers of lilac velvet, fluffy petticoats and a stiff corset while they played happily. The contrast made something twist painfully in his chest, and his nose began to itch.
With Edward finally arranged, Miss Vale snapped several more photographs with her phone: from the front, from the side, and several more close enough to show the position of his hands and the fall of his ringlets.
Edward’s eyes widened as he wondered why she needed all those photos of him. “For comparison,” she spoke as if reading his mind, “Next time, these will tell us whether your pose has wandered.”
“Can I breathe?” Edward asked tentatively.
“Of course you may breathe,” Miss Vale said, laughing softly. “Only perhaps not as dramatically as you are accustomed to.”
“Well now,” she continued, “we shall not try to make you look like a statue, but I will help you learn the art of feminine stillness.” The peculiar phrase settled over him like one more layer of lace. “Feminine stillness” sounded gentle on the surface, but in practice it meant surrendering the right to fidget, slouch, scratch or sprawl.
Aunt Patricia obviously picked up on the term as well. She gave a satisfied little hum from her chair. “Some ‘feminine stillness’ will do him much good, Marian,” she said, not troubling to lower her voice. “Such a wonderfully useful idea to learn important lessons: Obedience, deference, restraint. Children his age should learn the value of being seen and not heard, and that is especially true of proper young girls. Demure, well-mannered children ought to present themselves sweetly and agreeably… none of this complaining rebelliousness that seems so common today.”
Edward’s throat tightened. His aunt’s words seemed ominous and revealing. They sounded like a verdict which he was helpless to appeal. “Seen and not heard.” The phrase settled coldly in him. Outside, another peal of laughter broke through the window from the playground. It made him feel a sudden, aching envy. While they laughed and played, he sat silently enveloped in velvet and lace, displayed just like his aunt wanted: pretty, fragile, obedient and still.
-
The First Sitting
At first, it was not too unpleasant. Miss Vale stepped back, narrowed one eye, and made quick charcoal marks on the canvas. A few stray raindrops thumped softly against the window, muffled by the gauze curtains. Edward felt so exposed in the pale lilac velvet, with the puffy folds of his skirt spread around him so prissily. His dress stood out by design against the delicately feminine background of lace cloth, rose silk, and pale damask. The gown’s heavy fabric quickly grew warm across his knees, with its satin and gauzy overskirts shimmering ever so faintly when he breathed too deeply.
After a few minutes, however, the high lace collar tickled his throat, and the cameo brooch seemed determined to remind him of its presence whenever he swallowed. The corset and the hidden stays holding him against the chair kept his posture beautifully upright and prevented him from slouching in the least. His snug tights warmed his legs and knees uncomfortably, and his embroidered saddle shoes remained fixed demurely in place by the little hidden tacks to maintain that same modest, careful position. The soft stays under his skirt ensured that his legs remained exactly as Miss Vale had arranged them.
“May I move now for a moment?” Edward asked finally, trying not to sound desperate.
Miss Vale lowered her charcoal. “Of course, dear. Sitting for a portrait is not a punishment, but it is a discipline.”
Edward thought to himself that any differences between punishment and discipline seemed lost on him at the moment.
Miss Vale crossed the room and released a few of his hidden supports. Then, she helped Edward rise out of the chair without tangling the heavy skirt around his ankles. “Stillness is a skill, not a spell," she said, "we shall learn it in pieces.”
Edward thought that almost everything she said seemed to be wrapped in some kind of riddle, but he was grateful for the chance to stand up and move.
“Take a moment, and then we will continue,” she added not unkindly.
Edward couldn’t help but notice, however, that his Aunt Patricia had a slightly annoyed expression as he broke his careful pose. Still, she refrained from any comments. His mother seemed content to watch and let Miss Vale do her work.
After a minute or two to stretch and move, Edward found himself right back in his exactingly girlish pose. Every so often, Miss Vale would provide a hint or suggestion aimed to help him “find his feminine stillness.” He began to understand he could not simply become still by wishing it. He had to find a place to hold his discomfort, how to breathe shallowly enough not to disturb the bodice but deeply enough not to feel cross, how to let an itch fade without obeying it, and how to listen to the scratch of her charcoal on canvas as if it were music.
The playground next door, however, became increasingly hard for him to ignore. He could hear the sounds again through the open window. At first, he tried to block it out. Then, because trying not to hear made every shout seem sharper, he fantasized about being outside among them, chasing after a ball instead of keeping his arms still. The thought only made the chair harder, the collar tighter, and the minutes stretch longer. The stark contrast between his tightly controlled posture and their carefree fun was hard to process. The seconds ticked slowly as he sat doll-like in his elaborately girlish pose. It was challenging.
When his first sitting finally ended, Edward expected to feel only relief. It came, certainly, rushing through him the moment he could move freely again. Still, as he prepared to be put back into his charming pink dress, Edward realized the welcome relief had its limits.
“He really should wear his corset home,” Miss Vale had advised his mother and aunt. “It’s best that he get accustomed to wearing it.”
Edward sighed with dismay at this unwelcome twist. He began to protest, “Do I have to…?” he began.
But his Aunt Patricia interrupted his thought, “Oh I was thinking the same thing, Miss Vale. Practice will make perfect!” Then, she practically beamed at her prettified nephew and added, “No complaining, darling. It’s all to help you find that ‘feminine stillness’ that Miss Vale was talking about.”
Edward felt so powerless and sissyish in that moment. Once again, his aunt would have her way.
Afterward, as they made their way past the playground back to the car, the boys were still there, muddier than before. Their games had grown louder in the late afternoon. They seemed to run and shout with even more energy now. Meanwhile, Edward minced along sheepishly beside his mother and aunt in his lovely pink dress, white tights, black Mary Janes and now his snug corset. He was guided carefully around any puddles on the sidewalk. After all the events of the afternoon, he felt so much like a precious little doll. He tried not to dwell on the thought. He was very relieved when they finally got in the car.
-
Oooh, I've always been a fan of Vicky's so, short of a new story by Vicky, an homage to Vicky's work is exciting!
And I'm also a fan of hidden restraints, so I love the creativity of all the little 'supports'.
Off to a great start! Can't wait for it to continue!
-
Another Sitting
Edward’s second portrait sitting took place only two days later. The intervening time flew by at a depressingly rapid rate. Now that he fully understood what these sessions would entail, he felt increasingly antsy as the hours quickly dwindled away. Before he knew it, his mother was picking him up after school on Thursday. An hour later, he was fully dressed again as an adorable little girl. Once more, he stood awkwardly cringing in front of the mirror daintily attired in his darling new pink dress and all his girlish accessories. This time, he was painfully aware that that his summery frock, white tights, black patent Mary Janes, and now his confining corset were merely a gateway to Miss Vale’s studio. His mother had meticulously buttoned his dress, tied his sash, and brushed lint from his flouncy sleeve with a thin smile as the red-faced thirteen-year-old boy felt his boyishness summarily wiped away.
“There,” she said when she was finished, “you look so lovely, dear.” He was sure she was trying to make him feel better, but the adjective seemed to deflate him further.
“Lovely,” he had learned, would include cramped toes, heavy velvet, and an inability to bend properly at the waist for long stretches of time while he was helplessly transformed into a doll-like vision of Victorian girlhood.
“We’d best get downstairs, sweetheart,” his mother said tentatively, “Your Aunt Patricia will be here soon, and we mustn’t keep her waiting.”
Edward exhaled as he tried to steady himself for the onslaught of feminine smothering his aunt would soon lavish on him. Catching another look at himself in the downstairs hall mirror, Edward felt the oddest contradiction: he looked every bit like a carefully dressed little girl, and yet this dress was only a steppingstone to the even more elaborate petticoats, ruffles and lace waiting for him in the studio. His patent Mary Janes caught the light when he shifted his feet, and he wished they were less shiny.
Right on time, Aunt Patricia’s sedan appeared at the curb, moving with the same stately confidence as its owner. She tapped the horn at once, and Edward and his mother stepped out to the driveway. Aunt Patricia opened the driver’s door, and stepped out gaily, “Is our little princess ready for our next sitting?”
Edward felt an inward drop, but he gulped and said meekly, “Yes Aunty.”
The first sitting had been strange enough to seem almost unreal afterward, but the way his aunt was now taking charge of the journey to the studio and all the arrangements this way made his descent into girlhood feel more… complete. Even as she referred to it as “our” sitting, there was little doubt who was steering this ship.
Aunt Patricia beamed condescendingly as she opened the rear door a bit impatiently, and Edward climbed in hesitantly, again smoothing the pink skirt over his knees. His dainty shoes seemed to line themselves up on the floormat as if they too were learning the routine. It bothered him to no end that all these new feminine sensations were causing an excited, trembling stiffness buried in his lacy panties! What was wrong with him?
After the short drive, Aunt Patricia parked near the square. They passed the playground again, and this time it was full. Children and older boys chased a ball across the packed earth, cheeks bright with effort. A pair of girls balanced atop the low wall, arms spread like tightrope walkers. Two boys about Edward’s age were arguing over who should have gotten the ball first, and Edward felt another twist of envy mixed with humiliation. His lip began to quiver as he steeled himself to pass by them.
Unlike him, those boys were spending their afternoon in a totally normal and boisterous way. He was being led like a child to a room where his every curl, button, and breath would soon be assessed, shaped and monitored. He was painfully aware of the bouncy skirt dancing around his knees and the gloss of his dainty shoes below it. If anyone were to recognize him, how could he even begin to explain the whole portrait situation? They would see only a completely sissified Edward Gray, being carefully led down the sidewalk in a darling pink dress by his mother and aunt. He found himself watching the dust rise around the players’ ankles and imagining how ordinary it would feel to come home today with dirt on his shirt instead of blush on his cheeks. Suddenly afraid of being noticed, he blushed and averted his eyes skittishly.
“Keep to the sidewalk, darling,” Aunt Patricia insisted, her hand resting on his shoulder lest he wander too near the gate.
Her hand remained there as they passed, gentle but firm. Edward kept his eyes forward, because looking too long at the playground made him feel as if he were leaving himself behind among the shouts and dust. He felt his cheeks flush and tried to hide behind his aunt. He was actually relieved to get past the playground and through the studio door without drawing more attention.
In the studio, the always mysterious Miss Vale had marked the floor with chalk where the chair stood. “Painters are great friends of memory,” she explained. “But we also appreciate reminders.”
Edward was soon again plunged into the complicated dressing process to become his great-great grandmother’s twin from another time. Once more, he was engulfed in his great-great grandmother's elaborately heavy dress. In no time, Mrs. Bell magically restored his precious ringlets and applied his porcelain doll makeup. Then, Miss Vale recreated the careful hidden architecture of supports and stays beneath his dress. Everything went more efficiently this time. At some point, it began to feel like he had never left the studio at all, and the time in between was just something he had imagined. The delicate wires were slid back up his sleeves, and his knees and legs were again arranged just so. His skirt was lifted and fluffed until the lilac folds fell in the desired bell shape. Then Miss Vale knelt to check his fancily ornate shoes and refasten them to the floor. It seemed to him that his new reality was here on this chair and in this studio.
Soon, Miss Vale began laying in the pale sweep of the dress on her canvas. Edward breathed carefully and tried to ignore the sounds of laughter from the playground that carried through the open window.
During a short break when he was permitted to stretch his legs and move around a bit, he glimpsed the canvas. He saw it was now filling with lilac-gray shadows and soft pearly highlights, but it was not yet obvious what they would become. “It looks like a cloud,” he observed quietly.
“Indeed, but soon we will teach the cloud to behave like velvet,” Miss Vale replied with an enigmatic smile. Then she added, “it looks to me that are inhabiting your role more thoroughly today, dear. You seem to have a more delicate and feminine air.” It was obvious she meant it kindly.
Edward’s heart sank as she confirmed what he had already felt.
His Aunt Patricia, overhearing the exchange, smiled brightly. “You really are becoming more and more an adorably prissy miss, my dear,” she gushed cheerily. “Doesn’t it feel wonderful to honor your family so well?” she asked leadingly.
“Yes, Aunty,” the feminized teen replied flatly after a moment. He cringed as he felt another unexpected jump in his panties.
-
Edward's Second Sitting Ends in Surprise
“Let’s get you settled back in, my dear,” Miss Vale interjected, “we still have work ahead of us today.”
Once again, Edward was meekly placed and fastened back in his serenely girlish pose. As Miss Vale continued capturing the scene on canvas, Aunt Patricia seemed ever more animated. While she remained mostly quiet out of deference to Miss Vale, it was difficult for her to contain her satisfaction. She could not refrain from the occasional comment about his “feminine stillness.”
Edward did his best to ignore everything around him and sink into himself. Miss Vale painted on, but eventually, gratefully, he reached the end of the session. Thankfully, he had the weekend ahead of him. He wouldn’t have to pose for his next sitting until next week, and he was desperately looking forward to a break from dresses and ringlets. Although he was soon back in his darling pink frock and Mary Janes, he was relieved at least to be free of the heavy lilac velvet and all those petticoats.
As they prepared to leave the studio, Miss Vale spoke, almost as an afterthought, “I meant to mention this earlier, but there is a museum exhibit in the city that you all might find interesting in light of our current undertaking.”
“Oh really?” Aunt Patricia asked curiously, “what is it about?”
Something inside Edward twitched with suspicion.
“Well,” Miss Vale explained, “it’s actually an exhibition on period Victorian fashion, and it’s very well done. It’s called ‘Victorian Elegance: Women’s Fashion of the 19th Century’ and it’s quite stunning.” She went on, speaking to Edward, “Mrs. Bell and I drove over to see it last weekend in preparation for your portrait dear.”
Mrs. Bell added, “Oh yes, you really should take it in if you have the chance. I’m sure it would give you a greater understanding of the era’s style.” She added admiringly, “it showcases so many interesting fabrics and dressmaking styles that I confess I lost track of time.” She giggled, “I think they practically had to kick us out at closing time!”
Edward made a little face before he could stop himself. He could think of almost nothing less appealing. After a week of seemingly endless sittings inside Miss Vale’s studio, the last thing he wanted was to spend even more time staring at old dresses. In his mind, the exhibition would be a long, hushed hallway full of mannequins in stiff bodices and gloomy gowns, with tiny placards explaining bonnets, corsets, petticoats, and lace cuffs in exhausting detail. He already felt unsettled after being so carefully buttoned, pinned, curled and arranged like a museum piece himself.
The idea of being dragged through some stuffy museum just to look at Victorian gowns and frocks made him cringe, but the look on his aunt’s face gave him a sinking feeling. It sounded like such a sissy thing to do, but of course, as he was already dressed so daintily, that argument would carry no weight at all.
Aunt Patricia, however, seemed instantly enthralled by the notion and her eyes brightened. “Why, I think that would be lovely!” she exclaimed, already sounding as though the matter had progressed from possibility to plan. “Victorian women’s fashion! How perfectly appropriate. Imagine, Marian—all those gowns, all those delicate fabrics, the hats, the gloves, the crinolines and proper silhouettes. It would give Edward such a marvelous sense of the world he is helping us remember.” Turning eagerly to her sister she said, “we really should take Edward to see it! Wouldn’t you like to see it as well, Marian?”
Edward’s mother looked noncommittal and said, “Well I suppose… if we can find the right time.”
Aunt Patricia then turned an admiring look on Edward. Edward’s blush deepened as she continued, undeterred. “This would be a wonderful chance for you to see how young ladies of that era carried all those layers with dignity and charm. It might make you understand your own frocks and petticoats much better.” She smiled at him as though this were encouragement. With a patronizing smile, she asked, “what about it, sweetie?” She prodded him, “wouldn’t it be a nice way to really appreciate your great-great grandmother’s time while you’re working on your portrait?”
Edward turned beet-red. He wanted to protest that he had no interest in it, not the slightest, not even for a minute. He wanted to say that he had already seen enough satin, velvet, lace, and petticoats to last the rest of his life. But the way Aunt Patricia couched it made refusal hard. He stumbled over his words. “But… Aunty… I mean… I don’t think… I mean…” His voice thinned as soon as he saw Aunt Patricia’s determined expression. She had latched onto the idea. He looked helplessly at his mother, but she was already beginning to nod meekly in agreement.
Aunt Patricia continued brightly, “Oh come on, honey, it will be educational, and it’s only for a few hours. I’m sure it will help you in getting into the right state of mind for your sittings.” She leaned closer, her expression glowing with the sort of fond insistence Edward had learned to fear. “Besides, sweetie, you have already made such an encouraging start. Miss Vale sees it, Mrs. Bell sees it and I certainly see it. Then she fixed him with one of her smothering looks, and when she spoke again her tone was more insistent. “Don’t be such a ‘pouty Patty,’ sweetheart. Think of it as part of your project. A few hours among lovely Victorian dresses will do wonders for that feminine spirit you are cultivating.”
Edward felt her domineering gaze linger on his flushed face, his smoothed skirt, and the timid way he averted his eyes. Edward felt as if everyone in the room could see how nervous he was. His mouth was dry, and his fingers curled helplessly against the fabric of his darling dress.
Aunt Patricia’s voice softened with a patronizing sweetness, “What do you say, dear?”
Edward looked to his mother again, hoping for even the smallest sign that she might rescue him, but that hope faded instantly. Unfortunately, his mother’s look said everything he needed to know. He winced as he imagined Aunt Patricia reading every exhibit label aloud while he stood beside her in his dainty pink frock, trying not to attract stares from museum visitors. “Oh no!” he realized belatedly, his stomach dropping. “She’s going to put me in my dress for the museum too!” It made his cheeks burn even hotter, and he swallowed hard. Understanding this was not a fight he could win, he lowered his eyes and said softly, “OK… Aunty.”
“Wonderful!” she said, “I knew you’d see it my way!” Then, she gripped his chin firmly for a moment with surprising force to ensure she had his full attention, and he froze under her touch, too embarrassed to pull away and too nervous to meet her eyes. Edward’s face was already hot, but it seemed to grow hotter as she touched him. She slowly lifted her thumb and ran it ever so delicately over his quivering lips with a teasing comment, “you are so adorably precious!” Finally, she playfully patted his cheek with her fingers and said, “Good girl!” These last words landed with a humiliating little jolt.
Immediately, Edward grew lightheaded and felt a confusing rush of shame and nervousness. He immediately sensed an unwelcome tingling deep underneath his panties and tights. He drew several shallow breaths, still constricted by his corset, and tried desperately to compose himself before anyone noticed how rattled he was. His hands trembled faintly at his sides, and he pressed them against his pretty pink skirt to hide it.
Next, Aunt Patricia turned to Edward’s mother, “now we just have to decide on a time to visit.”
Miss Vale spoke again, “Oh, unfortunately I’m afraid you will have no choice but to go this weekend if you want to catch it.” She explained, “the exhibition ends Sunday.”
Aunt Patricia’s face lit up at once, as though the deadline made the whole thing even more exciting. “Then Saturday it shall be,” she declared. “We really can’t miss it, Marian. It would be a shame for Edward to never see more of the gowns that inspired our great-grandmother’s age.” She turned to Edward with bright, affectionate authority. “we’ll make a day of it!”
"Saturday," Edward repeated in his mind. Deflated, he understood his weekend would bring no break from his darling dresses.
-
To ace and RibbonBound,
Thank you for your nice comments. I appreciate the encouragement and I hope you are enjoying the additions to the story.
FYI I added an image of Edward in his darling blue knee suit and his doting aunt to the first chapter of his story :)
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Getting Ready for Saturday
On the car ride home, Edward tried one last objection. “Aunty Patricia,” he began from the back seat, choosing each word carefully, “Do I have to wear… my dress on Saturday? Couldn’t I just wear something more… ordinary to the museum?”
Aunt Patricia glanced at him in the rearview mirror, clearly amused. “Ordinary?” she repeated. “My dear,” she said with a chuckle, “we are going into the city to attend a cultural exhibition, not running errands at the corner shop. And the goal is to help you develop that sense of ‘feminine stillness’ and appreciation for the fashion so important to your portrait!” She warmed to the subject almost immediately. “A well-mannered child must learn how to conduct himself properly in public places, and that of course means dressing appropriately for the occasion.”
Edward sank back against the seat, feeling the weekend closing around him. The museum had already seemed endless in his imagination, but now it seemed to stretch even longer. Edward stewed for the rest of Thursday and all day Friday at school. Normally, he would be eager for the freedom of the weekend, but instead he only dreaded Saturday morning and the looming trip to the city.
After school on Friday, his mother scrubbed him clean at home as if he were headed to a portrait sitting right then! She explained it was so they wouldn’t have to do so much to get ready when Aunt Patricia arrived on Saturday morning. His aunt had insisted they get an early start, and she would come to collect them first thing. His mother even washed and conditioned his hair, and then as he sat with a towel wrapping his damp hair, she took extra time to clip and file his nails for a pretty manicure.
When Edward awoke Saturday morning, he immediately noticed the fresh coat of pale pink polish and shiny clear topcoat his dainty nails now sported. He sighed deeply and pulled the cover back over his head. He didn’t want to get up. He of course was gloomily resigned to wearing his pretty pink dress again today to the museum for all the world to see. He was surprised when he heard Aunt Patricia arrive even earlier downstairs than he had expected. He hadn't even brushed his teeth!
Before he knew it, Aunt Patricia and his mother entered his room to help him get ready. He was still in his pajamas, and he couldn't help but notice that his aunt seemed to cast a disapproving look at them, as if she could barely resist tossing them out. Edward silently winced as he saw she was carrying a gray garment bag, and his mother was holding a white box tied with a yellow bow.
“You made such a fuss the other day about wearing your lovely pink dress, so I decided we could switch things up today!” She smiled as she said, "you won't have to wear it after all!"
Edward's eyes were now locked on the garment bag, and his stomach tightened as his aunt unzipped it.
“A small improvement,” she announced as she held up the garment. Edward was chagrined to see a lovely yellow party dress, softer and much more elaborate than the pink one, with a lacy collar, puffed sleeves, a satin sash, and tiny embroidered flowers scattered near the hem. His mother took the lid off the box as well to reveal a very lacy pair of yellow satin panties, some very frilly white ankle socks and a fancy yellow hairbow trimmed in lace scalloping. “For variety,” Aunt Patricia explained, “now you won’t have to wear the same outfit every time!”
Edward stared at it forlornly. “Wasn’t one dress enough, Aunt Patricia?” he asked softly.
Even this mild hint of protest seemed to perturb his Aunt Patricia, and her nose crinkled slightly. “Once I started looking, this one was simply too darling to pass up, sweetie,” she replied simply, “and you were the one who didn’t want to wear your pink one today.” Then, with an aura of authority she said brightly, “Let’s get it on you.”
So he wore it all: the yellow dress, the lacy white anklets, and the yellow panties along with his black patent Mary Janes. It was all meant to put him in the right mindset, and it was all making him feel more visible than ever. Once buttoned into his dress, he sat meekly while his mother brushed his soft, conditioned hair and then clamped his new satin yellow hairbow sweetly in place. She protected the hairbow with her hand and spritzed him with some sweet-smelling hairspray. Again, his corset hugged his torso snugly beneath the charming yellow frock, and he couldn’t help but notice that these panties tickled even more than his other pair. Aunt Patricia supervised these final touches with obvious approval.
Aunt Patricia gushed as Edward looked at himself in the mirror, and for a moment he could hardly look away. The yellow dress was brighter than the pink one had been, softer in color but somehow more visible. Its lacy collar framed his neck with a delicate whiteness, while the puffed sleeves rounded sweetly over his narrow shoulders and made his arms look smaller. The satin sash drew in at his waist before tying behind him in a fussy bow against his back. The skirt stood out prettily, brushing his knees in a light, swishing circle whenever he shifted his weight. The tiny flowers near the hem seemed almost childish. Edward blushed as he saw how incredibly girlish the lacy anklets, polished black Mary Janes, pink nail polish and dainty hairbow all looked together. From head to toe, he looked and felt so delicate and precious.
Aunt Patricia seemed practically delighted. She looked him over with open satisfaction, her eyes lingering on all his outfit’s charming details. “So lovely, dear!” she exclaimed. “Oh, Marian, just look at him. That color is perfect against his hair, and those sleeves are darling. I knew yellow would suit him, but this is even better than I expected.” Then she asked her nephew, with a smile that expected gratitude, “How do you like your new dress, sweetie?”
Edward paused for a second, and he felt his cheeks begin to warm. The dress felt light but inescapable, as if every ruffle had to find the most girlish way to settle. He could feel the lace trim of his satin panties against his thighs and the snug Mary Janes on his feet. Wearing the socks instead of his tights made him very conscious of the air against his legs. The scent of the hairspray lingered.
His mother, seeing him flounder, said softly, “What do we say, honey?”
Edward gulped, his cheeks growing pink as he lowered his eyes to the glossy toes of his shoes. “Thank you, Aunty,” he said shyly. “My… my new dress is very pretty.” Saying it aloud made the truth of it more humiliating: “MY new dress.” The worst part was how naturally the mirror seemed to agree with him. The white socks made his exposed legs look slender, and the puffed sleeves gave him a delicate, almost doll-like silhouette.
Aunt Patricia beamed as she heard the answer she wanted. “You’re quite welcome, my dear,” she said, resting her hand gently on his shoulder, “I’m so pleased that we have you appropriately attired now for our excursion.” She stepped back again and tilted her head to admire the sight of him. “Honestly, Marian, he looks like a little springtime flower, doesn’t he? So fresh and polished.”
Her glee made Edward feel even more sissyish, because it was not merely the dress she appreciated. He knew he was rapidly becoming the sort of child Aunt Patricia wanted to display.
“Turn once for Aunty, darling,” she said in a sweet but firm tone, and Edward obeyed with a miserable little pivot, the skirt flaring around his knees. Aunt Patricia gave a pleased sigh. “Absolutely adorable.”
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Yay, pictures ... isn't he pretty. Now all he needs is a little girlfriend to keep him company ;-) and to co-ordinate frocks!
Keep up the good work Sis.
Ace
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Loving the story.
Will they notice he is getting excited?
What will they do about it?
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A Stop at the Coffee Shop
Soon, they were all in Aunt Patricia’s car for the ride to the city. After about twenty minutes, Aunt Patricia decided they should stop along the way for a light breakfast. She parked her sedan in front of a tidy little coffee shop with striped awnings and pots of red geraniums beside the door. When Edward reluctantly followed his mother and aunt inside, a little gust of fragrant air met him. The shop smelled of fresh coffee, toasted bread and the faint cinnamon sweetness of pastries and muffins. Cups clinked against saucers, and a low murmur of adult voices filled the room beneath the soft scrape of chair legs on the tile.
Edward was painfully aware of the way he was dressed, and he was conscious of the neat click of his Mary Janes on the polished floor. His aunt ordered breakfast sandwiches for all of them, and they sat at a cheery table near the window to eat. He perched carefully on the chair, feeling as if everyone was looking at him. He was clearly dressed more fancily than anyone else in the shop this Saturday morning.
They had only taken a few bites when the bell over the door jingled, and a small crowd came in from the sidewalk. Five boys about Edward’s age entered, laughing and talking over one another, all of them wearing baseball uniforms with dark caps, and their names stitched across the back of their jerseys. A few parents followed, herding them along for a quick breakfast. From the lively conversation, it was obvious they were on their way to a baseball game.
“I’m telling you, Coach said I might get to pitch today!” one boy insisted.
“Only if you stop walking people,” another shot back, and the others laughed.
Edward froze with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. The contrast between him and these boys struck him so sharply that he nearly forgot to chew. He was suddenly very aware of his polished nails glinting pink as he held his food. These boys looked so carefree. Their uniforms were clean now but would undoubtably get scuffed and dirty later. Edward, by comparison, sat in a charming yellow frock with his frilly socks ruffling above shiny black shoes. His corset pressed steadily around his middle, and the bright shop made him feel so displayed. “Mother,” he whispered, barely moving his lips, “do we have to stay here?”
His mother glanced toward the other boys, then gave him a gentle look. “Just eat your breakfast, sweetheart,” she said quietly, “no one is going to bother you.” After a pause, she lowered her voice further and added, “Don’t stare at them like that, dear.” She added, “keep your napkin in your lap, and you’ll be fine.”
Aunt Patricia smiled over the rim of her coffee cup, and she spoke in a normal tone of voice, “Oh Edward, you darling little buttercup, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You look perfectly sweet!”
Edward’s breakfast sandwich suddenly seemed much harder to eat neatly. He lowered it at once, afraid of dropping crumbs. Why did she have to call his name so loudly like that?!
Soon, the boys noticed him, of course. How could they not? One of them glanced over, his eyes moving from Edward’s yellow bow to the puffed sleeves and down to the polished black Mary Janes beneath the table.
Another boy had evidently heard his aunt say his name. He leaned close to his friend and whispered, “Is that a boy?”
His friend whispered back, “It can’t be!” But he didn’t look convinced, “Did she say ‘Edward’?
The two of them smothered quick grins as they tried not to laugh before one of their mothers quickly scolded them. “Leave her alone,” the mother murmured, then, after a brief uncertain glance at Edward, corrected herself awkwardly, “I mean—leave that child alone and behave yourselves!”
Mrs. Gray’s face tightened slightly, but she forced a polite little smile across the room. “Ignore them, sweetheart… those... 'baseball boys' don’t understand how brave you are being.”
No one said anything directly to Edward, but that almost made it worse. Their silence felt full of questions, and every clink of a cup seemed suddenly louder. He looked down at his lap, cheeks burning, while Aunt Patricia dabbed delicately at the corner of her mouth and seemed not to notice—or perhaps noticed very well and was perfectly fine with it.
“Please, Aunty,” Edward mumbled, “can we go soon?”
Aunt Patricia set down her cup with serene patience. “After you finish, dear. A young lady does not bolt from a room merely because she has been noticed, and you need your breakfast.”
Chastened, Edward listened enviously to the boys’ excited talk of the game ahead while his own day stretched before him. Quiet museum galleries and lace-trimmed exhibits loomed in his future. For some reason, his mother's stilted description of them as "baseball boys" lodged itself in his brain.
When they finally finished eating, Aunt Patricia gathered her handbag, but she seemed to take her time doing it. “There now,” she said at last. “Off we go. We mustn’t waste any more of the morning.”
Edward stood carefully, smoothing the front of his yellow dress and trying not to look toward the "baseball boys." Unfortunately, their crowded table stood directly between him and the door. There was no other way out.
He followed his mother and aunt toward the narrow space between the tables. The boys' table was a bright, disorderly island of baseball caps, crumpled napkins, orange juice cartons and excited voices. One of the "baseball boys" scooted his chair to the side so Edward, his mother and his aunt could get through. As Edward passed, their raucous table went noticeably quiet. Edward could feel their eyes on him and he blushed again.
“Good luck in your sporting match today,” Edward’s mother said politely as they squeezed past. The awkwardness of her wording was obvious, and it only seemed to reinforce how little their worlds had in common. Clearly, she knew little about sports.
Aunt Patricia, realizing Edward was almost shrinking beside her, added in a clear voice directed at him, “Come along, my dear… we have a busy day ahead at the museum!”
Then, one of the fathers smiled a bit clumsily, but still his response was pleasant and kind, “Thanks, and you… ladies have a great day too.” Albeit with some eye-rolling, the boys in the baseball uniforms murmured a series of “Thanks” and “Thank you’s” as well when he gave them a stern look.
Edward kept his gaze lowered meekly, and Aunt Patricia’s hand settled lightly between his shoulders, guiding him forward. Her gentle but resolute touch reminded him that he was unmistakably under her supervision and exactly where he would be for the day. By the time the coffee shop door closed behind them, Edward’s cheeks were hot, his throat felt tight, and the lively voices of the "baseball boys" had already risen again, as though he had passed through their world just long enough to be reminded that it was not his.
The rest of the drive into the city passed in a heavy quiet for Edward. Aunt Patricia chatted cheerfully with his mother about traffic, the portrait and of course the museum. Edward, however, kept seeing the baseball boys’ crowded table in his mind as he recalled how their energetic laughter and chatter had started back up the instant he passed. The scene replayed itself in his mind: the boys in their team caps with elbows and crumbs on the table, the sudden hush as he came near, and then the burst of voices returning behind him as the door swung shut. He relived the way one of the "baseball boys" had quickly averted his eyes and stifled a giggle as Edward passed. The memory made his cheeks warm all over again.
-
A Charming Visit to the Museum
By the time they reached the museum, Edward felt as though he had entered a world completely separate from his normal life. A couple of banners fluttering outside announced the exhibition they were here to see. Edward felt his stomach sink as they walked up the stone steps to the entrance. He felt so visible arriving in his yellow party dress as he minced behind his aunt and mother. The sun caught the satin sash at his waist, the little embroidered flowers near the hem, and the bright yellow bow in his hair. Seeing those boys in their baseball uniforms at the coffee shop had only made him feel even more formal and sissyish than before, and he cringed to be dressed this way in public.
Aunt Patricia took charge the moment they entered the museum, consulting the map to head straight to the special exhibition rooms. Edward’s eyes drifted toward signs for the military history wing and a sunlit corridor that seemed to lead to a sculpture garden, but his aunt drew them briskly past both. “Those might be very interesting another day,” she said as she bypassed them, “but this exhibition will literally be gone tomorrow, so will spend our time there.”
Inside, the exhibit drew them at once into a suite of softly lit rooms where mannequins stood in careful rows like silent guests at an old-fashioned ball. There were walking dresses in dove gray and moss green, evening gowns with pearl-trimmed bodices, striped silk day dresses with tiny waists, velvet capes, lace collars, embroidered gloves, feathered hats, and slippers so small and delicate Edward could hardly believe anyone had once crossed real streets in them. Aunt Patricia was enchanted. She began moving with Edward in tow from case to case with shining eyes, reading the labels aloud and murmuring over the workmanship. “Look at the hand stitching, sweetie,” she breathed. “And that pleating! Imagine the patience. Bespoke, every inch of it.”
Edward followed exactly as he had known he would, dragged along from one display to the next while Aunt Patricia marveled at all the dresses and styles. The exhibit was somewhat crowded, and he soon noticed something that made his cheeks grow warmer. Nearly everyone there was female. Ladies stood in careful clusters, pointing at details through the glass. Mothers guided daughters from mannequin to mannequin. A pair of teenage girls studied a velvet bustle gown and whispered. Edward saw no boys at all. Even the few men present were museum guards or attendants standing discreetly near doorways.
Of course, his darling yellow dress made him stand out. More than once, a woman smiled at him as they passed. “What an adorable dress,” one older lady said warmly, nodding toward him with a smile.
A girl of perhaps nine stared openly at Edward in his frock before telling her mother, “Her dress is as pretty as the ones in the cases.”
Another visitor leaned down and said, “You look like you belong in the exhibit yourself, dear.”
Each comment seemed kindly meant, but Edward felt them land with painful force. They made him feel as though the dress had grown brighter and wider around him. He was so conscious of his daintily puffed sleeves, shiny polished nails, frilly anklets and snug corset. The ladies were trying to be pleasant, but it just reinforced how much he looked the part of a pretty little girl. He felt an unwanted stirring in his panties, and he felt cool air in the museum on his bare legs. His glossy Mary Janes clicked softly on the marble floor with each step.
Of course Aunt Patricia made sure he showed his gratitude to every compliment, and Edward’s face burned as he murmured thanks each time, his voice small and careful.
Aunt Patricia accepted the comments as if they confirmed her best judgment “Doesn’t he look sweet?” she would say, gently but unmistakably emphasizing the word. “My nephew is helping with a very special portrait project.”
This revelation always produced a surprised pause, followed by widened smiles and fresh compliments that made Edward feel even more exposed. It was bad enough when strangers complimented the dress. It was worse when Aunt Patricia made sure they knew the blushing child was in fact her nephew.
In the second gallery, a docent in a navy jacket approached them after noticing Aunt Patricia lingering before a breathtaking cream silk gown trimmed with tiny glass beads. Aunt Patricia needed no encouragement. Within moments, she was explaining the whole situation of the old photograph, Edward’s resemblance to his great-great grandmother, and the portrait. Edward stood meekly beside her, wishing the polished floor would open beneath his shiny Mary Janes.
The docent listened with professional interest, then turned to him with a kind smile. “That is quite an undertaking,” she said, “and may I say, you look very lovely today.”
Edward’s blush deepened until he could feel it in his ears. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Aunt Patricia beamed as though the docent had praised them both.
Edward stood very still, terribly aware that the docent, his mother, Aunt Patricia, and several nearby visitors were all looking at him. A girl standing with her mother whispered, not quietly enough, “Is that really a boy?”
Her mother hushed her at once but then smiled apologetically at Edward. “It is a very cute dress,” she said gently, as if hoping to repair the moment.
Another woman added, “The color suits you beautifully.” The words made Edward’s stomach flutter with shame and confusion. He wanted no one to notice him, yet every polite smile seemed to indicate that they had noticed everything.
As they continued through the stuffy rooms, Aunt Patricia became more animated. She compared the dresses to the gown Edward was wearing for the portrait sittings. She admired the narrow waists, full petticoats and ornate collars. Edward listened because he had no real choice, though he found himself recognizing details despite himself. A lilac afternoon dress reminded him of “his” portrait gown. A yellow silk visiting dress, displayed near the end of the gallery, drew Aunt Patricia to a stop. “There now,” she said delightedly. “Look, Edward, this one has a delicate floral motif just like yours! It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
Edward glanced at the mannequin and then down at himself. The museum dress was older, and grander, but the echo of design was obvious enough. Nearby, two girls about his age looked at him and giggled behind their hands. “Yes, Aunty,” the befrocked teen muttered.
In the final room, the exhibit included a set of interactive displays. Three large glass-fronted installations stood along one wall, each built around an elaborate dress with a camera and mirror arrangement positioned before it. A museum sign explained that visitors could stand on the marked spot, look into the mirror, and align their reflection with the gown, as if they were wearing it themselves. The first display held a little girl’s pink dress with tiny pleats, a beribboned sash, and lace cuffs no wider than Edward’s thumbs. The second showed a white Victorian bridesmaid’s dress with a wreath of silk flowers suspended above it. The third was a pale blue evening gown with a dramatic hourglass shape, wide shoulders emphasized by puffed sleeves, a full skirt, and a waist so slim Edward could scarcely believe the silhouette was real. The mirror softened the edges of the dresses so that each visitor seemed, for a moment, to step into the past.
Aunt Patricia was delighted. She insisted they try the displays, though Edward would have been happy to view them from a distance. An attendant explained that the camera could take a souvenir photograph and print it at a small kiosk nearby. Edward stood stiffly on each marked spot while the mirror lined him up first with the pink child’s frock, then the bridesmaid dress, and finally the pale blue evening gown. He found the effect disorienting. The reflection was obviously an illusion, yet the sight still made his cheeks warm.
It seemed Aunt Patricia was seeing not a museum novelty, but further proof of what she already wanted to believe about him. When the three little printed photographs slid out of the kiosk, Aunt Patricia clasped them as if they were treasures. The computer had added in the background of a crowded Victorian street behind him in the photos, and the software had edited his head onto the gowns in the scene. “Oh, these are perfect,” she said. “A sweet little memento of our educational afternoon.”
In the gift shop, there were custom souvenir pewter frames for sale for the photos with three small openings arranged beneath a scrollwork heading engraved with the museum’s name. Of course, Aunt Patricia bought one. “You can keep it in your room and remember today,” she smiled. To Edward’s dismay, his aunt also a rack of replica Victorian accessories. Among them was a yellow parasol with a carved handle, scalloped edging, and lace-like trim that almost exactly matched the shade of Edward’s dress. Aunt Patricia picked it up with a delighted gasp. “How could we possibly leave without this?” she said. Edward’s heart sank.
So, when they left the museum, Edward carried his yellow parasol folded against his shoulder, feeling even more conspicuous than when he had arrived. The afternoon sun shone on the museum steps, and Aunt Patricia immediately decided it was too perfect an opportunity to waste. “Just a few photographs, darling,” she said, guiding him to stand beside one of the stone columns. “Open your parasol. There! Chin up.” Edward obeyed, mortified as passersby watched him posing so girlishly in front of the museum in his yellow dress with a matching Victorian parasol. Aunt Patricia took several pictures while praising how sweet he looked.
Standing so daintily in his darling frock, Edward felt completely sissified as his Saturday was overtaken by smothering girlishness. With a pained feeling, he thought of how much fun those boys must be having at their baseball game.
“Just one or two more, darling,” his aunt instructed, “and smile for me!”
“Yes, Aunty,” he replied. He forced a weak smile.
-
masterfully told. A slow unfolding inexorably driven by the immersion into the pleasures of feminine dressing. A delight to read. Thank you.
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The Next Sitting
Edward’s third sitting came the following Tuesday, and Edward entered the studio with a bit of a worried frown. Aunt Patricia had insisted he wear his new yellow frock to show Miss Vale and Mrs. Bell. Today, however, he was back in his pristine white tights instead of his adorably frilly lace anklet socks. The cool, clingy fabric of his tights slid electrically over his legs as he walked.
As they again had passed the playground, several young boys were organizing a game of tag near the low wall. He paused at the sound of their voices, wanting to watch but fearing they would notice him. One of the boys kicked up a puff of dust as he ran, and Edward felt an almost physical longing for that dust. In his mind, dust meant motion and carelessness. He sighed as he realized how far away that kind of thing seemed to him now.
His new dress seemed to make the walk even worse. Even with the pink dress’s ruffled sleeves, it was still a bit simpler and more demure. In contrast, this yellow one was undeniably frilly and girlish. Its adorable puffed sleeves gathered sweetly around his slender arms, and its lace ruffles practically floated as he moved. The bright satin sash caught the light, and the little embroidered flowers near the hem seemed designed to attract attention from the people Edward most wished would not look.
Aunt Patricia walked on his other side, openly pleased. “That sunshine color suits you so nicely, dear,” she said. “It brings out the softness in your face and draws the eye nicely.”
Edward stared down at the path dejectedly. “I was hoping not to… not to draw a lot of attention… Aunt Patricia,” he stammered weakly. It was as close as he dared come to a complaint.
“No?” she asked, untroubled. “How charming! That’s even more reason to put you in it, darling… a delicate and shy flower should be admired.”
His mother’s guiding hand rested on his shoulder, and Edward kept walking, feeling as if the playground was calling him. Again, he imagined darting over just for a few moments to try the swings or the monkey bars.
“This way honey,” his mother said softly, as if she had heard the thought. She turned him a fraction toward the studio. “Your adorable dress shouldn’t be anywhere near that dusty field.” Edward hated how dainty that sounded.
Upstairs in the studio, Miss Vale noticed at once that Edward seemed quieter than usual. His yellow dress immediately drew everyone’s eye. Its bright color made him feel visible even before anyone spoke, and every rustle of his skirt seemed to announce that he had once again arrived.
“What a cheerful dress,” Miss Vale said gently, though her voice stayed professional.
Mrs. Bell gave his outfit a quick, practical appraisal. “Oh, how darling, my dear. Don’t you feel so lovely?”
Edward hesitated. The question seemed so awkward. Then, he gave a small nod and said shyly, “I suppose.”
Aunt Patricia smiled as if that settled everything. “He does look sweet, doesn’t he?”
Edward looked down at his shoes.
“Well, let’s get started, shall we?” Miss Vale said. “The sooner we prepare, the sooner you can settle into your pose.”
Edward followed Mrs. Bell toward the dressing area, trying to steady himself. He knew the routine now—the careful hair, the old gown, the still chair, the long minutes of being studied. But knowing it did not make it easier. The yellow dress was only the beginning of the afternoon, and already he felt tired of being looked at.
Once again, Edward went through the elaborate dressing ritual. He felt defeated as Mrs. Bell did his delicate makeup and made sure his curls were perfect. Soon, Miss Vale began to mix paint on her palette and seemed to pick up on his subdued demeanor.
Once he was securely encased in his great-great grandmother’s old Victorian dress and properly made up, Miss Vale spoke again. “Some days are more challenging than others, Master Edward,” she offered, “but we will press on together.”
For twenty minutes, Edward stared past Miss Vale’s shoulder at a crack in the plaster and felt every unfairness in the world gather inside him like steam. Why did portraits require the person in them to do so much work? Why did he have to look so delicate and girlish? Most importantly, why had his aunt pushed him so deliberately onto this feminine path? And why was he just accepting it? The shrieks of laughter and play from outside seemed particularly boisterous today.
Edward’s thoughts kept circling back to Aunt Patricia’s overbearing certainty. At first, he had tried to believe that all of this was for the portrait. It was strange and embarrassing, but it had a clear purpose and, he hoped, an end. Yet lately that hope had begun to feel less steady. Aunt Patricia treated his dresses as though they should be his normal wardrobe. She seemed to relish his curls and polished nails as though they were improvements rather than preparations. Edward tried to imagine where this all might lead, and the picture unsettled him. This portrait seemed to be spreading outward until it touched every part of his life. The excuse of the portrait had seemingly given her permission to stop hinting and go after an outcome she really intended.
-
The Ice Cream Shop
After the third sitting, Aunt Patricia took it upon herself to take them all out to an ice cream shop afterward as a reward for getting through what had seemed a difficult day. She wanted to end things on a more positive note. Aunt Patricia called it “restoration after artistic exertion,” which made Edward roll his eyes, though subtly, because he was again reluctant to object properly.
He bashfully followed his aunt into the little shop in his yellow party dress, tights and patent Mary Janes. The smell of vanilla and sugar cones floated in the air. He was acutely aware, however, of the stares of the customers as they wondered why a little girl was so fancily dressed on a Tuesday afternoon. His cheeks, still rosy from the studio makeup, turned a deeper shade of red. The ice cream shop made him self-conscious in a different way from the studio. In Miss Vale’s studio, everyone knew the reason for the dress, the ribbons, and the careful posture. In the shop, strangers saw only what was in front of them. Edward wondered whether the woman behind the counter knew he was a boy and whether the two children at the next table were whispering about him. If anyone looked twice, his face grew warm.
Aunt Patricia, noticing nothing or pretending not to, beamed, “Doesn’t he look darling after all that hard work? So neat and dainty, and still with those precious little curls dangling just so.”
Edward’s shoulders tightened. “Aunty,” he muttered, “please…”
“But you look so natural like this,” she replied cutting him off mid-sentence. She lowered her voice only slightly. “Anyone would think you had been dressing this way all your life.”
They got their ice cream and moved to a little table where Edward tried to disappear into the wallpaper. He sat carefully, keeping his knees together and holding the cone daintily away from his dress lest he drip on himself. His ever-present corset kept him in a demure and upright posture. He was very aware that he was the picture of effeminate sugar and spice.
He had just managed another careful lick of his vanilla when the bell over the shop door jingled again, and two teenage girls stepped inside laughing together. Edward recognized them at once from school, which made his stomach drop straight into his shiny Mary Janes. They were not in his grade but one year ahead. Lily and Hannah were popular eighth graders who already seemed older and more certain of themselves than anyone in his own class. His instinct was immediate and desperate. He lowered his head quickly and tried to turn his face toward the window, hoping against hope that they would not look at him too closely. He felt a sudden, unwelcome stirring in his panties.
Unfortunately, Aunt Patricia noticed him ducking and misunderstood the movement entirely. “Edward, darling,” she said in her clear, carrying voice, “sit up properly. You will drip ice cream on your pretty dress if you crouch like that.”
Both girls turned immediately. Lily’s eyes widened first, moving from the pink gloss still faintly bright on Edward’s mouth to the puffed sleeves of his yellow dress and down to the patent shoes visible beneath the table. Hannah stared for half a second longer, then clasped a hand over her mouth. “Wait a second… I know you! You’re Edward right?” she said, barely keeping her voice from squeaking, “you go to our school!”
The fact that they were a grade ahead only made it worse. Older girls had a way of knowing everyone’s business before anyone else did, and their opinions seemed to float through school faster than ordinary gossip. Edward had seen Lily and Hannah standing by the lockers with their friends, laughing in little clusters that made younger students give them room. Now those same girls were looking at him as if he had just become the most astonishing thing in the shop.
Edward turned scarlet “Uh… yeah,” he squeaked. Then, he murmured, “Hi,” so quietly it was almost not a word at all. He wished he could slide beneath the little marble table and vanish among the chair legs.
Aunt Patricia, however, brightened like a lamp being turned up. “Oh, do you girls know our Edward?” she asked with delighted interest. “How lovely! He is in the middle of a very important family portrait project. He resembles his great-great grandmother so closely that we are having him painted in her Victorian gown.”
Lily and Hannah looked at each other in bewilderment. Then, they began to giggle in the breathless, helpless way girls did when they were trying not to be rude and failing. “Oh... my... gosh,” Lily said, drawing out every word. “Edward, you look so cuuute!”
Hannah nodded vigorously, pitching her voice into a high, sugary trill. “Too adorable! Look at your little pretty little dress!” She pressed both hands to her cheeks as if overcome, “I can’t even handle it.” Hannah leaned closer admiring the details of his dress and hair. “Oh my gosh Lily his curls are perfect.” She widened her eyes theatrically and clasped her hands under her chin. “Edward, you are giving serious Victorian doll energy.”
Edward could not tell whether they meant to be cruel. Their voices were bright and teasing, but their giggles were not mean enough for him to protest. Every word made him feel more helpless. Eight graders loved to gossip. If they thought he looked adorable, then soon other people would know they thought so.
“Please,” he said in a low voice, cheeks bright red, “can you… not tell everyone at school about… all this?” The last two words came out very quietly.
Lily glanced at Hannah, and Hannah pressed her lips together as if trying not to smile. “But you look so pretty, Edward,” Lily said. Still, she seemed to take sympathy on him, “I suppose… we can keep it between us ‘girls’ if you want!” Her voice had that older-girl brightness that made the reassurance less reassuring.
Hannah gave a tiny giggle, “it’s not every day that a boy from school turns up looking like a Victorian cupcake.” Lily gave her a look, and Hannah added, “OK we won’t tell… everyone.” Something about the way she said “everyone” made Edward cringe.
Lily chimed in. “Okay? But you have to stand up and show us your outfit.” Lily said, still half laughing, as if Edward were something on display in a shop window. “I want to see the whole look.”
Edward stiffened so hard that his corset seemed to tighten around him, but he reluctantly stood up. “Thank you,” he said softly. He was beside himself. Every giggle seemed to flutter straight under his skin, and every exaggerated compliment made his yellow dress feel brighter, puffier, and more impossible to ignore. Still, he did as they asked and slowly turned around for them. He started growing a little lightheaded. The embarrassment of the moment was causing an excited heat under his tights and panties. He tried to take shallow breaths.
“Oh look, Lily, he’s even wearing nail polish!” Hannah exclaimed.
Then, before he could protest, Hannah had whipped out her phone and taken some pictures of him! The pressure in his panties only increased.
“Edward, you are just the cutest thing in your darling little tights and Mary Janes! I love it!” Lily agreed.
“What do we say, dear?” his aunt prodded sweetly.
Blushing even more, Edward stammered softly in an uneven voice, “Thank you.”
Aunt Patricia only smiled proudly, as if Lily and Hannah’s reaction were exactly the sort of public admiration she intended. “Thank you, girls,” she said. “He is precious, isn’t he?”
Edward stared down at his melting ice cream, cheeks blazing, while his classmates giggled again. Finally, they let him sit back down and moved to the counter to place their orders.
“See you at school!” Hannah said cheerily as they walked away.
This was his last week of school before the summer break, but there were still two days left. Mercifully, Thursday was the last day, but there was no way this would be forgotten. With a sinking feeling, Edward watched Lily and Hannah whispering together at the counter, with sudden little bursts of laughter that made him flinch. His cheeks heated again, and his stomach turned cold as he realized the portrait was no longer something hidden away in the studio. Now it had escaped into the world where his classmates lived, and he could not call it back.
The next morning, Edward was on pins and needles as he walked into school. He saw Lily and Hannah in the hallway right away, as if they had been waiting for him. Edward was thankfully in ordinary clothes now, with no dress, no hairbow, and no nail polish. Still, he blushed as soon as he saw them. They came right over to him.
“Aww you look so plain and ordinary today, sweetie,” Hannah teased quietly, “But don’t worry, we’re not going to tell… everybody.”
Lily said somewhat guiltily, “I thought you should know, however, that I did let it slip to Sophie. I didn’t mean to but she saw me looking at the picture on my phone. I made her promise not to tell anyone else.”
This latest revelation lodged in Edward’s stomach like a stone. He stood awkwardly in front of the girls with his hands nervously half tucked into his pockets. Sophie was in his own grade and usually sat three tables away from him at lunch. He stifled a groan.
Over the next two days, Edward tried to tell himself that nothing had changed. School was nearly over, and everyone was distracted by yearbooks, summer plans and their final restless classes. But once he was watching for it, he could not stop noticing the signs.
Later in the afternoon, Sophie caught him by his locker with a knowing smile. Sophie stepped just close enough that he could hear her without anyone else catching every word. “Lily showed me your pictures,” she said with a smile, and Edward’s face went hot at once.
Before he could retreat into embarrassment, Sophie lifted one hand in a small, calming gesture. “I’m not going to make fun of you, Edward.” Her voice was soft and interested, “I only told Rachel, because she saw me react and asked what was going on, but I made her promise not to say anything either.”
Edward stared at the locker vent, too flustered to answer.
Sophie gave him a small, encouraging smile. “For what it’s worth, you looked darling,” she added, then seemed to realize how easily that might sound like teasing. “This whole thing must feel strange.” She glanced down the hallway to be sure no one was listening too closely.
“Please don’t tell anyone else,” he pleaded. Sophie nodded, “I won’t,” she said. “Rachel won’t either. Your secret is safe with us.” Then, with a gentle grin, “But I’d love to see you dressed up in person sometime.”
Despite all the assurances, on Thursday morning two other eight grade girls suddenly went quiet when he walked near them. They dissolved into giggles as soon as he passed. He realized that Hannah’s promise not to tell “everyone” was obviously not the same as telling “no one.”
No one other than Sophie said anything to him directly, however. That was almost worse. If someone had teased him plainly, perhaps he could have denied it or pretended not to care. Edward wished desperately that Lily and Hannah had never walked into that ice cream shop.
-
I would have thought that Aunty Patricia would have included a pretty lemon coloured slightly padded training bra with his new dress.
If her goal is to eventually have him dressing fulltime a training bra would be the one thing that would be the most feminizing addition to his wardrobe.
Nearly all girls by the age of thirteen are wearing training bras weather they need them or not.
The first time he put on his training bra is when he would realise this is no short-term thing.
"But Aunty I don't need a bra."
"You silly boy, a training bra will help you feel more feminine and help you find your feminine stillness."
-
Edward's Last Day of School
For most of Edward’s classmates, the last bell of the school year rang with a jubilant finality. Almost at once the hallways became a river of students and voices chattering excitedly over one another. Lockers slammed open and shut. One of Edward’s classmates bragged that his family was leaving for the lake first thing in the morning. Another boy looked forward to his baseball camp. Even the teachers seemed a little lighter as they stood by their doors saying cheerful goodbyes while the students spilled past them into the warm afternoon.
Each happy exchange among his classmates seemed to strike him in a different place. Summer, to everyone else, sounded wide open and carefree. To Edward it almost felt like a door closing. The rest of his afternoon would be subject to Aunt Patricia’s schedule and the demands of the portrait. Very soon, he would be prettily dressed in one of his dresses and on the way to Miss Vale’s studio for another sitting. Another long afternoon of ringlets, velvet, and stillness was in front of him. Even more days being dressed, curled, powdered and posed awaited him after that. He sighed in resignation. Weeks of his summer had been stolen in advance.
And of course, there was also the matter that the girlish way he was spending his free time was no longer a close secret. That thought kept returning. Lily knew, Hannah knew, Sophie knew, Rachel knew, and those were only the names he knew for sure. There seemed to be another cluster of girls at neighboring lockers, friends at lunch tables and older students who knew what a sissy he was becoming. Edward could not stop imagining Hannah sharing the pictures of him in his darling yellow dress at the ice cream shop. Who else would find out? Who had already found out?
Edward moved through the crowd quietly, trying not to listen.
As soon as he was home, he found himself back in his darling pink Sunday school dress. Then, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, he was back in Miss Vale’s studio. This time, the swiftness of the transition unsettled him more than anything. Less than two hours earlier, the last bell of the school year had released everyone else into summer. He could still hear it in his mind. Edward had been carried in the opposite direction.
He was again dressed with careful efficiency in his corset, tights, silk chemise and fluffy petticoats. He quietly endured the skilled pull of Mrs. Bell’s comb through his hair and the return of his adorably glossy ringlets. The vaguely familiar layer of powder and lipstick made his face soft and demure once more as he was again meticulously fastened into the old lilac gown.
Miss Vale then guided him back onto the chair and made sure his layers of skirts and petticoats were arranged just so. She placed his hands and feet with that same gentle precision. Edward sat very still as the pose closed around him again. All Miss Vale’s little supports, stays and ties were put in place to ensure he held the most delicately girlish pose for his portrait. He knew now what each touch and adjustment meant, and he felt a fresh embarrassment in how quickly his body obeyed the routine. Jarringly, the happy sounds from the playground cascaded through the window as Edward was again enveloped in his elaborate Victorian finery.
The seconds stretched into small eternities as he sat demurely, encased in his intricately feminine wardrobe.
Aunt Patricia leaned toward his mother with a glowing smile. “He really is so lovely like this,” she murmured admiringly, “look how much more natural he looks today!”
Edward silently cringed as his Aunt Patricia practically fawned over his girlish appearance. He was unsettled to feel another disturbing warmth and excitement in his frilly panties!
Almost as if she sensed his reaction, his aunt’s smile widened with unmistakable satisfaction. “His hands rest so daintily, and it’s so sweet how those darling ringlets frame his face.” Aunt Patricia gave a pleased little sigh. “Practice has done wonders for our little darling. It is almost as if the gown remembers him. He looks as though he were born for this!”
His mother nodded softly but did not speak. Miss Vale continued to paint with gentle but confident strokes of her brush.
Later, with his fourth sitting mercifully behind him. Edward again sat with his mother and aunt in the little ice cream shop. Aunt Patricia had decided it would be nice to continue these “outings” after his sittings as a reward. All things considered, Edward would much rather have gone straight home than spend more time dressed like this with all the eyes on him. He had been reticent to say anything, however, and his mother had of course gone along. So here he sat again back in his pink Sunday dress. He worried that Lily or Hannah or one of the other classmates who seemed to know about him would walk in any moment.
It was while they ate that Aunt Patricia spoke again. “Edward, dear, now that school is out for the summer, we can make some more plans.” She continued, “Miss Vale told me that she thinks she will actually need about fifteen more sittings to get your portrait exactly right.”
Edward started involuntarily. “Fifteen more… Aunty?” he managed to spit out.
“Well yes, now that she’s had time to assess the work, I’ve asked her to make sure she captures all the rich details of your hard work, sweetie!”
Edward had been counting the days until summer looking forward to a reprieve. He had desperately wanted to reclaim at least a little free time away from dresses for himself. The last few days had been nerve-wracking. Now the number of sittings he would have to endure seemed to multiply of their own accord.
“Since it appears we have all this extra time,” Aunt Patricia announced happily, “I spoke to Mrs. Bell today and she agrees we should arrange some maintenance appointments for your hair while you are doing your sittings.” She continued, “consistency is everything!” She explained, “Miss Vale cannot be expected to paint the same ringlets if they change from one session to the next.”
With a sinking feeling, Edward sat silently as Aunt Patricia informed him and his mother that she had already set up a series of “maintenance” appointments at Mrs. Bell’s salon, “Belladonna,” on Saturday mornings until the portrait was done. “Your first one is this Saturday,” she announced.
Edward looked powerlessly at his mother, helplessly hoping she might object. Mrs. Gray only nodded uncertainly. “If Miss Vale thinks it will help the sittings, perhaps it is sensible.” Edward understood then that this portrait project had grown even more tentacles outside the studio.
“And since we have such an open schedule before your sittings now, Mrs. Bell offered as well that we could bring you to Belladonna for a brief appointment before each sitting to put your ringlets in.” Aunt Patricia smiled, “It’s right down the street, and she just thinks it will be faster and easier to do it in her salon instead of the studio. Of course, I agreed at once!”
“Patricia, won’t that be expensive?” Edward’s mother asked hesitantly.
“Don’t give it a second thought, Marian,” Aunt Patricia replied nonchalantly, “It was my idea, so of course I will see to it.”
Edward’s spirits plummeted. Now his Saturday mornings would be stolen too, and the added prospect of a hair salon visit before every sitting promised to draw things out even more. Adding this new regimen of hair care did not feel like dressing up for a single afternoon. A dress could be taken off. A little makeup could be washed away. But his hair was his hair, growing every day. Aunt Patricia now spoke of it as something to be preserved, trained and closely managed. The continuity of it all began to weigh on him, the idea that he was always being kept ready for this portrait’s increasing demands.
-
A Delightful Trip to Belladonna
Saturday morning arrived in a flash. The first visit to Belladonna was more taxing, in some ways, than the first portrait sitting. On Saturday morning, Aunt Patricia had arrived earlier than expected to drive them to the salon. To his chagrin, Edward learned that his hair appointments would require the same preparation as the sittings themselves. He had been wearing a normal pair of shorts and a striped polo shirt when she made her entrance.
“Why Marian, why isn’t Edward dressed yet?” she asked with a trace of disappointment.
His mother’s face tightened a bit, but she only said, “We didn’t expect you so early Patricia.” It came out rather feebly.
For a moment, Edward was confused. He was dressed. “What do you mean… Aunty?” he began to ask. But even as the words left his lips, he instinctively knew the answer. He realized that it had been useless to pretend otherwise.
“You can't wear that, sweetheart," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Of course, we'll get you into one of your pretty dresses for your hair appointments, darling,” Aunt Patricia almost giggled as she removed any doubt. Then her expression changed to amusement if he had said something humorous. “The salon is part of the process now, dear. We can’t separate the maintenance from the portrait.” With a more insistent tone she added, “it would be silly to show up for a girl’s hair appointment dressed as a boy, now wouldn’t it dear?”
Edward gulped. Then he caved almost immediately with a monotone voice, “of course Aunty… that would be… silly.”
“Never fear, Aunty is here!” she said cheerily. “I think that your adorable yellow frock would be perfect today. Let’s pair it with those precious tights again!” She added, “That outfit looked so charming in the ice cream shop the other day with your little friends!”
Once Edward was dressed, they were off in Aunt Patricia’s fancy car. Belladonna was an elegant salon with gilt mirrors, glass shelves and soft salon chairs that turned gently beneath bright lights. At least in Miss Vale’s studio, everyone knew the purpose of his curls. At Belladonna, he was an object of new curiosity. Soon, Mrs. Bell led him to the back. He was sat down meekly in a salon chair amongst all the ladies getting their hair done in his frilly yellow dress, pristine white tights and shiny Mary Janes.
Once he was perched on the chair, Mrs. Bell lifted Edward’s hair between two fingers and let it fall against his cheek. Propped on the counter, Edward saw the photograph of his great-great grandmother was displayed for reference.
“We just need to ensure your ringlets will continue to match the photograph,” Mrs. Bell observed, “and young hair grows fast.” She added, “Miss Vale depends on consistency.” She went on, “We are just going to refine and shape the ends and maintain the overall length.” Edward stared at his reflection in the mirror, where his hair fell around his face in soft, betraying waves.
Mrs. Bell began with a towel tucked carefully around his collar to protect his dress. A bright pink salon cape was snapped around his neck so that only his white tights and Mary Janes were visible beneath it. Then Mrs. Bell leaned the chair back and began washing his hair with lavender shampoo, working the suds through the longer strands near his temples with small circular motions. Next, she rinsed it until it fell smooth and heavy into the sink. Then she patiently worked in conditioner and rinsed again. She blotted his hair gently with a towel rather than rubbing. Finally, she sat him back up to face the mirror. She trimmed away the tiniest uneven tips and sectioned his still damp hair into neat rows with the point of a comb. She then wound it in soft rollers before drying it all gently with slightly warm air. She set several “practice” ringlets just to make sure they would behave correctly for the sittings.
As his hair was lovingly washed, conditioned and then carefully trimmed, Edward felt completely self-conscious and also a bit suffocated. The salon was unmistakably feminine in a way the studio was not. Belladonna was softer, brighter, and much more public. All around him, women discussed shades of nail polish, elegant hairstyles and fancy hair products. The sweet chemical smell of setting lotion and other scents filled the air. Sitting there in his yellow party dress under the pink cape made Edward feel as if he had crossed into a new reality. He wondered enviously how the other boys in his class were spending the first Saturday of their summer vacation. He was sure none of them were doing anything like this!
And of course, many of the ladies made admiring comments about the precious little girl getting her hair done. They doted over his dress, and they were charmed when he blushed sweetly at the attention.
Aunt Patricia and his mother watched it all from a comfortable sofa on the opposite wall. Embarrassingly, Aunt Patricia seemed to have no qualms in occasionally referring to him as “Edward” or “my nephew” a bit too loudly. More than one lady was surprised to find they were complimenting a sweetly attired boy! Of course, this only led to looks of bemusement and more conversation which just made Edward want to crawl into a hole.
As Mrs. Bell finished up with him, Edward noticed a difference in his hair. It seemed to lay smoother and shine more brightly with a polished hint of curl at the ends. She unsnapped and removed his salon cape, and he watched glumly in the large mirror as she took pains to delicately arrange his pretty yellow hairbow in his freshly styled hair.
Still watching himself in the mirror, Edward lifted one tentative hand to tentatively brush his curls with his fingers. They caught the salon light in glossy little curves, softer and brighter than he remembered his hair ever looking. “It looks so much softer,” he murmured before he could stop himself, his cheeks warming at the admission. After another uneasy glance at his image, he added in a smaller voice, “And… shinier too.” The words seemed to embarrass him as soon as they left his mouth.
Aunt Patricia, meanwhile, practically cooed over his shiny locks. “Oh, Edward, look at you!” she exclaimed. “How darling, sweetheart. See how your curls catch the light now? It is so much more refined and polished.” She gushed, “it brings out the sweet delicacy in your features.” With a smile, she added, “This can only help in making your portrait come alive.”
Edward had never given a lot of thought to his hair, but now it looked deliberately pretty and unmistakably girlish. It was glossy, curled, and fussed over in a way that seemed to invite attention. Embarrassment prickled at him as he realized just how much like a sweet little girl he now looked. He felt a pulse under his pretty dress as a small, traitorous flicker of admiration ran through his thoughts. His curls were indeed pretty. He was… pretty. He hated to admit it even to himself. If his hair could be trained so easily with a little shampoo, conditioner, trimming and curling to look this different and girlish, what else about him would be trained and shaped in this process?
-
Another Surprise Encounter
Mrs. Bell pursed her lips for a moment as she appraised her work, and Edward felt the small pause lengthen. “Hold still for me, dear. Your hair is lovely, but it I think we need to add a finishing touch.” Edward blinked, unsure whether that was a criticism or not. Mrs. Bell reached onto the counter before he could ask. “Chin up,” she directed. Then she began dusting the lightest touch of powder across his face. After that, she brushed a faint bloom of blush onto his cheeks until they held a soft rosy tint. It was less makeup than she used in the portrait studio, but it felt significant because it was happening here in the public brightness of Belladonna. It seemed the portrait continued to follow him out of the studio. Finally, she touched his lips with the same pale pink shade she favored for the sittings, leaving only a delicate suggestion of color.
Edward sat very still, afraid that any objection would only draw more attention. Mrs. Bell stepped back, studied him once more, and smiled with satisfaction. “There,” she announced. “That looks perfect with a touch of color… It just didn’t look quite right before.”
Finally, Mrs. Bell was done. “There you are, sweetie,” she said with a bright smile, “all polished and pretty!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bell,” Edward replied softly. As the teen rose from the chair, he felt a little lightheaded from the overwhelming feeling that he was being being transformed. He shyly followed his aunt and mother back into the lobby of Belladonna. Aunt Patricia settled the bill, and Mrs. Bell expressed her thanks at what must have been a generous tip. As they prepared to depart, Edward was acutely aware of the new bounce of his softly falling hair. The lavender scent of the shampoo and conditioner lingered, and he felt as if even a slight breeze would make it flutter in a newly girlish way. At that moment, the salon door chimed and more customers entered the salon. Edward turned just in time to see Lily arriving with her mother. Apparently, they were here for their own appointments!
Lily stopped short in shock, recognition brightening her face as her eyes went at once to Edward’s smooth, shining hair. “Oh Edward!” she said, sounding delighted, “What a surprise to see you here… and in your adorable dress again!” Then she giggled and said, “Wow, your hair looks really nice. I had no idea you were… going so all out for your new look!” She added, “that is a really cute hair bow!”
The mention of his hair bow made Edward’s ears burn even more for some reason. He had almost managed not to think about it, but now he could feel it there again, lacy and secure among the curls, a dainty little finish that made his whole hairstyle seem even more openly pretty. Edward felt Lily’s compliments land strangely as he was exposed as this way in front of his schoolmate. And now Lily’s mother was there too. Edward turned beet-red and became painfully aware of everything at once. He shifted his feet nervously in his glossy Mary Janes, overly conscious of his dress’s careful fit and the little shift of its skirt against his knees. His stomach tightened. A hot, prickling flush crept up his neck, and his hands gave a small, helpless twitch at his sides. He wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to go.
Lily inspected him with open curiosity, taking in the yellow dress with its charming bubble sleeves and little flowers near the hem, the hair bow, the curled and shining hair, and the careful little details that made the whole outfit seem complete. “Oh,” she said with a gentle tease, brightening again, “you have your nail polish on again too… I was a little disappointed you took it off for school!”
Edward’s fingers jerked almost before he could think. He curled them inward, tucking his polished nails against his palms, then shifted his hands behind the folds of his yellow skirt as if the fabric might somehow hide them. But the quick movement only made him feel more exposed. Lily smiled as if his bashfulness only made the look more charming. “It really does all go together,” she said sweetly. “The dress and tights, your hair, the hairbow, your nails, those darling shoes. Oh my gosh you're even wearing makeup! You look… very sweet, Edward.”
Edward’s cheeks warmed more, and he lowered his gaze toward his Mary Janes. “Thank you, Lily,” he managed softly. He felt keenly aware of the slick pink lipstick coating his lips.
“Mrs. Bell just finished up on him,” Aunt Patricia couldn’t help but add, “she did a wonderful job!”
Edward blushed more deeply, and Lily tugged lightly at her mother’s sleeve. With a quick little smile, she said, “Mom, this is the boy I told you about… the whole portrait thing?” Then with a grin, she added, “although he doesn’t look much like a boy today! That’s the same dress he was wearing in the ice cream shop!”
Lily’s mother looked from Edward’s flushed face to his neatly arranged curls and demure outfit, then smiled kindly although with some surprise she could not quite conceal. “Oh yes. Well,” she said pleasantly, “it’s very nice to meet you, Edward. Lily told me all about your interesting project, and I will say you look very carefully put together today. Your curls are lovely.”
Edward’s mother gave him a gentle verbal nudge. “Edward,” she said softly, smiling politely at Lily’s mother, “what do we say, honey?”
Edward swallowed, aware of Aunt Patricia standing just behind him. “Thank you, ma’am,” he replied in a small but careful voice.
Lily’s mother softened her smile, and she gave Edward an encouraging nod. “You’re very welcome,” she said. “I must say you seem very… dedicated to this unusual pursuit.”
Lily looked him over again, and her curiosity softened into a teasing smile. “So I have to ask… is this your only dress?” she asked. “Or do you have others too?”
Edward’s blush deepened, and he glanced down at the glossy toes of his Mary Janes before answering. “I… I have a pink one too,” he admitted reluctantly.
Lily’s eyes lit up instantly. “Oh? I bet it’s adorable too,” she said gently, “I’d love to see that one sometime!”
Edward’s stomach fluttered at that. Somehow Lily’s interest felt even more dangerous than her teasing. He felt a hot blush spread up from his collar. The thought made him lower his gaze again. He gave a small, nervous shrug as if that might make the whole subject go away.
Aunt Patricia, on the other hand, practically beamed, her face shining with satisfaction as she stood just behind Edward and looked him over with unmistakable pride. She seemed almost unable to keep quiet, her smile growing each time Lily or her mother noticed another detail. “I’m sure that could be arranged couldn’t it, Edward?”
There was an uncomfortable silence, and Edward realized that they were all waiting for him to speak. “Uh yes… Aunty… sometime, maybe,” he stammered weakly.
“His look is coming along beautifully” she said, lightly resting a fond hand on his shoulder. “For the portrait… of course,” she added as a hasty, amused afterthought.
Edward stood between Lily’s delighted smile and Aunt Patricia’s glowing pride feeling thoroughly flustered, as if both of them were seeing right through him. Every compliment tilted him further off-balance. He was embarrassed by his dress, his dainty curls and his shiny nail polish, but he could not quite deny the uncomfortable truth that all of it suited him more than he wished it did. He knew how pretty he looked. That was what made the moment so confusing.
In the moment, he cringed to think that despite everything that had happened so far, this felt like only the beginning. The thought struck him with a sinking weight that seemed to pull the air out of his chest. There were still many portrait sittings ahead of him. There were more careful afternoons where he would have to sit perfectly while Miss Vale smoothed his dress, adjusted his curls and positioned his hands. There would be more visits to Belladonna with more trimming, curling, brushing and styling.
He sighed softly.
A few minutes later, having said an awkward goodbye to Lily and her mother, they were walking back to Aunt Patricia’s car. “You know,” Aunt Patricia said with thoughtfully, “your little friend Lily made me think that it’s a pity you only have the two dresses to choose from.” She continued, “they need to be cleaned on a regular basis, and you should have more options. I think your wardrobe ought to rise to the occasion.”
Edward nearly froze as she spoke. “My wardrobe, Aunt… Aunty Patricia?” Over the last week, his aunt had begun encouraging him to use the more childish term “Aunty” as opposed to the slightly more grown up “Aunt” when he spoke to her. If he called her “Aunt Patricia,” there was always a flash of disappointment in her eyes. He kept trying not to rock the boat.
“Just a few items, sweetheart,” Aunt Patricia said brightly. “Another pretty dress or two, perhaps. An extra pair of shoes for variety. Some nice things suitable for your sitting days and the salon. Perhaps some different things for some more outings like the museum now that school is out. We could go shopping together.”
“Aunty Patricia,” Edward began, “I don’t think I really...”
She interrupted him again, “oh don’t be silly, darling,” she said brightly, “your Aunty will be more than happy to get you some more delightful things.”
Edward grimaced, and Mrs. Gray gave her sister a pleading look. By his mother’s standards, this was an almost shocking display of disagreement.
Aunt Patricia clearly noticed, but she only smiled as if this resistance were merely a charming preliminary stage. She replied with an amused grin to her sister, “you certainly can’t argue that he should have some extra changes of undergarments at the very least… for hygiene if nothing else!”
Edward’s mother was silent.
Aunt Patricia continued almost imperiously, “well, we shall see.”
Edward hoped very much that they would not. All the way home, and for hours afterward, the word “wardrobe” would come to trouble him more than he wanted.
-
Lunch with Aunt Patricia
Edward was relieved when they finally got back home. Hopefully, his aunt would leave, he could change and then he’d be done with dresses and curls at least for a while. Aunt Patricia paused beside the car, however, wearing a thoughtful look that had followed them out of Belladonna. The morning had grown bright and warm.
“You know, Marian,” she said, looking Edward over with immense satisfaction, “it would be a shame to just stay home after all that effort this morning. He looks so nice and presentable, and it is such a lovely day.”
Edward’s heart sank a little, because he sensed at once where this was going. He would be thrilled to just stay at home right now. His mother glanced toward him, perhaps ready to say that they’d already had a busy morning, but Aunt Patricia continued before any objection could materialize. “Why don’t we go out for a light lunch?” she suggested brightly. Then, with a pleased little smile, she added, “I’m in the mood for a nice fresh salad or a small sandwich. Besides, the fresh air would do us all good.”
It seemed to be decided. They spent a few minutes at home first to freshen up. Aunt Patricia couldn’t resist making some small adjustments to Edward’s appearance. Apparently, he had managed to get his hair bow crooked between the salon and the house, so she set it right. She also insisted on smoothing his skirt where a slight wrinkle seemed to have appeared, as if he had put it in there on purpose. Edward stood before the hall mirror and endured these little attentions with a weary resignation.
Within the hour, Aunt Patricia drove them to a bistro-style café tucked along a pedestrian lane in the new shopping center of town. The place had a European air with colorful awnings and a pleasant terrace outside. Inside, the walls were hung with small framed prints of Paris streets and seaside villages, but Aunt Patricia wanted to sit on the terrace.
The hostess smiled and led them to a table next to a row of planters with boxwoods and flowering plants. From there, they overlooked the busy pedestrian area. It was a wide brick walkway where shoppers drifted past with paper bags and people were window shopping. From where they sat, pedestrians were only a few feet away on the other side of the planters.
Edward sat carefully, aware of the faint rustle of his skirt as he lowered onto the chair. Edward would have preferred to eat inside. Here, on the terrace, he felt as if he were on constant display to everyone walking by. The waitress brought glasses of water beaded with condensation, and Aunt Patricia took her time reading through the menu.
After a while, the waitress returned. Before taking their orders, he paused as she took in Edward’s attire and said, “My goodness… what an adorable outfit!”
Edward’s face went hot at once. He knew exactly what she was seeing. He drew his ankles together under the chair and pressed his hands together as if it would make his dress and tights less obvious.
Marian gave the waitress a careful smile, polite and grateful at the edges, but it did not quite reach her eyes.
Aunt Patricia, by contrast, looked pleased enough to glow. “Thank you,” she said pleasantly. “He is precious, isn’t he?” she continued, “My nephew Edward here is working on a special family project involving a portrait, and he has been such a doll today!”
The waitress blinked in surprise. “Edward… is it?” she asked, clearly off balance. Before Edward could answer, she recovered, “Well… Edward,” she said, making the correction with some awkwardness, “you do look very nicely put together today.”
Edward turned crimson. He managed a tiny, feminine nod. “Thank you, miss,” he whispered, though the words seemed to catch in his throat. Edward lowered his eyes to the white plate in front of him and wished the bushes next to the table were taller.
In contrast, Aunt Patricia looked serene and satisfied, as if the matter had been clarified for everyone in the bistro. Then, she ordered for the table. She got chicken salads on croissants for herself and her sister. For Edward, she ordered a Croque Madame. Edward had no idea what that was until he looked at the menu again. It appeared to be a fancified ham and cheese sandwich. She also ordered a delicate cuc-umber sandwich plate to be shared by the table.
“Nothing too heavy,” Aunt Patricia said approvingly, folding her napkin across her lap.
Soon the food arrived on fussy little plates. As they ate, people walked down the pedestrian lane in a steady stream. A few smiled at the three of them occasionally or even spoke. Edward felt that all the passersby must have looked at them and thought they were just two ladies enjoying lunch in the fresh air with their prissy daughter or niece. The thought made his cheeks warm.
Then, to Edward’s horror, two boys from Edward’s school, Tommy and Ben, wandered lazily into view along the sidewalk. They were laughing and looked completely at ease. Edward recognized them at once. They weren’t his friends, exactly, but he knew them.
“Please don’t look over here,” he thought, “Please keep walking!”
He drew his elbows close to his sides, as if making himself narrower might make him invisible. The pair of boys slowly passed the café, still grinning. Then, Tommy looked toward the table and his laughter quieted. Ben followed his gaze. For a moment they stared at Edward with uncertain recognition, their faces narrowing as if they had seen something familiar that they couldn’t quite place.
As Tommy and Ben stood there, just on the other side of the planters, it seemed their attention was caught but not settled. Edward went rigid in his chair. He lowered his chin by the smallest degree. Then, mercifully, something farther down the sidewalk caught Ben’s attention. Tommy seemed to follow his look. Tommy made the slightest shrug. After a brief pause, the boys exchanged a look Edward could not read and drifted on down the sidewalk. Their conversation seemed to resume, but Edward could not hear what was said. Perhaps, he hoped, it had nothing to do with him at all.
Edward scarcely breathed until their backs were several yards away. For one blessed second, he let himself believe he had escaped. But the certainty did not last. A small uneasiness remained. Tommy had stared a beat too long. Ben had looked twice. Perhaps they had only failed to place him in the moment. Perhaps the connection would come later. Edward tried to convince himself that if they had recognized him, they would have said something. Still, doubt stayed with him, quiet and persistent.
Aunt Patricia noticed the change in Edward’s demeanor at once. Her gaze moved from the boys walking away to Edward’s hunched shoulders, and one eyebrow lifted by the smallest degree. Instead, she asked in a voice that seemed meant for the table but carried farther than it needed to, “Edward, dear, did you know those boys?”
“Yes, Aunty… from school,” he murmured.
Aunt Patricia brightened at once. “Well, then, you should have said hello, dear,” she said cheerfully. “There is no reason to sit there looking as if you have been caught at something. It would be the simplest matter in the world to explain about your portrait.” She smiled as though the situation were perfectly ordinary, “They would probably have found it fascinating, really!”
Edward stared at her, flabbergasted. For a moment he couldn’t decide whether she truly failed to understand or whether she understood perfectly and was just choosing to pretend otherwise. Did she honestly imagine Tommy and Ben would nod thoughtfully at the story and immediately understand why he was dressed as a dainty little girl?
“Aunty… please,” he started helplessly, but the words would not come. He looked from her to his mother and back again, searching for some sign that the obvious had landed.
With a thin smile, his mother simply said, “Just eat your lunch sweetheart.”
Aunt Patricia gave a light little laugh, as if his distress were a charming misunderstanding. “Oh, Edward, you mustn’t be so dramatic,” she said cheerfully. “Truly, you look very distinguished, and one must expect a certain amount of attention when one is dressed properly. There is nothing wrong with being noticed for appearing neat, polished, and well presented.” She tilted her head, studying him with satisfied approval.
Edward stared at her, too stunned to interrupt.
Aunt Patricia seemed to enjoy the effect. As they continued eating, she gaily discussed the portrait, the salon, and the importance of presenting oneself properly in the same voice she might have used to comment on the weather. Then, she seemed to take more interest in Edward’s table manners. “Careful with your napkin, dear,” she said, smoothing the linen over her knees to demonstrate. “It saves one from all sorts of little disasters.”
Edward obediently smoothed his own napkin over his lap, very conscious of his skirt brushing against his tights.
“And take smaller bites,” she added lightly, “one should never treat a luncheon like a race.”
As she watched, Edward took a tiny nibble of his sandwich, moving more slowly. She admonished him to keep his hands in his lap when he was not eating, to keep his knees demurely together beneath the table and to use his napkin to dab at his mouth before drinking. Soon Edward was painfully conscious of his every motion as he picked at his lunch like a nervous bird.
-
Edward is in a sticky situation. He does not want to offend his "Auntie" and posibly effect the money she provides his mother.
But being an intellegent young man; he can surly create a suttle protest of sorts. sissyboy1212, you have mentioned several times that it is a task to always pose in the same postion, even with the support equipment. So, if they have to break the pose several times each session for a bathroom break, Edward would be protesting in a suttle way. Curtainly, the need to quinch a thirst woiuld be denied. When Edward would have privite time to potty and wash his hands, he could drink a little more. It may not seem like much, but it would give him some satifaction to know his "Auntie" would be frustrated.
Then heaven forbid, he should leak a little, and scare them that the old dress would be stained.
He is a young boy and he surely can come up with some form of protest. Maybe this would lead to not having to wear that horrid old dress for each session.
Thank you for your efforts, and my you continue to have the muse to write.
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Window Shopping... and a Long Afternoon
By the time the plates were cleared and Aunt Patricia had decided there was no need for dessert, Edward had grown almost hopeful again. Their lunch was nearly over. His mother reached for her handbag, and Edward sat up straighter, eager for a short walk back to the car and then the blessed privacy waiting at home.
Aunt Patricia, however, had other ideas. “While we are out,” she said, rising with an air of pleasant decision, “we ought to look at the shops… Just some window shopping.”
Edward’s spirits deflated. He followed because there was no other choice, keeping close to his mother. Aunt Patricia moved at a leisurely pace down the sidewalk, pausing now and then before the various window displays.
Soon they passed a bridal shop, and she stopped in front. The window was filled with pale satin, lace, and gauzy little clouds of tulle. Bridesmaid dresses in soft pinks and blues stood on slender forms, while petite flower girl dresses were arranged near the front with sashes tied into enormous bows. Aunt Patricia appeared delighted. “Oh, Marian, look at these,” she breathed. “Aren’t they simply precious?”
Edward cringed.
Aunt Patricia leaned nearer the glass, “Such pretty bridesmaid dresses, and look at those precious little flower girl frocks.” She smiled at her befrocked nephew, “Aren’t they adorable, Edward? Do you see anything you’d like to try on?”
“Aunty,” Edward whispered, pleading. His face warmed all over again. He dared not look at the window too directly, afraid that any glance might be taken as interest. “No... thank you.” The suddenly real thought of being taken inside the shop to be fitted in pale satin and tulle made his stomach twist.
Aunt Patricia seemed not to hear his refusal. She pointed through the glass at one dress in particular, a delicately pale pink flower girl dress with tiny sleeves, a satin sash, and a tea-length skirt that fell in soft, careful layers. “That one, I think,” she mused, smiling at the display as if already imagining it. “Something pale and sweet like that would be lovely on you, sweetie. You would make such a charming little flower girl.”
She warmed to the vision at once. “Can’t you just picture it, Marian?” she said. “Our little Edward all daintily dolled in that satin confection, with that sash tied beautifully at his back and a lovely spray of flowers tucked into those curls. He would be absolutely darling!” She looked at him with open delight.
Edward felt a new wave of embarrassment wash over him as she spoke. “A flower girl?” he thought with a wince. He imagined having to walk solemnly down an aisle decked out in pale pink satin while everyone turned to gawk at him. Aunt Patricia’s earlier remarks about expanding his wardrobe flooded back into his brain with dreadful clarity. She had spoken as if more dresses were not a temporary excursion, but rather a sensible next step for him. The pink flower girl dress was not an idle fancy, he realized. She had not let the idea go at all. He was certain his face must be as pink as the dress in the window. Dressed as he was, it was not hard to imagine how the tiny sleeves of the flower girl dress might gather at his shoulders and how the skirt would flutter merrily as he walked. “Please don’t… Aunty,” he whispered, so softly it was almost not a voice.
What unsettled him most was the way Aunt Patricia kept returning to this idea with such calm certainty. Edward got the distinct sense that she was merely biding her time.
Marian, who had been studying the window display with a measured expression, gave a small shake of her head. “But, Patricia, it really wouldn’t be practical, would it?” she questioned gently. “Edward isn’t scheduled to be in any weddings, so it would just hang in the closet.”
Aunt Patricia turned from the window with a soft, indulgent smile. Edward’s consternation did not seem to trouble her at all. “Well, perhaps you are right,” she said. “Still, I can’t imagine it would be difficult at all to find occasions for him to enjoy it. Sometimes it is a joy to dress up for no reason at all beyond wanting to feel precious and pretty! Maybe...” She let that thought hover uncertainly for a moment, neither withdrawing the idea nor pressing it further.
“It’s a shame he hasn’t had an opportunity to be a flower girl… at least not yet,” she mused mischievously. She giggled and added, “he would look lovely in it I’m sure, but there might always be another time.” Her words landed with a gracious little pause, as if generously allowing her sister to believe she had prevailed for once. But from Edward’s perspective, it felt like Aunt Patricia was merely playing a game.
His mother’s objection had sounded sensible, even protective, and for one foolish heartbeat Edward had wanted to be grateful for it. But Aunt Patricia’s smile spoiled that comfort. Marian’s momentary firmness seemed like something Aunt Patricia had permitted for her own amusement, a small rebellion allowed because it cost her nothing. In the end, it seemed, the final decisions would still belong to Aunt Patricia.
At that moment, movement across the street caught Edward’s eye. He was immediately distracted. Tommy and Ben were passing by again on the opposite side. Both boys slowed, and once more their attention lingered on him a little longer than it should have.
Edward went beet-red. He turned back toward the bridal-shop window as if the reflection might hide him, but the move only gave him a reflection of himself in the glass. He could see a translucent image of his prettily curled hair, his frilly yellow party dress and a mortified expression.
Aunt Patricia noticed at once. She followed his gaze and smiled brightly. “Why, Edward, there are your friends again,” she said, using his name with dreadful clarity.
Edward winced before he could stop himself. Had they heard his aunt? Surely other noises must have drowned out his name. He saw in the reflection that Tommy’s head tilted a fraction, and Ben glanced in their direction. Edward’s stomach tightened with a fresh twist of uncertainty. Thankfully, they kept moving in the opposite direction and turned a corner out of sight.
Again, he told himself they might not have known. But seeing them this second time made that hope thinner than before. If they had wondered at lunch, surely now they would wonder even more. And if they had heard Aunt Patricia say his name, even from across the street, then perhaps there was no wondering left at all.
The drive home passed in an uncomfortable silence. As they pulled into the driveway, Edward longed to just go straight upstairs, close his bedroom door, and change out of these clothes. He could almost feel the relief. The thought carried him through the front door.
But it turned out Aunt Patricia was in no hurry. She seemed to settle in for a pleasant visit and drifted into the sitting room with the serene expectation that everyone else would follow. Edward hovered near the staircase for one hopeful second, but Patricia’s voice reached him before he could take a step. “Come along, dear. Don’t disappear just yet.”
The afternoon settled into a quiet, painfully long visit. Soon, Aunt Patricia and his mother brought out a stack of old family albums from the lower shelf of the bookcase, and Edward sat demurely nearby while they turned the stiff black pages and murmured over photographs of weddings, summer holidays and little children from years past in carefully arranged clothes.
More than once Aunt Patricia paused over a faded photograph and tilted it toward Edward. “See how much trouble people once took to make children look proper?” she would say, as though the picture proved something. Edward nodded when he was expected to nod, keeping his hands folded and his knees together, while every beribboned child and lace-collared cousin in the album seemed to offer Aunt Patricia another quiet argument in favor of her ideas. With a feeling of resignation, Edward began to sense that his aunt was purposefully lingering to make sure he had no chance to get changed out of his pretty dress.
After they looked at the albums, Marian suggested that Edward might practice his piano for a little while. He seized on the suggestion at first, grateful for anything that gave him a clear task and spared him from sitting beneath Aunt Patricia’s inspection. But even the piano failed to feel ordinary. The hem of his yellow dress spread over the bench when he sat, and he had to arrange it before placing his feet near the pedals. Aunt Patricia took a chair nearby and listened with folded hands as Edward began to play a few scales. Then, he played a simple piece Marian liked, keeping his eyes on the keys.
After he was done at the piano, Edward remained downstairs in his yellow dress. He perched on the edge of a chair while the two sisters talked about the salon, the portrait and how nice the museum visit was.
Aunt Patricia alluded to his wardrobe again only once more in passing, as if discussing curtains. “We must think practically, of course,” she said, stirring her tea. “But if Edward is to do this properly, it may be wise to have a few more suitable things on hand.”
His mother made no promise, yet she did not dismiss the idea either.
When Aunt Patricia finally rose to go, the afternoon light had already begun to soften at the windows. Edward stood with his mother in the hall while Patricia kissed his mother’s cheek and then turned to him with one last approving look. “What a lovely day, my darling,” she said. “With more practice, you will be much more comfortable in your frocks and dresses.” Then, she rested her hand on his dainty shoulders to pull him closer, “Let Aunty give you a kiss, sweetie,” and then she pecked him on his cheek.
Edward stiffened. He could feel the faint, waxy print of her lipstick on his skin even before Marian’s eyes flicked toward it. Aunt Patricia gave a soft little tut, opened her handbag, and drew out a folded tissue with unhurried precision. “Oh, but look what I’ve done,” she murmured, as if the mark were a sweet little accident.
She touched the corner of the tissue lightly to her tongue, then held Edward still with the gentlest pressure beneath his chin and dabbed at his cheek. The gesture was delicate but smothering in its delicacy. Edward stood motionless while she wiped away the lipstick, feeling smaller with every soft pat of the damp tissue.
At long last, she left. Edward watched from the doorway until her car disappeared down the street. Only then did he climb the stairs, each step lifting the prissy yellow skirt against his knees. Relief should have come then, but it was uneasy. Even as he opened his bedroom door, he could still hear Aunt Patricia’s voice in his head.
-
After spending most of the day in his yellow dress and underwear, his Aunt will probably show up tomorrow with some new items to wear. He cannot be wearing those clothes again after being worn for so long and before his mother has had a chance to wash them.
I wonder if Edward will ask his Aunt to stop calling him Edward in public and ask for a girl's name instead to stop drawing attention to the fact he is a boy. His Aunt will then stick to it, constantly reminding him he asked for this
-
A Piano Lesson
The following Monday, as Edward started the first full week of summer break, he found himself on the way to a piano lesson. After some discussion between his mother and aunt on Saturday while he had been practicing scales, it was agreed that he should not abandon his lessons because of the demands of the portrait. Instead, his music lessons were simply reshuffled into the new order of things. With his new schedule, his piano teacher, Mrs. Baxter, had agreed to move his lessons to Monday and Thursday mornings for the time being.
Aunt Patricia had of course weighed in. She thought this was another delightful opportunity for Edward to get used to his dresses, and she even offered to take him to the lessons so Marian might have some quiet mornings at home. Aunt Patricia took it upon herself to call Mrs. Baxter and explain the situation in advance. She even relayed how darling Edward had been in his lacy yellow party dress while playing scales on Saturday. When she brought him to his lesson on Monday morning, he was nattily dressed in his pretty pink frock, frilly white anklets and black Mary Janes. His shiny pink hair ribbon was tied neatly in place, and Edward felt the snug embrace of his ever-present corset hugging tightly underneath.
Mrs. Baxter greeted Aunt Patricia quite calmly and set Edwrda’s lesson book on the stand as if nothing about the morning was unusual. Edward sat down very stiffly on the piano bench, very self-conscious of his frilly pink panties and mindful of his confining corset. He was careful to arrange his skirt demurely at his aunt’s prodding.
Only after setting up the sheet music did Mrs. Baxter comment on his attire. She blinked over the rim of her spectacles, first at Aunt Patricia and then at Edward, who wished the piano bench might swallow him whole. “Well,” she said after a small pause, “that is a very lovely dress. Did you pick it out yourself, Edward?”
“Uhh, no Mrs. Baxter,” Edward said quietly, “My Aunt… Aunty Patricia gave it to me.”
Aunt Patricia practically beamed at that.
“It’s… it’s for the portrait,” he explained reluctantly.
“So I understand,” Mrs. Baxter replied, settling herself beside him tactfully, “It is certainly a charming gift, and that pink seems to suit you.”
“Thank you,” Edward muttered meekly. He swallowed hard and felt his cheeks warm.
Aunt Patricia couldn’t resist piping in with a pleased look, “that’s exactly what I thought when I saw it too.” She added, “his Aunty knew he would be adorable in it!”
With that, Mrs. Baxter moved into the lesson, “Now let’s get our wrists level and shoulders relaxed.”
As he placed his fingers on the keys, a glum thought returned to him. This was his summer vacation, the long free stretch he had spent months waiting for. Yet piece by piece it was now being claimed by the portrait. It seemed his whole holiday was turning into one long, suffocating sitting.
Mrs. Baxter adjusted quickly, “Now, middle C.”
Wearing a dress to piano changed the feel of the lesson in ways Edward could not ignore. The bench seemed narrower when he had to arrange a skirt over it. The pedals felt farther away when he was conscious of his frilly anklets and Mary Janes.
Still, once his hands found the familiar pattern of the piece they were working on, he was distracted a bit. For the forty minutes or so, he was not exactly free from the portrait, but he was able to think of something else. Still, seeing his pink-polished nails dance over the black and white piano keys made him feel even more docile and girlish if he pondered it too long. It was better to focus on the music.
When his lesson ended, Aunt Patricia guided her nephew back to her car. Edward had murmured goodbye to Mrs. Baxter as he felt propelled along by his aunt for the short ride home. He didn’t have anything else planned until his next sitting tomorrow, and he was hopeful his aunt would be done with him for the day. It seemed, however, that she already had something else on her mind, and Edward began to fret silently. Her body language was just too… purposeful.
No sooner had they entered the front door than Aunt Patricia turned to her sister with that bright, insistent expression Edward had already learned to dread. “Marian, to continue our conversation from the other day, we really must be practical,” she said, as if the matter had already been decided and only needed to be announced. “Edward simply cannot manage with only these two dresses, not with his sittings and appointments and lessons. He needs some more things, and we ought not put it off any longer.”
Marian opened her mouth as if to suggest that the matter could wait, but Aunt Patricia lifted her hand in a soft refusal. “No, Marian, truly, I insist.” Then, she announced with an eager look, “I’ll take him to Morgan & Tate’s this afternoon at least to look if nothing else.” She looked at Edward with a beaming smile, “and you, my darling, needn’t worry your pretty little head about any of it. Your Aunty has made up her mind.”
Edward knew Morgan & Tate’s was the fanciest department store in town. It was in the same shopping center where they had gone to lunch on Saturday. Any hope Edward had of escaping the for rest of the day vanished, and all his worries about an “expanded wardrobe” now proved well-founded. The first pink dress had been humiliating enough when it was only part of Miss Vale’s recommendations, almost a uniform for entering the world of the portrait. The second yellow dress, Aunt Patricia’s “gift,” had raised the stakes. Standing near the staircase in his pink frock and frilly anklets, Edward now felt trapped.
His mother gave a sympathetic smile, but she soon acceded to her sister’s wishes. “Go with your aunt, Edward. It may be pleasant for you two to spend some more time together away from the studio.” It seemed she was trying to put the best spin on things. The hint of disagreement she had displayed on Saturday was nowhere to be found today.
“You needn’t look so solemn,” Aunt Patricia assured him, “Just follow Aunty’s lead. Aunty knows exactly what to do, and it’s going to be such fun!”
“Fun for who, exactly?” Edward thought glumly. “Isn’t looking… how shopping begins, Aunty?” he asked rather weakly.
“Precisely, sweetie!” Aunt Patricia replied, pleased by his grasp of procedure and easily turning his timid objection into agreement. And off they went. She seemed to be in an almost jovial mood. With Marian staying behind, it would be just the two of them this afternoon, and that seemed to make Aunt Patricia’s manner even more overbearing and insistent, perhaps even unfettered.
-
I hope folks are enjoying the story. I feel like I never want to stop editing LOL. The story is completely written (or drafted) all the way to the end, but I always feel the need to adjust and change things as I go. If you read Vicky's original story, then you might have an idea where this one will end up :)
Thanks for the suggestions and comments.
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Morgan & Tate’s
Morgan & Tate’s was a vast department store full of polished counters, brass rails, mirrored columns and ladies in stylish attire. Edward felt completely self-conscious as Aunt Patricia shepherded him directly to the girls’ department, then swept past the first displays of casual fashions without so much as slowing. He tried to console himself that Aunt Patricia had earlier left open the slim possibility that they might “just look,” but that seemed less likely with each step.
Racks of casual skirts and fashion tee shirts stood near the aisle, but Aunt Patricia gave them only a dismissive glance. “No, no, dear,” she said, steering him briskly onward. “Those are not what we are here for. We need proper attire worthy of the occasion.” She bypassed the everyday clothing entirely and headed straight toward the section with the more formal and fancy selections, where shoes, hair ribbons and racks of elaborate dresses were arranged by color like precious flowers.
Edward felt his stomach jump as he realized Aunt Patricia had not even considered lingering among the somewhat plainer clothes. Each step made him feel more conspicuous, as if everyone had turned to watch him be led deeper into Aunt Patricia’s idea of what he ought to become. He kept his eyes lowered, cheeks hot.
Aunt Patricia took note of his uneasy demeanor and chided him with a trace of amusement, “Come along, dear, we need not make a production of it!” Then, she got the attention of a nearby saleswoman and immediately began to make a production of it. She jumped right in and announced to the clerk, “We are here to upgrade my nephew’s wardrobe. He is engaged in a very special and unique project which I am thrilled to support. Please show us some classic and refined dresses and accessories to complement his unusually fine features.”
Edward instantly understood with a helpless little twist of dread that there would be no pretense of “just looking” today. Edward blushed brightly as the clerk learned he was in fact a sissified boy in a pink dress. He wanted to crawl into a hole, but there was no escape.
“Aunty… please…” he almost whimpered.
“What troubles you dear? I am merely being precise,” she replied. As she spoke, she flashed a subtle warning look at him for his mild impertinence. She was in no mood to be denied.
Edward gulped helplessly but remained silent. His aunt had no intentions of holding back today.
The salesclerk gawked at them for a split second. Edward could see the wordless question on her lips, “Nephew?” But she didn’t voice it and recovered almost instantly. She then appraised Edward with a calm sense of professional cheer, which was somehow worse than curiosity. “We have some nice items on sale today that might interest you,” the clerk began.
Before she could continue, however, Aunt Patricia gently cut her off, as if explaining something that ought to be obvious, “I am less interested in price tags than quality, my dear.” She looked at Edward with an expectant look and added cheerfully, “we are not here to cut corners today. Please bear that in mind.”
“Of course, Ma’am, right away!” the clerk responded eagerly. Realizing this was actually a boy standing before her in an adorably sweet dress, she sized the situation up rapidly. She broke into a knowing smile as she began selecting dresses from the racks. Whatever questions she may have had were more than offset by the generous commission she sensed was there for the taking. One look at Aunt Patricia’s expensive clothing and a quick assessment of her feminized charge made it an obvious decision to put her curiosity aside.
Blanching, Edward understood Aunt Patricia had not dragged him here merely to browse or even just pick up only an item or two. She had come armed with money, determination and a vision that she meant to make real before the afternoon was over.
The afternoon soon proved exhausting in a way Edward had not known shopping could be. The clerk was surprised and then amused to discover he was laced into a snug little corset. “That explains your lovely posture, doesn’t it?” she teased kindly.
Again and again, Edward was ushered into the elegantly feminine fitting room with cream accents, plush carpet and a large three-way mirror. It seemed to Edward that as soon as he stepped out of one frock he was guided immediately into the next. Delicate and girlish fabrics slid repeatedly over his arms, legs and chest… slippery satins, tickling lace, and scratchy organza. Button after button, the fabrics gathered quietly around him. First, a pale blue dress drew neatly around his waist. Next, a lavender one settled with a hushed, powdery rustle. Later, a floral sundress brushed his knees in a breezy circle.
With each dress, Edward’s feelings grew more on edge. He was embarrassed at the attention, and he was dejected to realize that this is how much of his summer vacation would undoubtably go. His aunt wasn’t buying all these clothes to hang unworn in his closet. He was a teenage boy, but he was aware that there was vanishingly little visible evidence of that now. His cheeks stayed hot almost constantly, and his stomach fluttered whenever he had to step out of the dressing room to show the next dress. More than once, he felt an excited tingling and tension in his frilly panties as the salesclerk zipped or buttoned him into yet another frock for his aunt's inspection.
Aunt Patricia’s enthusiasm seemed to grow with each new reveal. “Oh, that color is charming on him,” she said when he emerged in the pale blue dress. “The white sash is perfect… It will be lovely with some lace anklets and perhaps a nice barrette to bring out the color.” Then she directed, “Edward, stand up straight so we can see the line properly. Good. Now be still, hands at your sides.”
Edward blushed but did his best to comply with his aunt’s instructions. She eyed his outfit up and down and tugged gently to arrange his skirt.
“There,” she continued, “Now let’s see you move back and forth a bit so we can see how it follows you, dear.” When he stepped forward, she immediately corrected him, “small steps, sweetie. Move gracefully… you are not a lumberjack! Draw on that same 'feminine stillness' you display for Miss Vale.”
Edward cringed again. Everything seemed to come back to that portrait.
The salesclerk watched this exchange with interest. Then, she added helpfully. “Turn around, sweetheart. Let us see the back.” Edward obeyed with a stiff little pivot, and the skirt whispered around his knees.
The clerk’s professional smile grew warmer with every new item she brought out, partly because she saw her commission growing by the moment. She also quickly realized that Aunt Patricia was completely uninterested in casual attire for her nephew. When she brought out a cute everyday top and skirt, for example, they were immediately rejected out of hand. It wasn’t long before she enlisted a second clerk to help with this very particular pair of customers, and they began bringing out the frilliest and most adorably girlish items in the store.
Outside the fitting room, Aunt Patricia appraised each new dress with discerning satisfaction. She continued to dismiss anything that looked too plain or ordinary. The clerks remained professional, yet curiosity glimmered behind their smiles. Other customers could not help overhearing Aunt Patricia’s clear references to “Edward,” “my nephew,” and “him.” Each time, Edward felt newly exposed. He stood in dress after dress while glances flickered toward him, paused, and politely moved away. As the afternoon dragged on, the fitting-room carpet seemed endless beneath his Mary Janes.
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Wonderful!. I don't know whether to say poor Edward or, lucky Edward. I think Aunt Patricia has long term plans for Him which doesn't include any nasty boys clothes, only the prettiest and girliest dresses, corsets and pretty lacy knickers. Who knows maybe in a couple of years He will not want to wear anything else.
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A Delightful Afternoon of Shopping
At this point, Aunt Patricia's version of “only looking” had transformed into intense shopping. Edward glumly realized the collection of dresses and accessories set aside for purchase seemed to multiply every time he looked! Aunt Patricia’s decisions had come quickly and often. Of course, the dainty blue dress was the first to be chosen. It was a delicate, vintage-inspired powder-blue party dress with a rounded Peter Pan collar made of white eyelet lace. The fitted bodice was gaily decorated with tiny white embroidered flowers scattered across the fabric, and the short, sleeves puffed demurely at the shoulders. The white satin sash had a prissy little bow in front, and the hem was an intricate scalloped lace trim.
Edward soon learned the first clerk was named Sabrina, and she suggested a lovely mint-green lawn dress made of crisp taffeta. It was light and airy with a tea-length skirt, and the fabric had a faint sheen. It had charming pearl buttons which contrasted sweetly with the green material. A narrow band of white embroidery traced the rounded collar and continued neatly around the cuffs. It looked ready-made for a formal garden party.
When Edward was buttoned into it, Sabrina gave an approving look. “Oh, that shade is beautiful on him,” she said, “It makes his eyes look softer, and the cut gives him such a graceful line.”
Edward was hyper-aware of how the taffeta made a rustling little sound whenever he moved.
Aunt Patricia gave a pleased little nod. “Exactly what I hoped,” she replied, “demure and wonderfully becoming.”
Aunt Patricia became enthralled with the soft lavender frock as soon as she saw him in it. It had an almost fairy-tale delicacy. The pale lavender fabric shimmered over a satin lining, with a Peter Pan collar and a wide, darker lavender sash that gathered in back into a large butterfly bow. Sheer organza softened the bodice and skirt in floating overlays, with airy ruffles at the sleeves and a translucent flounce that caught the light whenever Edward moved. The skirt was embroidered near the hem with adorable lavender violets that seemed to dance with every step. Sabrina found a lovely pair of pale blush, peep-toe sandals that went perfectly with it. They had a low heel, dainty toe and ankle straps, and delicate lavender floral applique flowers on top.
“Now that one,” Aunt Patricia commented with approval, “is exquisite. Turn slowly, darling.”
Edward made a small, reluctant turn, and the organza floated around him. The unfamiliar heels tipped his weight forward, making him wobble slightly and forcing him into short, careful steps. He was not used to shoes that demanded so much attention. Meanwhile, with every tiny movement, the sheer organza layers brushed and tickled across his shoulders, almost like cobwebs. He fought the urge to shrug them away, gave an involuntary shudder, and then lifted a hand to brush at the delicate fabric.
Aunt Patricia noticed both the wobble and his reaction to the organza at once. Her expression softened into amusement. “Oh, don’t fuss with it, darling,” she said, reaching out to smooth one translucent ruffle with the back of her fingers. “Those fluttery sleeves are part of the charm.”
Edward swallowed. “It tickles, Aunty,” he admitted in a small voice, “maybe I could try something a little less… floaty?”
Aunt Patricia gave a fond little laugh. “Less floaty? My dear, the ‘floatiness’ is precisely the point.” Then, she couldn’t help but add, “and as for the sandals, I’m sure you’ll get used to them in no time… Practice makes perfect!”
Edward’s mouth pinched into a helpless grimace at that, the corners drawing tight. The promise of "practice" in girls heels was not comforting. Aunt Patricia caught the look immediately and chuckled lightly. To her, his discomfort only proved that the dress and shoes were doing exactly what she wanted: making her nephew aware of every soft, girlish detail.
“I adore this one too,” Sabrina interjected approvingly. “It makes him look so delicate, and the sash keeps it polished.”
By now, Edward had found out the second clerk was named Skye. Skye added, “And I love those sandals!” Edward looked down at the little floral appliques on the sandals and blushed.
Patricia’s face warmed with triumph. “Yes,” she said simply as she patted Edward’s arm with fond authority, “of course, we’ll take the dress and the shoes.”
Then, Skye brought out a charming pink and white floral print sundress that was, she said with a warm smile, “a perfect summertime frock for someone who looks this darling in pink.” It was made of lined cotton, and the white background was scattered with pink roses and pale green leaves. Narrow shoulder straps tied into dainty bows, and the bodice was gently smocked across the front with tiny rows of pink stitching that gave it an especially youthful look. A large flounce circled the hem so that the skirt bounced and swayed around Edward’s knees as he moved.
Skye held the skirt out so Aunt Patricia could see the shape better, “this one has a sweet, old-fashioned charm.”
Sabrina nodded from beside the mirror, “Very pretty, very light.”
Aunt Patricia looked delighted.
Sabrina then had an inspiration and showed Aunt Patricia a sage green chiffon dress from the storeroom that had not even been put on the rack yet. Aunt Patricia eagerly snapped it up as soon as she saw him in it. It was a sleeveless, halter top, A-line dress made of delicately layered chiffon with a subtle floral print, and it rustled delightfully with Edward’s every movement.
“Oh, that one makes him look like a little summer postcard,” Sabrina said kindly, though the sparkle in her eyes made it feel faintly teasing.
Next, Aunt Patricia fell in love with a “twirl-worthy” satin formal dress that came in several colors. The A-line creation had a sweetly pleated bodice and wide, gently gathered shoulder straps that sat gracefully across the upper arms. The ruching across the bust and torso added subtle texture while keeping an elegant look. A cleanly defined waistband separated the fitted bodice from the skirt.
“That looks precious on him,” Skye added helpfully, “it’s such a classic, princess-inspired look!”
"Princess-inspired?" Edward asked hesitantly. He winced as he realized how sissyish the words sounded.
"Oh yes, sweetie," Skye said cheerfully, "just like something out of a storybook!"
After having Edward stand in front of the mirror wearing the same dress in several colors, Aunt Patricia just couldn’t decide which she liked best. In the end, she decided to get one each in candy pink and orchid purple.
“Why choose,” she said brightly, “when Aunty can get her princess both?”
Edward reddened cutely again at being called a princess, but he went still as he thought about the word “both.” It was such a small word, tossed out with Aunt Patricia’s bright little smile, but it landed with a weight. “Both” meant plenty of options for his aunt’s future plans. It meant pretty dresses waiting for many future occasions and events. He felt the figurative ground shift under his feet, suddenly tilting toward a future of drawers and closets full of satin and lace.
He looked at himself in the mirror dejectedly and tried to remind himself he was a boy. The candy pink dress shone softly under the store lights, and its wide straps rested delicately along his upper arms, making his shoulders look small and narrow. The pink color softened his face sweetly. He felt so fragile, polished and painfully pretty as he stared at his reflection.
He knew he was a boy, But Aunt Patricia seemed to treat that fact as a minor inconvenience to be hidden, managed and eventually… forgotten. Sabrina and Skye smiled, Aunt Patricia glowed and the mirror told the harsh truth. He looked nothing like a boy now. He felt more uncomfortable stirring in his panties.
Finally, there was an apricot and cream party dress scattered with small satin rosettes, which Aunt Patricia declared “too adorable to leave behind.” She insisted on seeing it on him paired with some accessories, already speaking as if the decision had been made. To Edward, it seemed as though having him put it on was merely a formality.
“It should be worn with a petticoat, I think,” Aunt Patricia said, eyes bright, “and perhaps if you have some ivory shoes to match?”
Sabrina brightened at once. “Of course, ma’am. I think I know just the thing!”
“Yes, please see to it, my dear,” Aunt Patricia agreed. With a pleased smile, she took a seat on a cushioned armchair.
As Sabrina ushered Edward back to the fitting room for what felt like the hundredth time, she carried the apricot and cream dress on a padded hanger. Edward glanced back at Aunt Patricia, and the satisfied look on her face made him worry what else she had already imagined for him. How many more little decisions had already been made? Her calm, triumphant smile seemed to say it all.
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What a wardrobe of outfits!
Please include AI photos of each! I really enjoy your use of AI to paint the picture
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I am LOVING this story. I think some Ballet Lessons would help with his feminine stillness.
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Thank you for the nice notes. I read every word of them, and I always appreciate any thoughtful and polite comments whether they are complimenting or criticizing. In that spirit, I thought I'd give a brief reply to everyone who commented so far. Next parts are coming soon.
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Sissy Ballerina Boy: Thank you! I’m glad you’re enjoying the story!
Party Dress: I have to credit Simonssister’s story for the idea to integrate AI images. Hers (his?/theirs?) are really good. Also, I like exploring the tension of public exposure and Edward’s feelings.
Gunrunner: Thank you for the thoughtful comment. In this story, you will probably see some token resistance but it will likely be pretty weak.
BabyJay: Thank you. I think Edward is lucky! He just may not understand it yet LOL!
ace: Thank you! I really appreciate the encouragement!
Dancer4Fun: You may see some elements of what you suggested but it will probably be more oblique.
Bonzodoug: They will likely notice soon LOL.
sweet baby katie: Thank you. I do love trying to create a long tease :)
RibbonBound: This is probably less direct in ways than Vicky’s original but hopefully you enjoy.
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The Apricot and Cream Dress
Back in the fitting area, Sabrina hung the gorgeous apricot and cream dress on a wall hook and said, “turn around sweetie.” She unzipped his pink satin dress, and he meekly stepped out if it. He sighed obediently as he was used to this routine by now… he had been doing it all afternoon. Then, he winced as he took another good look at the ultra-girly dress he would soon be wearing. It was made of a warm ivory cream satin with delicate pale apricot accents. The sleeveless, fitted bodice was decorated delightfully with raised rosettes to create an elegant, textured surface. At the waist was a prominent oversized satin bow. The skirt was the worst! It was incredibly full and voluminous, made of cascading tiers of sheer organza over satin. It looked like a sissified apricot cloud!
Once she hung his off-the shoulder pink dress back on a hanger, she held up a different pair of white tights still in the packaging. “Change into these, sweetie,” she said cheerily as she tore open the plastic, “they are much more sheer than the ones you have on and will look adorable with that dress.”
Edward nodded, then blushed once more as he realized she was not going to leave while he changed his tights. Cringing, he compliantly sat on the little padded stool next to the mirror and pulled off his white, ribbed tights. Then Sabrina handed him the silkier, sheerer tights. As he had now learned to do, he carefully pulled them on. Immediately, he noticed how much lighter and more delicate they felt compared with the ones he had just taken off. The stretchy fabric had a cool, slippery cling as it slid over his legs. He shivered a bit as he pulled them up over his pink panties, and he tried to be careful not to snag the gossamer material with his fingernails or his corset. As he pulled them into place, he saw the off-white tights had a delicate feminine floral pattern with elegant small blossoms and leaves. When he stood, his cheeks warmed again.
“Perfect!” Sabrina said enthusiastically. Next, she instructed, “Arms out, honey.” Edward’s face heated as he lifted his arms stiffly, aware of how girlish he must look. She slipped a silky cream colored camisole top over him and straightened the thin spaghetti straps on his shoulders. “There,” she added, smoothing it over his chest, “how pretty.”
Edward squirmed and dropped his eyes to the floor. “Now for your petticoat!” she said brightly. She held up a fluffy, multi-layered white tulle petticoat with a smile. “To be honest,” she giggled, “it’s completely unnecessary with that fluffy skirt, but it also happens to be what your wonderful Aunty wants!” Sabrina couldn’t help but add with a teasing smirk, “and I’ve noticed that what Aunty wants… Aunty gets!”
Edward cringed, embarrassed by how clearly she seemed to grasp the situation. It was obvious that Sabrina and Skye had no reservations about meeting his aunt’s expectations. Sabrina held the petticoat’s elastic waist open for him, and he reluctantly stepped into it. It rustled sweetly over his clingy floral tights, and he flinched at the electric sensations when she tugged it into place just over the bottom edge of his corset. The ultra-girly petticoat flared around his slender waist in stiff, rustling layers. Every small movement seemed to create another papery whisper from the airy tulle.
Sabrina grinned in amusement as she saw how timid he was, but she pressed on. She pulled him directly in front of the large mirror. “Time for the dress!” she announced brightly. “Arms up again, my love,” she instructed.
Having no other choice, Edward raised his trembling arms up high. The gesture made him feel awkward and exposed. Sabrina skillfully shook the elaborate dress once to free the tiered skirt, and the layered organza answered with a soft rush. Then she lifted it high and dropped it carefully over his head. The dress whooshed down over him in a frothy cloud of cream and apricot frills. Satin, organza, tulle and lace all engulfed him at once as Sabrina settled it meticulously over his petticoat like a fluttery breeze.
He felt lightheaded as Sabrina began zipping up the satin bodice. She drew the zipper up slowly, and each small pull made the dress feel more confining and final. In seconds, he was snugly enveloped in the gloriously girlish cream and apricot creation. For a dizzy instant, Edward felt swallowed by the dress itself, as if the satin and frills were a soft, rustling tide that left only his burning face above it. Then, he watched helplessly in the mirror as Sabrina began to straighten the bodice and fluff the skirt with brisk strokes of her skillful hands. The more she smoothed and fluffed the layers, the more he felt trapped. He felt incredibly enclosed and on display.
It was then that Skye sunnily returned. She opened a pink, tissue-lined box to reveal a darling pair of ivory ballet flats. She had been thrilled to find the last pair in his size. The lustrous satin slippers had a slightly pointed toe box and a charming ankle strap with a decorative trim made of glossy white imitation pearls. With their innocent appearance, they looked tailor-made for a flower girl!
“Be still, honey, so I can get you strapped into your pretty slippers,” Skye said with a grin. Edward watched as Skye knelt on the carpet in front of him before he quite understood what she meant to do. He flinched a bit in surprise as Sabrina placed her hands on his bare shoulders from behind to steady him. He stiffened at once, embarrassed at how mollycoddled he felt. He could smell the girls’ delicately feminine perfume all around him as they moved closer to dress him in tandem.
He looked down but could see only the soft, rustling bell of his billowing skirt, so instead he watched Skye in the mirror with nervous fascination. Underneath the gauzy puffs of his extravagantly fluffy dress, he saw her go to work.
“Right foot, honey,” she directed gaily.
Edward hesitantly lifted his right foot from the carpet. He felt Skye guide the dainty shoe into place, easing it over his toes before fastening the slender ankle strap with a delicate little pull. Skye then repeated the process with the other shoe. “Now the left,” she said with a pleased chuckle. Once that strap was adjusted and fastened as well, she pronounced, “There we are!”
When Skye stepped back, Edward returned to the mirror and could now see how the dainty ballet flats complemented his completely sissyish outfit. He felt utterly prettified from head to toe.
The next touch turned out to be an oversized satin hair bow which Sabrina pinned carefully in his curls. The pale apricot confection was a triple layer, ruffled delight, and he immediately felt the weight of it on his head. “There,” she said, stepping back with a pleased, teasing smile. “Sweet as a little cupcake!” she chuckled softly.
As Sabrina pinned the bow into his curls, Skye told him to hold out his hands and said brightly, “I found these near the shoes and thought they would go perfectly with the rest of your outfit as well.” Edward’s face went hot and his pulse quickened as he saw the pair of lace tea party gloves in her hands.
Helplessly, he asked, “Do I… do I really need the gloves… too?” he asked, the words coming out uneven. Dressed as he was, he realized instantly how silly it sounded to protest now, and his voice failed him before he could finish.
Skye chuckled, as though she thought his pitiful reluctance was hilarious. She waited with a patient, expectant smile. After a moment, Edward slowly extended his hands. Before he could do little more than swallow, Skye slid the lace gloves over his fingers. They were stretchy, sheer and delicate… patterned with tiny flowers and prim little bows at the wrists.
As if on cue, Sabrina gave his bodice a final smoothing. “Just look at him,” she gushed, “Isn’t he precious?”
Skye tilted her head a bit and flashed a bright, mischievous smile, “I think his Aunty will be over the moon!”
When the two salesclerks stepped aside, Edward saw his latest outfit properly for the first time. The sight took the breath out of him. Despite all the dresses he had been put into so far, this one seemed like something else entirely. It was incredibly sissyish! His reflection made his face burn, and the longer he looked, the more it made him want to wince. His gorgeous dress, floral tights and darling satin shoes seemed to cheer on Aunt Patricia’s plans for him. He felt so far away from the boy he remembered being. Everything about him looked prissy, pretty and polished.
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I find myself checking back multiple times a day for the next part, really loving this story and wear it goes next and am just dying to see how Edward looks in this dress!