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!

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.

       â€œThat’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.”

       â€œNearer, 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.

       â€œChin 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.”

       â€œCan I breathe?” Edward asked tentatively.

       â€œOf course you may breathe,” Miss Vale said, laughing softly. “Only perhaps not as dramatically as you are accustomed to.”

       â€œWell 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 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.

       â€œHold still just one more moment, darling,” Mrs. Bell murmured as she adjusted the hairbow.

       â€œI’m doing my best,” Edward said helplessly.

       â€œI 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.

       â€œJust a touch more pink I think Mrs. Bell,” she decided after a few moments.

       â€œOf course,” Mrs. Bell replied. Then she traced over Edward’s delicate lips with another coat of slightly brighter pink lipstick.

       â€œThat’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.

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…”

       â€œYOU 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.

       â€œDon’t dawdle now, Edward!” his aunt called loudly from outside the door, “we don’t have time to waste!”

       â€œYes… 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.
 
       â€œOh 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.

       â€œNail polish, too?” he managed to squeak.

       â€œIt was your aunt’s suggestion, sweetheart,” she explained a bit sheepishly.
As she 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.”
 
       â€œIt’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.”