The Portrait of Edward Gray

[sissyboy1212]

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.

[sissyboy1212]

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.

       â€œMay 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.

       â€œTake 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.

       â€œHe 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.

[RibbonBound]

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!