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!

[sissyboy1212]

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.   

       â€œThere,” 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.

       â€œLovely,” 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.

       â€œWe’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.

       â€œKeep 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.

       â€œIndeed, 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.

       â€œYes, Aunty,” the feminized teen replied flatly after a moment. He cringed as he felt another unexpected jump in his panties.

[sissyboy1212]

Edward's Second Sitting Ends in Surprise

       â€œLet’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.

[sissyboy1212]

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 :)