The Portrait of Edward Gray

[ace]

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

[bonzodoug]

Loving the story.
Will they notice he is getting excited?
What will they do about it?

[sissyboy1212]

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.

       â€œI’m telling you, Coach said I might get to pitch today!” one boy insisted.

       â€œOnly 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.

       â€œPlease, 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. 

       â€œGood 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.

[sissyboy1212]

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.

       â€œJust one or two more, darling,” his aunt instructed, “and smile for me!”

       â€œYes, Aunty,” he replied. He forced a weak smile.

[sweet baby katie]

masterfully told.  A slow unfolding inexorably driven by the immersion into the pleasures of feminine dressing.  A delight to read.  Thank you.

[sissyboy1212]

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.

       â€œNo?” 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.

       â€œThis 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.

       â€œWhat 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.

       â€œWell, 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.

[sissyboy1212]

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…”

       â€œBut 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.

       â€œPlease,” 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.

       â€œOh 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.

       â€œEdward, you are just the cutest thing in your darling little tights and Mary Janes!  I love it!” Lily agreed.

       â€œWhat 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.

       â€œSee 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.

       â€œAww 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.

       â€œPlease 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.