The Portrait of Edward Gray

[sissyboy1212]

All Arranged for Aunty

       Sabrina and Skye continued their preparations with tireless, delighted attention, arranging Edward's outfit as though he were a treasured doll. Their voices had a warm, soothing murmur, but there was an unsettling undertone to their gentleness.

       Sabrina knelt beside him and teased his petticoat into an even fuller bell, coaxing the crisp tulle outward with patient little tugs. Then, she lifted each tier of his skirt and tugged the organza until the ruffles rose in soft, even waves. “There we are, darling,” she crooned. “We have to make sure your ruffles are all soft and fluffy.” Each tender word made Edward’s face burn hotter.

       â€œThat’s right, sweetheart—stand very still now,” Skye said, as gently as if she were calming a frightened child. “Just think how pleased your Aunty will be when she sees you!”

       Edward’s throat tightened. The mention of his Aunt Patricia sent a fresh shiver of anxiety down his spine. Even though she was nowhere in sight, her authority seemed to fill the room as if she were standing right there. His petticoat rustled around his trapped legs again, bright and cheerful, while shame crawled hotly across his neck.

       The girls continued to work on him. Skye smoothed his skirt again and gave his petticoat one last careful fluff. She beamed at him, “there now, little miss—no fidgeting!” Her tone was soft enough for a lullaby. Cringing, Edward stood obediently rigid inside the rustling dress, cheeks blazing.

       With Edward’s skirt and petticoat adjusted to their satisfaction, Sabrina moved behind Edward, and he tensed at once, following her reflection with wide, apprehensive eyes. She gently lifted his chin up, and he shivered nervously at her touch. Edward saw her raise an elaborate pink hair bow with long trailing ribbons unfurling on either side. “Now, be very still, sweetheart,” she chided softly. “I can’t have you wiggling while I arrange this darling bow.” In the mirror, he watched powerlessly. With fussy concentration, she nestled it among his curls and began weaving the glossy ribbons through one ringlet after another until they streamed down the sides of his hair. Edward felt each tiny tug at his scalp as she worked. He tried to remain still as he was told and trust Sabrina’s practiced hands, but the longer she fussed, the more uneasy he became. The spreading weight of the enormous bow made him wonder how he could possibly have so many ringlets. His breath shortened, and his eyes darted from Sabrina’s reflection to Skye’s.

       Skye noticed the worry on his face and answered it with her same patient smile, “Oh, sweetheart, why are you worried so? You just be nice and still and let Sabrina finish.” She giggled brightly as she straightened a ribbon crossing his waist and retied its bow into two immaculate loops. “There can never be too many ribbons on an outfit this pretty!” she gushed.

       Finally, it seemed Sabrina was done with his hair bow. “Now, just look at all your pretty curls and frills,” Sabrina cooed happily. “They’re exactly right for you, sweetheart.”

       Edward stared at himself in the mirror again, and his stomach plunged. Pink bows crowded his curls and cinched his waist, while frothing tiers of lace and ruffles swelled outward until his narrow reflection was almost lost beneath them. A helpless panic rose in his throat. He searched the glass for something familiar, but he was practically smothered in ribbons, frills and satin.

       As he watched defeatedly, Skye steadied his chin and began to carefully coat his lips with strawberry-flavored pink lipstick. “Chin up, little miss,” she said with exaggerated patience, “No squirming now!” The color went on in slow, deliberate strokes. It was slick and waxy, and the artificial sweetness filled his nose. Then, she drew back to admire her work and smiled. “There, that’s my good girl. See how darling that looks on you?”

       Edward’s cheeks flamed at the praise, the heat spreading down his neck. He thought, “Please don’t call me that. Don’t make me look,” but he couldn’t make the words come out. Instead, they were trapped behind his freshly painted mouth. His pulse fluttered, and the enormous bow tugged at his scalp whenever he trembled. The corset allowed him only a shallow breath, and the satin bodice held close around his ribs. His petticoat whispered ceaselessly around his legs. He wanted to protest and wipe the lipstick away, but his arms were still securely pinned under his dress. All he could manage was a tiny, miserable nod as he lowered his eyes.

       Just then, Aunt Patricia’s voice cut through the fitting room. Edward went rigid, and his breath caught for an instant. Everything seemed to settle into a sharper focus. As always, her voice was cultivated and composed. “Sabrina? Skye?” she called, “My goodness I should think we’ve given him long enough. Of course, take another moment if need be to make sure he is properly arranged, but I’m eager to see what you’ve done with him.” 

       Both girls straightened at once. Skye’s playful smile settled into professional attentiveness, and she smoothed the front of her suit instinctively. “Yes, ma’am,” she answered promptly, already stepping into place.

       â€œOf course, ma’am,” Sabrina called back. She exchanged a quick glance with Skye and adjusted Edward’s hair bow one last time with sudden attention.

       Sabrina and Skye moved to either side of him like attendants about to present a treasure.

       Aunt Patricia spoke again, still gracious and unhurried. “If you’re satisfied that he’s ready, then bring the darling boy out, please.”

       â€œRight away, ma’am,” the girls replied in unison.

       Edward felt as if his dress moved before he did. Its countless ruffles leaned toward Aunt Patricia’s voice obediently, and Edward felt himself pulled along with them. He tried to plant his feet, but the floor flowed softly beneath his ballet slippers and carried him forward. Then he felt as though he were going to tip over, so he started taking short, quick, mincing steps to keep up with his dress. The hidden hobble skirt made his skittish little steps almost comical. Meanwhile, the girls drifted effortlessly beside him as the melting walls streamed past in ribbons.

       Beyond the dissolving walls, Edward’s pulse raced as he finally saw his Aunt Patricia, standing regally. He was dismayed to see many other shapes gathered around her—a small crowd of clerks and customers arranged in a loose crescent. Then he saw the two women flanking her. Miss Vale stood on one side and Mrs. Bell on the other! Both wore bright, expectant smiles. Edward’s stomach dropped. Heat rushed into his face as he realized they had assembled for his embarrassment, eager to admire the finished result. He wanted to shrink back to the fitting room, but the enormous dress propelled him forward.

       â€œSmile for your Aunty, darling,” Sabrina whispered urgently without looking at him.

       Skye drew close on the other side. “Look pretty and happy,” she breathed. “And be on your very best behavior. You mustn’t disappoint her.”

       Edward’s nervousness broke into panic. He could not lift his arms, could not turn, could not even tell whether he was moving or the store was being pulled around him. He strained against the armless bodice until his breath became shallow, and every breath drew more of Sabrina and Skye’s perfume into him. He felt their gentle, feminine warmth on either side of him. He was acutely aware of a tingling friction under his petticoat as his tights and panties rubbed closely against one another with each dainty step. Little electric sparks darted playfully over his skin, and he began to feel lightheaded. Edward held his breath as he was presented for his aunt’s approval.

       Aunt Patricia said with a satisfied look, “There we are. At last.” She spoke cheerily, “Don’t you look precious!” Then she prodded her nephew directly. “I chose that exquisite dress especially for you, my darling,” she said brightly, “tell me, dear, don’t you just adore it?”

       He heard a loud ringing in his ears, and he felt sealed behind a flawless wall of pink satin. He knew what he was supposed to say. After an awkward, silent moment, he managed to stammer in a defeated whisper, “Yes… Aunty!”

       As he spoke, the pressure in his tights increased rapidly in little fits and starts. His face burned crimson, and he felt a sudden pulsing under all the frilly layers of his elaborate pink dress. He winced, and an uncontrolled shudder raced through his body. The lacy frills and ruffled flounces of his dress danced excitedly as if they knew what was happening.

       Then the dam broke. “Oh!” he gasped softly. All at once, he realized it was already too late…

       His pulse still pounding, Edward woke up with a start. The sun was already up.

[ace]

Hey Sissyboy, really loving the addition of the images to an already great story ... keep up the good work, we always need good authors like yourself, especially as we approach the sad anniversary of dear Betties passing ...

Ace

[sissyboy1212]

Thank you ace! And also thanks to you, bonzodoug from a week ago.

RIP Betty. You are missed.

[sissyboy1212]

A Morning Cut Short

       For several seconds Edward lay still, trying to decide whether he had only dreamed it. He had twisted the blankets and sheets in his sleep. He sat up quickly, and his satin nightgown slithered around him. Then he cringed as he felt a telltale warm wetness in his lacy tap pants. The realization made him freeze. A new wave of embarrassment washed over him, and heat rushed into his face even though he was alone.

       Percy sat on the bedside shelf in his neat blue suit, and Edward found he could not even bear to meet the doll’s glassy eyes. The absurdity of being embarrassed in front of a doll in his own room made him cringe.

       Edward quickly scrambled out of bed and looked for something to change into. His extensive array of new dresses greeted him as he opened the closet doors. With a sense of relief, however, he spied a couple of his old tee shirts still hanging on the far end of the closet. In his chest of drawers, he found a single pair of normal briefs and a faded pair of cargo shorts. He grabbed it all and rushed to the bathroom. Once inside, he did the best he could to clean up with some tissues, He shirked off his frilly pink nightgown and thankfully changed into his boys’ clothes for the first time since yesterday morning.

       Back in the bedroom, he dropped his soiled tap pants into the hamper and covered them beneath a towel where he hoped they would not draw attention. He sighed to see there were already a couple of other pairs of his panties in there, but oddly he realized that might keep the tap pants from drawing undo notice. For now, however, the familiar weight of his cargo shorts and the softness of an old tee shirt felt wonderfully ordinary. He had several hours before Aunt Patricia was due back to take him to his next hair appointment and the afternoon sitting. He knew all that would consume his entire afternoon, but he meant to hold on to every minute of the morning. Moving around his room in clothes that still felt like his own, Edward sensed a little of the space he had lost. His spirits rose a bit.

       At that moment, he heard his mother call him down for breakfast. He scrambled downstairs, leaving his nightgown on the bedroom floor. All of a sudden, he felt very hungry.

       Later, Edward had just finished a quiet breakfast with his mother and was practically luxuriating in the normalcy of an ordinary morning. His mother was doing some ironing near the window. Then, he heard a car door shut outside. Edward froze instantly, and his mother tensed noticeably. It was Aunt Patricia! She was here much earlier than either of them expected. It was barely nine o’clock!

       A moment later, Aunt Patricia swept through the front door in a flurry of her expensive clothing and determined good cheer. Her smile disappeared, however, when she saw Edward. She stopped short, and her gaze swept over his rumpled tee shirt and worn cargo shorts with obvious disapproval. Her nose crinkled. “Oh, Edward,” she said simply, the disappointment unmistakable.

       She refrained for the moment from making any immediate comment about his attire. It seemed she had something else on her mind. With visible effort, she recovered some of her brightness and turned to her sister. She spoke purposefully, “I know I wasn’t due until later, Marian, but I simply could not wait." She continued, “I couldn’t help but notice on our shopping trip yesterday that Edward still seems somewhat… ill at ease… in his dresses and curls.” Looking again at her boyishly dressed nephew, she couldn’t help but add with a hint of disdain, “Now I think I am beginning to understand why. What a shame he chose to wear… that… today with all the lovely outfits in his closet.” She gestured with her hand to emphasize the point.

       Edward’s lifted spirits from earlier collapsed. A flush crept into his face under Aunt Patricia’s disapproving scrutiny. Only moments ago, these familiar clothes had felt like old friends. Now, they seemed shabby and traitorous. He tugged nervously at the hem of his tee shirt and tried to look up at her. His eyes reached hers for barely a second before darting back to the floor. “I—I only thought…” He made another effort to meet her gaze, but her steady disappointment there made him avert his eyes again. “It was just for the morning, I might… I mean, just to be comfortable, Aunty.” His words faltered into an embarrassed murmur. Despite himself, he looked and sounded as though he had been caught misbehaving.

       â€œYes, well,” Aunt Patricia replied curtly, casually dismissing his explanation. She went on, “that’s precisely why we bought some new, perfectly comfortable clothes for you yesterday, sweetie!” Her expression brightened with proprietary satisfaction, “There is that sweet little dress with the darling pink-and-white stripes, for instance. It is soft, comfortable and ideal for wearing around the house.” She chided him, “Why not wear that, darling, instead of rummaging around in these tired old things?” As if to put a point on it, “how will you ever be able to embody the spirit of the portrait if you're unwilling to put in the effort?”

       Edward swallowed and gave a small, mortified nod. He was incredulous at the notion that he was not putting in enough effort. That portrait had practically taken over his life!

       Aunt Patricia clicked her tongue softly, and then she turned back to Marian as though Edward could have nothing further to add. She went on, “In any event, I had the most helpful idea on the drive home last night, and I wanted to tell you before the day got away from us.” She added eagerly, “I may have come across just the thing that will help Edward feel more natural for his sittings.”

       â€œJust the thing, Patricia?” his mother asked quietly.

       Edward’s stomach tightened as he braced for whatever she had dreamed up for him now.

[sissyboy1212]

The Price of Aunty's Help

       â€œEtiquette and deportment lessons!” Aunt Patricia announced triumphantly, as though unveiling a coveted prize. Her eyes swept once more over Edward’s grungy tee shirt and cargo shorts. Her expression took on a firmer edge. “Seeing you now has only confirmed how helpful they will be, my dear.”

       Then, she turned to her sister with a measured smile, “All in all, I am actually rather grateful I arrived early to see him like this, Marian. Now I know exactly where the difficulty lies. Edward needs to more fully embrace the feminine spirit of his great-great grandmother.” She gave a pleased little chuckle. “Fortunately, that is something I am sure we can correct.”

       â€œI have been thinking for several days now about Edward’s posture, his walk, and all his nervous little mannerisms,” she began, “it just seemed to me they have been holding him back.” Aunt Patricia then beamed, as though the answer had been staring her in the face all along. “It came to me all at once. Of course Edward never learned how to move daintily as a girl does… boys simply aren’t taught such things. He can hardly be expected to carry himself correctly unless someone teaches him!” She explained, “So last night I contacted a local instructor, Miss Alcott, who has excellent references. By every account, she is disciplined, precise and thoroughly dependable.” Aunt Patricia’s grin broadened. “She replied first thing this morning, and we have already spoken about his deportment lessons.”

       Edward saw his mother’s jaw tighten, but she didn’t say anything. Edward’s spirits collapsed. While Aunt Patricia seemed energized by her plan, he felt it closing around him as surely as the corset hanging in his closet. It was becoming clear that his aunt viewed any traces of boyishness he displayed as "problems" that needed correction instead of the natural order of things. He winced before he could stop himself. “Lessons, Aunty?” he repeated faintly. “For walking and sitting?” The thought made his stomach tighten.

       â€œDeportment lessons, darling,” Aunt Patricia corrected brightly, savoring the word. “It is such an elegant term, and it is precisely what you need.” She continued with almost gleeful certainty, “Miss Alcott will teach you grace, posture and demeanor. Her eyes shone at the prospect. “As I am certain you understand by now, the portrait must be more than a costume. You must learn to carry the part from the inside out.” With a pleased look, Aunt Patricia said, “It’s for the best, sweetheart. You’ll see.”

       After a pause, his mother finally dared to speak up. “Patricia, Edward already has the portrait sittings, his piano lessons and the other appointments…” Her voice faded. She pressed her fingertips together and tried again. “It seems like rather a lot, that’s all I mean.”

       Aunt Patricia turned back to her sister, “Oh, Marian, please. If it’s the expense that troubles you, I will of course see to it. It’s hardly worth discussing.” Her smile remained pleasant, but her voice had an impatient edge now. “It will only be a few hours each week, and it will support the portrait beautifully. Miss Vale is trying to paint refinement, not merely resemblance. Once Edward learns how to stand, sit, walk, lower his hands gracefully, and perform a proper curtsy, the whole likeness will finally settle into place.” She glanced at him with unmistakable satisfaction, as though she could already see the finished result.

       Edward suppressed another groan. Even the placement of his hands was apparently about to become a subject of instruction.

       â€œDon’t my hands lower properly now, Aunt Patricia?” he ventured timidly, suddenly conscious of where they were and how awkwardly they seemed to hang.

       â€œI was speaking to your mother, dear, and that interruption is only further proof that some proper etiquette training will do you a world of good,” she said with brisk satisfaction. “But to answer your question, you plop your hands down like a careless boy, without the least thought for presentation. Miss Alcott will correct that. She will teach you where to place them and how to move them.” Her smile turned almost radiant at the thought. “And try to remember it’s ‘Aunty,’ dear.”

       His mother looked tense. “Patricia, are you sure…?” Her voice trailed off. Aunt Patricia’s triumphant manner made it already seem decided. His mother seemed to have forgotten how to fully question anything her sister suggested.

       Even so, Aunt Patricia’s pleasant expression cooled by a degree. It seemed she was at the end of her patience.

       She exhaled deliberately, and her tone seemed to change. The air in the room grew more tense. “Marian,” she said very evenly, “I do hope you have not begun to feel overburdened by my involvement in your affairs. If my little efforts on behalf of you and Edward have become inconvenient, perhaps I should rethink them. I only mean to be helpful.”

       She continued, “After all, if the little gifts, the small necessities attended to here and there… if these things are not welcome… perhaps I should just step back. I would never wish my help to make you uncomfortable.”

       Edward gulped, and his mother blanched. Aunt Patricia seemed to be moving toward an ominous point. His aunt continued, her gaze dropping pointedly to Edward’s shorts and tee shirt as if they were muddy footprints on a clean carpet, “We took such great pains yesterday getting Edward a delightful new wardrobe, but yet this morning I find him still dressed like that.” Her voice remained smooth, but it had thinned into something cold at the edges. “Really, Marian,” she said with a trace of annoyance, “after all the trouble and expense we went to at Morgan & Tate’s, it is most discouraging.”

       Edward’s face went hot. The way she spoke made his shorts and tee shirt feel shameful. Her words seemed to hang frozen. Edward realized suddenly that she was making a broader point. Until that instant, his aunt’s overbearing generosity had been uncomfortable to him mainly because it was smothering. Now he began to understand the portrait, the dresses and all the appointments reached deeper than that. Without saying it directly, she was reminding his mother that she kept them afloat in many other unspoken ways. His stomach gave a sick little drop. He realized that every reluctant “Yes, Aunty” on his part had become part of an unspoken price for that generosity.

       His mother obviously understood it as well. She glanced meekly at Edward, then quickly away, as though ashamed that he had witnessed the exchange. “Oh, Patricia, no!” she said at once, her voice soft and anxious. “You have been so very kind to us. More than kind. I know how much trouble you take, and of course we appreciate it.” She searched Aunt Patricia’s face for some sign that she had repaired the offense, “I don’t know what we would do without you.” Her voice dropped still further. “I know you only want to help, and I’m so sorry I made it sound otherwise.” Marian swallowed and hurried on, “Please, Patricia, if you believe these deportment lessons are needed, then of course you are right.” She gave a small, pleading nod. “You understand these things so much better than I do, and Edward is grateful for the opportunity—aren’t you, sweetheart?” Her eyes flicked toward him with a strained appeal before returning to Patricia. “We are both thankful for everything you do.”

       Edward felt the meaning of his mother’s words before he could fully process them. In addition to everything else, he would now have deportment lessons, and he would be grateful for them. Only minutes before, the familiar weight of his cargo shorts and the softness of the old shirt had made him feel briefly restored. Now, they hung on him like evidence of a failed escape. Whatever freedom he thought he had clawed back that morning now lay in ruins.