Something extra on the side?

If you’ve been reading Clothes Maketh The Man then you will love a new feature I am developing for my Premium Members. I am gradually adding to my hypnosis files a set of visualizations drawn from the story. In these you slide into hypnosis and then I take you through a scene from the story, while you are in the heightened state of hypnosis. This is fun, safe and entertaining. It’s a great way to enjoy Clothes Maketh The Man. As I release more of these visualizations I will let my premium members know, so they can enjoy them to the full. Want to try one? Well, you can do so by going here:
And then using the special code: cmtm2600 to unlock the page.

As you know, Bernard my photographer recently had a heart transplant, after he got tazered at O’Hare International Airport. If you haven’t been following this, you can pick up the story from here:  . I thought something was odd when he started saying things like ‘Oh my lordee…” Which is most ‘un-Bernard’ like. He’s also started eating a lot of fried chicken, which with his skin I cannot think is a good idea.

He’s now back home in Montreal and recovering nicely, an d strangely enough reading a great deal of Harlequin Romance novels. After I learned his new heart came from a hospital near Baton Rouge, I did some quiet sleuthing. The hospital refused to give me any information about his donor, but after discovering that many heart transplants come from car accident victims, I did some more fruitful searching.

I looked online for fatal car accident reports for a period a week before his transplant operation, in the region of Baton Rouge. I was surprised how very easy it was. Sure enough, after about ten minutes I had narrowed things down to one person. Bernard’s heart must have come from a Ms. Gloria Bunn, aged 55, who died tragically in a car accident on the way home from choir practice. She had been a leading light in the Baptist Church choir. There was even a link to a Youtube video of the choir performing.

I am pleased to say that this life changing experience has left Bernard uniquely different. He is happily walking around with the heart of a middle aged African American woman, and developing a series of unusual new behaviors. Don’t worry, I will keep you abreast of the situation.

Have a wonderful weekend,



Zipper Job!

Before you ask, yes, Bernard had a heart transplant, a suitable donor having been found, apparently from Baton Rouge. They wouldn’t tell me much about the donor, they get a little funny about that sort of thing.

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, you can learn what happened to Bernard HERE. I will get around to telling you about our maginificent new crossdressers in a moment, but first a little of what’s been happening in my life!

Naturally, Sylvester and I hurried through to see Bernard the moment he regained consciousness after the surgery, but we got held up by Sylvester wanting to have breakfast. He usually eats a full grilled breakfast at the start of the day.

“I have to get some meat inside me!” He protested.

I must say, I felt much the same way. I had cereal.

We hurried through to the ward from a nearby restaurant. As I walked into the private room I’d arranged for Bernard, at the hospital, I found him sitting in a floral gown, reading a Harlequin Romance novel. Bernard was more of a Sports Illustrated kind of guy, so I found this a little surprising.

I must say, from the moment I walked into the private room, I felt his energy had changed. I am very sensitive to such things. It’s as though I can feel something, right inside me. Perhaps you know the feeling.

“Oh, Bernard,” I said.  “I am just happy there’s something deep inside you pulsating and throbbing away, pumping life through your veins.”

I am sure he blushed. I can’t think why.

Sylvester looked at Bernard and said in his gruff mechanics voice, “So, how you doin’, buddy?”

“I feel wonderful,” said Bernard. “I guess there must have been something wrong with my heart for quite a while.”

“What’s it like getting a new one?”

“Well, strictly speaking this one’s second hand.
Reconditioned. Some poor soul who died in a car crash… It feels magnificent. Praise the lord, I feel reborn.”

I looked at Sylvester, frowning. That sure as hell didn’t sound much like Bernard.

“It was extaordinary,” Bernard went on. “I had this strange experience during the operation. Like I was being drawn into the light. And I felt this powerful movement really deep inside me. In the core of who I am.”

“Yes,” nodded Sylvester. “I know what you mean. I’ve had that. It was probably gas.”

“Shut up,” I snapped at Sylvester.

“I feel,” and at that moment Bernard looked vacantly off into the distance as though deep in some private thought, “changed.”

“Changed?” I asked.

“Changed.” He said, seeming to savor the word.

I sensed I was talking to a very different person. I suppose surgery does change us, but this felt somehow different.

By the time we left the hospital Bernard’s face was buried once more deep inside his romance novel, a couple of bike magazines and a Sport Illustrated left untouched by his bedside. I must say it is all very odd.

I will keep you abreast of developments.