Whether you like to get into a dance class, or just like to do a little yoga at home, you can look wonderful at the bar or on the mat by slipping into something figure hugging and fun.
Now if you read my weekly emails you’ll realise the unfortunate story behind the leotards and the whole thing with Amanda – but if not, you may like to browse through these anyway. You can sign up for the free program here.
For those who want to wear their leotard in a slightly different way, it’s going to look great as a top, over jeans or just a light skirt. As a simple androgenous look there are many leotards that work perfectly, and as a feminine icon, it is of course, spectacular. FD.
Sebastian, my personal trainer, was standing in my kitchen, looking distraught. It’s not a good look for a slim man in spandex. He’d cycled over to my place for a coffee.
“The stuff’s everywhere,” he moaned. “I can’t move in my apartment, there’s so much Jiz everywhere!”
“I’m sorry?” I said, adjusting the peach colored silk robe I was wearing. I had just waxed my legs and chest and the soft silk felt magnificent on my skin.
“It’s all over the place!” He went on.
“It’s the week of the Junior and Intermediate Zumba challenge. Everyone down at the gym enters.”
“Is that a ‘thing’?” I asked.
“I get to do the Jiz thing every year, and every year it’s a nightmare. I just get overwhelmed. And this year, honestly, I think I’ve taken as much as I can take. I’ve bitten off more than I can chew and I’m practically choking on it!”
“I believe the expression is ‘gagging’.” I added, helpfully.
“All the other personal trainers down at the gym leave it to me, and every year I just get sucked in!”
“I wonder why,” I said rhetorically.
“My whole place is covered in the stuff to arrange it, costumes, posters. I even had to design them myself.” Sebastian reached into his back pack and brought out a folded-up poster.
“Oh, Let me see it,” I said trying to sound enthusiastic.
“Yes, of course. Your friend Amanda helped me with it.”
“Amanda is my wife’s friend,” I pointed out. Because she edits a trade publication, Pig And Pig Farmer, Amanda considers herself something of a media mogul. I think you’ll agree that’s a bit of a stretch.
Sebastian looked at it thoughtfully. “They wouldn’t let me put it up at Starbucks. They got quite snotty about it.”
“I wonder why,” I said.
But that’s not the main reason I’m writing to you today. It’s going to be spring soon, so it’s time to start getting ready with some new looks for Spring. I thought I’d make a couple of suggestions, to help you along.
Spring is a time to emphasise the soft pastels, using both cosmetics and clothes that lift and brighten their surroundings. This is a great time, if you don’t dress outside of the house, to bring some more feminine colors into your selection of clothes that you’d wear day to day.
If you wear glasses, think about getting a pair that are softer and more blended to your skin. Be prepared to experiment with your daily look, softening it with colors that convey gentle forms. Hard black frames may be better replaced with a softer color, for example.
As you color your life more gently, you may be surprised to find yourself feeling more gentle. You’re going to love that. You may well find that wearing pastels and muted colors contributes to a more gentle mood, and as you look the way you know you should, you start to feel the way you should, too.
I sincerely hope you are enjoying the news I share with you. You can participate and comment even more at http://FionaDobson.com
Have a great week,
I have been treating myself to a few enjoyable gifts to myself lately. Victoria’s Secret, and one or two other places have been benefiting from my self indulgence.
On Wednesday, this week I asked Max, my neighbours twenty-year old son, to come with me to a lingerie store. This was admittedly partly to tease him, and partly to teach him a little lesson. He’s been hanging around a lot lately, and seems to spend way too much time at my place. When I am doing yoga he seems to get extremely agitated. When I am working up a sweat he seems unable to stop watching at me.
“Max,” I said to him, “sometimes I don’t know what’s got into you. You spend so much time over here! You might as well help me with some shopping.”
I drove down to the lingerie store with him, and explained, “Things have been so hard lately,” as I smoothed down the skirt I was wearing.
“Don’t you ever feel like,” I searched for words, “…splashing out on some new underwear?”
Max seemed quite overcome by the thought. He carried my bags back to my car once I had bought some new items of hosiery.
Once at home, I took out several boxes of my underwear and asked him to help me sort them into colors and fold them nicely. He seemed very happily engaged in this task when there came a knock on the door downstairs. I asked him to go down and see who it could be.
Max took himself off and some minutes later, when he didn’t return I glanced out of the window to see him clutching at his stomach and heaving into a flowerbed in my garden. This wasn’t going to help the petunias. After all his efforts to keep them looking full and flowery, Ali, my gardener was not going to like that at all.
I opened the window of my bedroom and called down, “Max, are you all right?”
In reply he pointed toward the kitchen and called back “Amanda,” And then staggered off toward the gate to his parent’s house.
I groaned inwardly. Amanda, my wife’s obnoxious friend, had obviously slipped through the perimeter defences. I decided to go downstairs and see what the unbearable woman wanted. I slipped into pair of gender neutral yoga pants and descended the stairs.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with that boy,” Amanda blurted out as I entered the kitchen. Apparently she had got away from work editing Pig and Pig Farmer Weekly a little early today.
“What did you do to the poor lamb, Amanda?”
“I just asked him to help me with something. You see, I’m taking some pain medication for my back. Anyway I’m supposed to,” and at this point she lowered her voice, “use these.” She pulled a package from her sac like handbag.
“And what are these,” I asked not wishing to get too close.
“Suppositories,” she relied, and my stomach turned over.
“And you wanted Max to help you with them?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied in a matter of fact voice. “They’re supposed to bring my temperature down. It’s a side effect of the medication, you see.”
“You don’t think that’s a little odd?” I said, my mind reeling as I stared at the pack on my kitchen counter.
“Is that even a thing?” I made a note to Google suppositories and temperature.
“You don’t understand,” she stammered as though suddenly realising she’d made a horrendous mistake.
“Amanda, I really don’t think you can ask young Max to…”
“It’s the packaging. I can’t get it out of the blister pack,” she protested.
“There are some things, Amanda, you just can’t ask people to do!”
“I can’t open the packaging, it’s my fingers. Not with my arthritis!” she protested.
“All the same,” I said doubtfully. “I think you may have scarred Max permanently. He looks pretty traumatised.”
“Oh, my goodness,” she gasped. “You don’t think he thought I wanted him to…” Amanda looked horrified.
“Yes, I do, Amanda. I think you may have left a very damaging and lasting impression on his fragile young mind.”
However, all this is not the main reason I am writing to you this evening. We’ve got some great new content on the website here: http://FionaDobson.com and I’d love to see your comments and questions about it. Go right ahead and make comments on the site, and I’m thrilled to answer them.
Have a great week and remember not to let your temperature get too high.
As Halloween approaches and the souls of the dead prepare to walk the earth, any number of my friends are preparing to dress up and wander the streets in the dark. Actually, now that I think about it, most weekends many of my friends spend their evenings doing precisely that regardless of the time of year.
I was conferring with Sylvester in my kitchen, examining a few articles of lingerie, trying to decide what best to wear for my Halloween night party. I finally decided on fishnet, stiletto heels and a bodice, with a steampunk look. Perfect.
I asked Sylvester what he planned to come as.
“I think Donald Trump, if I can find the right costume.”
“At this late stage, I’m not sure you’re going to be able to find a giant dick costume!” I said sympathetically.
At that very moment Amanda, my wife’s unbearable friend, arrived at the door and knocked so hard I felt sure the roof would cave in. She has all the grace and delicacy of a garbage truck.
She barrelled in, coughing and spluttering like a diesel engine that hadn’t been run in a while. Amanda then went on to tell us of the latest disaster to befall her. Amanda was coming by, fresh from her gynecologist. Now, if there was ever a job that requires a strong stomach, being Amanda’s gyny would be the top of that list. Apparently Amanda was in the midst of an exam, had a coughing fit and one way or another the poor man was taken off to hospital with a broken wrist!
I will spare you the details, but it was all rather distasteful. Then, just to make matters worse, Sylvester let slip that he was coming to my party, which so far we’d successfully kept secret from Amanda. She then promptly invited herself to the event!
Reluctantly I asked what she would be coming as.
“Well,” she said, expansively. “I think I’ll come as that CNN broadcaster that looks like me.”
Sylvester and I looked at one another, puzzled. I was thinking, maybe Lou Dobbs, but he’s with Fox now. Maybe Wolf Blitzer?
“You know,” she persisted. “The blonde. Megan whats-her-name…”
“Megan Kelly?” I asked.
“That’s her,” said Amanda.
“Oh,” I said. “The likeness is uncanny.” Megan Kelly looks about as much like Amanda as a carrot resembles plague.
“Well,” I said. “If you stand next to Sylvester as Donald Trump, all you need do to look like Megan Kelly is wear any form of period costume.”
But, that’s not the main reason I am writing to you. I recently had a delightful email from Brandi, in Yakima, WA in which she enclosed a great face pic which she had touched up using an app called YouCam Makeup- Makeover Studio. I’m sure we all appreciate a good touch up, don’t we? So this week I am offering a free membership of my Little Black Book to the best retouched Halloween pic which uses YouCam or another similar makeup type filter. Keep in mind that any pics you send in may end up on the website – so don’t be surprised if I place them there!
Have a wonderful Halloween, and at this time of year – when so many of us are having so much fun – spare a thought for Amanda’s gynecologist!
It’s true. The queen of tweed is at it again. If it’s not putting her up while her house is being fumigated, it’s something else.
Whilst the thought of putting anything up Amanda is disturbing in the extreme, I am not above helping my wife’s irritating friend. She asked for an idea to help advertise the magazine she edits, Pig And Pig Farmer weekly.
I hope you enjoy it. By the way, I am a little surprised to find myself being asked from time to time if I know where people can subscribe to the magazine. It would appear Amanda has quite a following.
On the whole I do not approve of large people with too much facial hair looming in my doorway. Even more so at 3 am.
That was the sight that greeted me this morning. I enjoy my beauty sleep, most of all to protect my looks, but also so I am fresh in the morning to write to my members. And last night, as my very understanding wife was once again traveling, this time at a conference in somewhere called Poughkeepsie, I was enjoying a night of calm sleep wearing a burgundy camisole. When I heard the chiming of the door bell, I pulled on a thick robe and went downstairs to find the henge-like form of Amanda, my wife’s appalling friend, blocking the doorway, like a couch abandoned by someone who had been trying to get it through a door that was marginally too small.
Amanda was whimpering and mewling, upset about something. Often she comes over to talk to my wife at the oddest of hours. I do my best to keep out of the way when this happens, as Amanda seeps fluids from her body prodigiously, crying for the least of reasons. Whilst I am not without sympathy, I do find myself rather at a loss. What should I do? Put my arms around her? I simply don’t have the reach.
“What on earth’s the matter,” I said to the sobbing form before me. Amanda barged her way into the house, “I simply have to see your wife.”
“I’m sorry,” I said trying to look sympathetic. “She’s in Poughkeepsie.”
“Now, don’t be like that. I know you’re not telling the truth!” Her lower lip was quivering with emotion.
“Really,” I protested. “She is. There’s a conference.”
“I don’t believe it. In fact I don’t even think there’s such a place. It sounds made up. It’s like that time you told me that The Seventh Seal was a film about seal culling. You’re beastly to me sometimes!”
“I’m sorry, but really she is away. Can I help you?”
“I hardly think you’ll understand,” said Amanda.
“Try me,” I said reluctantly.
I shall summarize the issue. Amanda works as an editor on a trade publication. From the way she talks about her writing process, you’d think she worked at The New Yorker, not Pig And Pig Farmer Monthly – The trade publication of the pig farming industry. Anyway, her magazine has recently gone through a rebranding exercise and the latest edition has had a make over (there’s a joke in there somewhere), and has a new typeface in the masthead. To cut a long story short this months publication when out with the old masthead (if you don’t know what that is, really I wouldn’t worry). This was an error that, as editor, she should have caught, but it slipped through. The publication was already in the mail by late yesterday night, and Amanda only discovered the problem as she thumbed through the latest copy before going to sleep. She had been tearing herself up about it all night.
“I hardly think the world will stop revolving just because you used Arial, rather than Verdana as a typeface, Amanda,” I said. “There may be some stern words exchanged over the trough, around the stys of the Midwest, but I think it’s an understandable error.”
Amanda disintegrated in a heap of tears, her massive bosom heaving and barely restrained by the industrial strength bra she wears. Before meeting Amanda I had no idea Carhartt – www.carhartt.com/ – made bras. For some reason it puts me in mind of The Hoover Dam.
I calmed the distraught woman down. The only reason I mention it is that throughout the process, she had absolutely no idea that beneath my pale blue robe I was wearing the most feminine of camisoles.
That, however is not the main reason I am writing. I wanted you to be aware of my latest hypnosis file which can be found on Youtube here:https://youtu.be/XREP5gHUypA
This is a cool file if you are interested in trying out a nice new look incorporating a mini skirt. If you’ve never tried this, have a listen to the file and see how you get along. As ever I would be delighted to see some pics.
Many of you receiving this are already in my Premium Program. If you are not, be sure to think about signing up soon!
PS. If you need a free subscription to Pig And Pig Farmer Monthly please be sure to let me know. I can hook you up!
All I am going to say is that “Accidents happen”. Unfortunately sometimes they happen in disturbing ways.
This month we have a great competition for you for “Playtime with Fiona”. The competition is very simple and there are two $35 Premium Program memberships up for grabs. The first will go to the person with the best photo and funny story about crossdressing. Bernard, my photographer, will do the judging – so blame him, not me! The second of the two Premium Programs will be awarded to an entry selected at random. If you don’t pass in the photo don’t worry. We’re looking for a fun pic, and that may outweigh the glamour quality.
Be sure to send in your enties to my email – firstname.lastname@example.org – before midnight on August 31st. I will see Bernard does the draw soon after that.
I have to say, Bernard is a great photographer but can be a little jumpy at times. This is a condition that was definitely not helped by a rather unfortunate situation that developed recently. Amanda, my wife’s appalling friend, had been chatting with her on the phone looking for beauty tips. For those of you who know anything about Amanda, the queen of tweed, you’ll understand this would have to be a very wide ranging conversation. Not so much a discussion about a make over, and more about complete reconstruction.
As Amanda went bleating on, my wife idly made a note on a Post It note in front of her. “Coffee Enema.” The conversation went on and on, and eventually, when it was over, the note got left on the kitchen counter.
I would have forgotten about it, except that it somehow got attached to a notebook I often use, and just stayed stuck to the back of it for a while.
Some days later I was at Bernard’s studio doing a shoot, and when we’d finished he asked me how I manage to keep my skin so clear. I was about to answer him when his phone rang and he had to take a call. As I finished dressing I jotted down a couple of things on a Post It note. I wrote, “Facial exercises, sauna and moisturize.” Then, as I was leaving, I mouthed to Bernard “3 times a day!”
I had left my notebook on his desk, and I just slaped the Post It note onto his desk and made for the door and headed back to work at the agency.
Two weeks later I was back at the studio, and Bernard was glowing with good health and bouncing about the place.
“I am loving this beauty regime,” he ranted. “It’s amazing. I’ve never felt so energized.”
“Oh,” I said as I changed into another dress for the shoot. “I am glad to be of help.”
As I stepped out of the changing room Bernard was setting the lighting up, and taking light readings. I glanced at his desk as he busied himself with his equipment. On his desk was my note, and next to it my wife’s, saying “Coffee enema.” The notes had a big red circle around them and in Bernard’s beautiful German script beside them, the words “Three times daily.”
I thought I should let sleeping dogs lie. With that much caffeine in his system I couldn’t help wondering how Bernard was still alive, never mind sleeping.
That, however, is not the main reason I am writing. Obviously I’d love to hear your stories and see your pics. The best will likely end up on my website, so please remember not to use any real names or details that might identify anyone.
Did you know you can probe my Inbox by listening to one of my Youtube videos here: https://youtu.be/Nrkq0UAf4QU
Have a great weekend.
Such goings on about the place!
Few sights can be more disturbing than Amanda, my wife’s hideous friend, in a two piece bathing suit. It was this unsettling image that greeted me when I arrived home this afternoon following a photoshoot with Bernard at the advertising agency.
Amanda was in our back garden, trying to tan her body, in much the same way that if you leave a piece of leather in the sun it becomes hardened and cracked. As I let Hannibal, my little black and brown Dachshund, out into the garden to my surprise he sprang across the grass and made a leap to bite Amanda’s bikini bottoms. As you can imagine, Amanda’s scream was so shrill you’d think someone were cutting through concrete with a rotary saw.
“Get him away! Get him away,” she screamed. Never before has so much flesh been restrained by so little fabric.
I sipped on my margarita as I watched Hannibal trying to pull the bikini from her. Then said, “Calm down,Amanda. He’s just being affectionate.”
In response Amanda started to run round the garden, arms flailing, with a dachshund hanging from her bum.
“Hannibal,” I mumbled, as I took another sip of my margarita.
“He’s gone rogue!” screamed Amanda.
The last I saw of her she was flapping away down the street, hotly pursued by Hannibal, who doubtless thought it a great game. I suspect I’ll be hearing more about this incident later.
That however, is not the main reason I am writing to you. Tonight is a warm Montreal evening, and it’s the perfect time to listen to the latest Youtube version of Playtime With Fiona. This weekends offering is a special one, and a little unusual. I know you’ll love it. This weekend is also the perfect weekend to experiment with some lighter summer shades of lipstick, a summer shade of eye shadow, and of course some new outfits for the beach or lake.
Feel free to share some pics. Don’t forget you can always submit a photo for me to share on the website here: http://fionadobson.com/your-pics/
Have a wonderful weekend.
Max, my neighbour’s son, came round this morning. He was full of patriotic fervor, as it’s Canada day. He was wearing his red and white tea shirt, and his strong muscles quivered beneath the cotton.
“Fiona,” he said excitedly, “Can I look at your beaver?”
I shifted uneasily. It’s not like Max to be quite so forward.
“Your beaver… Mother says you have a very special one!”
This seemed a little odd.
“She says you had it specially mounted,” he continued.
“She did, did she?”
“Yes, and put in a glass case.”
I suddenly remembered the revolting piece of taxidermy my wife’s equally revolting friend Amanda had left in our garage storage area. It was a beaver in a glass case.
“Of course you can, Max. You’re such good boy!”
Today, as you likely know, is Canada Day. This is the day on which Canadians celebrate the founding of our great country. Now, for those of you who are not Canadian and are hard at work – and from some of the emails I’ve been getting, I can honestly say I mean that in the most literal sense – I want you to try and share in my happiness in this day.
As you probably know I live in Montreal, that most cosmopolitan of modern cities. Here we enjoy a wonderful tradition of music, performance and fun. Most of you will know of Cirque Du Soleil – https://www.cirquedusoleil.com/ – a product of this fair city, and of the Montreal Jazz Festival. We also have a great comedy festival – and there’s a clip here you will love! If you have never heard of Dame Edna Everage then you definately need to see this!https://youtu.be/YV6Q4Q9u1pU
Not to forget my American cousins, I hope you too have a wonderful Fourth Of July. Here’s a nice video to help you celebrate! This is very funny – https://youtu.be/n2b3mkipd3U
So, on this special day join me in celebrating Canada. Think of it as embracing your inner beaver. I know you’ll enjoy it as much as I do.
What a strange and disturbing week it has been. Sometimes it takes more than lipstick to keep that smile in place. And yet we do, and the world is still a wonderful place.
Some of you may be aware of my wife’s good friend Amanda, the queen of tweed. As you may remember, she stayed at our house a few weeks ago while her house was being fumigated.
Well, Amanda had left a few things at our house and I agreed to take them over to her house. It was not so far off my track as I was walking Hannibal, my pet dachshund, so it was no bother. When I arrived at her house in the early evening the other day I was surprised to find I had arrived while she was taking a shower. She appeared at her doorway looking like a giant panda, in a black and white dressing gown and after letting me in, she asked me to wait in the living room as she slipped into something more comfortable. This was a thought that was truly disturbing in it’s own way, but for my wife’s sake I waited patiently.
I waited, and Hannibal did his usual thing of nosing around the place. To my surprise he was preoccupied with something underneath her couch, and while Amanda got dressed in her bedroom. I waited patiently, listening to the snuffling sounds coming from under the couch, until I was a little disturbed to hear a particular humming sound emanating from beneath the furniture.
A moment later Hannibal appear clutching what can only be described as an adult toy between his teeth. He was chewing its silicon form and seemed very surprised that it was fighting back, vibrating away in his mouth. To be fair, his surprise was understandable, the device being almost as large as he is.
Wanting to avoid the embarrassment of Amanda finding Hannibal playing with a personal possession, I tried to grab the object, but thinking this was a game he took off, running first into the kitchen and then into Amanda’s basement. I gingerly followed, cursing his minute form and enormous curiousity.
It was only when I cornered Hannibal that I could wrestle the object from him, at which point I heard Amanda’s enormous feet descending the stairs. I slipped the toy into my pocket and found my way back to the living room as Amanda walked in.
“I’m so sorry to have kept you, it’s simply lovely of you to bring these things over…” There was an awkward pause. I realized Amanda was staring at my jeans.
“Really, it’s no trouble,” I said. I like to wear tight figure hugging jeans, and usually a pastel tee shirt. It’s a fairly androgynous look, and I find it works if I am not dressing in my femme style.
“Goodness,” said Amanda, unable to avert her eyes from my pants. I glanced at myself and saw the clear and defined outline of the toy. To Amanda I must have appeared extremely glad to see her.
“I should be going,” I said awkwardly, my mind racing, trying to sidle toward the door, and noticing Amanda seemed to be getting between me and the only exit.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I think I’m seeing a new side of you. I am beginning to understand what Maggie sees in you. Perhaps you want to stay a while. A drink perhaps?”
Amanda’s eyes were unashamedly devouring my groin, drawn to my physique by the enormous toy in my pocket.
“I really must go,” I said, trying to hide my aparently enormous embarrasment.
“Oh, no. Before you do, I have that book Maggie was asking to borrow. Let me get it for you!” Amanda rushed off and in a moment I had pushed the device under the sofa, and was turning to walk to the door when Hannibal realized the toy was once again in play. To Hannibal, this is a challenge, first to find it and then to run around with it until someone catches him. To my horror he scurried under the sofa and just as Amanda returned, Hannibal emerged from beneath the furniture with a powerful buzzing sound, moving backwards across the hardwood floor being quite literally vibrated around the room.
“Hannibal,” I said, feigning surprise. “What on earth have you got there?”
There was an awkward chase, culminating in Amanda relieving a strangely satisfied dachshund of the object, and I grabbed the book and headed straight for the door, leaving an embarrassed and confused Amanda to her own devices – literally.
However that is not the main reason I am writing this. I’ve just put up a new episode of “Playtime With Fiona” on Soundcloud. You can listen to this one, which will give you a little help with how you do your eyeliner, and let me know how you get along. Listen HERE.
I’d love to see you in my Premium Program soon. I think you know you’ll enjoy it.
I was standing at the make up counter in a large department store last week, looking at the various lipsticks. The young lady behind the counter was not pushy, but eventually came up to me and asked if there was something special I had in mind ‘for my wife’.
“I’m looking for something special,” I replied. I never try the lipstick on in the store, as it’s just a little too overt for me. “Something in a sort of bitchy crimson…”
She looked through the selection and pulled one out and suggest it. A dark claret, suggesting mid life anger with the desired hint of bitchy forcefulness.
“Yes,” I said. “I expect that would be perfect.”
I glanced at some of the lighter pinks. “I also need a sort of cumslut bubble gum pink,” I said with a laugh.
The assistant moved to another counter and drew out a selection of vibrant pinks to show me. At that moment I heard a voice behind me say my name.
“Oh, hello,” I said to Amanda, one of my wife’s more irritating acquaintances. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” she said in a tone that reflected an unspoken accusation. Women of this type are always ‘fine’. “Don’t see you at the makeup counter often,” she persisted.
“No, I thought I’d just pick up something for..” I quickly thought I’d better not say it was for my wife as Amanda may mention it to her. “…something for my daughter.”
“Nice…” she said. “Thoughtful.”
“Well…” I started to say something about being a dutiful father.
“Cum slut pink, huh?” said Amanda.
“Well, you know. The kids today! What can you do!”
Amanda hurried away with a look of middle aged disgust on her face. That’s one chick who really is wound up just a little too tightly. A waste of a good pussy, if I ever saw one.
I hope all our friends and members are having a great week. Have you good a funny story to share about buying lipstick? Feel free to email me and I’ll try and feature it in an upcoming email to our group.
This week we welcome new members from Melbourne in Australia, Germany and even Yellow Knife in the great North of Canada. If you are enjoying hearing from me and wish to support my blog, but are not yet a paid up member of the feminization program, you can help me by reblogging my posts on Tumblr. That gives me a great deal of pleasure.
Not yet signed up for my premium feminization program? Take your time. I want you to get the very best out of the program, and the best way to do that is to do it when you are ready. It’s perfect for people getting into crossdressing, and I hope you like it.
If you are not a full member think about signing up –http://genr8tor.com/membership/ . When I see payment go through I will start you on your path. I work though everyone’s messages a couple of times a day and work to get you moving quickly. I know you’ll love it.