Fluid Movements.

As you are probably aware I lead a strange and varied existence. Since Angelina has returned to Los Angeles, I’ve been very busy and had a houseful of friends today. As luck would have it my personal trainer, Sebastian, brought a friend of his over for my workout, and we opted to do something a little different.  She was a delightful little thing and came to teach a yoga class.

This was wonderful, as I’ve recently bought some stunning new leggings, which when worn with a little pink tee shirt combines to make a lovely simple outfit. Misha, the yoga teacher also had cooked a delightful curry, which we enjoyed and then sat about talking for about an hour before laying out a few mats and beginning the class.

Now, I should point out that Sylvester, my mechanic, who had dropped by to help me with some lubrication issues, is something of a stranger to Yoga, but having enjoyed some curry, decided to join our little class. I also had Ali, my Syrian gardener join us. Bernard my photographer, happened to have come round for tea, still recovering from being Tazered and having a heart attack, also joined us.  It really was a full house.

Max, my neighbors 19 year old son, who I must say I find spending far too much time goggling at me, also took time to join us. It was quite a lovely group. I have on many occasions lately, noticed how Max has been looking at me. I think he’s given himself one too many selfies lately, if you get my drift. Can’t be good for the eyesight!

Sylvester shifted uneasily as he took up a ‘warrior 2’ pose, and Misha cooed that yoga is all about fluid movements. Bernard glanced at Sylvester, who lurched into another position, and grunted that the curry was taking care of the fluid movements – and quietly slipped off to the bathroom.

Ali was looking off into the far distance, very serenely, enjoying every moment. When Sylvester returned he adopted a pose that resembled a shed in a car park, more than it did a yoga position. That said, his body is very muscular. Almost Neanderthal, actually.

Max, positioned behind me as I adopted a forward fold from the hips, stared with adolescent lust. I couldn’t help thinking of the many handed god Vishnu, and how Max wouldn’t mind being him about now.

We did enjoy the class and as it wrapped up Misha told us all how she loved the yoga lifestyle. She teaches and also has a small business selling soaps and perfumes. She’s a very creative young lady.

“I’ve even released my own fragrance,” she commented.

Looking very uncomfortable with the situation, Sylvester added that he had as well, and hurried to the bathroom once more.

Life really is never dull!

If you have not already signed up for the Premium Program please consider doing so. I have some great exercises and tasks in there for all my gurls.  Before you know it you’ll have your ankles behind your ears and be enjoying fluid movements of your own!

I sincerely hope you are enjoying the news I share with you. You can participate and comment even more at http://FionaDobson.com
🙂

Fiona

Come and sit on my Zamboni.

Hi,

I am out of breath as I write this. I’ve only just got home after a most disturbing incident. I feel I have to write and tell you about it.

The day started calmly enough. I did my early morning yoga class, and then as I sipped a morning coffee I watched Ali, my gardener, picking figs from a tree I have in the garden. He really is a treasure, and as I went out to check on my bees, who are prodigiously working away producing honey, I could hear him humming a strange tune.

I am finding these summer mornings delightful. It’s my usual practice to wear something simple – a plain tennis skirt, some wedges, and a pastel top. I like to keep things very simple. My brightly colored nail polish sets it all off rather stylishly.

Ali glanced round and saw me in the garden and then fell into silence for a moment.

“Good morning,” he said cheerfully, and carefully selected a juicy fig and handed it to me. “Such a health food, and a perfect one for you.”

“I do appreciate healthy foods, Ali,” I mused as I bit into the succulent fruit.

“That must be how you keep so trim,” he continued. “And is it not written that it is easier for a fat man to enter the kingdom of heaven, than to pass through the eye of a camel.”

I frowned and said, “I don’t think it is written. At least nowhere I’ve read it.”

I do wonder about Ali’s English. He was a professor of botany in Syria, before the terrible crisis over there. However, since coming here he’s been studying English. I’m not quite sure where his difficulty with English begins and his sense of irony ends. I added, “However, that is a perfect fig.”

It really is peaceful in my garden. The ripe fruit and soft early morning sun on my face reminded me how very fortunate I am to live here. Canada is truly a blessed country.

Picking up my bag and cell phone I decided to make the most of the morning, and took Hannibal, my dachshund, for his morning walk. As I strolled down Huckleberry Close I got a call from Sylvester, who has been learning to drive the Zamboni at the local ice arena. He’s really becoming quite skilled. He called to ask if I wanted to have breakfast with him at a café nearby. Naturally I agreed. They do the most delightful croissants, orange juice and coffee. The mother of the family that runs the café keeps bees and brings in her own honey. It’s really most delightful.

And so as Marjory was leaving for work, rather than drive I asked for a lift and rode with her the three miles to the arena, where she dropped me and decided to join us for breakfast. I think that after some years Marjory is warming to me. She still finds me a trifle odd, but she’s been a lot more settled since she started dating my wife’s childhood friend, Amanda.

Marjory and I walked into the huge ice arena, and there across the rink was Sylvester driving the Zamboni. The cool air wafting off the ice was a welcome relief from the heat. When Sylvester looked up he recognized Marjory and I and stopped the big ice grading machine.

“Come on over,” he shouted across the ice. “You want a ride?”

I’ve never been on a Zamboni before, so Marjory and I gingerly stepped out on the ice and tottered across to the vehicle. For those not familiar with the Zamboni, it’s a vehicle driven on an ice rink to resurface the ice. We do this so that the hockey games are played on a very flat surface. Ice has small crenelations if not properly smoothed making it unpleasant to skate, and the Zamboni does the job very well. Sylvester has been learning the skill recently, and now does the occasional turn at the arena cleaning up the surface for the skaters, and preparing it for the ritual slaughter of foreign hockey teams that keeps Canadians so amused. Really, it does. And they just keep coming back for more!

I stepped up onto the vehicle, my little tennis skirt riding a little high as I did so. Marjory followed me, looking a little bemused, and then Sylvester was off and driving around the ice, leaving a smooth glasslike finish behind us.

Now, keep in mind this was very early in the morning, and through the large windows out in the deserted car park I could see Marjory’s solitary car. As we rode around the ice I noticed someone was doing something to Marjory’s little car. The next thing I knew, the car was pulling away toward the exit of the car park.

“Marjory,” I said. “I think someone’s stealing your car!”

She looked out of the window, and sure enough, she shouted, “My car! My car!”

With remarkable composure Sylvester swung the big machine around toward the huge doors of the arena. He hit a remote control and the doors slowly began to open. I have to say I was most surprised at the turn of speed the Zamboni then displayed. Accelerating toward the opening doors Marjory and I clung on to our swarthy friend as the Zamboni flew off the ice and started out across the car park.

“Don’t worry,” said Sylvester, his hair swept back in the morning air as we raced across the car park. “I’ll catch him!”

The little car was exiting the car park and moving out into the slow moving morning traffic. Sylvester piloted the Zamboni skillfully out into the road and we shouted after the car thief, who was becoming increasingly ensnared in the traffic as we maneuvered between lanes, to the surprise of other drivers.

While Marjory called the local police, I hung on to the Zamboni and Sylvester steered us skillfully between cars with startled drivers looking incredulously at us as we navigated down the road in the ice smoothing machine.  It’s really not the sort of things you expect to see on the morning commute in 32 degrees of heat (89 degrees Fahrenheit).

As the cars ground to a halt at the traffic lights ahead, a police car appeared and started cutting through the traffic. Marjory was talking to the emergency operator, who relayed her instructions directly to the police cruiser.

A moment later the traffic stopped, police car on one side of Marjory’s car, and Zamboni halted flush with the drivers side. Marjory’s little car was completely boxed in. It was at this point that I decided it might be wise to make myself a little scarce. With a smile to Sylvester and a polite wave to the car thief, who was trying in vain to open the car door, I slipped of the Zamboni and made my way to the sidewalk.

As I left I could hear the sound of other sirens. Likely this would turn into a dogs dinner of police and press and god knows what.

At that moment the appalling Amanda called my cell.

“What on earth’s going on with Marjory? I’m trying to phone her and it just rings and rings,” she said sounding both annoyed and annoying.

“Ahh…. Her phone’s probably in her car.”

“So?” came the reply.

“Well, nothing really…” I wasn’t going to get into that with Amanda.

So, next time someone asks you if you’d like a ride on a Zamboni, keep in mind it may not go the way you planned. So much for breakfast! I’m sure Sylvester and Marjory will be occupied for a while there. I felt it best to hurry home to my kitchen, where I am writing this to you now.

It’s been a very busy week here. Katia has been doing several coaching sessions with coaching clients. That seems to be going down very well. We’re also finding a great deal of new content appearing on the website. We’re extending our best wishes to Kelly, who is recovering from an operation you can read about here. You can pass on your good wishes by leaving a message in the comments. We’ve also got a new audio episode of The Making Of A Mistress from Katia, and a great story from Mollie Blake about waxing. This week we also carried a fascinating story about transvestites in Kenya.

I hope you’re enjoying the site. If you’re not, just come back a couple of days later and you’re likely going to find a whole lot of different content!

Have a lovely week,

🙂

Fiona

Kelly’s operation.

This is a rather poignant exchange, used with permission, that shows how some of our members struggle. Life’s hurdles are made more complex for those of us searching for our inner gurl.

I hope you read the following exchange with kindness and the way it’s intended. Kelly is now recovering and you can leave your good wishes in the comments below.  FD

I received this from Kelly some weeks ago –

I found out this morning that my right foot is going to be amputated below the knee. And since the news my place has been people coming and going. Haven’t had a moment to myself to have a good cry. My fault for not getting to the doctors earlier just kept putting it off. So, I will have to wait on this and I was looking forward to enjoying my time of learning more about myself and inner woman. So sorry to have bothered you. Sincerely Kelly


We exchanged a few messages, and this morning this came in.

 

Ah Miss. Fiona,

I had my right leg amputated and now have to wait 8 weeks to heal. Then I’ll go back and have some screws removed all in good time.

Whenever I can sneak away from prying eyes I look at some of the other C.d.ers and wonder to myself how in the world can they wear those dresses and mini skirts and not be noticed that they are men. And some of them are beautiful and gorgeous, I must say.

I look, then think am I am a pervert for looking. It is going to take me a long time to even start, for I have to look in a mirror and get used to the idea that my leg is gone. But what can I say, or do, it’s my fault. But when the time is right I shall jump at the chance once again for to many years neglecting my inner needs.

So with sincerity I will close, and thank you.

Kelly


And here’s my response:

Hi Kelly,

First of all, ‘no’, you’re not a pervert. Those of us who choose to allow the feminine side of our personality to emerge are neither sick nor perverted. We are simply finding our way.

For many people the path is confusing. However, there are some who have blazed a trail and we can learn from them. Primary in our thoughts should be the fact that while we’re searching, it’s really a quest to discover ourselves. As one progresses along this road one realises that it’s more about accepting who we really are than imitating the female form. Acceptance that ‘this is who I am’ is the most important part.

Your amputation does not change ‘who you are’ one iota. There are many genetic females who also have their legs amputated. I cannot begin to imagine being in your shoes – or should I say ‘shoe’ – however, I do think a good idea may be to look at what a feminine amputee might wear. What is considered good for them? You see, nothing has changed. You are who you are; as you embrace that then, sure, you’ll have to deal with the health issue. However, it need not detract from the search for ‘Kelly’.

My thoughts go out to you, and my hopes and prayers. In the meantime, put your best foot forward (an easier choice now) and hop into a brighter future.

🙂

Fiona

And finally: –

Oh thank you Miss Fiona,

Doctor wants me to sit in front of a mirror so my mind can accept the fact my leg is gone. And yes after i go through all this emotional change to my body I will pursue my dreams. Just bear with me on this deal but thank you for the encouraging words.

Sincerely Kelly

 

Please use the comments section below to pass on your best wishes.

The Making of a Mistress 8. Strength

The start of this story can be found HERE..

In this chapter of “The Making of a Mistress” Katia and her coworker Joanna discuss a BDSM contract. Johnathon appears mysteriously in the local greasy spoon, and MadDog gifts a timely “oracle”…

I had opened the envelope on the way home from Valleri’s, pulling out the letter inside. It appeared to be some sort of checklist, heavy with the scent of typewriter ink – that dusty old smell that reminded me of the grandfather on my father’s side, who I’d met a few times in early childhood. He spent hours in the upstairs office, hammering out letters to customers, with the vexed heavy-handedness of the perpetually overworked.

It was a list of terms to a BDSM relationship. It listed a number of things, many of which I’d not heard of and some of which I had heard of, that horrified me. Surely she wasn’t planning all of this? But by the looks of it there was consent. Electrical wands? Swallowing semen? Tampon training? Surely this was something every girl knew – and then I read the addendum in brackets – in the ass. Certainly everything I’d ever learnt about tampons was that they were not to be played with and they certainly didn’t go there. What about toxic shock? Good grief.

Alongside each item were three boxes where the reader was to specify their willingness to perform it. Looking at the list, there were quite a few I knew I’d never stoop to. In fact, it was most of the list. Calvin would never approve. Perhaps a little paddling, but even that seemed to be pushing the line. And how would this help me with my art? The further from Valleri’s place I got, the less certain I became of her offer. By the time Calvin answered the door to me and enfolded me in a hug, I was almost certain I’d have to rethink it.”

Hannibal the vibrating dachshund.

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 sometime 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.

As I waited 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 Hannibal, 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 it’s 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. I shifted awkwardly.

“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 emailing you. I’ve just put up a new episode of “Playtime With Fiona” on Soundcloud. You can find all my Soundcloud posts HERE.

I’d love to see you in my Premium Program soon. I think you know you’ll enjoy it.

Fiona

PS. 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. Email me to let me know you’ve upgraded.

Fiona.

If you don’t like the cucumber, you can always take it out.

I groaned and pushed a little harder, then looked up into Sebastian’s eyes.

“If you don’t like the cucumber,” I said gasping, “you can take it out.”

Sebastian was sitting beside my car as I was loading a heavy picnic hamper into it. He watched me, not really helping very much, still nursing a painful injury sustained this week. Sebastian and I do love to go for picnics in the summer. As you likely know I am very active in the kitchen, and more than happy getting the finest quality epicurean delights to slip between Sebastian’s gluten free buns. In fact, now that I think about it, that’s very reminiscent of what I was doing this very night gone by! For some reason, after I’d made some delicious cheese and cucumber sandwiches he let me know he doesn’t really like cucumber! Perhaps he’ll enjoy it better if I insert salami instead.

It’s been a very busy week. I’ve been working hard at the advertising agency, compiling a report about the decline of indoor games for one of my clients. While there’s been a drop in people playing Clue (Cludo if you’re in the UK) and Monopoly, five out of six people do still enjoy Russian Roulette. I find the results of that particular survey both surprising and a little disturbing.

Sebastian and I are having a picnic by the water, as he’s recovering from a minor incident at the hospital. As you possibly know, he’s quite committed to alternative therapies. You may remember he lamented not having his homeopathic first aid kit when Bernard, my photographer, was shot in the chest with a carrot. During his latest medical exam, when the doctor told him that Mercury was rising in Uranus he thought that modern medicine was embracing astrology. Apparently this was not the case, and the thermometer had broken whilst in use.

This, however, is not the main reason I’m writing to you today. I wanted to let you know that our wonderful Katia Thornwood is now offering personal one on one crossdressing coaching sessions online. She’s a delight to work with, and if you’d like someone to talk with about crossdressing, or some guidance in terms of how to advance a little in your practice, she’s very happy to oblige. These sessions are scheduled at the time most convenient for you and can be very liberating. Many of my members would love a kindly ear with which to share their thoughts and ideas, and their concerns. Katia is doing a great job with this, and many of her coaching clients end up having regular sessions with her every week or two. If this is something that interests you please follow this link and I will set it up for you.

I’m thrilled to share a lovely image with you from Millie, a new crossdresser. She’s on Twitter and can be found here: https://twitter.com/Millie78038961

I know she’d be delighted if you follow her as she’s putting up some images as she progresses, and it’s already looking like a great journey.

Finally, I have been so happy to see Mollie Blake’s writing on the site recently. Her latest piece about waxing is masterful. You can find it here: http://fionadobson.com/mollie-blake/the-dating-game-part-2-by-mollie-blake/

I must say, the site has grown. We now have new content every day or so, and coming back to the website a few times a week is sure to give you new and exciting things to do and think about each time.

Have a delightful week.

😊

Fiona

Magical find, for a new found love.

You can Follow Monica’s blog here: https://onlymonica.tumblr.com/

Magical find, for a new found love.

I’m sort of a self-confessed ‘slave to fashion’, but I’m not locked into a particular style. In fact, one of the absolute greatest aspects of women’s fashion is exploring and experimenting with entirely new styles.

Lately I’ve been on a kick for dark blue dresses with traditional flair, like piping, peter pan collars, and double breasted bodices. So my heart skipped a few beats when I stumbled across this absolute gem at one of my local thrift stores. I’ve been looking for a traditional ‘Navy wife’ dress for a long time – the kind that’s more modest than this one. You know – mid calf length, trim but not too curvy. This is more of a ‘Navy captain’s teenage daughter flirt dress’ – the kind that military dads might say ‘Whoa – she’s growing up, and she’s gonna have a lot of fun!!’, or ‘Whooooooaaaa – time to move to a Middle East posting where there’s no chance I’m gonna have to deal with a ‘love child’.

Either way, there’s no way I could resist this dress.

Monica

Follow Monica’s blog here: https://onlymonica.tumblr.com/

The Dating Game – Part 2 – By Mollie Blake.

In the second part of Mollie’s story we continue to follow David, or ‘Diana’ and Lucy. Part 1 can be found here.

Wax Lyrical

David ripped the last length of wax from his leg, wincing only slightly and pressing his hand against the newly smoothed skin to relieve the sting.

A broad smile smile stretched across his face as he remembered his first encounter with a spatula of wax and strip of tape.

000

David shot bolt upright on the makeshift massage table. “Fucking hell! That hurt!”

There was no compassion from the sadist already applying another strip of hot wax—was Lucy sure it had to be this hot?—to the next stretch of hair on his leg.

Waxing makes all the difference.

This was a bad idea. Why didn’t he just stick to the black leggings? They felt good on him, beneath the grey chiffon dress.

“Come on, don’t be a wuss. Are you gonna’ man up to be the woman of your dreams?”

“Argh!” Wince, wince. Maybe he’d just have one leg done today, the other next week?

But Lucy’s torture was relentless. “Keep still, or I’ll have to go over that bit again.”

David could hear the taunting in her voice. For a petite five foot nothing slip of a lass she was a formidable character. It would make her day to keep him here all afternoon, subjected to burning pain, followed by everlasting smarting.

Continue reading “The Dating Game – Part 2 – By Mollie Blake.”

Who are you? No, really… who the heck are you?

Hi,

Last week Marjory, my neighbour and the lesbian lover of the appalling Amanda, my wife’s childhood ‘friend’, suffered a serious blow.  She was disqualified in a sausage eating competition in Poughkeepsie, New York. Now, before you go any further, I am going to point out that it wasn’t ‘that kind of blow’, and like you I am at a loss thinking about how Marjory developed any sausage eating skills whatsoever, but I really don’t want to go too far down that rather distasteful road. Needless to say Amanda has been offering her a very supportive hand.

I’ve talked in the past about the idea of accepting who you are, and moving to a point at which we cease to imitate and embrace the idea of accepting the feminine side of ourselves as an integral part of our identity. For many crossdressers it’s a moment in which awkwardness and guilt fall away and we feel free of the self-inflicted pains of self-doubt and self-judgement.

It’s worth considering that those last three things – self-inflicted pain, self-judgement and self-doubt, are all things we do to ourselves. Perhaps because of our upbringing, or our community, we do choose to hurt ourselves as much as we might fear the judgement of others. While it takes a very thick skin to be oblivious to the judgement of others, there’s a lot to be said for not giving too paying too much heed to the criticism of others. They have not walked a mile in our heels, so to speak.

Continue reading “Who are you? No, really… who the heck are you?”

Do you ever feel like playing with yourself?

Hi,

I’d like to introduce you to one of our favorite crossdressers – Kitty, today. Kitty is gorgeous, glitzy and loves to knit.  She’s been creating some lovely sweaters anyone crossdressing would love to own and can be found on Ebay here:  https://www.ebay.com/usr/knittingsissyluxurymohair

Kitty is a long time member and loves to wrap her fingers round her knitting needle and put it to good use! If you’d like her to knit something for you contact her through Ebay and I know she’ll be happy to do so.

And of course, the other person that’s been wrapping his hands around things and giving them a good working over is Sylvester. I came into the living room just yesterday to find him on the floor with Sebastian, my personal trainer, saying “Colonel Mustard, in the library with a ten-inch dildo.”

“I beg your pardon,” I said a little shocked.

“Oh hello,” said Sylvester. “We’re playing Adult Clue (or Cludo if you are from The United Kingdom). It’s something I’ve adapted from the board game.”

“Well,” I said, trying to be encouraging although I felt a little awkward, “I’m glad to see you’re not letting your God given talents go to waste, Sylvester.”

After a moment’s thought I added, “Perhaps you could think up some way to murder a new character – you could call her, oh, I don’t know… ‘Amanda’. Death by impaling, in the neighbors house, by the crossdresser.”

For those of you who don’t know, Amanda is my wife’s childhood friend, who has started a relationship with my next door neighbour, Marjory. This is a source of some annoyance, particularly as my wife is travelling at present.

I should tell you I enjoy competitive games enormously. I also play some role playing games. So many times I feel like I’m getting ahead and suddenly someone’s coming up behind me and a breathless struggle ensues. It’s all very exciting. Perhaps you know the feeling. Sometimes I get so excited, I just don’t know what comes over me! I guess it’s the cut and thrust – mostly the thrust – of putting oneself up against a fellow player.

I should also say that this week one of my friends who is a regular player got on a plane to work in New York for a couple of weeks, leaving me with no alternative but to play with myself.

That, however, is not the main reason I’m writing to you. I thought I’d write and tell you about the delightful Mollie Blake. She’s a talented writer who has recently had a piece featured on my website, and we’re expecting to see some interesting new episodes from soon. If you’ve not already read “The Dating Game“, this weekend is a great time to do so. You can also find her on Twitter here. https://twitter.com/MollieBlake0  Be sure to say hello, and that you saw her on http://FionaDobson.com

I should also draw special attention to Katia Thornwood‘s new serial, The Making Of  A Mistress, which has been growing into a favorite among my members. Slipping into bed, and putting Katia on to listen to as you fall asleep is one sure way to end the night on a high note.  Katia’s style is quite unique, and if you enjoy her rather strange view of the world, you’ll love her website at http://KatiaThornwood.com

For the many members who are asking about Part 19 of Clothes Maketh The Man it can be found HERE. Well, you can see that the office here has been pretty busy bringing you the best of all things to do with Crossdressing. Have a wonderful week.

😊

Fiona

The Dating Game – Part 1 – by Mollie Blake

I am thrilled to introduce you to Mollie Blake, a wonderful writer from England’s west country. In this, her first piece for FionaDobson.com she’s going to lead you through a story telling the tantalizing crossdressing story of a date night to remember. You can find more of her stories at MollieBlake.com

The Dating Game – by Mollie Blake

“Professor Forbes, I’ve got a…er…Lucinda de Vilish on the phone for you.”

David glanced up to check his office door was closed. “Thanks, Edwina. Put her through.”

“Professor Forbes. This is Lucinda de Vilish.”

Before responding he waited for the “click” to make sure his inquisitive secretary had put her phone down. “Lucy. You’ve rung me at work! This had better be a matter of life or death.”

“Well, hi, David. How nice to hear from you! And it is a matter of life, and my future happiness.”

“So what’s that then?”

“I’ve set us up on a double date.”

“A double date?” The frown David had been wearing for most of the day so far, slowly morphed into a broad smile. He pressed his hand over the top of his dark grey trousers.

“Oh, come on! You know you want to. It’ll be fun. I met this guy and his friend in the bar last night. I said we’d see them tonight. At Don Antonio’s, your favourite Italian. You can pick me up at 7.30…and David, I’m relying on you. 7.30 okay?”

“What if I’ve got plans—”

The line had gone dead.

Who was he kidding anyway? Lucy knew he didn’t have plans. During semesters, the only thing he had going on was teaching a bunch of students about quantum technology. He focused on the report he had been writing with renewed zest—his day had just got better.

  Continue reading “The Dating Game – Part 1 – by Mollie Blake”

Would you like to stuff my beaver?

Hi,

This morning, just as I was emerging from my morning yoga session, I was surprised to see Max (my neighbour’s son), huffing and puffing and coming in my rear entrance, a bundle of excited youthful anticipation. He was hurrying up the garden path, as I pulled up my yoga pants, and adjusted my hair.

Sebastian, my personal trainer, was as surprised as I was myself. He likes to come early to stretch me, as I’m sure my regular members are aware.

“Fiona,” said Max, bursting into my kitchen. “Can I take a look at your beaver?”

As you probably know, today is Canada Day. It’s a tradition in Huckleberry Close, to come over to my house on Canada Day, and look at my beaver, the centrepiece of the Canada Day party I always throw, to celebrate us throwing off the shackles of oppressive colonialism before Canada declared itself free of tyrannical rule from London. Actually, that’s not really true. We just all sort of agreed that we’d have a new flag and continue to be the friends we’ve always been. No one was being either tyrannical or oppressive, but it’s a good excuse for a party. And the centre piece of the party is my beaver, a stuffed animal that has become something of a mascot over the years. It’s traditional for us to enjoy some lovely Canadian Wines, from British Columbia (a place that is neither British nor Columbian), swap hockey stories and talk about Zamboni’s while apologizing to one another. We all eat poutine and make fun of people we love from Newfoundland, and generally act in an understated but quietly superior way, while listening to The Tragically Hip, 54 40, Five Man Electrical Band, Rush and many other great Canadian bands.

I told Max, “Darling, calm down. My beaver is open to everyone, just give me a moment to prepare it! You’ll get your turn. Just don’t get too excited. It’s Canada Day, you’ll have to pace yourself.”

We have so many wonderful traditions in Canada. Being Canadian means so many wonderful things to all the peoples of our country. We love our diversity, our first nations people and our ability not to elect a leader largely perceived as a psychopath and moron by the rest of the planet.

If Max gets over excited, of course, it will be over before it’s really started. It can happen to us all. I handed him a pot of maple syrup and suggested he put it out on the garden table while I went down to get the noble beast, and then he could examine my beaver to his hearts content.

This year’s wine of choice is Quill, a distinctive Rose from Vancouver Island, which is quite delightful and goes rather well with the short skirt I’m wearing. It’s light, a little cheeky and subtly stimulating.  The wine’s not bad either. I know we’ll be toasting Sylvester, who has decided to commit to a course learning to drive a Zamboni at the local hockey arena. I must get things ready for the party shortly, so this will be a short email.

It may come as a surprise to some of you, but Marjory (my delightful lesbian neighbor) got her hand stuck in my beaver recently while trying to replace some of the stuffing. She was wedged right in there! I know what you’re thinking, what was she of all people doing, jammed up there? Well, she does fancy herself as something of an amateur taxidermist. Strange woman. She’s from Alaska, you know. Eventually we got her hand out, but ever since she’s been acting most strangely. She’s said on more than one occasion that she wishes her hands were a little smaller. I can’t think why! It’s almost as though she’s never heard of lube. I understand it softens the skin nicely and taxidermists swear by it.

I hurried down to the basement and found my beaver, then carried it up to my garden table, already bathed in warm summer sunshine. In the sunlight I could see it has begun to look a little tired. I suppose one can not be surprised. After all, my beaver has been fingered by many over the passing years. And yet, surprisingly it continues to put a contented smile on many of my friends faces. However, I do believe a beaver should be well groomed and well presented. I will speak to my local taxidermist and have him restuff it later this month.

With this in mind I resolved to make a Canada Day offer to all my friends and members. Anyone who emails me with the words in the subject line “Fiona, I’ll stuff your beaver!” before the end of Canada Day, July 1st, can have a free membership to My Little Black Book. This is worth $2.95 a month for crossdressing gurls, and $4.95 a month to Admirers. So, get your digits moving and I can help get some more members in there. And of course, now you’ll be featured in The Fiona Dobson Crossdressing App, as a member of My Little Black Book, which has been downloaded by over 5000 crossdressers.

Have a wonderful week.

😊

Fiona

I kissed a gurl and I liked it.

Hi,

What a busy week it’s been here in Huckleberry Close. We’ve got a wonderful new installment of The Making Of A Mistress by Katia Thornwood, another episode in Oakley Dale’s advice column about How To Talk To Your Partner About Crossdressing, and of course all the fun of things going down in my kitchen. Today’s theme is a little unusual, being of a more Eastern European flavor.

But first, to Mildred of Colorado Springs. In reply to your question, I would suggest caution. I don’t think it’s a good idea to take your nephew to the US Mexican Border and abandon him. True, it’s not pleasant witnessing a six year old boy’s tantrum when he’s upset that mummy and daddy aren’t sending him to summer camp this year. However, abandoning the child at the border and suggesting he ask the nice man in the uniform about something called ‘asylum’ might be considered inhuman by some. Exposing him to a photo op and a kiss on the cheek from Melania Trump, on the other hand, would likely fall into the category of cruel and unusual punishment. By the way, if you’re interested in getting a cool T-shirt check this out. I have to say, kissing Eastern European women, in my experience, has often been a little like putting my tongue in an industrial vacuum cleaner that’s recently been used to clean up a toxic waste spill. Okay, I’m going to leave that one right there…

Of course, SebastianSylvesterMaxAliand I have all been watching the World Cup Soccer from Russia. We’ve also been getting some very interesting input from one of our Little Black Bookmembers, who toured in Russia and learned to speak the language some 20 years ago. Apparently she got about a great deal shortly after the fall of the wall, and found the experience strangely educating. She mentioned that she found it quite easy to master the local tongue. Among the most educational moments, she recalls, was when she was cornered by several members of the US Embassy staff, who took it on themselves to ‘debrief’ her in a Moscow hotel.  She tells me she was quite overcome. At least I think that’s what she said happened. Well, I guess we all serve our country in different ways!

Pictured above is Astrid, our special Sochi Soccer correspondent. She’s a very helpful student, who is helping us out. She’s studying Counselling Psychology, with a minor in Abattoir Management at Sochi University.

The other big news this week is that I opened up the membership of My Little Black Book to all who download The Fiona Dobson Crossdressing App. This means anyone who downloads the app can get access to the members listings free. If you wish to place a listing in the book, the price remains either $2.95 a month for Crossdressers, or $4.95 a month for Admirers. Anyone subscribing to My Little Black Book is now able to connect with over 5000 people who have downloaded the App. That’s a lot of crossdressers!

If you’re a loyal member of the my programs I would love to see you in My Little Black Book. If you’ve not done so already sign up here.

Have a wonderful week.

😊

Fiona

Download the App free today – and get daily updates. Download the Android App HERE.
You should probably be in my Premium Program.
Chastity Devices – Breast Forms – Wigs – Corsets

Are you reading the exciting adventures of Andy in “Clothes Maketh The Man”?

***Part 18 has just been released!***

Manipulated and taken advantage of by the evil Devina, Andy finds himself compromised into dressing. You’ll never believe what follows!
If you haven’t yet dived into the extraordinary serialised feminization adventure you can find it here:

Read the story – Clothes Maketh The Man http://fionadobson.com/clothes-maketh-the-man-part-1/

When was the first time you crossdressed? Do you remember the details? Check out one of our most popular sections on the website and read others experiences of the first time they crossdressed.

You can add your own story and find out how similar it is to others. If it’s an unusual story we may end up featuring it in our program.

My First Time

How not to wear garbage clothes.

I think it fair to say that most crossdressers enjoy wearing clothes with style and panache. One great example of someone who does not know how to do this came to the fore recently.

I’ve sent staff home from the office before for ‘looking like you are wearing a garbage bag to work’. When Melania Trump recently showed up with a heartless message on her jacket she proved once more that it really doesn’t matter how much money you have, you can’t buy class. I need hardly add that the children abused by this heartless policy have no voice to counter this ignorance with.

Thanks for reminding us all exactly who you and your family are. As if we needed reminding!

You can add your voice to those who really do care by wearing the tee shirt below.

 

Finding friends to crossdress with may be easier than you thought.

Finding friends to crossdress with may be easier than you thought.

My Little Black Book is a great service for my crossdressing friends, and those who admire them. Members of this exclusive club are able to list their details so others can reach out and contact them very easily. Seeing the listings is free, and it allows you to connect with people interested in chatting, meeting or dating. Everyone listed is interested in hearing from others. My Admirer members are definitely looking to date crossdressers and would love you to contact them.

I’ve recently added a new feature to My Little Black Book.  Not only can other members reach out to you, but now my friends that download The Fiona Dobson Crossdressing App get free access to the listings. Now, if you do wish to be listed in My Little Black Book, you still have to join and pay the monthly fee of $2.95 for a crossdresser, or $4.95 for an Admirer. I do have a method for female Admirer Members to get into the book at no cost, which you can find here.

So, be sure to download the App, and have some fun with My Little Black Book.

😊

Fiona