Leotards – a great way to keep fit and look great doing so.

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.

It’s summer – it’s mini skirt weather!

It’s time to get into that mini skirt and show off your curves.  The hypnosis file above will help you make up your mind to get out there and give it a try, all you need to do now is select a great skirt and off you go! Remember to check sizes, and most guys will be a XXL.

Here’s a few great options you can order online.

Don’t ever underestimate the power of a mini skirt. It will change the way you look, and change the way you feel. Be sure of one thing, though. If you’re going to wear a mini, you have to wear it like you mean it!

FD

Bernard goes beyond.

Hi,

Well, I’m sure you’re aware of the latest events around Bernard being shot in the chest with a carrot – if not you can catch up here – which has left us all very worried about his health.

To get you up to date, it wasn’t until several hours after he’d been carted off in the ambulance, following Max getting so upset about what he described as Sebastian and I doing yoga ‘doggy style’in my garden, that I managed to get through to the emergency department. The head nurse left me on hold as she went to see what had happened to poor Bernard.

Now, as you likely know, Bernard recently had a heart transplant following a Tazering incident, and we were all most concerned that he may have been severely hurt by the flying vegetable. Additionally, Max was getting increasingly worried about the idea that he may have committed a crime.

I had the phone in my kitchen on speaker, as Max and I waited to be transferred. I remember the moment in some detail, as I had just finished freshening my nail polish and I couldn’t very well hold the cell. Really, though, that scarlet color is simply to die for!

I asked Max to paint my toe nails, as I waited on hold. I was standing there on one leg, my other foot on a bar stool, my tight leggings showing the well defined shape of my legs, as Max painted my toes. You know, you might think me a little cruel, but I do get a little thrill from the fact that his eyes would drift up my leg from time to time. Torturing the puppies is a secret pleasure of mine!

“Is that Fiona Dobson,” came the nurses voice.

“It most certainly is,” I replied.

“Yes, Ms. Dobson. Bernard has you listed as his primary contact.”

“Of course he does!” I said, attempting to keep the frustration from my voice.

“Well, Ms. Dobson, I’m sorry to tell you this…”

At that moment Max’s hand shakily managed to paint one of my toes.

“Just a moment,” I said, then turning to Max, “for goodness sake, Max. Please be more attentive!”

I turned back to the phone, “Go on, dear,” I said.

“Yes,” she continued, “I’m sorry but I have to tell you…”

“Max!” I shouted, as he slipped once more. “Do be careful!”

The nurse continued, “I’m sorry but Bernard is no longer with us.”

There was a pause, and Max fell pale. I took the phone off speaker mode, and said to the nurse, “But … How?”

“He’s no longer in the emergency department,” continued the nurse. “He’s been transferred to the Intensive Care Unit, he’s scheduled for heart surgery later today.”

Now, I am sure you know I am not an unkind individual. However, I do confess I thought briefly about leaving Max in his growing sense of panic. Mentally, he was already gathering a few things and ready to head to Mexico.

I arranged to visit in the morning, and hung up the phone.

“Don’t worry, Max. Bernard’s having surgery. I’m sure he’s got a good chance of a full recovery.  It was a nasty accident, that’s all. We can go to see him in the morning.”

With that, Sebastian entered the kitchen, doing his very best to be helpful. “I feel I should come, too. After all, it was my exhaust pipe from which he was hurt. I feel a kind of karmic obligation.”

“How thoughtful you are,” I said. “Max, my nails aren’t going to paint themselves!”

“Perhaps I could take him one of my nice recordings of relaxing sounds. That’s sure to make him feel better. Fiona, what’s the most relaxing sound you can think of. Whale song? The sound of the wind through a forest?”

“I think the sound of the door closing as Amanda leaves my house following one of her visits. That always leaves me feeling better,” I said.

“I think whale song might be more relaxing,” murmured Sebastian.

With that we did our best to put our fears for Bernard to rest. Max continued to do my toe nails and we resolved to visit the hospital the following morning.

And so it was that we decided to visit the following morning, Max and Sebastian bringing both guilt and karmic balance, and I some perfectly painted nails and a rather smart pleated skirt.

I shall let you know how things went next week.

Fiona

No one should be without a body stocking!

If you are getting my weekly emails – which you get when you sign up for the Free Program – you’ll already know the importance of having a great body stocking in your wardrobe.  I was reminded, when looking at Sylvester’s legs the other day, that some of us bare a closer resemblance to the lower primates than others. Having a great body stocking is a good way to disguise body hair.

Here’s a selection of options that are fun, easy to wear and will make you feel fabulous.

 

 

_________________________________________________________________

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 11.

Ben’s feet moved cautiously across the creaking floor, his hand in mine as I guided him blindfolded towards the sounds of the group. Goosebumps studded his naked form, still wet from the shower. I’d reapplied his makeup, but without the corset and striated with the marks of heavy use and a slight limp, he looked less magnificent now. After her frigid baptismal cleansing in the chemical room, Britney looked every part the fallen woman. But she wasn’t done falling yet.

  Continue reading “The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 11.”

Connecting with other members of Fiona’s Little Black Book.

By now you should have your Profile up in Fiona’s Little Black Book, a nice pic – or even just something simple until you have the time to do a really good one. Now it’s time to think about reaching out to others.

You don’t want to just sit there and wait for someone to connect. That’s just a wee bit too passive. No, as Sebastian said to me while pulling on his spandex cycling shorts, “Gotta get out there and seize the day!”

Actually, anyone wandering around in those shorts should be more concerned about someone grabbing them – there’s just too much on display, if you ask me.

So, now you’re going to send out at least three ‘Requests To Connect’. That’s what we call it when you send a message out to other members of Fiona’s Little Black Book. You might be tempted to send out hundred – but resist this urge. This is a marathon, not a sprint.

The smartest way to do this is to write a simple email – and save the contents in a Word document, or another similar program. Then use it as a template for the various emails you’re going to send out. You’ll be going back to that original document and tweaking it now and then. You may find that initially it’s not generating the responses you’d like to get, so it will need a little polishing. By saving it, and reworking it, you’ll gradually improve the quality.

Just hitting the entire membership in one go would not let you refine the email. So, gradually as you reach out to others, you’ll be refining your message and improving it.

Be sure you say a little about yourself, say a little about what has brought you to Fiona’s Little Black Book, and be sure to mention some of the things on Http://FionaDobson.com that you’ve enjoyed. Then – and this is the important bit – be sure to ask a few questions about the person you’re writing to. You’ll probably have to tailor that part of your email to each individual, based on what they’ve put in their dating profile.

Ask one or two of your friends what aspects of you are appealing to others. Hopefully there are some! Either way, be as honest and as open as you reasonably can be. There’s no point trying to deceive anyone in the Little Black Book. It’s just going to lead to disappointment.

All our members have committed to our Guidelines – http://fionadobson.com/about/the-guidelines/ – so be sure you’re familiar with these and you’ll be well received.

Most members find that if they set aside about thirty minutes every week to send out a set of Requests to Connect, they very soon have a good network of friends developing. It’s great to select one close by, one mid distance, and someone far away. This provides variety and helps those who are far away find connection they need.

Fiona’s Little Black Book is as much about supporting others that feel alone as it is about finding local friends. Don’t be afraid to reach out across the miles.

Julie.

Max, we appreciate your service.

Before I go any further I would like to say that like my valued members I stand with all our brave people serving in the military regardless of color, gender or race. I strongly believe that anyone who has ever been exposed to the realities of conflict knows very well, we have other more important things to get on with, rather than focusing on distractions that do nothing but further the questionable agenda of one sad old man. Our servicemen protect our rights and freedoms – which is kind of the point, isn’t it?

I’ve received several emails from members of the services who are members of FionaDobson.com. All I can do is reassure them that their service is appreciated and that this will pass. Calmer heads will prevail.

Now, let me see if I can give you the short strokes to get you caught up with the exciting happenings here in Montreal. You may remember last weekBernard, my photographer, had been shot in the chest with a nefarious carrot. Unknown to me at the time Max had pushed the offending vegetable  up Sebastians exhaust pipe after becoming agitated while watching Sebastian and I doing yoga.

As the ambulance raced off Max sidled up to me, looking the picture of guilt ridden youth, and said “Fiona, there’s something you should know.”

I bent  down and picked up the carrot and frowned.

“What on earth is a carrot doing here?” I said, as the ambulance siren faded in the distance.

“Actually, I might know something about that…” said Max, where upon he told me the whole grissly story.

“But what on earth possessed you to put it there?” I asked.

“It was seeing the two of you in the garden. Seeing you do yoga, doggy style!”

“I think you mean downward dog. Well, these leggings don’t leave much to the imagination,” I mused.

At this point Sebastian, who had been inspecting his motorcycle for damage, wandered over.

“Pretty bad luck, that. You don’t often hear of someone being carroted to death.”

Several years ago a young man I was acquainted with had a nasty incident with a squash (that’s a marrow if you’re in the UK), but I thought it better not to mention it.

“You don’t think he’ll die, do you?” Asked Max.

“He was doing a pretty good impression of it, when he was choking here in the driveway, three minutes ago,” said Sebastian. “I always told him he should eat more vegetables.”

“He’s only just recovered from a heart transplant. I think the sooner we dispose of the evidence the better. Max, why don’t you get rid of that carrot and if anybody asks, the bike just backfired,  ok?”

“Why?” Said Max, looking genuinely niaive.

“Because, Max, if the wrong people ask questions, someone might get the idea you accidently murdered poor Bernard.”

“Urgh! Murdered?” Gasped Max.

Sebastian interjected at this point, “I’m not sure you can ‘accidentally’ murder someone.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Stammered Max.

“Of course you didn’t. But anyone dumb enough to believe that Bernard was shot in the chest with a carrot is dumb enough to believe it was murder. It’s better all round just to say there was a bang and Bernard collapsed.”

I handed Max the carrot. “I suggest you feed the evidence to your rabbit.”

😊

Fiona

Writing your Profile in Fiona’s Little Black Book.

Fiona always tells me, don’t write in a hurry. Slip into something comfortable, a nice skirt or leggings, and then take a moment to write a few bullet points of what you want to say. Then leave it for an hour or so. Then come back and write your first draft.

I think she’s got a point. I always write best when I am dressed in a manner I like. I also think more clearly that way. So, when you write your profile in Fiona’s Little Black Book, don’t rush it. It doesn’t have to be long – two or three paragraphs is enough to kindle most people’s interest, if you write something worth writing.

A single line profile will get the attention it deserves – which is very little. If you walked into a party and introduced yourself by saying “I’m Jeff and I like your tits,” you’re probably not going to get far. A better approach might be, “Hey, I’m Jeff, and I can see you like to take care of yourself. I love to ski, and I’d love to show you a few cool places to get out and have some fun on ski’s.”

I think you get the idea. And remember, the profile is just the first step. You’ll have plenty of time for people to get to know you after they make that initial contact. You can go into detail in subsequent emails. The idea of the profile is just to stimulate that initial connection.

I asked a few of our friends what they thought were good ideas about what to say in your profile. Sylvester, our mechanic, was stopping by for tea yesterday. He took me for a ride on his huge chopper, and then we sat in the garden talking about online profiles. He is a very good looking man, in his bottomless chaps.

He suggested “Tell the guys not to oversell themselves. It sounds insecure, and it leads to disappointment. Just tell people who you are and what you like to do. Curiosity will take over from there.”

I thought that rather good advice. You’ll have plenty of time to elaborate after the initial contact, so keeping things simple but well thought out sounds like good advice.

After you’ve written your profile, step back and have a break. Take a look at it later, and imagine you were reading it on someone else’s profile. Is it interesting, original and engaging? If it is you’ve got a winning formula.

Keep in mind that if, after a week or two, it’s not getting the right amount of attention, you may want to tweak it or even start from scratch. There’s nothing wrong with that at all. When you have it just right, you’ll know.

We like members of Fiona’s Little Black Book to try and reach out once a week to at least three new people. The best approach is to contact one person relatively close by, someone more distant and one from far away. This approach ensures you get a good variety of connections.

One of our favorite members is in Zambia. The connection they feel with others is most likely going to come from Skype or email. That is no less valuable than the friend you meet for coffee every Thursday evening.

Keep an open mind about distance friendships. This is, after all, the 21st century.

Julie.

Creating your dating profile in My Little Black Book.

I remember Fiona telling me, one quiet afternoon after we’d had a pedicure together, “We should make it easier for our members to get it up!”

I was a little surprised. Fiona is rarely quite so direct.

“We should make it really easy for them to get it up, and find satisfaction quickly.”

“Not too quickly,” I suggested. I find things that happen too quickly are rarely satisfying. A pleasure extended over a little while is so much more enjoyable, don’t you think?

“The quicker the better,” she declared. I think she saw my confusion, as she then added, “… in My Little Black Book.”

“I don’t follow,” I said.

“I want it to be really easy for them to get their profile up, and start connecting with other crossdressers and Admirers.”

“Oh, I see what you mean,” I replied, a little relieved. Now it fell into place. “Perhaps I should put together some kind of guide. A Karma Sutra of My Little Black Book.”

“Perfect,” she declared, and went to put the kettle on. When she returned from the kitchen with some tea she suggested I get Max, her neighbours son involved. He looks after much of our technical requirements.

“You can unload some of it on him. I am sure if you put yourself in his hands you’ll come up with something. He’ll bend over backwards to help you bring it to completion. Such a helpful boy!”

So, that’s why I am writing this – the first part of our guide to Fiona’s Little Black Book. Now, if you’re not familiar with this particular tool, I’ll describe it for you. You can always join it here: http://fionadobson.com/fionas-little-black-book/

The Little Black Book is for connecting with Crossdressers, and Admirers (our term for guys that would love to meet CDs). Our members sign up, create a profile and then reach out to others in the Little Black Book, by emailing them. We created a club for the Admirer’s here: http://fionadobson.com/the-admirers-club-2/

No one knows the world of crossdressing quite like Fiona, and our friends here, so we’ve also built in some cool features. For a start, everyone commits to a set of values and guidelines. You can see these here: http://fionadobson.com/about/the-guidelines/

So, unlike Craigslist, you are not just meeting some random person, who may or may not show up. You’re meeting someone who shares your values and is committed to your privacy and behaving in a manner that is likely to instil confidence.

You’re also looking at a system that’s not really built to create a random hookup. There’s plenty of those out there, and they’re often filled with working girls and people who are not really very serious about creating friendships. My Little Black Book is about forging genuine connections.

The next thing to help you feel secure is that the only thing listed in your membership details is an email address. From there, you can choose how much or how little information you share. Many members create an email account just for My Little Black Book, and then – when they feel comfortable with whoever they’re connecting with – begin to chat on Skype or Whatsapp. The point is that you are always in control of the relationship. You can release as much or as little information as you choose.

Now, that all sounds simple enough, however there are some things about it that insure you will do well with it. If you stick to the successful techniques you’re going to have a great time and make a lot of new friends.

One of the great things to do in Fiona’s Little Black book, is to load up a picture.  You are going to want an image that is fun, engaging and says a little about who you are. I have chatted with some of our most prolific members, and they all tend to agree that you shouldn’t just put up a cock pic and hope for the best.  That will get you nowhere fast.

So, if you’re going to upload a picture take the trouble to get a really great picture. What better excuse could there be to take time and dress up really well. Our best CDs make sure they have a girlfriend come by and help them with their make up. Unless you are well practiced, or in our Premium Program, you’re unlikely to be able to do as good a job on makeup as your favorite girlfriends are. Just ask someone to help out. You might be surprised how much fun this can turn out to be.

So, have an evening where one of your girlfriends comes over, helps you dress and maybe even brings a few accessories. You’ll have to be careful who you ask, if you’re not in a friendly environment for this. However, we have some members who travel for work and have told us stories of dressing in the hotel and having someone come in and help them. This sort of situation is ideal for pictures as well.

If you dress, have a glass or two of wine, and then at 2 am take a pic in the ornate hotel lobby you will not be the first to have done it, I guarantee! Either way, try and do the pic in a nice location. Take the time to dress nicely, really think about the look you wish to present, and then have fun with it.

Here’s a few suggestions to help you have a few things to make the pic more interesting. Whether you are an Admirer, or a CD these tips are quite helpful.

Tips for your photos:

  1. Make up – keep it simple but classy. See if you can find a girlfriend to help. Have fun with it, but don’t over do it. Less is often better.
  2. Choose something that looks cool, but keep it simple. The tried and tested simple outfits are always great. Nylons, heels, and choose a number of outfits to experiment with.
  3. Accessorise! You need the bangles, scarves and earings – even if it’s just to play around with.
  4. Sketch out what you’d like to look like, so when it comes time to take a picture you have some idea what it’s meant to achieve.
  5. Choose a simple background that doesn’t detract from you too much.
  6. Lighting is important. If possible, use plenty. If you’re shooting in daylight, harsh sunlight and shadows don’t help. Overcast skies give a flatter more forgiving light.
  7. If you’re in a low light situation try to use a camera which has adjustable ISO settings, and get them up to about 1600.
  8. The images are not going to be used large, so it doesn’t matter if they are a little grainy.
  9. The sexiest thing you can wear is a smile.
  10. Don’t try and look too slutty. If you’re over 30, don’t try to look like a school girl. Try to look like a confident woman who is comfortable in her skin. If you’re over 60, look at the women out there of that age that look wonderful, and emulate that look.
  11. Using a camera and having a tripod makes images look way better than a hand held selfie.
  12. Using a tiny bit of forced flash often lifts the colors nicely.

The most important thing in getting the picture is to have fun. If you’re doing it on a phone you can still get great pics. You also have the advantage of being able to use an App like InstaBeauty, though you have a little less control of the image. It’s really down to what your photographic skil level is.

Bernard, Fiona’s photographer, always says that it’s not the size of your lens that important. It’s how you use it. I think he’s probably right about that.

I will make a point of posting another tutorial about creating your profile on My Little Black Book in the next few days. In the meantime, if you haven’t checked it out do so here: http://fionadobson.com/fionas-little-black-book/

Or, if you’re looking to date a crossdresser, have a look into joining the Admirer’s Club here: http://fionadobson.com/the-admirers-club-2/

Julie

Max shoved his carrot up Sebastian’s exhaust pipe!

What an extraordinary week it has been, with the most exciting things happening about the place.  But before I get into that, I will first answer a couple of quick questions from my valued members.

Yes, Ellie in Texas, when you have a costume party to celebrate your ten years NRA membership a piñata is a very suitable idea for a game, though we do not generally feel that putting ammunition in it as prizes is a very good idea. Perhaps crystal wine goblets or a decanter would be better.

Olive, in Halifax in Yorkshire, we find the best remedy is to plunge your plums in boiling water. Both Julie and I enjoy making jam, too! What a small world it is.

As we revel in a beautiful summer here in North America it’s definitely time to delve into your wardrobe and find a mini skirt. Whether it’s to do a private set of selfies, or get out in the park and brave going out in public, the summer gives us all a great excuse to expose our legs to sunshine and get a beautiful tan. You’ll find one of my very popular self hypnosis recordings that so many of you love right HERE.  Of course, in the Premium Program there’s many to help you along. If you’re already a member I hope you’re getting the most out of these. If you’re thinking about joining the Premium Program enjoy the self hypnosis filehere and see how you feel. It’s likely to harden your resolve to getting into a lovely skirt.

And speaking of hardening my resolve, Sebastian my personal trainer was over at my place just yesterday. He came over to give me a yoga class, and afterwards he gave me a very enjoyable massage. I was out in the sun, in the back garden, with Sebastian rubbing some oils into my aching muscles, when I noticed Max, my neighbours 20 year old son, watching us from his bedroom window, which overlooks my garden.

I should point out that Max has shown growing curiosity about me in recent months.  He’s not quite sure what to make of me, I think. Either way, seeing Sebastian rubbing my thighs so intimately seemed most disturbing for him. Whilst Sebastian was hard at work, as it were, Max was suffering.

Unknown to me at the time, Max was indeed so agitated that he went downstairs to his mother’s kitchen, took a large carrot, and then went out into my driveway, and pushed it right up Sebastian’s exhaust pipe! Sebastian, I should say, rides a little Honda scooter. It’s very cute. Not as big as Sylvester’schopper, of course,  but that’s another story.

Nothing good ever comes from jamming vegetables places they shouldn’t be. Believe me, I should know, my cousin works in an emergency room at the hospital. Anyway, after inserting his nefarious carrot, Max returned to his bedroom.

Sebastian was just finishing me off, (phrasing), and our yoga session was coming to a very happy ending.  It was not a minute too soon, as Bernard, my photographer, was due at my place to discuss a shoot we have next week for one of the advertising agency clients. I like to work from home, and Bernard often drops by.

I was just seeing Sebastian off, when Bernard arrived. Sebastian straddled his scooter and hit the starter, just as Bernard was walking up my driveway. There was a phut, phut, BANG!

Next thing I knew Bernard was lying on the ground gasping and clutching his heart. You may remember he had a heart transplant just about a year ago, after an unfortunate Tazering incident at O’Hare.

At first I thought the shock of the backfire had given him a heart attack. Then I saw the carrot, fallen to the ground, beside Bernard, who was by now convulsing and looking decidedly peeky.

“Hold on, Bernard,” I said as calmly as I could. “I’ll call an ambulance!”

He gurgled as first Sebastian and then Max, appearing from next door ran to him to help.

As I rushed inside Sebastian was telling Bernard that he wished he’d brought his homeopathic first aid kit. This didn’t seem to comfort Bernard, who was gurgling and coughing up blood.

I called the ambulance from the phone I’d left in my kitchen, and then hurried back to the increasingly pale form of Bernard lying in the driveway. He was reaching out in front of him, clutching at the air.

“It’s OK,” I said as calmly as I could. “The ambulance is coming.”

“I can see a light,” said Bernard, his eyes glazed over.

“Go toward the light,” said Sebastian. “Go toward the light!”

“Are you sure?” I said. “I thought you were supposed to go away from the light.”

“They’re calling me,” babbled Bernard, still clutching his chest, but fading from pale to a blue color. With that he seemed to go limp and give a final sigh.

A moment later the ambulance pulled into my driveway. The ambulance service here really is very good, and they have such very nice uniforms.

They loaded Bernard into the ambulance. Max was flapping around like an old woman, fawning over Bernard, and looking terribly distraught. As the ambulance pulled away and headed toward the hospital, I thought he was going to run and get his bicycle and follow it. Even then, I realised something was amiss.

As the ambulance siren faded Max turned to me and said, “Fiona, there’s something I have to tell you.”

Now, I’m going to tell you exactly what happened next in my next newsletter, because it really was so extraordinary. Let’s just say that the truth really does set you free, but at what price?

I hope you’re having a better weekend than we are!

😊

Fiona

THE MIXTURES : "THE PUSHBIKE SONG" (1970)
Sebastian’s Health Tip For The Week: There’s no better way to get out and about and keep in shape than on a bike.

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 9

If one night in Bangkok makes the hard man humble and Ben was not a hard man to begin with, then a night in Patpong had made him more than humble – and he was about to sink even lower. It was 10:15am and I was enjoying my second coffee of the morning in the corner of the quiet lounge of my hotel. Under the shimmer of grand chandeliers, a pianist played the end of a jazz set as a slow trickle of tourists filtered out into the streets beyond at the end of breakfast. From my private vantage point, through earphones, I watched the recording from the night before. Ben, cowed and accepting in front of the American, mouth opened. His stifled moans and retching sounding out between the American’s alternating abuse and encouragement.

Continue reading “The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 9”

Bigger breasts – generally a good thing.

Hi,
I always listened to my mother’s advice. She would often say things like, ‘If you have something to say about someone, make it something positive.”I’ve always thought this is very good advice. It’s kept me out of trouble, mostly, however this week I had a situation in which this seemed to backfire.As you likely know, Amanda (my wife’s appalling friend) has a habit of dropping in unannounced at the most inopportune of moments. She was with us just last weekend on one such unplanned visit. I have asked Sylvester, who is something of an inventor in his spare time (see Sylvester’s Boner), to come up with some kind of early warning device to avoid such situations.

Julie and I were helping Ali in the garden just yesterday afternoon, where he was pruning my bush. We’d polished off a bottle of Riesling, when I heard a timid squeaky voice coming from the direction of my neighbour’s garden. Ali and I walked over to look over the hedge, and there was Marjorie, Max’s mother. You’ll remember that Max is my neighbors 20 year old son. A strange boy, but very helpful.

“Oh, Fiona,” she said. “I need your advice.”

Ali, ever helpful, cast an eye over her flower beds and then chimed in, “Really madam, it’s alright. I can see your vulvodynia is blooming early this year. It just needs a little more water.” Ali’s English lessons are rather unconventional, however he does wonders in the garden.

“That’ll be all, Ali. I can take this from here.” I said, dismissing him to go back to tending to my bush.
Marjorie was gawping at me in a puzzled way trying to fathom what we were talking about. Ali’s Syrian accent is still quite strong.

“That strange woman you had in the garden this weekend. She wants Max to work on some magazine.”

“Oh, Amanda. Yes, she’s the editor at Pig and Pig Farmer Weekly. It’s the Washington Post of the agricultural sector. A bastion of the fourth estate,” and then I added doubtfully, “and one of the only media organisations to endorse Mr. Trump.”

“Oh,” she said, as though suddenly understanding. “I just wondered, what’s she really like? I mean, I don’t want my darling Max working for just anyone.”

I stifled the urge to say that that was exactly who Max should work for – anyone who would give him a job. ‘Just anyone’ seemed a perfect description, given his work ethic. He is a lovely boy, and very capable when it comes to tech tasks, but other than that his talents are best described as aesthetic.
“Hmmm, what’s she really like…” I mused. That was a tough one. I remembered my mother’s advice, and it could have been the Riesling talking, but responded “She has fine breasts. Very fulsome.”
“What,” said Marjorie, a little taken aback.

“A full bosom,” I reiterated. I really couldn’t think of anything else positive to say.

“That’s all you can tell me about her,” she stammered.

“Well,” I blundered on, “she sees things in black and white. Somewhat judgemental, some might say.” My mind slipped back to the incident with the adult toy and Hannibal, my dachshund. “It’s not surprising, I suppose,” I went on. “It’s all connected. Black and white, Friesians cattle, dairy farming and breasts…”

Marjorie stormed off, muttering and shaking her head. I have the feeling she’s never really approved of my lifestyle. I really can’t think why.

And in that very vein, I have a lovely self hypnosis file for my many friends who have recently been asking about breast enlargement. This is a lot of fun.

Self hypnosis is one tool for this, but there are a few other methods you can use. One of the most effective, though discrete is the use of soy milk.  If you choose a flavored one, like Vanilla So Good, and just be sure to drink a good size glass a day, you’ll find it gradually has a very beneficial impact. Soy contains isoflavones, a plant oestrogen that is similar to the estrogen that you humans produce. It is these isoflavones that give soy its cancer-prevention properties. Researchers have expressed concern that the estrogens in soy protein may affect the hormone levels in men – which suits us fine. Drinking more than usual quantities could result in breast growth in men. High consumption of soy protein, equivalent to over three litres of soy milk a day, could lead to hormonal shifts.

I’m not a fan of using HRT pharmacy. I find it’s not a good idea to put anything into your body that can’t at least phone you the following day and tell you how much they enjoyed it.

You can find the hypnosis file here: http://fionadobson.com/hypnosis/breast-enlargement-for-crossdressers-self-hypnosis/

There’s some food for thought. If you join the Premium Program we introduce you to a few practices that can stimulate these shifts. If you haven’t signed up yet, now is a great time to do so.

Have a wonderful weekend.
😊
FD

One of our Premium members writes…

I received a lovely email today from one of our Premium Members, Helena. She had just completed the second of the Premium tasks, and was kind enough to provide the following report back. I thought I’d post it as she writes so very well, and also as an indication of how some of these tasks can help my gurls develop.  Helena writes:

Hi FIona,

I completed task #2!

I went to Walmart to buy 3 pair of panties and fishnet pantyhose.

When I arrived I started roaming near the lingerie section, I was very nervous so I had to make sure there weren’t many girls nearby, was trying to avoid any looks or something. But when I started browsing, hunting for the simple black ones, I realized you are totally right!

They are just minding their own business when shopping and didn’t even look at me, even the attendant woman was like, I just wanna get out of here, yawning even. So that relaxed me immediately, I just browsed everything in there, and picked 3 pairs, one simple and black, some lacy red ones, and a pinkish thong with black highlights.

I am a tall person so I went for XL and they fit nicely, maybe a bit snug, but I like how they look, then I continued over to the nylons and stockings section and had more trouble with sizing than anything else,

I stayed there some time wondering and the attendant came along and asked me if I needed help, as natural as I could I just told her I was having trouble with the length of the nylons and she suggested a pair of fishnet pantyhose, because even if I didn’t know my length they were flexible in that regard, more so than stockings which may be too short and unfixable, pantyhose would be more suitable, and fishnets do provide more stretch and resistance she said, so I just went with her suggestion and thanked her for it 😀

At home I tried them all on immediately and found them to be good choices.  Thank you so much!

It was a good start, I feel much more confident now.

Helena”

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 7

A great thing about Thailand market stalls  is that their flowing skirts are pretty much one size fits all.  Ben and I were around the same height, and I wagered, the same shoe size. Giddy from his trauma with the wax, he needed a little coaxing to release his clench on the panties.

 

“Mouth open! Drop! Good boy!”

 

I fetched a towel a wet towel, to wipe the drool from around Ben’s mouth and prepare his skin for the make up application. He was a little short of breath. I got him a bottle of water and knelt down in front of him, taking my make up bag out of my purse. Blue eyes, brown hair. Summer or winter?

 

“Mistress?”

 

“Yes, Ben?”

 

“Are you really going to put that stuff on me? I’m not really sure I…”

 

I leaned back, crossing my arms.

 

“In or out, Ben? My head is spinning with this indecision of yours.”

 

I went to stand up.

 

“It’s just… not too much, OK Mistress?”

 

I sighed.

 

“If this is going to work, I can’t have you directing me. In or out, Ben? Otherwise I leave right now and you don’t see me again. But before you make the decision – think. Have you ever experienced what its like to put make up on? The right tone of foundation and blush, the cool thickness of lipstick on your lips and the sweep of the blusher brush? It feels incredible, you really should give it a try. I could transform you, Ben, into a sissy slave, that’s all my own… you’d like to be all mine, wouldn’t you, Ben?”

 

The last part I said coquettishly, head cocked to or side, tongue between my teeth as I felt him wind slowly around my finger.

 

“And if you’re a good little sissy for me, we could play with more of my toys later. And maybe I could play with yours. Doesn’t that sound fun? Ben sighed. Hung for a sheep as much as for a lamb. He’d gone this far…

 

“Yes Mistress, I’d like that very much.”

 

“I must say you did a very good job earlier, dealing with the wax. It must have been hard for you…”

 

“Thank you, Mistress.”

 

“Well, the task I mean. Not your… you know, in the cage. That’s too bad.”

 

Ben smiled weakly.

 

I set to work with my brushes. First primer, then foundation. I figured he’d look more virginal with pink, rather than red lips. I lined his lips first, then filled them in with pastel gloss. Gloss always looks a lot sluttier than matte. For blue eyes (my own were brown), I’d have to use a different tone – I thought of the colour wheel. Complementary shades for blue eyes were, as I recalled, brown, mauve and dark purple. I rubbed the applicator in purple first, lining the outer crease, then filled in with a gold tone.

 

“It hurts a bit, Mistress. I think some went in my eye. Could you press a bit softer?”

 

“Then close your eyes and take a deep breath!”

 

Good grief. How men complain about stupid little things.

 

“Now open your eyes, look down. You’re doing very well.”

 

Ben looked down. I stroked his upper lash with the mascara applicator. The idiot moved and got some in his eye.

 

“Ow!” He said, waving his arms like a small child, “Its in my eye!”

 

“Oh for goodness sake, don’t rub it.”

 

I slapped his hand away.

 

“I’m being quite patient with you, Ben, but I’m reaching my limit now. So no more talk. If I hear a peep from you again, I’m going to jam this brush so far up your ass that you’d have an easier time finding keys in the Mekong than retrieving it, understood?”

 

Ben stopped his whining and sat nicely for the rest of the application.

 

I took the sodden pants from the floor and handed them to him. Ben took them gingerly.

 

“Now put them on.”

 

“But they’re wet, Mistress.”

 

“Well if you will make a meal of it when I gag you, then what do you expect? Do hurry up.”

 

Ben grimaced as he drew the wet material up his legs. I yanked it up faster – no time for my sissy to be a sissy now. The pants just about fit, his swollen balls peeking coyly out the side of the lace. I handed him the rest of his outfit: a padded black bra, the skirt, a black t-shirt and a long black skirt. Once he had those, it was time for the heels. The heels really completed the look, hiking up his ass and lengthening his calves. I placed the blonde wig on his head, straightening it out, guiding him to the bathroom mirror  by the small of his back.

 

“Look at yourself. How do you feel?”

 

Ben ran his hands down his new silhouette, turning to admire his ass in the mirror, pouting in his makeup.

 

“That was actually pretty fun, Mistress. I look good!”

 

“No Ben,” I cackled wickedly, “You look slutty. But that’s good. I approve very much. Right now, I’m imagining some things I’d like to do with those glossy lips of yours, and that pert, tight little ass.”

 

Ben shuddered.

 

“Tonight you’re not going to be Ben anymore. Tonight you’ll be… Britney, my sissy slave.”

 

“Yes, Mistress! Britney. I like it!”

 

***

 

The streets around the club were abuzz with sounds from Patpong night market. A multicoloured spectacle of tarps, under which sequinned bags and hippy skirts danced in the light breeze, next to touts on stalls, waving photographic evidence from the local “ping pong” bars and making obscene popping noises with their mouth.

 

Britney stumbled behind me on her heels.

 

“I think I’m getting the hang of it,” he said, before turning his ankle again on the ill fitting shoes.

 

“Takes practise, but you’ll get it.”

 

As seedy as the place was, it was filled with small children and families, all stopping to peruse the goods on sale.

 

“A few words before we go into the club – just a reminder. Eyes down, do not speak unless I tell you to and…”

 

“Obey your commands, Mistress?”

 

“Well yes. That goes without saying, but I also have to warn you, some of the things I have planned for you tonight may be a shock for you. Regardless, I’m going to expect you to listen and obey, however unsure you may be about them.”

 

Britney looked concerned.

 

“What kinds of plans, Mistress?”

 

“I need to know before we go in, that you are in. If not, you can head back to the hotel and our work is over. If you are in, then I expect perfect adherence to my commands. If you renege on being in, I have the keys in my bag and will take the first motorbike taxi to the Mekong river to deposit them. And if at any point the sensations get too much – if you are afraid – I will give you a safeword to use. Say it, an all activities will cease, at least for a while.

 

“What’s the safeword?”

 

“Ill tell you when were inside. Are you in, or out?”

 

Britney looked back at the road to the skytrain behind us. We turned a corner, then another, into the street where BARBAR’s neon sign fizzled against the black night sky.

 

“I’m in, Mistress.”

 

“Very good.”

 

*

 

The club was even darker than the electric night outside. We passed a Asian couple on the steps – the man pulling his protesting girlfriend up the stairs as she shrieked at him in some unintelligible language and tried to let go of his hands. At the front desk, the Mamasan took our fee, handed us masks and then signalled to Britney to wait, as she fetched something from under the counter. A schoolgirl outfit. I had no idea they gave out those sorts of outfits here, I’d heard the usual offering was a t-shirt. Still, he was going to look very good in it.

 

As the Mamasan helped Britney with her skirt, putting the new one over her skirt then pulling down the other one, she leaned in close to fasten the last button, clucking maternally in Thai. Ben being an idiot, misjudged what she was trying to do. He wrapped her in a tight hug, slapping her back.

 

“Aiiiieeee!” Yelled the Mamasan.

 

“Britney, down! Don’t you know its rude to touch Thai’s you don’t know?”

 

The club was relatively full, predominantly with English men of a certain age. One Dutchman, drunk and jolly, licking his fingertips and fiddling with the nipples of an indulgent, rope bound submissive, between sips of whisky.  On one of the couches, a man with glasses cowed, clenched jaw chewing at nothing as two of the girls put on a show for him. A rubinesque sub spread-eagled over a low table, completely naked and red breasts bulging out of of rope the same colour, as a Mistress lapped the inside of her thighs with leather tassels. There was a couple, and a very extroverted Asian lady, who was throwing herself into several submissive activities with gusto.

 

I found a leather couch to sit on, patted the floor just in front of me.

 

“Kneel. Eyes in front.”

 

Britney came and kneeled in front of me as a Mistress and her sub approached and began setting up in the black steel birdcage in front of me.  A candle was lit, the towering mistress weaving the rope around the back, the breasts and under the crotch of the sub, her arms and legs spread, hands gripping the bars and head held high.

 

“I want you to watch, Britney,”

 

The Mistress picked up the candle, and tossed wax forward in small spurts, at the sub’s ample buttocks. All credit to the sub, who made no sound and didn’t move. I admired the pair’s dynamic. The Mistress then took a tasselled whip, and rubbed the handle teasingly between the sub’s stiffening legs.

 

“Wow…”

 

“Shh. Britney. Watch with you eyes.”

 

Ben was shifting about on the floor, jangling and licking his lips. I imagined he hadn’t seen anything quite like this before. Perhaps some porn – but real life is so different to porn. To be surrounded by the sound of leather on flesh, the smell of sexual arousal and so much visual stimulation that you cant turn your head away from it. Every surface, every colour, every song played from the speakers adds another level to the experience. Immersed in desire – yours and others. Its an experience.

 

The sub turned round to face us, her complicatedly bound breasts hanging down gloriously, her head to the ceiling. A thong that barely covered her being rubbed and struck by the tassel of a, quite honestly, rather lacklustre but gorgeous Mistress. Mistress poured wax over the sub’s breasts, after securing a peg to each. The sub remained still.

 

“I want you to be as still, as quiet, as her, Britney.”

 

Ben twirled one of the pigtails around a finger. His breathy yes almost inaudible as he got lost in the show.

 

Now the Mistress moved the clips to the sub’s labia. The whipping got harder now. Something under Britney’s skirt tried to too. The girls spoke in Thai to each other, as the Mistress blew out the candle and approached us with the whip.

 

“You want to try?” The Mistress said.

 

“Buy her a drink, Britney. You’re going to have a go now – isn’t that exciting?”

 

Ben was still processing what he had just seen. He clicked off to the bar to buy some drinks – two shots for himself and a cocktail for the Mistress. A soft whispered dance track played. The club was filling up, a few couples in front of the red silk curtains framing the bar, behind which masquerade masks peered out from a wall of melted wax.

 

Ben gave money to the Mistress, who started peeling off his schoolgirl outfit. When the skirt fell, some of the girls gasped and giggled at the rather unladylike bulge in his black panties. Ben looked at me as though he wanted to say something.

 

“Yes, Britney?”

 

“Um… what’s the safeword, Mistress?”

 

I clapped my hands together.

 

“Ah yes, I almost forgot. How remiss of me. The safeword is ‘antidissastablishmentarianism’.”

 

“Anti… what?”

 

I cackled.

 

“Legs spread, arms spread, Britney. Do as she directs you to do. No sound, no movement.”

 

Ben stepped into the birdcage, lifting his hands to the side of the cage as the Dominatrix lit the candle. The sub from the performance crawled into the cage in front of Ben as the Mistress fastened the ropes around him. Ben looked from one to the other, excited and terrified. He was surrounded.

 

“Head up, Britney! Atta girl!”

 

The Mamasan rushed over to us, speaking animatedly in Thai. One of the girls translated. Apparently there had been a mistake. The school girl outfit was meant for someone else – a member of the landlord’s family. Apparently Britney had looked so similar to her, that they had mistakenly passed her the clothes. Now Mamasan wanted them back. Shame. He had looked wonderfully tarty in them.

 

I folded up the clothes and handed them back to the Mamasan,  as Ben stood spread eagled over the lit candle, the Mistress tracing her paddle over the skin of his back as her sub slid her body up him and began lapping at one of his nipples. Ben was trying to stand still, but his body arched and trembled at every touch, overwhelmed by the sources of sensation that he couldn’t see and so felt five times stronger.

 

I got up to explore the facility. Some of the girls were checking their phones in the background. A girl was talking to a willow like bartender. There was a medical themed “inspection room”, a stage – under which some red gauze curtains hung. I pulled them back to explore the backlit cave. Red circular cushions sat like lily pads over the wax stained carpet. A quiet, if not quite private, place for exploration. The vacant showers were open, with only bars for a door. Upstairs, in the private room, the vicious snap of a whip being applied hard between someone crying for Mommy.

 

“Mommy’s here…” came a deep woman’s voice from the top of the stairs.

 

I gazed back to see Britney being turned around in the cage. She was doing well, no cries of pain or gasps. The pleading for mommy from upstairs made me feel a little more competitive. I walked over the bar and purchased another drink for the Mistress working with Britney, intimating for her to go harder. She grinned and nodded. The whip cracked down over his thighs – he gasped and fell forward into the sub’s hands, pushing him back into position. Much better.

 

“Can I buy you a drink?”

 

I turned to the source of the voice. An English man, perhaps in his late forties, sat at the bar with a near empty beer. He looked intelligent, if a little drunk. Harmless. Britney would be occupied for a while. I accepted his offer, sitting down at the bar next to him, leaning back to watch the show.