+++ A quick explanatory note: Members who sign up for the Free Program, and Premium Program Members, get my messages the moment they are written. They are posted as blog comments about a week later, so belated Merry Christmas. Have a great New Year! +++
My goodness, if you could see what’s going on outside my window. I can hardly believe is! I’m standing here in my Christmas lingerie, and my heels, and quite shocked at what I can see going on out there!
Ali, my gardner has just told me, “It’s ok, Fiona. It’s just Sylvester and Max jacking off in the flower beds.”
Now, I know you can imagine me standing here in my flowing red silk robe, mouth open in surprise. I am staring out at the snowy Montreal scene, and everybody seems to be having a wonderful time! Oh, perhaps you should even be here!
Let me explain. I’m watching Sylvester’s muscle bound arm pumping up and down and Max, my next door neighbours 20 year old son laughing – I think he’s licking his fingers – yes, he’s spilled some Bailey’s Irish Cream on his hand, or at least I think that’s what it is. And Ali is watching, engrossed in the unfolding scene.
They’re laughing and very jolly, Sylvester’s face red with exertion, and he has a look of deep concentration. Apparently, Ali’s Smart Car slid off the drive in the snow as he pulled into the icy driveway. It slid into the flower bed, and onto a rock in the rockery. Max and Sylvester were already at my place enjoying a Christmas eve drink, and now the three of them are working away to lift the little vehicle off the rock and manhandle it back onto the drive. What Christmas excitement!
I should hurry along, Amanda, the queen of tweed will be here soon, and Bernard is coming over. My wife, sadly is travelling. She’s a slave to her job! In the meantime, we are a fun gang, all hoping that Christmas will go with a bang!
I hope yours does, too! Have a wonderful holiday and remember, be careful if you are driving in the snow. Otherwise you too might find yourself licking Irish cream from your fingers after jacking off in someone’s garden!
As Halloween approaches and the souls of the dead prepare to walk the earth, any number of my friends are preparing to dress up and wander the streets in the dark. Actually, now that I think about it, most weekends many of my friends spend their evenings doing precisely that regardless of the time of year.
I was conferring with Sylvester in my kitchen, examining a few articles of lingerie, trying to decide what best to wear for my Halloween night party. I finally decided on fishnet, stiletto heels and a bodice, with a steampunk look. Perfect.
I asked Sylvester what he planned to come as.
“I think Donald Trump, if I can find the right costume.”
“At this late stage, I’m not sure you’re going to be able to find a giant dick costume!” I said sympathetically.
At that very moment Amanda, my wife’s unbearable friend, arrived at the door and knocked so hard I felt sure the roof would cave in. She has all the grace and delicacy of a garbage truck.
She barrelled in, coughing and spluttering like a diesel engine that hadn’t been run in a while. Amanda then went on to tell us of the latest disaster to befall her. Amanda was coming by, fresh from her gynecologist. Now, if there was ever a job that requires a strong stomach, being Amanda’s gyny would be the top of that list. Apparently Amanda was in the midst of an exam, had a coughing fit and one way or another the poor man was taken off to hospital with a broken wrist!
I will spare you the details, but it was all rather distasteful. Then, just to make matters worse, Sylvester let slip that he was coming to my party, which so far we’d successfully kept secret from Amanda. She then promptly invited herself to the event!
Reluctantly I asked what she would be coming as.
“Well,” she said, expansively. “I think I’ll come as that CNN broadcaster that looks like me.”
Sylvester and I looked at one another, puzzled. I was thinking, maybe Lou Dobbs, but he’s with Fox now. Maybe Wolf Blitzer?
“You know,” she persisted. “The blonde. Megan whats-her-name…”
“Megan Kelly?” I asked.
“That’s her,” said Amanda.
“Oh,” I said. “The likeness is uncanny.” Megan Kelly looks about as much like Amanda as a carrot resembles plague.
“Well,” I said. “If you stand next to Sylvester as Donald Trump, all you need do to look like Megan Kelly is wear any form of period costume.”
But, that’s not the main reason I am writing to you. I recently had a delightful email from Brandi, in Yakima, WA in which she enclosed a great face pic which she had touched up using an app called YouCam Makeup- Makeover Studio. I’m sure we all appreciate a good touch up, don’t we? So this week I am offering a free membership of my Little Black Book to the best retouched Halloween pic which uses YouCam or another similar makeup type filter. Keep in mind that any pics you send in may end up on the website – so don’t be surprised if I place them there!
Have a wonderful Halloween, and at this time of year – when so many of us are having so much fun – spare a thought for Amanda’s gynecologist!
You know how it is. You all get ready, make sure you’re prepared. Everyone takes the proper precautions – you know what I’m saying.
And then it always goes like this. One person just always, always finishes too soon. They’re way out there on their own having so much fun and then they’re done. Yes, it’s the same every time.
That’s why I never like playing threesomes at my local golf course. Sylvester and I are out there trying to find our balls, and Sebastian, my personal trainer, has already finished and is left polishing the shaft of his 9 iron.
As you can doubtless tell, Sylvester, Sebastian and I are out having a last round of golf before this glorious summer comes to an end.
Bernard is recovering from his heart transplant at home in his bed, though I have noticed since he got the heart of a middle aged African American woman he has started behaving very strangely. He’s made an appointment to meet Amanda, the queen of tweed, and show her his ‘Mamma’s recipe for apple pie,’ and he’s join the local Baptist church choir. They were very confused when he said he wanted to sing in the soprano section.
I’ve always found teeing off in a group of four very much more satisfying. I also like to get off first, so I can feel them all coming up behind me. I’m sure you know what I mean.
But that’s not the main reason I’m writing to you tonight. It’s just to tell you I’ve recently added a new feature to my Premium Program. I’ve always had a great collection of tasks and hypnosis files for my CD friends and members. Now I have added some great new material to the Premium Program for those crossdressers who have a partner who you’d like to bring into your CD activities.
Yes, I’ve put together a special short empowerment course to help your wife or partner (of any gender) take a more dominant role. This fun series of self hypnosis recordings stimulates a more dominant aspect of the subject to emerge. Over the course of several nights they listen to hypnotic instructions that are sure to engage their more dominant self. This, coupled with a powerful set of ‘subservience’ instructions for you – and it’s a powerful tool for anyone wanting to engage their partner in some of their crossdressing.
I know you’ll love it. It’s yet another great reason to upgrade to Premium Program if you haven’t already.
Here I am getting this post ready for you in the hotel, on a hot evening here in Chicago. I hardly know where to start, so much has been going on. I suppose I should start by telling you all about Sylvester and the other night.
I wiped my chin and said to Sylvester, “Oh, my goodness!”
It took me a moment to catch my breath. “It wasn’t as salty as I expected. I can hardly believe the quantity!”
“My tool is almost worn out!” Said Sylvester. He held the pliers, and dabbed his face with the napkin. Eating east coast lobster at a fish restaurant in Chicago is a great pleasure, but a very messy one. What did you think we were doing?
Sylvester was wrestling the last bit of lobster meat from within the claw. What a character he his. Always with a tool in his hand! As I am sure you know, he’s my mechanic and friend. We flew down together to visit Bernard in the hospital who was recovering in hospital..
I should explain. If you followed last weeks email you’ll know that Bernard managed to get himself Tazered in the arrivals lounge of O’Hare airport. That is far from where the drama ended.
He was rushed through to the hospital, and there – to my horror – they found that Bernard, who had become so excited by certain aspects of my physique, was in the middle of a heart attack. I had thought he looked rather like a freshly landed trout as he convulsed following his Tazering, but not being familiar with how one generally responds to a Tazer, I thought this quite normal.
Even the police officer who gave Bernard the jolt looked quite concerned. He even showed up in the hospital as Sylvester and I were visiting. Bernard was still unconscious, and here we were three days later.
The police officer walked into the private room I arranged for Bernard, and held out his hand. “Officer Speltman,” he said. “You can call me Sparky.”
“Sparky,” said Sylvester. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah… They gave me that nickname at the academy. It kinda stuck…”
“Well, Sparky,” I said, “I’m Bernard’s friend. I’m sure he would be grateful you came and visited. If he were, you know… conscious.”
“I’m sorry he got the jolt. I didn’t really have a choice in the circumstances.”
I took the business card Officer Speltman offered and said I would call him when we had further news. Then Sylvester and I went and found a hotel, and a fish restaurant at which to have some dinner.
“I still don’t quite understand why Bernard didn’t get up when the cop told him to,” said Sylvester.
“I think he was concerned about his clothing being… disarranged. He was in a state of some excitement.” I felt awkward telling Sylvester that Bernard had a prominent erection and was concerned about embarrassing himself when he stood up. “Let’s just say he was hard at work, when it happened.”
The following morning I had a call from the hospital with the worrying news that Bernard was extremely ill and that the hospital was doing it’s best to locate a heart for a transplant. I am, of course, quite shocked – as I am sure you are. I will keep you informed. (See what happened next by going here: http://fionadobson.com/bernard/zipper-job/)
In the meantime, I have a very special self hypnosis file for you tonight.
This file is all about taking it to the next level, so join me in a lovely relaxing self hypnosis exercise and have a listen. And of course, I will be sure to let you know about developments with Bernard.
First of all I’d like to say that I hope you are loving my programs. We have over 2500 gurls enjoying my helping hand… Wait, that sounds a little wrong. If you are not already in one of them, you should sign up today. Anyway, I thought I’d share what I’ve been getting up to this week.
My gardener, Ali Ibrahim, pulled into my drive way in his Smart Car this on Tuesday. He’s been doing some topiary in my garden. With him was Sylvester, my mechanic. Now, Sylvester is a very large man and seeing him struggle out of Ali’s tiny car was rather like watching a man get out of an overcoat that is three sizes too small for him.
“I had no idea you knew Ali,” I said to Sylvester.
“I don’t. He gave me a ride from the highway. My truck broke down, again! Very kind of your friend Mr. Ibrahim to pick me up.”
The irony of this was not lost on me.
Sylvester was speaking very slowly, so Ali would understand him. So slowly, actually, that one might assume he thought Ali had some extreme form of learning disability. Sylvester was, of course, unaware that Ali had been a professor in a university in Damascus until eighteen months ago.
“He just pulled over and offered me a lift, and it turned out we were both coming to your place.”
“How fortuitous,” I said. Sylvester was looking a little dubiously at Ali, who in turn was smiling happily, as is his nature.
Sylvester took me aside and looking a little worried said “he keeps saying he can’t get his whores in his car.”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s very small.”
“Car no good for hoes,” said Ali, catching my eye, and nodding and smiling happily.
“Yes, Ali. I’m sure,” I said smiling.
I turned to Sylvester and said, “Ali is struggling a little with his English, but I think he’s trying to tell you that he doesn’t like the smart car because he can’t put his rakes and hoes and spade in the back. He’s got his small tools for working in the garden, but his large tools get… stuck. But you’d know all about that.”
Sylvester sniggered and turned to Ali and said, “Hoes, eh? Well come by my shop in the morning, ok?”
Ali smiled his enormous smile and nodded enthusiastically.
When Ali showed up at my place the yesterday to continue his work on remodelling my bush he came with the most extraordinary collection of tools on the back of his Smart Car. Sylvester had given him a nice new gun rack, salvaged from a car that had been written off.
Ever the inventive soul, Ali had fitted it and now uses it to carry his hoes and rakes and larger tools. And we all like larger tools.
But that’s not the main reason I am writing. There’s just one more week to go in which you can sign up for the Premium program, and get Free membership in My Little Black Book. So, if you’d like to save the $24.95 membership subscription simply pay the $35 subscription for the feminization program and then email me to let me know you are upgrading and I will set you up. This offer ends on the last day of the month.
“It took three of use, heaving and panting and sweating to get my erection up,” said Sylvester, my mechanic, sitting at my kitchen table and sipping tea from my finest bone china. Like many of my best friends he just appears in my kitchen sometimes. Like a big sweaty mechanic genie.
“I’m sure it did,” I said sympathetically. “Now, just tell me again, this ‘erection’, what is that again?”
“It’s the new sign outside my store. Really beautiful, big and shiny. People can see it for miles.”
“I don’t doubt it, “ I said, my imagination reelling.
“You did?” I said, surprised. “Ion the parking lot?”
“My back! It’s bloody agony!” He clutched his lower lumbar region and winced.
“Poor Sylvester!” I was at my most sympathetic. When an enormous erection goes all wrong I know how difficult things can be. It can get out of hand very swiftly.
“So, I wondered, maybe you could…”
“Sylvester, I am telling you for the very last time! What goes on between you, your boys and your big shiny erection really is your business and I really don’t want to come between you!”
“No! I’m trying to ask, do you know a good chiropractor to help with my back?”
It so happens that I am quite well connected in that department. As I told Sylvester, I happen to know Dicky Longstaff personally.
“Dicky who?” said Sylvester.
“Longstaff. He does all the big names. They say he’s behind some of the biggest boys in TV and film too. Often, I’m told. He has many celebrity clients.”
“Longstaff, you say. That sounds familiar.”
“You’ve probably heard his radio adverts. You know the one! “I’m Dicky, and I’ve got your back!”
Sylvester looked mildly relieved and I told him I would get on the phone as soon as I’d finished this email.
So, the reason I am emailing you is to say that at last the Fiona Dobson website is finally alive. My neighbour’s son Max has been beavering away – his words not mine – in his bedroom, emerging only for food, and finally he’s got it up. Go and see it at http://FionaDobson.com as admire his work!
He’s up there day and night laboring away at his computer. Such a diligent boy. At least I think that’s what he’s doing up there.
If you’re thinking of joining the Premium Program, let me know. Now is a good time, as you will also get free membership of my Little Black Book, at least until the end of June, when I’ll be offering that as a separate $24.95 subscription. So, Carpe Diem, as I always tell Max. Though to be quite honest I’m not sure that’s what he’s been seizing!
Sylvester, my mechanic, throws the most enjoyable parties, though sometimes they really do get quite out of hand. On one evening recently he had a rather fun night during which one of his friends decided they were intent on cornering me and plying me with drink, in the hopes that they might do unspeakable, but delightful things to my body.
“If you think you are going to get that in me,” I said to his friend, “you’re very much mistaken,” as he tried to press yet another drink on me.
“But, darling…” He oozed.
“Don’t ‘Darling’ me. If you think I’m swallowing your…” I was at a loss for words. “… your nonsense, then you must think I was born yesterday!”
Well, this evening I have something very special for you. This weekend I am starting a little thing I call Playtime With Fiona. So, if you’d like to play along have a listen HERE. It’s a fun little exercise for those of you who are a little concerned about dressing in public, or who are just starting out in their crossdressing journey.
So, have a listen and let me know if you enjoy it. The best way to show you liked it is to share it or post comments on Soundcloud.
By the way, I still have about 40 places available in Fiona’s Little Black Book. Currently these are free, but as soon as it goes over 200 entries it will become part of the paid program, so if you want to get into it while it’s still freeemail me saying you’d like to be listed in my Little Black Book. If you’d like to read about it, you can do so here: http://yes-sadie100.tumblr.com/flbb
Thinking about upgrading to the Premium Program? Email me and I’ll get it organised for you!