The Crossdresser’s Guide To Marital Bliss is a series of episodes taking a hilarious look at how one crossdresser brought his wife to a place of understanding and acceptance. It’s also instructive and full of good advice to those of us who wish to introduce our dressing to the principal relationship in our life. I hope you enjoy it. Fiona
I sat in the garden enjoying the cool spring breeze.
Sylvester crossed the lawn carrying a tray of tea and ginger biscuits.
“I’ve just had yet another experience with one of my members
that leaves me feeling quite sad,” I said as Sylvester’s ham like fist gripped
my delicate tea pot and poured.
“What was that, then?” he asked.
“Well, I had this chat with another member who just felt he
couldn’t talk to his wife about crossdressing. I mean, really, it’s awful. So
many of my lovely gurls are out there and barely even able to talk to anyone.”
“But that’s what you’re here for,” said Sylvester.
“Well, yes,” I replied. “But there are certain things that a wife can do that even I may struggle to!”
I hope you’ve been having a wonderful week as this glorious summer moves from inferno and forest fire toward another Covid surge. What curious times we live in! As we enter a little stifled Pride week, as few outdoor events are allowed, we are all making the best of the situation here in Vancouver.
Surprising as it may seem, I am quite well known in Huckleberry close, not only as a transgendered person, but also as an account executive in a very successful advertising firm. It was no surprise then when Mistress Meg came to me with an idea for advertising campaign.
I took the printed sheet that she held out to me and looked at the image.
“Hmmmm…” I said, sagely rubbing my chin. I find it’s always a good idea to at least look like you know what you’re talking about in these situations. “’Don’t be a dick, get the prick.” It might be construed as being just the tiniest bit in bad taste,” I said thoughtfully.
“I don’t see why,” said Meg.
“Well, it implies that people who have not had the vaccine are, well, somehow deficient,” I said as diplomatically as I could.
“They are,” replied Mistress Meg with her usual certainty.
“Be that as it may,” I continued, “why would you want to place an advertisement like this?”
“To help your wife’s friend,” said Meg.
“My wife’s friend,” I said, a chill running through me.
“You know, the one that looks like a pig,” replied Meg.
“Amanda. Yes, you know she’s in film and theatre. Mostly advertising parts, but she does occasionally get a decent role.”
“I don’t follow,” I said sounding confused.
“Amanda told me her parts were drying up,” continued Meg.
“I’m sorry…” I muttered.
“Her acting parts. She’s hardly done any lately,” continued Meg. “And until the Covid numbers drop down there’s going to be no filming and no theatre.”
“So you thought you’d help by placing an ad in the local paper,” I said, “telling people not to be a dick. Yes, I suppose there is a sort of logic to it.”
“We should all do our bit,” said Meg. “It’s a good job Amanda has that job editing Pig And Pig Farmer Monthly, otherwise she’d be in real trouble.”
“Yes,” I mused. “I met the publisher once. He seemed very fond of Amanda, though I can’t think why. He said that she was the apple of his eye. I think that’s a good thing. Mind you he did have a sty in it. Rather apt, really when you think about it.”
Meg gave me a stern look. I didn’t care much for that.
“It’s a good ad, but they might kick it out because of the wording,” I said and handed it back to her. “It might do better as a social media campaign.”
I want to say thank you to all the wonderful members who have helped me transition over from Patreon to an improved membership model. If you’re interested in joining one of the programs and becoming a member you can do so for as little as $1 a month here – http://FionaDobson.com/my-programs. For those who don’t wish to join as a member but do wish to help me along a little, using the advertising links on my site does help me as well. So, if you’re looking at buying a few little presents for yourself be sure to click through on some of the links on my site from time to time. You can browse a few things here – https://fionadobson.com/fionas-shopping-list/
There are many reasons women love to play with gender roles. In this series of interviews I talk to some of the women who love to feminize their partners. I’ll start with our own team. FD
First of all I’d say that it’s more accurate to say that I
like to feminize other people’s husbands.
I enjoy watching them do as I tell them, but most of all I enjoy seeing
their supplication at a psychological level.
For example, with my sissies, I will rarely use anything
like cuffs, or any form of physical bondage. I’d far rather watch the look of
conflicted confusion on their face as I tell them to do something, and they are
not sure if they should protest, or not, but then they realise it will do no
I find I can usually set things up in such a way that my sissies
obey. They know the consequences will be grave if they don’t. It’s funny how
quickly they learn when properly motivated.
As one of my braver guests once said, “I wanted to appeal to
your better nature, but then I realised you didn’t have one.”
He lived to regret that crack.
No, I like to see the interplay of emotions. I might tell
someone to do something they don’t want to, and you can almost see the cogs
going round inside their head.
“Oh, I don’t want to do that… but if I don’t I know
something bad will happen. Mistress Katia is very unkind sometimes… I don’t
want to do this, but I’ll do it. It’s better than the consequences.”
I’ve seen the same sort of things going on behind the eyes of
a cocker spaniel I once had. Men are quite like cocker spaniels really.
Especially when they look up at you with those big eyes as though they’re
pleading with you. It’s usually a sign
they need a good slapping about, you know.
But I’m really only doing things for their own good. My guests usually come back. Well, grovel
back. But the effects are the same.
I know most of them would really love to let go of the
pressure of their life. They’d like to relax.
Well, I just give them that push that forces them to let go. After all,
how much thought can you give to the profit and loss statement you’re supposed
to be working on when you’re dressed in a frilly pink maids outfit and I have
you sucking a pacifier? It just helps people let go of their stress.
Mind you, one of my clients did show up to a board meeting
once wearing a pink lacy collar I’d had him in for hours. He just forgot to
take it off. Well, he’s more careful
now, so you see he did learn something.
Yes, I’d say my brand of feminization is definitely a sort of ‘self improvement’ program.
Bernard has his little skiff out on the bay today and is pressing me to join him. What is an action transvestite like myself to do?
With a few good gusts blowing and Bernard urging me to join him sailing I know I have to be well prepared. And what could be nicer than this lovely looking wetsuit. This particular one is a 3mm neoprene one, providing enough UV protection to allow me a good afternoon’s sail without overheating, and should I end up taking a swim or capsizing, I know I won’t get cold. And all for less than $45.
Are you an action trannie? Be sure you’re suitably geared up for summer.
There are stories which we choose not to share, for one reason or another. Perhaps it is related to shame or embarrassment. Or maybe we just hold them so dear, that in sharing them they would become devalued.
A friend of mine recently acquired a rather unusual collection of note books which I feel sure you will be delighted to read. He was an elderly man, I will not give very many details, as I would not wish to identify him in any way.
Wrapped in brown paper, of the sort people used for parcels many years ago, these note books were dusty hand written relics. I can well imagine them being tossed out with the trash when someone moved house, or recycled along with old copies of magazines when clearing out a loft or basement.
My friend explained that they had been among some personal papers found in a house that was being sold. The contents of these papers were at first a mystery, then quite surprising – and ultimately quite shocking.
I am thrilled to release these notes in their original sordid and salacious form. They are available to all my Seahorse members. Be sure to sign up and enjoy these extraordinary documents.
“You sound dreadful, Lucy,” David said into the phone.
“I know. Damn stupid cold. I’ve got a nose like a cherry
tomato. And it’s sore.”
He had to admit the poor girl sounded ill. Far too ill, and contagious, for him to offer to go round and rub her front. But he was her best friend. The least he could do was offer to post Day Nurse through her letter box.
“Do you want anything from the chemist?”
“No. I’m drugged up to the eyeballs already. A bloody con,
though. I don’t feel any better.” She coughed and spluttered, and David was
tempted to wipe the screen of his phone.
“But I need a favour. I’m supposed to play tennis this
afternoon. Can you cover for me?”
“Cover what for you? You’re not going to play are you?”
“Course not. I’m bloody dying here. I need you to take my
place.” On hearing a very deep sigh on the other end of the phone, Lucy added,
“It’s only doubles.”
David/Diana finds a fireman, but it’s going to take more than a few drops of water to put out his fire! Enjoy Mollie Blake’s contnuing saga.
For Our Eyes Only.
The droplets from his raincoat began to pool beneath David’s feet like globules of transparent bubblegum. What’s with the weather in this bloody country? It’s the middle of June, for Pete’s sake. He eased the drenched coat from his shoulders and carried it, together with a dripping umbrella, into the bathroom, where he vented his anger with the cold, wet weather on the offending items by shaking them with an indulgent ferocity before hanging them to drip into his bath.
He stared at the mirror and cringed. In one hour’s time a guy would be waiting for him, or rather for Diana, across town, and it was getting late. He had hoped to be able to take his time to put his make-up on, desperate to try a new eye shadow that arrived in his mail yesterday.
The music is by The Monks. It’s great – and fit’s this weeks message very nicely. If you listen the the words you’ll get a lot out of it! Jules Sanderson talks about passing, and how it really isn’t important while crossdressing.
There was a steady stream of water falling between Ali, my Syrian gardener’s legs.
“Ali,” I said. “Would you mind telling me what you’re doing?”
“Ah, madam. I’m watching Max’s premature ejaculation. He did it for his mother…”
I paused. I’ve learned that’s a good idea with Ali. I’m never quite sure if he’s serious, or just confused.
“His water hose… He’s got it hooked up to Google – that online house thing. It waters the flowers. Well, drowns them actually. It’s coming on prematurely and the water pressure’s too high.”
“I see,” I said. I decided I had better talk to that English teacher of his.
“I prefer to use a more natural method such as this watering can, madam,” he said as he continued to water the flowers.
It’s been a strange week. Sylvester had a couple of his Navy friends staying. Billy Bates, a Quartermaster on a missile cruiser, and his friend Simon Steyns. Simon was recently demoted back to Ordinary Seaman following a nasty shoreside incident involving another member of the crew and a very worried looking hamster.
To round everything off Amanda brought her sister over and her revolting daughter. Chelsea, Amanda’s elder sister doesn’t approve of Amanda’s relationship with Marjory. She say’s it’s against God. I have to say I told her that Amanda is against God. I mean really! What immortal hand or eye would frame that fearful symmetry… urgh.
Chelsea Chizit and her daughter Emma are cut from the same cloth. They’re the sort of uncultured slobs that know the price of everything and the value of nothing.
And to top it off Max is besotted with Emma. To be fair, she is not entirely unpleasant to look at as she glides around the garden half naked in the sunshine, like some sort of fae. Yet Max just stares slack jawed and drools. It’s most disturbing. He wanders around moony eyed murmuring “Emma Chizit… Emma Chizzit.”
“Ali,” I said as firmly as I could, “Do you happen to know if Amanda is next door visiting Marjory?”
“Oh yes,” he said. Not much gets passed Ali. He knows the comings and goings of most of Huckleberry Close. “She wrist deep in …”
“Ali!” I said firmly.
“… in tomatoes. They’re canning the tomatoes she grew in her greenhouse. Making sauce…”
As everyone starts to get back to something approaching normal I am delighted to say I am enjoying occasional days like this where friends visit and life seems almost as it did before this infernal pandemic.
I am pleased to say I am double vaccinated, as are most of my friends. I hope you are to, and I’d encourage you to get it done as soon as possible, for your own good and the good of all those around you.
I hope you’ve been enjoying The Dating Game by Mollie Blake. It’s been featured this last few weeks on the website, Remember there always new content on the site, and I do get on now and then to chat with my members on the web chat functionality. If I happen to be on when you are there, be sure to say hello.