In conversation recently with a friend, they shared a story about a family member and it put me in mind of this clip. If you’ve not seen it before it’s a remarkable piece of advertising from J and B Scotch Whisky.


How to talk (and listen) to transgender people.

Gender should be the least remarkable thing about someone, but transgender people are still too often misunderstood. To help those who are scared to ask questions or nervous about saying the wrong thing, Jackson Bird shares a few ways to think about trans issues. And in this funny, frank talk, he clears up a few misconceptions about pronouns, transitioning, bathrooms and more.

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Transgender is about transversing genders, spanning the space between male and female. It is a broad term and doesn’t specifically define one gender expression.

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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


Don’t be left without a leg to stand on this summer!

Following Donald Trumps insane ramblings about sharks this weekend (hear the speach here –TRUMP SHARK SPEACH) I delve into the deep questions that are left unanswered by this unhinged rant. Chief among those is, of course, ‘what would you wear if you had to swim in shark infested waters with sinking battery powered boats?’

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What’s that on your fingers?

I am no detective, but when you know Auntie Kittie is making jam, and the top of the cooking sherry is sticky… well, it doesn’t take much to know she’s getting into my stash of wine.

And speaking of your favorite auntie, she has some nephews from New Zealand staying, and she’s teaching them all about making jam. She told me this morning that she’s trying to get her hands on some plums, and possibly a cherry or two. She tells me she’s got plenty of fruit, though she did say she’d finished off her kiwis.

As you probably know I record some great hypnosis tracks, and having such a nice recording set up I allow some of my friends to use it for their own recordings. When I poked my head round the door just now I found Mistress Meg’s little helper, Stacey making a new recording for our Seahorse members.

I was quite shocked by the things she was saying. I had to listen, just for a moment. Stacey is so innocent looking. I was most surprised.

“You’re going to love dressing up for me tonight, aren’t you?” she said into the microphone.

“I know you’ve wanted to for a long time, but this time it’s something you’re desperate to do. And you know, I’ve known about it for a long time, I just enjoy you being awkward about it. But I also know that the longer I make you wait, the more desperate you’re going to be to do just exactly what I want.

And what I want is very important for you, isn’t it?

You want to serve me. You want to do whatever I tell you. Don’t you?”

I thought I’d better leave her to it after that. Well, you lucky Seahorses will be hearing from Stacey before long, I expect.



PS – I thought I’d add this great track from Def Leopard especially for all my fellow diabetics.

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Rainbow is doing ‘group’!

As you may know, I had suggested therapy to Rainbow, which she took to mean she should train in it, rather than find a decent therapist. As her training has progressed she’s become really quite animated in the subject.

She came over to breakfast just the other day and asked my advice about some marketing she was doing. As one of Canada’s leading crossdressing advertising executives I felt compelled to help. She showed me a draft of some promotional material she was getting ready for a counselling group she’s running.

“I’ve decided to form a meet up group,” she said.

“That’s wonderful. I’m sure that will be most helpful. And who is the group for,” I asked.

“Oh, it’s a meet up group for people suffering from social anxiety,” she said.

I looked at her doubtfully. I was immediately put in mind of a campaign for the Eczema Awareness Foundation which one of the junior members of the accounts team at the advertising agency I work at, had suggested. He seemed keen on the idea of a scratch card promotion until I explained that this might not be the best way to promote Eczema awareness. Rainbow’s idea of a meet up group for people with social anxiety seemed likely to have the same likelihood of success.

“You don’t think a meet up group might be a little hard to encourage people with social anxiety to participate in?” I said innocently.

Rainbow then showed me several of the photographs she was using to promote the group. I should point out that Rainbow, a yoga teacher, has a stunning body. However, the photographs were bordering on pornographic, they were so very explicit. I felt quite awkward looking at them.

“The pictures are lovely, Rainbow,” I said kindly, “but do you think them entirely appropriate for this group?”

She replied quite swiftly that “Inner beauty is in the third eye of the beholder.”

It’s hard to argue with logic like that.

“I’m sure these pictures are perfect,” I said.

I realize that it’s never easy working with people with challenges such as social anxiety. It can be a very serious problem for may people. It’s a good job I am blessed with such a sensitive nature, which is of course so common amongst those of us who are transgender. Sadly, my friend Sylvester is not so gifted in this department. He had suggested that they should have an Egg and Spoon race in the Special Olympics, for people suffering from Parkinson’s Disease. Really. He is the limit at times. Obviously Sylvester does not share my kindly nature.

As we go into the summer I hope you’ve found some great clothes to wear and that you’re enjoying the content on my site.  Be sure to drop by, and if you’re not already on my Patrion by sure to look in on it. You can even use my ‘back door’ for just $1 a month!



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What’s a crossdresser to wear to the company party?

It’s the weekend of the company summer party. An air of excitement is permeating all of Huckleberry Close. Naturally a few of my friends have come by and will be joining me at the costumed event.

After finding the perfect ensemble, I decided to go a little retro and go as Xena Warrior Princess. I have always liked that look, and like Xena consider myself something of a problem solver. It’s just the kind of gurl I am. As Sylvester, Ali, Max and I prepared for the party and got into our costumes Max’s mother, Marjorie, came over to see what all the excitement was about.

“Hello, Marjorie,” I said as she wandered into my kitchen. “We’re almost ready.”

“So, I can see,” she replied eyeing my breast plate. “And Max is doing a wonderful job of buffing up the brass of that breast plate.”

“He’s been most helpful,” I replied.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier if you’d taken it off first?” asked Marjorie.

“Oh, no,” I replied. “What with Max so hard at work…”

At that moment Ali came in, dressed in a set of Klan robes.

“Ali,” I said. “Are you sure that’s entirely appropriate?”

My Syrian friend replied, “I thought I looked very presidential.”

I could hardly fault that, and said so.

“Perhaps we should all go out and stand on the front lawn. Marjorie could take a photograph of us from the landing upstairs? That window overlooks the garden and the picture will lovely with the roses in the background.”

Marjorie agreed and went up the stairs. A moment later she called down to say she couldn’t get the window open, and that she needed a little help. The window seemed blocked by something from the outside.

“Don’t worry,” cried Ali. “I’ll get a ladder and clear it up.” With that, and a flurry of robes, Ali disappeared to get a ladder. Now the reason I explain all this is simple enough. You can imagine the scene when I was then standing on the front lawn, along with Sylvester dressed like a warrior from Middle Earth, about to go on a quest, Max as a Viking, and all of us staring up a ladder at Ali dressed as a KKK klansman, complete with hood, trying to open the upstairs window of my house on a sunny midweek afternoon.

As the sun glinted off my breastplate, we heard the silent hum of Amanda, my wife’s appalling friend, arriving unannounced to visit my wife – who is unfortunately travelling at present.

With the unmistakable sound of tweed rustling she stepped from her car, open mouthed, and said “What on earth is going on here?”

“Ali’s taking care of a blockage,” I said helpfully, and stared up the ladder. Amanda followed my gaze.

“That’s Ali? I thought you’d finally upset the wrong people,” murmured Amanda with her usual distaste for everyone around her.

Ali’s voice drifted down, “Marjories Areolas are coming out beautifully this year.  I’ve not seen her garden from this angle before.”

Sometimes I wonder about Ali’s English lessons. Being a Syrian refugee, who was welcomed to Canada in somewhat disadvantaged circumstances, one might forget that he was also a professor in Damascus University prior to the war.

“I thought something dreadful was happening, as I drove up. I could see this crazy Klansman trying to break in through the window. I thought maybe… Honestly, those people should be bloody well hung!”

Looking up Ali’s klan robe, I replied, “Amanda, from where I’m standing, I think Ali’s pretty well…”

“Oh my god,” said Amanda. “You people make me bloody sick. I just dropped by to tell Max, he’s got the job at Pig And Pig Farmer Weekly as my editorial assistant.”

“Oh,” I replied. “What a sparkling start to a career in journalism. Today Pig and Pig Farmer Weekly, tomorrow the world!”

Have a wonderful weekend,



Get your tongue out of my mouth, I’m trying to kiss you goodbye!

Annie walked into the coffee shop several doors down from the bank where David worked. She caught sight of Dave sitting in the corner furthest from the door. He glanced furtively at Annie, and pointed to the latte he’d bought her.

She walked to the table and leaned over him to kiss him. He shifted uneasily away, checking around the room to see if he was being watched by anyone.

“Not here,” he said.

“Hello, Dave,” said Annie, affronted that he’d not greeted her politely.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, embarrassed by his lack of manners.

“Would you rather come to my car,” said Annie with a smirk. She was aware how he disliked public displays of affection, but old habits die hard. She’d always been a little bit of an exhibitionist. And really, who could blame her. Anyone who had spent this much time trying to look good had a right to enjoy being looked at.

“Your car? Good God, no! That’s what got me into this mess!” said Dave.

“Yes,” said Annie a little awkwardly. “I had no idea anyone would see that. I mean, it could happen to anyone, right?”

“It wasn’t just ‘anyone’ that saw us. It was Shannon, my wife’s sister,” said Dave.

Annie sipped her latte, a thin trace of frothy milk lining her top lip above the scarlet lipstick she liked to use. Dave looked at it. A milk moustache. How awkwardly appropriate.

“You can hardly blame me for that, Dave,” said Annie politely. Even in disgrace she embodied poise and dignity. She sat very straight, her shoulders back and her chin held high. She brushed a lock of her chestnut hair from her face, and looked coyly at Dave. Sitting there, in her blue blazer, high necked blouse and pencil skirt she looked the picture of propriety.

“Besides,” she continued, “it didn’t exactly stop you. As I remember it, you were quite absorbed in things as she knocked on the window.”

Dave cringed as he remembered the moment, Annie’s head between his legs and the slow tap, tap, tap on the car window. His sister in law had been with the local police detachment for a little over five years. The torch, the tone of voice. Everything compounded to form an overwhelming swamp of nightmare soup, and he felt himself drowning in it.

“I thought that was you,” his sister in law had said, the reflections of her torch playing over the shiny badge on her uniform. And Annie, looking up in surprise as his convulsions ceased, a drop of semen falling from her lips.

“At least she doesn’t know you’re,” he paused as he awkwardly searched for the words, “you know.”

Annie stared at him. There is a look only a transgendered person can give, and she gave it on high beam.

“You mean, ‘she doesn’t know I’m a trannie’?” said Annie slowly.

“Oh God,” said Dave.  “I don’t mean…”

“It’s ok,” said Annie. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard it before.

“No. Really,” protested Dave. “You know I’m not like that. I’m a compassionate person.  I didn’t mean to be like that.” Dave’s words hung there, but his face silently added, ‘Thank god she doesn’t know.’

“What’s the matter Dave?” said Annie. “The thought of you getting nailed by a trans girl’s worse than you doing one of your co-workers?”

“No,” he said squirming inside. “It’s not that.”

“So, it would be better if I had a vagina?” said Annie mockingly. She checked herself. It was easy to be unkind. Too easy.

“Don’t,” said Dave.

“I suppose it’s as good a reason for vaginoplasty as any,” she murmured as she looked across the tables and chairs and noticed a disabled young man was trying to negotiate the door of the café. His wheelchair was getting stuck and blocking people trying to enter the place.

Dave groaned. He didn’t want to hurt Annie’s feelings any more than he had to.

“At least Shannon hasn’t told Debbie,” said Dave.

“No,” replied Annie. “She won’t just yet.”

“What do you mean,” said Dave.

“She’ll make you sweat for a bit first. Maybe she’ll see what she can get out of you first.” Annie paused and then added, “She’s bound to. She’s a cop.”

Annie slid her hand onto Dave’s leg beneath the table and stroked it. She noticed his hand tremble on his coffee cup. She smiled to herself.

“You’re in a real pickle, aren’t you, Dave.”

Annie got up and walked across the room.  She held the heavy door open and the young man in the wheel chair moved through quickly, a flurry of apologies.

She returned to her seat, several of the people in the café looking at her for the first time. She was tall, a little oversized, probably an athlete. An unusual woman.

As she sat down she returned her hand to Dave’s thigh, a little higher up this time. She continued the gentle pressure.

“Please don’t,” said Dave.

“But Davie,” said Annie, “You said something about, what was it now?” The words hung there for a moment, and then she continued, “Oh yes, I remember now.  You’d do anything for a night with – how did you phrase it – ‘someone like me’. Yes, that was it.”

“Annie, please. We have to stop this,” said Dave pulling himself backward in his chair.

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Annie. “We’ll just be a little more discrete.”

Her hand slid between his legs and he glanced nervously around the coffee shop.

“Tomorrow night then?” asked Annie.

“Tomorrow night,” assented Dave.

The End

Sebastian’s going to give me one in the bunker!

It’s been such an active period. And I must say, I’ve been surprised by Sebastian, as he’s been putting me through my paces in my fitness regime. This gives me a great opportunity to dress in some lovely outfits.I do, of course, take a keen interest in sport. I’ve been noticing a lot of talk lately about concussions in sport. It’s high time these types of injuries were addressed, and particularly in ice hockey. Unnecessary violence does nothing to enhance the game. However, I was most surprised when Sebastian came home the other day, having had to stop in at the hospital after a yoga class. Apparently, while helping out at his sisters studio, he’d asked a young lady if she was unwell, as she was sneezing and coughing right through the class.  When he told her he was sorry she wasn’t feeling herself, she turned round and punched him.

He does take me with him when he’s climbing some weekends.  I generally watch, though sometimes I do like to mess around in caves pot holing with him. This very weekend I’m looking forward to a truly dirty weekend of fun in various holes he’s suggested.

That, however, is not the main reason I’m writing. For those of you enjoying my serial “Clothes Maketh The Man”, I have just released Part 69. Things seem to get less and less comfortable for poor Andy!

Now, I have to hurry off. I have a golf lesson with Sebastian shortly. He’s planning to give me one in the bunker.


Maintaining discipline on the pitch can be a point of contention even in school games.

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I think there may be a little viking in me!

I was very suprised this week when I was visited by Sebastian’s cousin, who is visiting Vancouver, from Trondheim in Norway. Arvid is a little short, bespectacled blonde young man, who is a genetic scientist and researcher.

I am always curious about such technologies and scientific developments. I remember reading a magnificent book some years ago, called The Seven Daughters of Eve, which piqued my interest.

As we chatted, I leaned over and poured Arvid’s tea. I couldn’t help noticing the way his glanced slipped to my chest, and hovered there. Now, as you likely know, I love to crossdress in a low cut sweater, and figure hugging clothes. It did seem that Arvid’s research interests may extend beyond the highly theoretical.

“Oh, Arvid,” I said. “I do love the idea of you delving into my genes. I’d so love to learn a little more about my genetic background.”

Arvid turned a deeper shade of red.

“Besides,” I simpered. “Who knows,” I said as I leaned over and poured a little milk into his tea. “Perhaps there could be a little viking in me!”

However, that’s not the main reason I’m writing today. I did want to tell you more about the wonderful things going on at We’ve got some wonderful new members in my Elite Whatsapp Group. Such a great group of members looking to connect and chat.

I should also give a quick mention to my correspondent Mildred, from Colorado Springs. I just want to clarify something, Mildred. No, you do not need a password to operate a wireless bra.

Until next time,



A fun task now that spring is here.

I was trying to explain to Rainbow that she was mistaken about Australia having been annexed by Germany in 1938, when her brother Sebastian arrived to join me before breakfast for a yoga class. I do enjoy the early morning yoga classes. Having a personal trainer so committed to my body is something I feel great gratitude for.

Sebastian is a wonderful trainer. How can I best describe his teaching style? I suppose it’s best to call it ‘deeply penetrative’.

I poured a glass of orange juice for each of us, before we started the class. Now, you may remember that Rainbow is studying to be a therapist. When I had suggested to her that therapy might be a good option for her, I had meant participation, rather than training, but she had grasped the wrong end of the stick, and here we are.

“We’ve been learning about Freud,” she told me. “I’m fascinated by Australia.”

I was confused.

“You know,” she said. “Where the marsupials come from.”

Gradually I realised she’d confused Austria with Australia. I thought I should explain a little about European history and things went down hill from there. When she pointed out that Europeans were so much more cultured than those of us here in North America I took issue with her. That was the point that she started on about how Leonardo was so multitalented, with the whole painting, mathematics and engineering, and making all those films, too! Apparently she loved Titanic.

Rainbow has recently started dating Epiphany. While her heart may have swelled the same can’t be said for her intellect, I fear.

But that’s not the main reason I am writing. As spring rushes in and we prepare for summer I have a fun task for you. It’s thrift store time. Yes, it’s time to go out and scan the thrift stores for something fun to wear. But this time I’d like you to do it a little differently. I’d like you to try and buy something that is fairly androgynous. Feminine, but just safe enough for you to wear around without being obviously crossdressing. Yes, this is part of your gradual move to a more androgynous look. Pastel colors, a little feminine but not so very much that you feel uncomfortable around people you know. Push your boundaries, but not too far.

Have fun out there, and remember, ‘recycle, reuse and reduce’. You’ll be doing your bit to save the planet.



PS. Enjoy the song below.  If you’re a member of my Behind The Scenes group you’ll know why this is a special one for me.

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