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Sometimes the smallest things give us away.
I received a lovely message this morning from one of my members, Leticia. They wrote a lovely description that I feel I should include below.
“It’s always a treat to hear from you, your stories are so clever and sexy. I am fortunate to live on the outskirts of a small town, and the road out front leads into open country, through farmland all the way to the state line, and across a river. I try to take a long walk every day, and it’s a perfect chance to practice my feminine walk, flowing with a graceful sway. I am wearing running shoes, but I don’t need high heels to swing my hips. It helps me feel like a woman.”
This reminded me of an incident many years ago. I felt it worth recounting, as sometimes we give ourselves away without even knowing it. You can see my reply below.
What a lovely picture you paint. I am so lucky to have so many wonderful members. You remind me that once, years ago, I had a friend who was studying kinesiology. They watched me walking down the street one day, before I’d really emerged as being so very gender fluid and came running along after me very excited.
“Do you know,” they said, “that you walk exactly like a woman. I can see your hips swinging and the motion you use in your gait – it’s so very feminine. I’ve not seen that so pronounced before… in a man. I mean, it’s sort of unusual.”
My acquaintance was suddenly aware that their enthusiasm for their study and their observation were a little inappropriate, and a moment later they felt quite awkward. I don’t think they realised that they’d seen something that was developing and growing within me and that it would become quite impossible to suppress. It was most enlightening, though I don’t think they really realised just how very deeply ingrained that characteristic was.
Sometimes who and what we are emerges in ways we least expect. I have learned not to fight it, but to just allow it to happen. I hope you do too.
You’ll see that throughout my website and the contents of my Patreon I talk about accepting yourself as you are, and creating yourself as you desire. Sometimes we can’t really help it.
Have you experienced similar moments of revelation? Be sure to tell me about them in the comments below.
Is eight inches enough?
Now, I know what you’re thinking. It’s true though, eight inches is my torso measurement. You know, most of us are completely unaware of what our true measurements are. However, because I simply have to get a new corset I need to measure myself correctly.
You know, it can be wonderful fun to have a friend measure you. I always suggest having someone you enjoy being with come and help. With this in mind I called Sylvester to get him to come over to help me. Unfortunately he was busy. Honestly, he’s a slave to his business. He’s never happier than when he’s got his hands on someone’s exhaust pipe.
Sebastian is out climbing this weekend. He’s going up the Devil’s Danglers he tells me. They are a challenging climb, I understand, but it’s remarkable what Sebastian can get up when he puts his mind to it.
I would have asked Amanda or Marjory to help with the measurements, but this is Marjory’s busy season in the competitive eating circuit. She’s apparently excelling in the sausage category this year, which is surprisingly ironic considering the blossoming of her relationship with Amanda.
Now, as you know, my next door neighbors son Max has at times been a little jealous of Sebastian, my personal trainer, when he comes over and helps me with yoga. Max has been noticed spying on us from his upstairs window while I’m getting my downward dog on in the garden. Well, in the interests of humanity I felt I simply had to ask Max to come over and help me measure myself properly for a new corset. I felt this might help ease his tension a little.
I stood in the kitchen as Max placed the measuring tape first under my breasts, to get an accurate underbust measurement, and then standing behind me he wrapped the tape around at my waist. Now, this is very important. Getting these measurements is essential to get just the right fit in a corset. You may want to take notes.
“Max,” I said as his breath quickened. “I feel size is very important. Be sure to get it just right.”
Next he placed his strong young hands on my hips as I stretched, and measured very carefully. FInally he took my torso measurement. This is most important. This is from the underbust point to the hip crease of when you are sitting in Max’s lap. Poor boy was struggling quite hard at this point. I think all this measuring was wearing poor Max out. He seemed very red faced and was breathing heavily.
“And now the final part, Max,” I said. “We have to decide if my belly is ‘soft and squishy’ or ‘lean’. What do you think?”
I placed his hand on my belly.
“It’s sort of firm,” he said.
“Yes, and I expect you are too!”
And the final thing you need to have a note of when ordering a corset is your height. It’s most important to let your corsetier know. I had found a delightful denim corset from https://glamorouscorset.com/ which was perfect to wear either with a pair of nice jeans, or a nice skirt. It’s so good to find truly versatile clothes. You can see the one I chose here: https://glamorouscorset.com/product-category/material/denim/ I chose this one specifically because I knew I could rely on the product quality coming from Glamorouscorset.com and also the stylish look that I’d be able to make good use of year round.
These are important details, because a corset can do so much for your look. While there’s a range of price points with corset manufacturers, like most things, it’s wise not to go down market. A good corset can serve for years when well looked after and really grows to your needs. Don’t just go for the cheapest supplier you can find – look for quality and sound reputation. I knew I was on solid ground with glamorouscorset.com .
Sure enough a few days later I received a package from my friends there. The first thing I noticed was the beautiful presentation of the corset. It comes in a presentation bag that suggests this is a product of quality. My friends included a detailed handbook about care for the corset and how to season it. These things are very important as the investment in effort pays off as you continue to use their product. I was particularly impressed by the attention to detail that had been made. On inspection the corset was perfect. I’ve bought corsets before and I’ve had them hand made. This corset was without doubt one of the nicest and best fitting I’ve ever had. I look forward to years of service with it.
Now, Max is looking forward to years of service too, I think. I suppose I should ask him to help me put it on sometime. Teasing the puppies can be such fun!
If you’re interested in getting into a great corset I have a special surprise for you. If you use this code – FIONA15 – you will get a special discount from GlamorousCorset.com Be sure to have a good look around their website. It’s very comprehensive and you’ll quickly realise that your dealing with a company that is proud of doing the job right. Send them proper measurements as I’ve described above, and be sure to mention I sent you!
Have a wonderful week.
Marjorie has an infestation!
Sitting in my kitchen, enjoying a quiet cup of tea, wearing my favorite kimono, I was surprised to see Ali hurrying through the gate in the fence between my garden and my neighbors. Ali, you’ll remember is my wonderful gardener. He’s a Syrian refugee, and the nicest man you can imagine.
He bustled into the kitchen looking flustered.
“It’s Marjorie,” he said looking worried. “She has the most terrible infestation!”
“She has?” I said, a little puzzled.
“Yes, in her bush. It’s very distressing.”
“Well, it would be,” I replied.
Ali is a gardener, but he was a professor at Damascus University prior to the war. He is very knowledgeable about botany. When it comes to making my garden bloom, he’s sure to be all over it.
“If her problem spreads to our garden it’s going to be horrible. Aphids are little monsters! I think I should take care of it. If I don’t everyone in Huckleberry Close is going to get it.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” I said.
Sure enough, later that evening, when Sylvester and Bernard were over enjoying a drink with me at the end of the day, Ali came back happily convinced he’d resolved the issue. He had used some sprays, a little trimming and Marjorie’s bush was looking very thoroughly groomed.
Well, done, Ali,” I said. “After rooting around in Marjory’s bush all afternoon, I think you deserve a little clap.”
As you can see, my life is never dull. .
The importance of being Visible.
For years people have used coded messages to convey hidden meanings. They do so to garner support from others who can read those messages. It signals that we are stronger together, and that we are not alone.
I lived in South Africa during the apartheid years. Seeing many different ways in which an authoritarian was resisted opened my eyes to the importance of daily conscious energy to progressively move the margins of society in the direction needed. It’s rarely a cataclysmic shift that makes a difference. Revolutions are, by definition, out of the ordinary. To shift the zeitgeist one has to do so a fraction of an inch at a time. Everyday. Never giving up.
As distasteful as it sounds we see alliance displays very clearly when watching MAGA crowds. Yes, I know – just try to hold onto your lunch. Whether it’s the red ball cap, the simple letter ‘Q’ or a single finger raised in a one arm salute, you can witness non-verbal messaging at play. Now, I don’t counsel watching any MAGA rallies. If I want to watch a bunch of losers displaying their failed understanding of politics I need only look at some January 6th footage from the Capitol. I try to avoid doing so within half an hour of eating. But hyperbole aside, these methods of unifying support are often very effective. In the case of large crowds it’s all rather moronic, a little like believing a message gets better by shouting it louder. Natalie Wynn describes this very well in one of her videos HERE.
For a smaller group, a minority for example such as trans people, being able to identify our own supporters and allies is important. Imagine being lost in a crowd, possibly hostile, and having no idea who one’s allies are. Perhaps it’s everyone around you – or perhaps none. For this reason I am a strong proponent of carrying symbols that convey support for trans, bi and LGBTQ values. I show my colors, as it were. I also know that while not everyone will recognise my message, many people who are aligned with me will recognise the symbols and take some comfort from them.
The idea of this is not to provoke. It’s to signal to allies, ‘Yes, I am here.’ Not everyone needs to be a Valkyrie or social justice warrior. My intention is not to create a combative atmosphere – something that does nothing o appeal to the feminine side of my personality. I’d rather bring change through quietly reasoned self awareness of what is morally right. Gently assuring our sisters and friends, these are my choices and I am unashamed of them is important.
With that in mind, especially as we move toward election cycles I do suggest members actively ‘flag’ themselves. This can take the form of a simple button, a tee shirt or even the simple color choice in an outfit. It’s true that some people may see such signals and take them to be provocative, however if that’s the case you’ve just forced a bigot to reveal themselves, which is better than not knowing who the bigot in a party is.
With his in mind I’ve got a special page on my site with a few ideas for some subtle and other not so subtle trans supporting ideas. My personal favorite is a button saying ‘404 Error – Gender Not Found’.
Check it out and perhaps you can adopt one or two of the ideas.
My pussy is being hunted!
The sun is blazing down on my garden, and I can hear Ali moving about in the distance, his hand tools musically clinking as he cleans up the flower beds. He has recently declared a Jihad on the weeds in the north border.
As he arrived this afternoon in his Smartcar, equipped with the rifle rack that Sylvester gave him, re-purposed to carry his rakes and spades, I was dancing – in my kitchen to the sounds of my childhood –https://youtu.be/v16CwfkppeI – getting carried away in my own little world. I had put together a big pitcher of sangria, a nice zinfandel with pineapple chunks and oranges, for myself, Ali while he worked, Max who was climbing a tree and trying to get to my pussy (don’t ask), and Bernard who will be over later this afternoon with some proofs from our latest photoshoot.
My garden is one of my favorite places in the summer. It’s a hive of activity. I still don’t know exactly what Max is doing climbing that tree, though. Shirtless and tanned he is, well, an entertaining diversion. He’s trying so hard, but I don’t think he’s ever going to get my pussy. All the same it’s fun to watch.
The summer here in Vancouver is in full swing, and I am thrilled to say that we’re welcoming new members to my Premium Program all the time. I have been thrilled to see so many new members recently, it quite takes my breath away. I’ve also been getting a lot of mail – my inbox has been quite literally pounded with interesting mail. I do enjoy a good pounding!
So, I thought I’d include a couple of things in today’s message. One is something I am constantly asked about. Breasts. Yes, always something we like to give our attention. But, if you don’t want to go on a hormone therapy treatment, what can you do to stimulate a little breast growth? I am so glad you asked!
There’s a few soy drinks out there, including ‘So Good’, that are quite rich in phytoestrogens that mimic the female hormone estrogen. If you drink a moderate amount daily you will experience a small increase in breast size. Women have known of this trick for years, and can lift their breast size by one or two cup sizes quite easily. So can you. If you’re not in North America (and I have members from all over the globe now) then finding another milk like soy drink will likely have the same effect.
Gosh, you learn some useful things from me! You can also use one of my breast enlargement self-hypnosis files here: https://youtu.be/15v1usMJAXg Self hypnosis for breast enlargement has been around since the sixties, and is well documented to be successful. I have many gurls who have experienced great results with this.
Have fun, and enjoy your weekend.
Fall is a great time to adjust your look.
As we kiss goodbye to a hot summer it’s time to start adjusting your look. Just think of all those lovely russet hues that you can lean into!
I was just saying to Sylvester this morning, “It’s a time to start adjusting into the warm colors of the fall.”
Sylvester is very touchy these days, what with Amanda travelling the competitive eating circuit with Marjory, my next door neighbor. He does get quite jealous. She’s been gone for weeks. It’s a wonder that Pig and Pig Farmer Weekly hasn’t gone into terminal decline. I understand she edits the trade publication even while on the road.
For Sylvester, putting together a fall wardrobe consists of switching the denim blues to the Carhartt browns, though I have to admit Carhartt does have some functional women’s workwear these days – https://www.carhartt.com/c/womens
It’s rather hard for Sylvester to compete with Marjory, for that beating lump of gristle that passes for a heart inside Amanda’s breast. Marjory is even more down to earth than Sylvester, and she just blunders forth. It’s quite remarkable to me that she ever gave birth to such a sensitive boy as Max, who as you likely know, looks after the technology things for me. Marjory is the kind of person that announces her pregnancy by switching to menthols. She even has a sticker on the back of her truck that says, “My other car is also a truck.”
A gold star dyed in the wool lesbian if ever you saw one! You just have to love her!
Sylvester can’t really compete, although he does turn a few heads down at the hockey rink when driving the Zamboni. Some women are just impressed by the wheels. Honestly! Men! It’s all rather infantile if you ask me. A little like the time he tried to help his friend Roland with his circus act. Roland is a talented spoon thrower. Yes, I know – it’s all to do with the terms of his parole. But you get the idea.
You can find some nice ideas for fall outfits HERE – on my Pinterest page. You may also want to check some of the offerings from Amazon below.
What are you driving?
I could not help noticing, whilst driving home from the advertising agency the other day, the names on the back of vehicles. The model names of vehicles are of interest to me, from both the branding perspective and what it tells me about the drivers.
A therapist member of mine recently pointed out to me that several of their erectile dysfunction clients did indeed drive muscle cars, in more than one instance a Hummer. Frankly I feel anyone driving a Hummer should be on their knees begging forgiveness from their children as they pump heat into an increasingly fragile environment. On the other hand, given the erectile dysfunction issues associate with Hummer ownership theirs a good chance that having children is one complication these thoughtless tools will not have to concern themselves with.
Sylvester, on the other hand has shunned the muscles cars and even removed the photo on his office wall of him posing with his Dodge Penetrator 3000. I am pleased to see him mellowing. I do remember the day he pulled up outside my house, on his phone calling me to tell me he was there.
“I’m just pulling into your garage,” he said. “No wait, I’m reversing. Pulling in again… backing up, and going in again now. Perhaps I should go in the laneway round the back. I can get the back way, but it’s a bit tight.”
You know, I may have said this before, but Sylvester can be quite coarse at times.
Personally I like to drive a Buick Vagina. It’s the limited Silhouette edition. So much more my style. Both feminine and powerful, with the twin turbo V6 with the cuddle seats option.
Vehicle names and designs do tell us a lot about their drivers. I noticed a Kia Soul in the traffic as I was driving home, and I can only speculate that some Korean designer sat down and thought hard about what a car designed for Spongebob Squarepants might look like, and then took up the challenge to build it. Ironically the driver of this particular vehicle did look like a cartoon character.
Sebastian, my vegetarian personal trainer, drives a Kia Hymen when not riding his electric bicycle. His sister, Rainbow, drives a Nissan Slide with a synchromatic gearbox. Amanda drives a Prius, which is entirely predictable, while of course Ali, my gardener, drives the Smart Car with a rifle rack on the rear window, adapted to carry his gardening tools. He’s proud to declare he always shows up with his hoes.
One of my Vancouver members, Lenni, is originally from Alaska, and proudly tells of her mother having driven a Ford LTD wagon. This vehicle, with a 7.5 litre engine has the dubious distinction of being capable of hitting a moose, killing it, and then being able to transport it back to the trailor park for butchering. I can’t help thinking life in Alaska holds wonders I am pleased not to have either witnessed or shared.
Instead I think I’ll go and get Sylvester to change the fluids in my Buick Vagina.
Have a lovely week.
Long live the King.
I was lamenting the passing of our Queen yesterday, along with a huge number of people. My voice need hardly be added to the outpouring of regret by so many others, and yet I do feel a sense of loss. The Queen was, after all, an influence my entire life, and there’s no doubt about it, whatever else she was, she really was a likeable sort of monarch.
It was fitting that I wore a nice black sweater, black stockings and a black kilt yesterday. On that slightly mournful note, I have some lovely crossdressing funeral ideas HERE.
After my yoga session this morning I was sitting in my kitchen, enjoying a calming cup of tea with Sebastian, when he started telling me the news about his sister, Rainbow.
“Rainbow’s not seeing that optician anymore,” said Sebastian a little mournfully.
“I’m sorry,” I said, confused.
“They’ve broken up. It’s a pity, I think he was very good for her,” continued Sebastian. “Apparently when she said she couldn’t see him anymore he told her to stand a little closer, and then said ‘And now?’”
I looked at Sebastian and tried to figure out if he was joking.
“Well, Rainbow has some unusual ideas,” I said.
“She certainly does. She told me she felt their energies didn’t ‘co-mingle’ they way she wanted,” he concluded, looking through the window into the far distance in deep contemplation.
I tell you this as much as anything to set the scene. The window that overlooks my garden is really quite lovely but of late I have had Ali trimming some of the bushes just around the base of the window. He’s a talented gardener, and moves quite silently about the place, his long white gown floating like some ethereal gardening spirit. Now and then he stands up, his head appearing in my wind, and says something before once again going down on hands and knees working on among the foliage of my beautiful flowers. It can be quite disconcerting at times. He’s just like a Syrian Jack In The Box, appearing out of nowhere. It can be quite startling.
It was in this tranquil scene of quiet contemplation as I sipped my chamomile tea that Ali’s wizened head appeared, rising out of nowhere and chimed in, “Tits like coconuts.”
I steadied my nerves as Ali sank out of my line of vision, and then rising and leaning out of the window looked down into the flower beds and said, “I beg your pardon?”
Sebastian struggled back onto his stool.
Ali surfaced back into view and replied, “You were saying how much you like the birdsong of summer, and wanted to attract more birds into your garden.”
I stared blankly before remembering a conversation we’d had just the other day. I do like to attract wildlife into the garden, and had asked Ali if he had any thoughts on the matter.
“Oh yes,” he went on. “Lot’s of birds love coconuts. If you hang them on a string from one of the trees it’s sure to attract a few. You know, tits, chaffinches and sparrows. They all love coconuts.”
I slowly sat down once more, and thanked Ali for his contribution to the conversation. I really do wonder just how much English he understands, at times. I may have to talk with his English teacher.
I do hope you’re having a delightful end of summer. Be sure to have a look around the website – there’s a lot there and I always try to keep things fun.
A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square.
Now that summer is marching down the garden path toward my back gate and fall is introducing herself at the front door I turn to ideas about putting together a new wardrobe. I was pondering this, and putting a few thoughts together on Pinterest ( https://www.pinterest.ca/fionadobson22/ ) just this morning. As I did so Sebastian came into my kitchen looking quite disturbed.
As you know, I like to think of myself as a caring soul, a sort of Florence Nightingale in yoga pants. Sacrifice and humility are my two middle names. Yes, that seems a very fitting description. I applied a little lipstick and asked Sebastian to share his deepest concerns with me.
“My sister, Rainbow, has taken off,” he said, sounding quite disturbed.Continue reading “A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square.”
It’s not always A Man’s World.
Every now and then a piece of music comes along that really touches me. My good friend Nikita recently sent me this. A talented musician herself, she sent me this after we’d shared a coffee in Vancouver.
I hope you enjoy this as much as I do.
A crossdresser asks – Are you into Greek?
Well now, where to start? Let me put it this way, I am from England. Where the history comes from. And where I come from we have a certain cultural threshold. We learn Greek mythology in school.
Or at least we did. These days it’s probably considered elitist. Along with confidence, having civic values and a sense of national pride. But either way, we have this in built radar that comes on when we hear pseudo (that’s a Greek word, by the way) intellectuals spout Greek names – particularly if they are not English pseudo intellectuals. It clicks on and a siren goes off in our heads along with flashing red letters saying ‘FRAUD’.
My radar clicked on recently when the name of a NASA space craft quite suddenly seemed to be on everyone’s lips. Artemis. Everything now is ‘Artimis’ this, and ‘Artimis’ that.
Hang on a moment. Let me tell you a little about Artemis. And to make it more interesting, to me at least, I will myself play the role of Artimis to illustrate the point. Picture me naked. Tall, hair falling over my classically ample breasts. Yes, a fine figure of a Greek Goddess, all smooth skinned and with a bust that looks like it was chiselled out of marble. Well, we’ve all got to have a reference point.
Beside me are my lovely Greek garments, lying on some warm stones beside a forest lake in which I am bathing. Sunlight dapples the surface of the lake as I walk into it slowly, wavelets radiating out from my form as I proceed, a vision of grace and beauty. The water is cool, and as any goddess worth her salt is inclined to do, I have walked slowly into the pond till waist deep, the dark waters cooling my body from the warm summer sun.
Oh, the luxury of it. My hair slick and wet, the water caressing my skin, and my breasts pert and firm, the nipples erect in the fresh cool clear waters. As I lay back and feel the refreshing movement of water over my soft skin something catches my eye. A movement. Could this be another godly creature come to join me? Perhaps that curious new goddess Tracy, goddess of Essex girls, come to explore those unnatural urges she has been experiencing recently? But, no!
A rustling in the undergrowth. Is that a mere human? Oh, my stars. It is! A hunter has seen this godly body in all it’s glory. And in my case he really would be confused. But who could it be, I hear you ask, as well you might. It’s that Actaeon, some hunter up from the village to come out hunting with his damned dogs, a vicious bunch of curs they are too, slobbering everywhere. And a brutal sport it is, hunting defenseless deer and setting the dogs on them.
As I swim naked in the forest lake, this perv is watching me like some sort of beta incel. As much as I try to cover my body, I cannot mask the shame I feel in my beautiful nakedness.
Well, I think you can imagine this isn’t my idea of how to take a lovely naked swim all on my lonesome. Incidentally, I’m drawing on what Lenni described as her experience on a workshop on a remote BC island recently. Those of you who listen to Lenni and Jules know who I’m talking about. Anyway, Lenni was swimming around like a mermaid in the moonlight some nights completely starkers in good Canadian fashion, and I had the pleasure of a running commentary.
Getting back to me swimming in a forest lake, there I am, and this filthy incel perv starts watching me from the bank. I think you can imagine, as a Greek goddess I’m not going to let this pass lightly. And this is where I start worrying a little about NASA’s choice of nomenclature. You see, as much as these early steps into space seem to be all about enlightened exploration and peaceful curiosity, then why name one of these missions after someone like Artemis. I say this, because when Artemis learned she was being spied upon by some pervert on the shore, she did something few would classify as either peaceful or enlightened.
Artemis immediately turned Actaeon into a stag and whipped his dogs into such a frenzy that they turned on their former master and ripped the flesh from his body, feasted on his liver as he screamed and begged for forgiveness, and then gorged themselves on his flesh as he died in excruciating agony witnessing the vile sight of his own carcass being slowly consumed by his loved dogs. One can’t help but think that, if some alien race has access to the internet, they’re going to be mighty interested in the fact that we’re naming our space craft after such ethereal entities. I have a bit of a problem with space exploration, to be honest. While I am a total trekkie and can name the five types of propulsion of an Intrepid Class starship, the prospect of fat rich white people flying around the solar system seems to fly in the face of good taste to me. Each time I see a rocket blasting off I have to wonder if our atmosphere isn’t already hot enough without these extra carbon emissions. And worse than all that, the space suits! I mean, really. White? No one looks good in white! And those boots. A heel wouldn’t hurt.
But all that aside, is this really the moment? After all, democracy is on the slide, we’re watching Russians kick nuclear power stations in Ukraine just to see what happens, inflation is on the rise and Trump… Well, just bloody Donald Trump! Hadn’t we better spend a little more time sorting things out down here for a bit?
I hope you’re having a blast off of a week. Unfortunately my spies are telling me that Artemis might not be going anywhere this weekend after all. Not to worry. We can dream of feeding incel perves to hunting dogs as well down here as we can on the moon, in true human style. After all, we come in peace, right?