There’s thrush in Marjorie’s bush.

I was a little surprised to see Ali in my garden this morning, spying over the fence in Marjorie’s direction, looking through an enormous pair of binoculars.  Now, you’ll remember Marjorie is Amanda’s lover.

It’s very cold at this time of year and much of the wildlife of the garden retreats into the foliage where it’s warmer. Ali takes a keen interest in such things.

I quietly crept up beside Ali and tried to see what he was looking at so intently.

“What on earth are you looking at, Ali?” I asked quietly, pulling my robe tightly around my body.

“It’s Marjorie’s pussy,” he whispered back.

A moment later Marjorie’s back door swung out and she came striding across the garden towards us, her impressive physique sailing toward us like a battle ship with sixteen inch guns primed and being brought to bare directly at Ali.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, arms crossed across her thinly veiled breasts and looking like thunder.

“I was watching your pussy,” said Ali.

Thinking I’d better diffuse the situation before the chill air exposed any of us further I invited Marjorie in for a cup of tea, and Ali joined us in the kitchen.

“I don’t much like being spied upon,” said Marjorie, as I poured the tea.  At that very moment Sylvester arrived and joined us in the kitchen. He placed hi enormous mug on the table beside our delicate tea cups, and smiled expectantly.

Ali piped up, “I’m not spying on you.  I was just checking out your pussy.” I do wonder about Ali’s language skills at times.

Sylvester smiled, and I shot him a glance hoping he’d get the message to behave.

Ali continued, “it was about to get the thrush.”

Marjorie looked livid.

“I’ve noticed they’ve been getting into your bush in this cool weather,” he added not helping himself very much.

I managed to calm Marjorie down, and assured her Ali meant no disrespect. It’s so easy to offend when dealing with such sensitivities. I suppose I have learned to be more careful in my language recently. Especially with all the talk about pronouns we hear these days. I do find that the best approach is to try and be as sensitive to others needs as possible. After all, in the end we are all just trying to get along as nicely and with as much kindness as possible. I do feel that is the approach that brings the best in good taste to our friendships and our relationships.

Indeed, I was feeling rather pleased with myself as we all enjoyed some Danish pastries and a lovely cup of tea and chatted. You’ll probably appreciate that this is one of my great skills. Bringing calm where there was agitation and disruption, before I arrived.

As I walked Marjorie to the back door when it was time to go she smiled at me and squeezed my hand.

“I’m sorry if I’m over sensitive, Fiona,” she said.

“Oh, don’t be so silly,” I said. I added, “Besides, it’s nearly spring – I can hardly wait to see your tits in the garden myself,” and closed the door behind her.

Have a lovely week.

Fiona

Splashing out on lingerie.

Hi,

I have been treating myself to a few enjoyable gifts to myself lately. Victoria’s Secret, and one or two other places have been benefiting from my self indulgence.

On Wednesday, this week I asked Max, my neighbours twenty-year old son, to come with me to a lingerie store. This was admittedly partly to tease him, and partly to teach him a little lesson.  He’s been hanging around a lot lately, and seems to spend way too much time at my place. When I am doing yoga he seems to get extremely agitated. When I am working up a sweat he seems unable to stop watching at me.

“Max,” I said to him, “sometimes I don’t know what’s got into you. You spend so much time over here! You might as well help me with some shopping.”

I drove down to the lingerie store with him, and explained, “Things have been so hard lately,” as I smoothed down the skirt I was wearing.

“Don’t you ever feel like,” I searched for words, “…splashing out on some new underwear?”

Max seemed quite overcome by the thought. He carried my bags back to my car once I had bought some new items of hosiery.

Once at home, I took out several boxes of my underwear and asked him to help me sort them into colors and fold them nicely. He seemed very happily engaged in this task when there came a knock on the door downstairs. I asked him to go down and see who it could be.

Max took himself off and some minutes later, when he didn’t return I glanced out of the window to see him clutching at his stomach and heaving into a flowerbed in my garden. This wasn’t going to help the petunias. After all his efforts to keep them looking full and flowery, Ali, my gardener was not going to like that at all.

I opened the window of my bedroom and called down, “Max, are you all right?”

In reply he pointed toward the kitchen and called back “Amanda,” And then staggered off toward the gate to his parent’s house.

I groaned inwardly. Amanda, my wife’s obnoxious friend, had obviously slipped through the perimeter defences. I decided to go downstairs and see what the unbearable woman wanted. I slipped into pair of gender neutral yoga pants and descended the stairs.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with that boy,” Amanda blurted out as I entered the kitchen. Apparently she had got away from work editing Pig and Pig Farmer Weekly a little early today.

“What did you do to the poor lamb, Amanda?”

“I just asked him to help me with something. You see, I’m taking some pain medication for my back. Anyway I’m supposed to,” and at this point she lowered her voice, “use these.” She pulled a package from her sac like handbag.

“And what are these,” I asked not wishing to get too close.

“Suppositories,” she relied, and my stomach turned over.

“And you wanted Max to help you with them?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied in a matter of fact voice. “They’re supposed to bring my temperature down. It’s a side effect of the medication, you see.”

“You don’t think that’s a little odd?” I said, my mind reeling as I stared at the pack on my kitchen counter.

“Is that even a thing?” I made a note to Google suppositories and temperature.

“You don’t understand,” she stammered as though suddenly realising she’d made a horrendous mistake.

“Amanda, I really don’t think you can ask young Max to…”

“It’s the packaging. I can’t get it out of the blister pack,” she protested, suddenly realisng there had been an unfortunate misunderstanding.

“There are some things, Amanda, you just can’t ask people to do!”

“I can’t open the packaging, it’s my fingers. Not with my arthritis!” she protested.

“All the same,” I said doubtfully. “I think you may have scarred Max permanently. He looks pretty traumatised.”

“Oh, my goodness,” she gasped. “You don’t think he thought I wanted him to…” Amanda looked horrified.

“Yes, I do, Amanda. I think you may have left a very damaging and lasting impression on his fragile young mind.”

However, all this is not the main reason I am writing to you this evening. We’ve got some great new content on the website here: http://FionaDobson.com and I’d love to see your comments and questions about it. Go right ahead and make comments on the site, and I’m thrilled to answer them.

Have a great week and remember not to let your temperature get too high.

Fiona

Come and sit on my Zamboni.

Hi,

I am out of breath as I write this. I’ve only just got home after a most disturbing incident. I feel I have to write and tell you about it.

The day started calmly enough. I did my early morning yoga class, and then as I sipped a morning coffee I watched Ali, my gardener, picking figs from a tree I have in the garden. He really is a treasure, and as I went out to check on my bees, who are prodigiously working away producing honey, I could hear him humming a strange tune.

I am finding these summer mornings delightful. It’s my usual practice to wear something simple – a plain tennis skirt, some wedges, and a pastel top. I like to keep things very simple. My brightly colored nail polish sets it all off rather stylishly.

Ali glanced round and saw me in the garden and then fell into silence for a moment.

“Good morning,” he said cheerfully, and carefully selected a juicy fig and handed it to me. “Such a health food, and a perfect one for you.”

“I do appreciate healthy foods, Ali,” I mused as I bit into the succulent fruit.

“That must be how you keep so trim,” he continued. “And is it not written that it is easier for a fat man to enter the kingdom of heaven, than to pass through the eye of a camel.”

I frowned and said, “I don’t think it is written. At least nowhere I’ve read it.”

I do wonder about Ali’s English. He was a professor of botany in Syria, before the terrible crisis over there. However, since coming here he’s been studying English. I’m not quite sure where his difficulty with English begins and his sense of irony ends. I added, “However, that is a perfect fig.”

It really is peaceful in my garden. The ripe fruit and soft early morning sun on my face reminded me how very fortunate I am to live here. Canada is truly a blessed country.

Picking up my bag and cell phone I decided to make the most of the morning, and took Hannibal, my dachshund, for his morning walk. As I strolled down Huckleberry Close I got a call from Sylvester, who has been learning to drive the Zamboni at the local ice arena. He’s really becoming quite skilled. He called to ask if I wanted to have breakfast with him at a café nearby. Naturally I agreed. They do the most delightful croissants, orange juice and coffee. The mother of the family that runs the café keeps bees and brings in her own honey. It’s really most delightful.

And so as Marjory was leaving for work, rather than drive I asked for a lift and rode with her the three miles to the arena, where she dropped me and decided to join us for breakfast. I think that after some years Marjory is warming to me. She still finds me a trifle odd, but she’s been a lot more settled since she started dating my wife’s childhood friend, Amanda.

Marjory and I walked into the huge ice arena, and there across the rink was Sylvester driving the Zamboni. The cool air wafting off the ice was a welcome relief from the heat. When Sylvester looked up he recognized Marjory and I and stopped the big ice grading machine.

“Come on over,” he shouted across the ice. “You want a ride?”

I’ve never been on a Zamboni before, so Marjory and I gingerly stepped out on the ice and tottered across to the vehicle. For those not familiar with the Zamboni, it’s a vehicle driven on an ice rink to resurface the ice. We do this so that the hockey games are played on a very flat surface. Ice has small crenelations if not properly smoothed making it unpleasant to skate, and the Zamboni does the job very well. Sylvester has been learning the skill recently, and now does the occasional turn at the arena cleaning up the surface for the skaters, and preparing it for the ritual slaughter of foreign hockey teams that keeps Canadians so amused. Really, it does. And they just keep coming back for more!

I stepped up onto the vehicle, my little tennis skirt riding a little high as I did so. Marjory followed me, looking a little bemused, and then Sylvester was off and driving around the ice, leaving a smooth glasslike finish behind us.

Now, keep in mind this was very early in the morning, and through the large windows out in the deserted car park I could see Marjory’s solitary car. As we rode around the ice I noticed someone was doing something to Marjory’s little car. The next thing I knew, the car was pulling away toward the exit of the car park.

“Marjory,” I said. “I think someone’s stealing your car!”

She looked out of the window, and sure enough, she shouted, “My car! My car!”

With remarkable composure Sylvester swung the big machine around toward the huge doors of the arena. He hit a remote control and the doors slowly began to open. I have to say I was most surprised at the turn of speed the Zamboni then displayed. Accelerating toward the opening doors Marjory and I clung on to our swarthy friend as the Zamboni flew off the ice and started out across the car park.

“Don’t worry,” said Sylvester, his hair swept back in the morning air as we raced across the car park. “I’ll catch him!”

The little car was exiting the car park and moving out into the slow moving morning traffic. Sylvester piloted the Zamboni skillfully out into the road and we shouted after the car thief, who was becoming increasingly ensnared in the traffic as we maneuvered between lanes, to the surprise of other drivers.

While Marjory called the local police, I hung on to the Zamboni and Sylvester steered us skillfully between cars with startled drivers looking incredulously at us as we navigated down the road in the ice smoothing machine.  It’s really not the sort of things you expect to see on the morning commute in 32 degrees of heat (89 degrees Fahrenheit).

As the cars ground to a halt at the traffic lights ahead, a police car appeared and started cutting through the traffic. Marjory was talking to the emergency operator, who relayed her instructions directly to the police cruiser.

A moment later the traffic stopped, police car on one side of Marjory’s car, and Zamboni halted flush with the drivers side. Marjory’s little car was completely boxed in. It was at this point that I decided it might be wise to make myself a little scarce. With a smile to Sylvester and a polite wave to the car thief, who was trying in vain to open the car door, I slipped of the Zamboni and made my way to the sidewalk.

As I left I could hear the sound of other sirens. Likely this would turn into a dogs dinner of police and press and god knows what.

At that moment the appalling Amanda called my cell.

“What on earth’s going on with Marjory? I’m trying to phone her and it just rings and rings,” she said sounding both annoyed and annoying.

“Ahh…. Her phone’s probably in her car.”

“So?” came the reply.

“Well, nothing really…” I wasn’t going to get into that with Amanda.

So, next time someone asks you if you’d like a ride on a Zamboni, keep in mind it may not go the way you planned. So much for breakfast! I’m sure Sylvester and Marjory will be occupied for a while there. I felt it best to hurry home to my kitchen, where I am writing this to you now.

I hope you’re enjoying the site. If you’re not, just come back a couple of days later and you’re likely going to find a whole lot of different content!

Have a lovely week,

🙂

Fiona

Sylvester slammed his tackle roughly in from behind!

As perhaps you know I am enjoying a little time away from the hard weather and have slipped of to the Baja, in Mexico. Such a delightful place. However, you can imagine the surprise when I received an excited phone call from Ali, my gardener.

“You should have seen it, Miss Fiona. Sylvester slammed his tackle roughly in from behind. I’ve not seen anything like it!”

As you’ve likely guessed, Ali has discovered ice hockey. Well, it had to happen. You can’t be in Canada for very long without being affected by this the national sport.

“It was wonderful,” said Ali. “He’s been on the game for some years, I hear.”

“I think you mean, ‘he’s been on the team’, Ali,” I corrected him. I really do worry about Ali’s English at times. I really must speak to his teacher.

Ali went on to tell me that Sebastian’s been going out with a new girl and is very taken with her. Apparently she’s very pretty but she has a squint. Unfortunately she’s unable to see him any more. Poor Sebastian.

I do like to keep up with the news at home as you can tell, but that’s not the main reason I’m writing. I thought I’d share some news with you.  I have added a new $1 level to my Patreon page. This allows you to penetrate just a little deeper without going to the full expense of the other programs.  I realise there are many things out there at present competing for your attention, and at such a difficult time it’s sometimes a little hard to justify the expense of a full program like the Premium Program for some of us. It’s important to me to be available to all my members, so I talked to Max about this and asked for his ideas.

He said, “You need to give people a different option. Some way to have a relationship without too much expense. You need some kind of ‘Back Door’. So, with this in mind I am inviting you to join my Patreon and use my ‘back door’ for just $1 a month. I think you’re going to like it. It’s exclusively on Patreon. Join here – https://www.patreon.com/fionadobsonCD

🙂

Fiona

Become a member!

PS. Just click any of the hotlinked names in the post to get more stories about that particular person. It’s a fun way to learn about my friends.

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The Dog Days Of Summer.

The long sultry days of summer are easing to a close, and the sun sliding from the sky a little earlier each day now. Here in Canada we’re experiencing a delightful Indian summer, as the last days of this season slowly ebb away.

This week I enjoyed a moonlight paddle in a kayak with one of our members who’s birthday fell on the night of the full moon. A small group of us paddled out in the night across English Bay, in Vancouver. It was a magical night. We sang The Volga Birthday Song ( https://youtu.be/1oXsRteMGy8 ) beneath the majesty of the BC coastal mountains as we drifted on the gentle swell of the inky black sea.

Perhaps it’s the easy going nature of people here, or maybe it’s the liberal nature of society that makes living in Canada so agreeable. Those of us in the gender queer space are generally well received, particularly on the west coast. So it’s really quite a downer to see Sylvester mooning about the place, and that’s not a sight for the feint of heart, let me tell you.

Continue reading “The Dog Days Of Summer.”

Bernard Gets A Shock.

Well, I hardly know where to start! This week was eventful, to say the very least. On Friday night last week, Bernard my photographer called me very urgently to tell me he needed me to get ready to fly to Hawaii to do a shoot.

Usually I have a little time to prepare, but we ended up flying out on Saturday morning to the spectacular Pacific island I love so very much. Poor little Bernard. He has been under a lot of pressure lately. What with all that travel, and deadlines, and goodness knows what. Anyway, by the time we headed back to Chicago, where we had a meeting on Tuesday, I had noticed he was not looking well.

Bernard has been very odd lately. As you likely know he’s about 48, I would guess. He’s like a sort of uncle to me, I suppose. However, of late he’s been very curious about me, and has been even a little amorous. It’s flattering, but I must say, when I play I usually like to play a little below my age.  I think you know what I mean.

Now, I often love to travel in yoga pants, as they are just so comfortable, and show off my legs nicely. I had noticed Bernard looking at me in a somewhat hungry way. I think you know, I do like to tease him a little, but – well, I really don’t think what happened was my fault. Really.

So, we arrived at O’Hare airport and were waiting for our bags  in the arrival area. What happened was rather extraordinary. I slipped off to the ladies, noticing how Bernard was watching my bum as I walked to the bathroom, and freshened my make up and swapped my travel tee shirt for a fresh one. I always do this, as I like to arrive feeling clean and fresh. I slipped on my heels, which I’d been carrying in my shoulder bag, and brushed my hair. I must say I did look very exciting.

When I stepped out of the bathroom some excitement was going on in the terminal, and I walked back to wear Bernard was. There was some sort of security people running about. Bernard was watching me as I walked, very poised in my heels, toward him. I could tell his excitement was all about me. He was sitting, clutching his Starbucks coffee in his lap.

Now, I have a pretty good idea when a guy looks at me and gets ‘excited’. Bernards baggy cargo shorts were, how should I phrase this, ‘a little disarranged’ by his excitement. His eyes were practically popping out of his head as I walked over to him, turned and sat beside him.

Now, that’s when things began to go wrong. One of those handsome police officers and his friend came running our way, and getting people to move to the far end of the arrivals hall. He shouted at us to stand up, and carry our bags to the far end of the hall. I stood up, but as I glanced at Bernard, I could see he was hesitating. I quickly realised that in his state of excitement it would be very embarrassing for poor little Bernard.

I  leaned over him, and his eyes dropped to my cleavage. I said, “Bernard, we really should go!”

He looked worried, and said, “Wait, errr… errr…”

And then this police officer was suddenly shouting for Bernard to stand up, and the poor dear was white as a sheet. Next thing I know Bernard is being Tazered and twitching like a freshly landed trout.

Later, when I got home and was telling Ali, who was working in my front garden, his first comment to me was, “No, they can’t do that!”

“Well, he did!” I explained.

“But he’s not even black!” said Ali.

“You can’t say that,” I admonished Ali. “In America every one is equally unequal under the law. You need to remember that!”

Silly old Ali! Anyway, Bernard ends up rushed off to hospital. It was terrible, although I must say the nurses had very nice little uniforms. I was quite taken with them. As I say, I can’t bring myself to feel responsible, but theren is a moral to this story. If a policeman asks you to move, even if you have an erection, it may be a good idea to comply!

I shall be sure to keep you informed about Bernard’s progress. He’s currently in the hospital. I am most concerned. I shall put together a nice outfit and go back to visit him after the weekend.

Now, that was not the main reason I am writing to you. I have a lovely new sound file for you.

I know you will want me to keep you informed of Bernard’s progress, so I shall be sure to let you know how he is.

Have a lovely weekend!

🙂

Fiona

PS – If you’re reading this on my blog, you can jump to here to find out what happened next.

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Be careful who you let walk your dog.

I am very proud of my legs.  As Sebastian, my personal trainer has often commented, during our yoga practice, I am able to place my legs in some most unusual positions. As I was doing ‘downward dog’ the other morning I felt first a twinge and then one knee collapsed, and I was revisited by some damage incurred during an old skiing accident.

I am very happy with my general health, however in the fall, now and then, I get a twinge.  It passes within a week or so, and then I am back to tip top health, but this week I am very slow. I know you are wondering what all this has to do anything, but I felt I should confide in you, as what I am about to say might sound just a little odd.

Part of my morning fitness routine, usually following my morning swim with Sebastian – he really does enjoy giving me a morning work out – is to walk my dog, Hannibal. Now, some of you may remember Hannibal has had more than one run in with Amanda over the years. He once found a marital aid under her sofa and the resulting drama was traumatizing for myself and my poor little dachshund.

He subsequently saw Sebastian’s homeopath for PTSD for several weeks. Pet’s Traumatic Stress Disorder is not a widely recognized, at least not in the DSM, but if you were exposed to Amanda’s adult toy collection I guarantee you’d not be the same person after the experience.  A whole teamof therapists wouldn’t be enough, I assure you.

Continue reading “Be careful who you let walk your dog.”

Can you help fill my holes?

Watching the sun slowly rise over my rose bushes as I sipped my jasmine tea this morning I could almost have been in some tropical paradise. Ali, my gardener, his head bowed toward the east was in my garden on his knees, the dawn reflected by his white robe.

I glanced at the morning news, and swiftly found it depressing. Someone had been arrested for spying on a tech company and there were reports of any number of conspiracies. I really do get tired of these intrigues. I turned off the news and listened to some morning music instead. This really is the nicest part of the day, and I wasn’t going to have it ruined by scandals which I could do nothing about.

I do love my garden, but as I watched the light spread across the verdant greens and browns of fall foliage I noticed a disruption in the tranquility of the universe. My lawn, so lovingly maintained, was pock marked with the evidence of some burrowing creatures. The velvet green of my well manicured grass had evidently attracted an infestation. It was then that I realised that Ali was not praying but peering inquisitively into one of the invaders burrows.

He rose to his feet and then walked purposefully to my kitchen, where I sat enjoying my breakfast of croissants and English marmalade, dressed in a long pale green dressing gown, and creamy silk night dress, with a pink tie about the waist. I do so love the way the silk feels on my skin. It makes me shudder that once I constrained myself with horribly male cotton pyjamas with an image of spider man on blazened on the back. Still, I was eleven at the time.

“Good morning, Ali,” I said as he knocked on the kitchen door and then opened it. “Would you like some jasmine tea, it’s freshly brewed.”

Ali came in and I poured him some of the tea, and he looked at me earnestly.

“We have to act swiftly, madam,” said Ali.

“Well, I’m sure we do,” I said, wondering what on earth he was talking about.

“They’re taking over. Before long we’ll be over run,” he continued.

“Ali,” I said, still confused. “Have you been getting your news from Facebook again?”

“No madam,” he replied. “It’s the moles.”

“I heard something about it on the news,” I said.

“Really?” said Ali. “It must be worse than I thought,” he said, his gaze drawn to the garden. He then added, as an afterthought, “We need to stuff their holes.”

There was an awkward silence and then I said, “That seems a little extreme.”

Ali is a Syrian refugee and came to his new life in Canada a few years ago. Having walked halfway across Europe he and his lovely wife and two girls finally found a safe haven that welcomed them, here in Canada. I know he must have been through any number of traumas during his flight as the country fell into civil war. Still, the inhumane treatment of spies seemed a little harsh. It was then I noticed Ali looking at me rather quizzically.

“Oh, you mean the ‘moles’. In the garden…” I said, realising my mistake.

“Yes, madam. They’re getting in from Marjorie’s, next door.”

“Wine bottles,” he said as if that were all the explanation needed.

Sometimes I think Ali is just saying random words. I really should talk to his English teacher sometime.

“We push them in their holes,” he added.

“Oh, yes.” I said quite suddenly. “I think I saw a video of that once.”

“Yes, we block their holes with wine bottles, and they’ll soon leave,” said Ali.

“Then I suppose we’d better talk to Auntie Kittie.”

Auntie Kittie always has empty wine bottles about the place.  I get the distinct impression they don’t stay full for very long with her. But that’s not the main reason I’m writing to you this morning. I thought I’d make a point of dropping you a line and telling you that Auntie’s Kittie’s diary is as popular as ever and this week anyone who signs up for it (just $1.99 a month, or $12 for the year) will get free entry into our Whatsapp Group (usually $10 a month). I wouldn’t want you to miss out.

Have a lovely week, and let me know how you are doing.

😊

Fiona

Bounce your way to freedom.

I walked into Sylvester’s slightly messy workshop along with Ali, who had given me a ride down to the auto repair shop in his Smart Car. I must say it’s a tight squeeze, even though we’re neither of us very large.

I wore a light cotton summer dress and some deck shoes. I offset the look with a necklace of white oversized beads and a matching bangle.

You probably know that Sylvester is something of an inventor. He’s always got one new thing on the go or another. That morning I glanced around at the busy workspace at shafts of metal, Sylvester feverishly fitting sleeves and flanges together, and what looked surprisingly like a disassembled pogo stick on the workbench.

“Dare I ask,” I said.

“It’s a device that will revolutionize the life of anyone needing a prosthetic leg,” replied Sylvester without looking up from what he was doing. “It combines the length of stride of a tall man, with the spring action of a pogo stick. It will make speed walking easier,” he paused and then added uncertainly, “and more exciting.”

“Are you quite sure this is a good idea?” I asked looking at the dubious collection of parts.

Ali looked about the place and then said, “I think I know this thing. It’s a monobouncyunipod.”

Sylvester looked up at him in surprise and said, “I had no idea you were versed in the ways of advanced neo-prosthetic engineering.” He seemed to suddenly have a new respect for Ali, my Syrian gardener.

“What,” said Ali, a little affronted. “You think we didn’t have pogo sticks in Syria before the war? We had many things. We had wonderful things,” he continued, his eyes glazing over as he looked into the distance. 

Ali continued, “My next door neighbour, Sara, had one. Bounced around on it all day.” He smiled to himself and then continued, “Her sister hurt herself and had to have part of her nose stitched back on.”

“Well, I don’t think you can call it a ‘Monobouncyunipod’. It doesn’t exactly trip off the tongue. No one will buy it,” I said.

Sylvester looked up from the workbench.

“No, you’re right,” he replied thoughtfully. “I shall call it ‘The Unitard’!”

“Oh, yes,” I said a little sardonically. “I can see it now. ‘Bounce your way to one-legged freedom with The Unitard!’. What could possibly go wrong?”

And that brings me to this weeks exciting suggestions to help you crossdressing.  The Unitard is a vastly under rated piece of clothing. And yet, for a crossdresser it’s surprisingly adaptable.

Ideally you want something that covers the arms and legs, so any unshaved areas become a non-issue. Additionally it should be easy to wear, wash and combine with other clothes. Score, score and score.

A nice unitard, combined with a plain wrap around skirt is simple and striking. Whether you just want to lounge about or be more active, check out the unitards on my Pinterest and think about dialling them into your crossdressing wardrobe.

I am traveling a lot at the moment, so expect to see me popping up at unusual hours on the site.

I am working on some special content on my Patreon at present. There’s a level there called ‘Behind The Scenes With Fiona‘. This is a personal set of posts that reflect some of the unusual things I deal with on a day to day basis. It will be of interest to others who are also in a gender fluid place and dealing with the day to day challenges of life. Be sure to join my Patreon to enjoy some special exclusive content.  It will start appearing toward the end of this week. I’d also love to see you join my Patreon as I am trying to build my numbers up there.

Have a wonderful week,

😊

Fiona

Become a Patron!

A special thank you to my members.

Good morning from an icy Vancouver. It’s too cold to work in the garden today, so I am helping Ali, my Syrian gardener, with his understanding of English.

No, Ali,” I said.  “Ice hole! The expression is ‘he’s got his stick in my ice-hole’.”

“Oh, yes. I suppose that makes more sense,” replied Ali. “And it’s ‘stick’ you say? I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Yes, it definitely is,” I pointed out helpfully. “The Canadian expression ‘He’s got his stick in my ice-hole’ means someone is doing something wrong, probably stealing, from your property. It’s a metaphor. It refers to someone fishing in your ice hole.”

“Ah, yes.  It makes sense now,” agreed Ali. You know his English really isn’t as good as he thinks it is. “I see now why I was asked to leave meeting.”

But that is not the main reason I’m writing to you. Today I published Part 60 of Clothes Maketh The Man, the iconic story of Andrea (or Andy) as they blunder from one disaster to the next on their crossdressing journey. This is free, but if you’re enjoying the story and are not already a member of my Patreon you can help me out by joining any level of my Patreon to help me stay productive. People certainly seem to enjoy the episodes and I am always pleased to get the lovely feed back I often do. You can join my Patreon for as little as $4.99 a month.

While I am on the subject of monetization, a quick and very sincere thank you to all my program members. Your contribution enables me to provide a lot of content free for those in our community that are less able to afford to contribute. I know it’s very important to all of us to support our sisters, and my Program members play an important role in this respect. You can join any of my Programs either on Patreon or here – http://FionaDobson.com/my-programs

Have a lovely week.

😊

Fiona

Become a Patron!

Back to the rain.

I am back from Mexico. If you want more details, I have three words for you; ‘Behind The Scenes’. Yes, you can learn the details if you’re a member of my ‘Behind the Scenes’ tier on Patreon.

So, with my freshly tanned shoulders wrapped up and standing beneath an umbrella held by Sylvester in one of his ham sized paws, you find me standing beside something that’s appeared in my back garden.

“But what is it,” I said to Ali, my gardener.

“Your Christmas present, and it’s beautiful,” he replied. “It’s a sundial. My people have been using sundials to tell the time for 3000 years.”

“Your people?” I said.

“Gardeners?” asked Sylvester, looking confused.

“Those of us who come from the middle east,” replied Ali. “Persians, Syrians. Us lot.”

I sometimes feel that Ali’s skills are wasted. He used to be a botany professor at Damascus University. And now he tends my garden. He seems happy though. Talking to Sylvester is a little like petting a monkey, for Ali.

“Thank you, Ali,” I said. “That’s a very kind thought.”

I looked skyward and I could see Ali was reading my mind.  I’ve just got back from a land of apparently endless sunshine, but the sky over Vancouver between the months of October to April resembles nothing so much as being inside Tupperware.

“I don’t think I’m getting rid of the kitchen clock, at least not before spring,” I said. “But it is beautiful. You’re very kind.”

“Three thousand years, you’ve been using these?” said Sylvester.

“We should probably ask Amanda how it works,” I said. “She probably remembers the product launch party.”

At this Sylvester gave me a sour look.

Ali looked at the cloud covered sky and then examined the numbers around it’s base, and then said “I think it was 2.30, in September…”

I’m sure that when the sun comes out it will be a lovely centre piece to the East garden. Ali is so thoughtful. And I’m not one to look a gift camel in the mouth.

🙂

Fiona


We now offer remote counseling and hypnotherapy for people struggling with gender issues. Learn more HERE.

Are you ready for your massage ;) ?

Are you ready for your massage 😉

Hi,

It’s the night before Christmas eve here in Huckleberry Close, and I have had the most extraordinary text message from Bernard. As you may know, Bernard’s health has not been good recently. Between being tazered and shot in the chest with a carrot, he’s had quite a year.

With this in mind he traveled to England for Christmas, where he has some family, and checked himself into a rather eccentric sounding health farm near something called ‘Newmarket’. He’s being treated at “The Devil’s Dyke Centre for Alternative Health.” This immediately had me thinking of a friend of mine who recently divorced her lesbian wife. As you might have guessed the divorce is not going well.

Bernard’s text read: “Hope all is well. Love to the crew. Just waiting for the nurse to give me my evening massage.   😉 “

Now, I don’t mean to be pedantic, but that smiley winkey face at the conclusion of the message did give me pause for thought. At the time SylvesterAli and I were enjoying a few glasses of eggnog while I modeled a new gown I recently treated myself to, and Ali showed us a traditional arab jalabiyyah. Needless to say, Sylvester wore his Carhartt pants, and frankly I think Ali and I looked considerably more presentable than our swarthy friend.

Amanda had joined us, ‘popping in’ as she does, not unlike a visit from the plague. We all sat around the log fire in my living room and enjoyed the winter evening.

Making conversation, Sylvester said, “I see Bernard’s started using emoji’s. I don’t think he’s quite got the hang of it yet.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said, showing them both the recent text. “I mean, really. What is one to make of that?”

The eggnog was fortified with substantial amounts of brandy, which neutralizes the sweetness a little, though does not reduce the calories, to Amanda’s disappointment. I’ve been making this recipe for years, and it was given to me by my grandmother.

Ali passed on the eggnog, but Amanda drank it deeply. I could tell she’d had more than is wise from her slightly slurred speech.

“Where on earth do you get this,” asked Amanda looking at her glass. “It’s so smooth!”

“Oh,” I replied modestly, “it’s just something I knocked up.”

“Rather like your first wife,” I heard her mutter under her breath.

Just then Sylvester got to his feet to refill his glass, nudged the table and Amanda’s glass toppled into her lap covering her with eggnog. She yelped like a… Well, like a startled pig, and got to her feet.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Sylvester gushed.

“Don’t worry, Amanda. I’ll find you something.” I said and trotted off upstairs to get her a skirt. Perhaps I could find a discarded garden tent upstairs. No, that’s a little unkind, I suppose. I looked among the clothes, and returned with something suitable.

I handed the skirt to Amanda and she disappeared to change, leaving us all enjoying the warmth of the fire.

I turned to find Sylvester texting Bernard. “Just covered Amanda’s pants with eggnog. 😊”

A text came back from Bernard a moment later – “Can’t chat, going in for colonic irrigation! 😉”

“Wow,” said Sylvester. “They really know how to have fun in England.”

With that Sylvester disappeared upstairs to the bathroom, leaving Ali and I to talk about how he and his family were enjoying their second Christmas in Canada. He told me how well his daughter had settled in at school, and how his wife had managed to find a good job in the bank. It wasn’t until ten minutes or so had passed that I realized both Sylvester and Amanda were still absent.

I glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece.

“How very odd,” I said to Ali. “I wonder what could have happened to Sylvester?”

Ali turned his eyes toward the heavens, or one of the bedrooms upstairs, depending on your point of view. He had an ominous look on his face as our eyes met.

“Just how much brandy is in that stuff,” asked Ali.

“Enough.” I said. Sylvester is Italian.

I hope you are enjoying the run up to Christmas. We will be here through the holiday looking after all our friends and members. I’m thrilled to say we’ve been getting a lot of new members in to My Little Black Book. If by chance you are alone this Christmas it’s a great idea to get into My Little Black Book and message some of our other members. They’re all keen to hear from others and make new connections, and we all love to connect, however distant, at this time of year.

Merry Christmas,

😊

Fiona

Become a Patron!

I’m keeping abreast of things.

“Tits like coconuts,” said Ali as I pondered his idea. He was, of course, quite correct. If we wanted to attract more wildlife to the garden we should hang out something to induce them to come. Apparently, the blue tit loves to play with a coconut hung from a branch.

“Well, then,” I said. “You’d better get out there and buy some coconuts.”

It’s so good to have someone looking after my garden who knows what they are doing.  And that brings me to my very next point. For all my lovely American members I want to remind you that soon it will be time to vote once more, and it’s very important for our trans sisters to try to stem the gradual erosion of trans rights that we’ve seen in so many Republican states.  Please be sure you are registered and familiarise yourself with the issues at stake. With gerrymandering and the assaults on voting rights we’ve witnessed in the last few months it’s more important than ever to make sure your vote counts. Plan ahead so that you can be sure to get your vote in, either by advanced voting where it’s available, or by showing up on the day.

Don’t forget you can win a $100 membership to our Seahorse group for one year by sending your Halloween pics in to fdobson@zoho.com – Auntie Kittie will make a pile of your emails and then pull one member off at random from that pile of emails (yes, she actually prints them!) to select a winner. Perhaps it’s just a selfie of you in costume, or maybe it’s a photo essay of your friends dressing you up and putting the right makeup on… send it in and we will post all we reasonably can! Who knows, you may be the one that Auntie Kittie pulls off!

Your pics will appear on the site, so be sure you’re ok with me using them. No, you don’t need to be a member already to enter this competition.

Enjoy the story below as you get ready for Halloween, and don’t forget there’s plenty of Halloween content on the site. You can find some HERE. Oh, and by the way, the results are in for this week’s ‘Shit Of The Week‘ Award.

Fiona.

There’s never a dull moment in the advertising business.

As you likely know, I work for a well known advertising agency in an active office in this delightful city. It is often said that for each job in some industries, several other people are supported. So, for example while a car plant may employ 4,000 people a further 6,000 jobs are created servicing the 4,000 people employed with things like transport, employment services and catering. In much the same way, my work supports not just myself, but also Sylvester my mechanic, Sebastian my personal trainer, Ali my gardener, young Max who helps with technology on my blog and several other assorted hangers on and peripheral individuals.  

I was talking on this very subject with Bernard, my photographer, when we were out on agency business just the other day. Ali, who so lovingly tends my garden, spends more time there than I ever do. Instead, while he enjoys my delightful champaign colored roses in my garden I am out driving with Bernard on a task for the advertising agency. And I’m paying Ali! It all seems rather obtuse. That said, I do love Ali, and his daughters are sweetness itself. They arrived in Canada just a couple of years ago, refugees from the war in Syria.

Continue reading “There’s never a dull moment in the advertising business.”

Marjorie has an infestation!

Hi,

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. .

🙂

Fiona 

My pussy is being hunted!

Hi,

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.

🙂

Fiona

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.

Have you been reading ‘Clothes Maketh The Man‘? Enjoy the ongoing serial now in its third year.

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.

Fiona

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.

Rainbow isn’t seeing the optician anymore.

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.

😊

Fiona

Some people should be bloody well hung!

I have been hard at work with some of my corporate clients at the advertising agency recently, and as we move toward the climax of summer some are organising their company parties and corporate retreats.

Naturally I get to be invited to many of these, both as a part of the client’s team, but also as I am generally advising the organising committees for such events. Since the Covid situation is receding I have seen many new faces on these committees, and I’ve been asked to sit on several of them.

So it was that I happened to be asked to attend a costumed event recently, and was asked to bring one or two friends to add color and vibrancy to the situation.

Continue reading “Some people should be bloody well hung!”