There was a steady stream of water falling between Ali, my Syrian gardener’s legs.
“Ali,” I said. “Would you mind telling me what you’re doing?”
“Ah, madam. I’m watching Max’s premature ejaculation. He did it for his mother…”
I paused. I’ve learned that’s a good idea with Ali. I’m never quite sure if he’s serious, or just confused.
“His water hose… He’s got it hooked up to Google – that online house thing. It waters the flowers. Well, drowns them actually. It’s coming on prematurely and the water pressure’s too high.”
“I see,” I said. I decided I had better talk to that English teacher of his.
“I prefer to use a more natural method such as this watering can, madam,” he said as he continued to water the flowers.
It’s been a strange week. Sylvester had a couple of his Navy friends staying. Billy Bates, a Quartermaster on a missile cruiser, and his friend Simon Steyns. Simon was recently demoted back to Ordinary Seaman following a nasty shoreside incident involving another member of the crew and a very worried looking hamster.
To round everything off Amanda brought her sister over and her revolting daughter. Chelsea, Amanda’s elder sister doesn’t approve of Amanda’s relationship with Marjory. She say’s it’s against God. I have to say I told her that Amanda is against God. I mean really! What immortal hand or eye would frame that fearful symmetry… urgh.
Chelsea Chizit and her daughter Emma are cut from the same cloth. They’re the sort of uncultured slobs that know the price of everything and the value of nothing.
And to top it off Max is besotted with Emma. To be fair, she is not entirely unpleasant to look at as she glides around the garden half naked in the sunshine, like some sort of fae. Yet Max just stares slack jawed and drools. It’s most disturbing. He wanders around moony eyed murmuring “Emma Chizit… Emma Chizzit.”
“Ali,” I said as firmly as I could, “Do you happen to know if Amanda is next door visiting Marjory?”
“Oh yes,” he said. Not much gets passed Ali. He knows the comings and goings of most of Huckleberry Close. “She wrist deep in …”
“Ali!” I said firmly.
“… in tomatoes. They’re canning the tomatoes she grew in her greenhouse. Making sauce…”
As everyone starts to get back to something approaching normal I am delighted to say I am enjoying occasional days like this where friends visit and life seems almost as it did before this infernal pandemic.
I am pleased to say I am double vaccinated, as are most of my friends. I hope you are to, and I’d encourage you to get it done as soon as possible, for your own good and the good of all those around you.
I hope you’ve been enjoying The Dating Game by Mollie Blake. It’s been featured this last few weeks on the website, Remember there always new content on the site, and I do get on now and then to chat with my members on the web chat functionality. If I happen to be on when you are there, be sure to say hello.
First of all I’d like to say that I hope you are loving my programs. We have over 2500 gurls enjoying my helping hand… Wait, that sounds a little wrong. If you are not already in one of the programs you should sign up today. Anyway, I thought I’d share what I’ve been getting up to this week.
With all this sunshine I’ve been spending a lot of time in the garden and at the beach. I do love to sail, and Bernard’s boat is finally in shape. It’s so good to live in a city in which the outdoor lifestyle I love is so accessible.
My gardener, Ali Ibrahim, pulled into my drive way in his Smart Car this Tuesday. He’s been doing some topiary in my garden. With him was Sylvester, my mechanic. Now, Sylvester is a very large man and seeing him struggle out of Ali’s tiny car was rather like watching a man get out of an overcoat that is three sizes too small for him.
“I had no idea you knew Ali,” I said to Sylvester.
“I don’t. He gave me a ride from the highway. My truck broke down, again! Very kind of your friend Mr. Ibrahim to pick me up.”
The irony of this was not lost on me.
Sylvester was speaking very slowly, so Ali would understand him. So slowly, actually, that one might assume he thought Ali had some extreme form of learning disability. Sylvester was, of course, unaware that Ali had been a professor in a university in Damascus until fleeing the country and finding his way to Canada.
“He just pulled over and offered me a lift, and it turned out we were both coming to your place.”
“How fortuitous,” I said. Sylvester was looking a little dubiously at Ali, who in turn was smiling happily, as is his nature.
Sylvester took me aside and looking a little worried said “he keeps saying he can’t get his whores in his car.”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s very small.”
“Car no good for hoes,” said Ali, catching my eye, and nodding and smiling happily.
“Yes, Ali. I’m sure,” I said smiling.
I turned to Sylvester and said, “Ali is struggling a little with his English, but I think he’s trying to tell you that he doesn’t like the smart car because he can’t put his rakes and hoes and spade in the back. He’s got his small tools for working in the garden, but his large tools get… stuck. But you’d know all about that.”
Sylvester sniggered and turned to Ali and said, “Hoes, eh? Well come by my shop in the morning, ok?”
Ali smiled his enormous smile and nodded enthusiastically.
When Ali showed up at my place the yesterday to continue his work on remodelling my bush he came with the most extraordinary collection of tools on the back of his Smart Car. Sylvester had given him a nice new gun rack, salvaged from a car that had been written off.
Ever the inventive soul, Ali had fitted it and now uses it to carry his hoes and rakes and larger tools. And we all like larger tools.
But that’s not the main reason I am writing. I am thrilled to say I have a few spaces available in our Whatsapp Group. You can find all the details here, if you like chatting with other CDs.
I must say it’s been a very active week. So many things going on. We had a rather unfortunate incident this week involving Sebastian.
You’ll remember, no doubt, that Sebastian is quite an athlete. He’s really a very good personal trainer and also loves adventure sports. However, as things have been a little tough in that department, with many people not wanting to come and work out in close proximity to others, he decided to help of his friends running their bungee jumping business.
To say things didn’t work out so well is something of an understatement. Let’s just say that you’d think the war veteran would have mentioned something about having a wooden leg. I can’t say much more about it as there’s a law suit and a coroners investigation and all that, so I should probably not touch the subject.
In light of the inclement weather some of us have been exposed to (not Ted Cruz, of course), I have a little more of a Mediterranean theme today. It may help warm you up if you’re in the arctic blow off, or whatever they’re calling this outflow of cool air from the north.
I had a very nice morning this morning with Auntie Kittie dropping off her handwritten notes for Max to type into the system. She’s really a technological dinosaur. She joined Ali, my Syrian gardener and I in my kitchen as we were having our morning coffee.
I handed her a coffee and she said “I’m just going to sweeten it a little,” and then reached into her handbag and poured a little whiskey into it from a flask she keeps there.
“That’s not really a sweetener,” I pointed out.
“It’s not as fattening as sugar,” she pointed out.
Well, it’s a point of view, I thought.
“Perhaps you can help me,” I said. “I just can’t think what I can get for my wife. It’s her birthday coming up.”
“How old is she,” asked Ali, taking a little of the date jam and putting it on his toast.
“Well, don’t tell her I told you” I said and told him.
“I would imagine you could get a concrete mixer, two rolls of barbed wire and several sacks of fertilizer,” replied Ali.
I am never quite sure when Ali is putting it on. He seems in many ways to have adjusted to life in Canada very well, but from time to time I wonder.
“Ali, we don’t generally trade our wives for… a concrete mixer… in Canada. We are, of course, open to accepting most aspects of other cultures, but that’s not one that is generally very accepted here. When I say, “I don’t know what to get for her” I am referring to ‘what present’ to get for her.” I must speak to his English teacher.
But all this is not the main reason I’m writing to you this weekend. I just wanted to point out that I have an exciting new program for wives and friends who are interested in feminizing their partners. You can find all the details HERE. ( https://fionadobson.com/how-to-feminize-your-man/ ) Perhaps you can think of someone you’d like to share this to.
I’ve also started posting profiles of some of the people you come across in these posts. I’ve put up the first, a profile of Bernard HERE. It may help you explore a few people in the World Of Fiona Dobson. I hope you enjoy these.
This week Bernard has suggested a free give away membership to my Elite Whatsapp Group. If you win you get free entry into this great and supportive group. You’ll need to obey the guidelines, but other than that there’s no catch!
So, here’s this weeks challenge. Can you name the type of rig on the boat in the video below. The answer is a six letter word. The first to comment with the right answer will win. You can log in to comment HERE. If you’re not registered on the site just register HERE. Then just post your answer as a comment.
As the New Year kicks into gear I am pleased to see Ali getting to grips with my garden. As you know, Ali is my Syrian gardener, and a recent immigrant to Canada. He is a diligent worker and has thrown himself into the task of managing my garden.
A university professor of botany in his home country, he has come to build a new life here in our country, along with his lovely wife and two delightful daughters. Here in Canada we welcome new friends from around the world, and embrace the chance to add to the deep culture of this diverse and remarkable country.
“We don’t have an equivalent of your ‘Santa Claus’,” he recently explained while we were working at preparing the greenhouse for this years plants. “Besides, anything flying over our airspace at low altitude stands a good chance of being shot down. And… well, reindeer meat… I think he’s well advised to respect the no-fly zone.”
“Be that as it may, Ali,” I said. “I’m most concerned about Amanda and Marjory. All through the Christmas season I barely saw them. I know it’s been harder this Christmas with the whole Covid thing, but you’d think she’d say hello over the garden fence.
“Fiona, they’ve been very busy. Amanda’s been there all week. And you know what they’re like,” replied Ali.
I don’t think Ali really approves of the nature of Amanda’s relationship with Marjory. Same sex partnerships are not exactly common place in Syria, on account of people not wanting to be stoned to death in the public square.
“All the noise and fuss they make,” said Ali. “It’s very disruptive.”
“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “You’ll get used to it. Besides, it must be nice to be in love.”
“They were making an Italian dish yesterday with the left over turkey,” he mused, while cleaning one of the planting beds in the greenhouse.
“That sounds lovely. One of the things I enjoy about Christmas is getting creative with all those meals using turkey in the days that follow. I had turkey curry yesterday, myself.”
“If I over heard it correctly, Amanda got her finger stuck in the pasta maker. It was quite disturbing,” said Ali.
“Oh,” I said surprised. “I thought Marjory made the pasta.”
“Yes,” replied Ali. “She does.”
But that’s not the main reason I am writing to you today, as we go into what I think we are all hoping is a more hopeful year than last. I understand many of us are finding it harder to dress during the lockdowns that we must inevitably endure. I also realise that this increases the stress for all of us, and I want to make a suggestion that I find has helped many of my members.
While it would be wonderful to be able to dress everyday, all day, many of my members are simply unable to do this. When it is impossible to dress, for whatever reason, there’s still the middle ground, of becoming more androgynous. This is a way to start shifting what you wear to something somewhat more feminine, though without being entirely crossdressed. If you get creative you’ll find ways to do this, and enjoy that middle ground in the gender spectrum.
It could be as simple as shifting the colors you wear. Pastel colors and moving away from hard contrast color patterns is somewhat more feminine and gentle. Equally, going for the lambswool sweater and softer fabrics is always more enjoyable.
For others it will be engaging a more feminine clothing style, without crossing the line. Nice jeans can bring out the shape of your legs, and if all you need to do is add heels to shift over the line, then you’re always just moments from being able to crossdress. Sometimes the only difference between dressing straight or crossdressed is the presence of eye makeup.
Let’s make 2021 a wonderful year. Don’t let Covid get you down. This is where we learn patience – a good lesson for anyone who is trans. If you’re struggling and haven’t done so already, remember my Whatsapp Group is a great way to connect with others and see yourself through this challenging time. Alternatively, remember there’s a host of entertaining stories right here. Be sure to enjoy the video below.
My goodness, if you could see what’s going on outside my window. I can hardly believe is! I’m standing here in my Christmas lingerie, and my heels, and quite shocked at what I can see going on out there!
Ali, my gardner has just told me, “It’s ok, Fiona. It’s just Sylvester and Max jacking off in the flower beds.”
Now, I know you can imagine me standing here in my flowing red silk robe, mouth open in surprise. I am staring out at the snowy Montreal scene, and everybody seems to be having a wonderful time! Oh, perhaps you should even be here!
Let me explain. I’m watching Sylvester’s muscle bound arm pumping up and down and Max, my next door neighbours 20 year old son laughing – I think he’s licking his fingers – yes, he’s spilled some Bailey’s Irish Cream on his hand, or at least I think that’s what it is. And Ali is watching, engrossed in the unfolding scene.
They’re laughing and very jolly, Sylvester’s face red with exertion, and he has a look of deep concentration. Apparently, Ali’s Smart Car slid off the drive in the snow as he pulled into the icy driveway. It slid into the flower bed, and onto a rock in the rockery. Max and Sylvester were already at my place enjoying a Christmas eve drink, and now the three of them are working away to lift the little vehicle off the rock and manhandle it back onto the drive. What Christmas excitement!
I should hurry along! Amanda, the queen of tweed will be here soon, and Bernard is coming over. My wife, sadly is travelling. She’s a slave to her job! In the meantime, we are a fun gang, all hoping that Christmas will go with a bang!
I know Sebastian wants to show me his mince pies and sausage. He has been making so many delightful treats lately.
I hope you have a lovely Christmas! Have a wonderful holiday and remember, be careful if you are driving in the snow. Otherwise you too might find yourself licking Irish cream from your fingers after jacking off in someone’s garden!
Well, I thought what Sylvester was saying was that Hannibal, my dachshund had been interred. Wondering if this were some punishment for running wildly about the park, I assumed he meant he’d been taken by the bylaw officer. This is what you get for letting your friend walk your dog.
I’d have walked Hannibal myself, were it not for the fact that I need my legs waxed. Rainbow has been kind enough to come over to help, and after we’ve finished we’ll be enjoying an eggplant yoghurt facial she has concocted. As you can imagine I am using the term ‘enjoying’ advisedly. I’m sure you understand there’s a certain amount of scheduled maintenance has to happen to keep up appearances, as a crossdressing account executive at the advertising agency. Much as one would care for a beautiful object, or as Bernard, my photographer, put it rather unkindly a large public building.
Sylvester thinks Hannibal, who is extremely sweet particularly when he snarls at Amanda, is a chick magnet. Whenever he walks Hannibal young women who ought to know better come up to Sylvester and start fawning over him. I mean, Hannibal, not Sylvester. Fawning over Sylvester would be like fawning over a Caterpillar Tractor. As a result Sylvester enjoys walking Hannibal some days, usually after the local yummy mummies have dropped there screaming charges off at the Huckleberry Montessori Daycare Centre For Spoiled Brats.
He wanders around the park looking sombre and brooding like a poet or a man recently widowed who needs the loving embrace of a dissatisfied young mother. Preferably blonde, a former gymnast, and quite possibly with poor English skills.
“What do you mean, Sylvester,’ I said into the phone. “They can’t inter my dog!’
“No, he’s been ‘interred’. It’s a fancy way of saying he’s got very dirty.”
I paused. I think Sylvester has been spending too much time with Ali, my Syrian gardener.
“I don’t think that’s what that means,” I said. “If you mean he’s dirty I suggest you bring him back here and give him a good wash. And I don’t mean like last time.”
I could tell Sylvester was about to protest and quickly added, “Sylvester, throwing Hannibal’s ball through Mr. Singh’s car wash does not count as cleaning my dog. I’m still getting abusive phone calls from him from the last time.”
I hung up the phone and returned to the business at hand, Katia having recently arrived and was presently sitting with Rainbow and myself contemplating the yoghurt facial.
“Do you plan to eat it or fix the grouting with it?” she asked.
As you likely know, Katia Thornwood is what I can best be described as a disciplinarian, working with some of my Seahorse members. These are those special members who require that extra little helping hand in their dressing. Katia and Mistress Meg look after them and can be found on my Patreon. However, Katia was visiting my house to discuss some minor business matters and was looking forward to seeing Sylvester.
“He’s a very useful sort of chump,” observed Katia. “He leant me some of that very fine oil for a pair of nipple clamps I use on my visitors. I’ve been using them a while now, and I hardly hear a squeak out of them.”
“The clamps or the visitors,” I asked.
“Both,” she replied. “I have these rather frightening surgical shears I’d like him to oil. They’re most intimidating. They look perfect for castration.”
I winced a little and then said, “Well you can be sure your clients would speak highly of you after that.”
Katia sniggered and replied that they’re really just for show and insisted it’s good to maintain her tools.
Well, what can I say. It’s not been an easy week. As many of us go into an election week, I know all of us are going to be feeling a certain degree of stress. Be assured I am here for you.
I always find it helpful to listen to the Fiona Dobson playlist on Youtube to dispel stress. It really does help put a smile on my face, even when I do read about something mind bogglingly moronic that the buffoon in the White House is up to. I believe it was Mayo Angelou, that great philosopher that said, “Mask up, asshole.” That, however, is not the main reason I’m writing to you.
Several of my members have written to me this week concerned about my good friend Rainbow, the yoga teacher, who has recently found herself out of work due to the problems we face associated with Covid. I selected one email at random, from Mildred, of Colorado Springs, that I felt I might share with you. Mildred suggested that perhaps Rainbow could make use of her talents as a vegetarian, helping others improve their diet. How very thoughtful, Mildred. I will pass the suggestion on to Rainbow. Vegetarian meals can indeed be an exquisite blend of flavors and are sure to excite the taste buds and satisfy the appetite, unless you’ve ever actually tasted meat.
Fortunately Sebastian, Sylvester, Ali and the rest of the crew are all managing ok. Amanda, my wife’s good friend, has moved in with my next door neighbor Marjory, with whom she is conducting a sordid lesbian relationship. She is working from home there, and I mentioned to Sylvester (who has designs on Amanda for some inexplicable reason), that I often saw her in the conservatory beavering away. He replied “Amanda is indeed elbow deep in,” and at this point he paused meaningfully, “…work.”
What times these are. Nonetheless, I felt I would write and tell you of a rather unusual incident that took place the other night. As you may be aware Canada is large. In fact it’s huge. Earlier this week I was driving across one of our seemingly endless prairies, late at night when I saw mysterious lights in the sky, approaching at high speed. At first I thought it might be our Prime Minister, my good friend Justin Trudeau in his private plane. He has the disturbing habit of flying very low over the prairies, smiling and waving at us as he goes by. You may have heard of him, he’s the head of state in the North America that can read.
However, it was not he. I should have remembered he’s usually tucked up in bed by 9 pm with a cup of hot milk. No, this was altogether too fast to be something of this world.
Now, I think I know what you’re thinking. “Oh, not again!” Yes, that’s right, you’ll remember I had an encounter with alien life forms a little over two years ago. And indeed once again this vessel drew level with my speeding Buick, and I felt the sensation of being lifted off the ground, as if by a giant alien hand.
Faster than you can say ‘anal probe’ I found myself in the hold of the enormous vessel. Two alien figures dressed in a silver grey fabric, some type of satin I imagine, walked out of what seemed to be a wall of light toward my car. I was a little disconcerted, as you might imagine. After all it’s not everyday that you are accosted by higher life forms. One of them tapped on the window, and as I looked at them I realised these were the very same two aliens I had met once before.
I put my mask on, and then lowered the window.
The closer of the two aliens leaned toward me and then said, “Excuse me madam, are you the owner of this vehicle?”
“You know I am. Remember, we’ve met before.”
“Just my little joke,” he said with a smile. His sense of humor had not improved in the two years since last we met.
The closer of the two aliens turned to the other and said, “I told you, we’ve seen this one before.”
They seemed to pause for a moment, consulted what looked like an Ipad, and then one shook his head in disappointment, before saying, “Well, let’s get on with it, otherwise we’ll never make the quota.”
Ever helpful I said, “Are you running out of people?”
The nearest alien nodded, and said. “It’s this Covid business. No one’s going out much these days.”
“Well, it’s not like you ask permission,” I said.
“No, but when we pick up someone off Davie Street in Vancouver, and they’ve had six pints of Alexander Keiths everyone just thinks they had a good night at The Junction. No one believes they’ve really been abducted. You know, plausible deniability and all that. But these days,” he shook his bald head, “not so many people are going out for the night. That’s why we have to hang out in the middle of nowhere.” At this point he turned to his friend and said, “I’m not even sure where we are!”
I sighed and said, “Covid.”
In agreement he nodded and sighed, “Covid.”
The senior alien, clearly impatient, then chimed in, “would you mind getting out of the car please?”
I stepped out of the car, and the two of them led me into a small examination room. Instead of the surgical table and lights that one expects in these circumstances, I was placed in a reclining chair and the first alien asked if I would be kind enough to read the letters on a lightbox directly in front of me.
“A, F, G, H,” I said and then asked, “is this it? I mean, you’re giving me an eye exam?”
“Please just read the letters,” said the one that appeared to be in charge.
“M, S, X, no, really is this it?”
The second alien cut in at this point and said, “They don’t let us use the probe any more. They said it’s not politically correct. Something about it not being ‘woke’, whatever that is.”
“Well,” I replied, “it’s not like you ask for consent, is it?”
“We didn’t get many complaints in this sector. At least not on Davie Street.”
“No,” I said. “You wouldn’t. You might get a few people disappointed that you didn’t at least leave your number after you’d finished.”
At this point the first alien smiled at me and said confidentially, “who said he didn’t,” and then winked.
Anyway, I felt I should share these events with you. Now, if you’re in the US be sure to get out and vote as soon as you can. If you don’t live in the US, let’s wish our friends’ the best for their election.
My gardener, Ali is a Syrian refugee. He’s a lovely man, and he and his family are making a go of things in Canada, and doing exceptionally well. His girls are doing so well at school. When I recently asked him what he thought of‘Proud Boys’he said that while his home country was not very tolerant of their lifestyle, he personally felt that people’s lifestyle choices are their own affair.
Ali’s English is sometimes not quite what it might be. He’s been here a few years now, but he still sometimes struggles a little. He has become firm friends with Sylvester, my mechanic and confidante, and I commented on it recently saying how pleased I was that they get along so well.
He replied, “Ah, yes. Sylvester. He’s a very good person. We get along like a horse on fire.”
Which reminds me, I must chat with his English teacher. I believe Mistress Meg is acquainted with him – Professor Longstaff. If you follow my Patreon as a Seahorse you’ll have read about him.
“But Ali,” I said. “Surely you don’t agree with Mr. Trump, embracing the Proud Boys.”
He looked at me with some doubt in his careworn face.
“As I said, Mr. Trumps lifestyle choice is his own affair,” he replied. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
I sometimes struggle to understand if Ali is teasing me.
“But what about all this “Stand back and stand by” business?” I said pressing on in what I was beginning to feel was a pointless exercise.
“’Stand back and stand by’? I thought they said ‘stand back and bend over’!” said Ali.
I gave up and left him to continue raking up the fallen leaves. Don’t you just love the fall? You can find some fun fall clothing ideas on my Pinterest HERE.
Don’t forget to sign up for my Patreon and help me keep shoving it up the Proud Boys… I think you know what I mean.
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.
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
“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, in
spring I can hardly wait to see your tits in the garden myself,” and closed the
door behind her.
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 the 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
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.
I’m often asked how I can help my members who want to come out
and tell their families. It’s such a delicate subject, and often these feelings
rise to the fore at a delicate time.
Recently a 24 year old from Cincinnati asked me the question
on my online chat on the website, “Fiona, I wish so badly to become a girl but
I can’t figure a way to tell my family. Can you help me?”
I chatted with my member while on my tablet sitting in my garden and this is what
transpired. First of all it became clear that my friend had told no one about
this desire. Not family, not girlfriends.
Additionally they’d never been out to a drag bar, never been out crossdressed
and have essentially just gone through life so far denying their feelings of
The first thing I had to suggest is that without having
discussed this quietly and calmly with others who either understand or are on
their own journey into the centre space of gender they would be moving without
reference point or real information. Being
able to chat or talk with others in the same boat and hear their stories
provides a little bit of a guide. There
are, after all, right ways and wrong ways to approach this. To simply go with
some preconceptions, which may or may not be realistic was not likely to be a
As I pointed out to Ali, my Syrian gardener, while I chatted
if you’ve never been exposed to a group of people who are familiar with this,
you really don’t know what the options are. He helpfully pointed out that in
Syria the options are being stoned to death.
“That’s only one option,” I said.
“Well, you could possibly choose large stones or smaller stones.
But that’s about it.”
I made a note to mention that where you are in the world also makes a difference. I am not sure that Cincinnati is a very liberal place, but I suspect it’s marginally ahead of Damascas, or so I am told.
As you likely know, I work for a well known advertising
agency in an active office in the delightful cosmopolitan city of Montreal. 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.
I’ve been having some dreadful trouble with my colon lately. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but ever since Max changed some of the settings on my computer keyboard I just keep getting a problem with it! I think he reset the layout to the French keyboard!
In the wonderful sunny weather we’re having I’m going to remind all my girls the importance of moisturising your skin. Using a nice aloe cream helps, and you can find them at any pharmacy or health food store. It keeps you looking fresh and really helps your skin.