As you likely know, Auntie Kittie splits her time between here in Huckleberry Close, and travelling to South Africa, where she is a school governor. What a responsibility it is, forming those malleable young minds into sensible adults.
And of course, now and then someone comes along that Auntie needs to discipline and remind them that they can be so much more than their poor behavior might suggest. For that very reason she does apply her own very special brand of discipline.
She does so love to share her diary with all of my Good Gurls. Think of it as her setting a good example for you to follow.
So many sissies need Auntie’s guidance. Perhaps you feel the need too. And Auntie is always keen to hear from new ‘nephews’. All you need to do to help her out is explore some of her posts here and see what tweaks your interest. If something does, then be sure to join my Good Gurls, and get special access to Auntie Kittie’s diary.
As my little nephew Gerald was helping me with a few personal tasks the other day I asked myself, I wonder how my favorite little sissy is doing? How are you getting along, ? I’m sure you’d just love to be in his place. Why just this afternoon he was helping me.
“That’s it, Gerald, stir it round and round the bowl. Faster. Here let me help you,” and to be extra helpful I stood behind him, my breasts against his shoulders as I reached around and vigorously stirred the cake mix. I really do work up a little sweat as I work away at it! It’s just as well I have a strong right arm.
Poor little Gerald, he’s quite overcome!
“Oh no!” I said as I lifted the bowl and placed it on the counter. “Some of the cake mix has dripped from the spoon right between my… my… chest.”
“Can I lick it,” asked little Gerald.
“Gerald!” I exclaimed. “Oh, you mean the spoon! Of course.”
After such a busy afternoon in the kitchen I think I’d better go and get a towel to clean up. After all, I want little Gerald to look forward to coming again and again and learning to help in the kitchen.
Join me for just $1 a month and I’m sure I can give you something special too! You may even want to join my Whatsapp Group and chat with other CDs and sissies, if you’ve not done so already.
I am going to share a little secret with you. I
just love to dress my nephews. Actually, anyone for that matter. I know it’s a
little shocking, but that’s just the kind of girl I am.
The first time I do so is usually for punishment of some sort. Perhaps a transgression, either real or imagined, but I have the excuse. I usually do something like tell them that to learn respect they must wear something of my daughters – perhaps these lovely pink panties that I have conveniently to hand. An hour or so of that will give them the chance to consider their misdemeanors properly.
I hand them some silk lacy panties from a draw of
her things which I’ve kept since she moved out to go to university. They take
them, looking nervous, and then always look at me with those big eyes of the
totally subservient. I’ve done this many times though. They will find no pity there. I know precisely
what I am doing.
They take them, usually a little unsure, and then one of two things happen. Either they take them and run upstairs and put them on or they drop their pants and slip out of their underwear and slide them on.
I will then generally tell them to pull up their
pants and that I will let them know when they can change back. Of course, I
have a terrible memory and promptly forget. Or so they think.
The next time I decide to do this I will usually
insist they wear tights as well. I have several pairs pink and white tights,
they look very girly. I do so love the way they look. I can usually tell that
my nephews are a little excited by the prospect.
The second time I rarely go very much further, preferring
the poor little scamps to get used to it. And they do. I have sent the little monsters to my
daughters room as a punishment before, only to surprise them after a few
minutes and find them trying on her skirts or a blouse.
By the third time it’s usually evident that they’re
not only excited by the prospect, but secretly craving it. That’s usually when
I insist on calling them by a nice feminine name. Gerald becomes Geraldine, or Jeanie.
Phillip becomes Phillipa or Pippa. I know they love that. The blush on their
cheek tells me so.
I do wonder what these little seedlings will grow to be. I do know that they will bring great pleasure to their friends, though. And in the end, isn’t that what it’s all about?
I’d love it if you’d join as a Good Gurl, as I need to get just a few more members. And remember, for just $1 a month you get not only my diary, but also Clothes Maketh The Man, some wonderful hypnosis MP3’s and more a whole lot more. Join up today and help me build up my followers.
So much naughtiness among my nephews and nieces this week. What is a busy auntie to do?
Even young Gerald, usually so devoted, forgot to bring his swimming costume over when he and my nieces were going to play in the garden, and I was forced to have him slip into one of my daughter’s swimming costumes.
It was a tight squeeze, but he managed to get himself suitably arranged. Goodness, the things I am asked to do! Is there no lengths to which I will not go for my nephews?
I’ve decided they should all have uniforms to suitably remind themselves to be prepared in future. What do you think? A good idea?
Check out this delightful one and let me know what you think. Don’t forget, if you join me as Good Gurl member you’ll get my special diary and so much more for just $1 a month. Use the link below.
Martin arrived this morning to help me with my shopping, he’s such a good little boy. He cycled over. I’ve been encouraging him to ride a little more since a taxi frightened him by blowing their horn as he cycled by recently.
He rang the bell of the pink bicycle he was riding in my yard and came rushing in.
“Auntie, you won’t believe what I have between my legs,” he said excitedly.
“Really?” I said a little surprised.
“Oh yes, Miranda said I could borrow her bicycle. It’s much bigger than mine and it’s fun to ride.”
“Of course it is, Martin,” I said, “and don’t let anyone ever tell you that size isn’t important. I especially like the pink tassles and the unicorn motif. How kind of your sister to let you have a go.”
“Miranda is the bomb,” he replied enthusiastically.
“The ‘bomb’,” I replied. “Is that good?”
“Oh, she’s the best! She let’s me use lots of her things.”
“I am sure she does, Martin,” I said gathering up a couple of bags to take shopping. “Help auntie with these bags, so we don’t have to use those nasty single use plastic bags in the store. We care about the environment, don’t we Martin.”
“Yes, auntie,” said Martin.
We climbed into the car and in a moment were off to get the groceries. After a quick run round the shop to get some organic vegetables and a few tasty treats we came home in time to see Fiona and her personal trainer Sebastian going for a run. They stopped outside my house in Huckleberry Close for a moment to catch their breath.
“Good morning, Martin,” said Fiona to my nephew. “How are your parents, I’ve not seen them for a while?”
“Oh they’re very busy this morning. They’ve been upstairs banging since I woke up,” came his innocent reply.
“Really,” I replied, noticing that Fiona was looking a little confused standing there in her little tennis skirt and trainers, her chest still heaving as she was a little out of breath.
“Oh yes, they’re putting together some new furniture from Ikea,” said the little scamp.
“Mummy’s very good at it,” he chimed in with enthusiasm, and continued “but that it’s sometimes better for Daddy to watch because his tool isn’t very big. She prefers to use her own equipment or get a man in, she says, but she likes Dad to watch. It’s just like you say, Auntie. Size really does matter!”
I glanced awkwardly at Fiona as Martin carried on.
“Mummy’s good with her hands. Everyone says that. She’s very creative you know.”
I said, “I am sure she is. Now let’s hurry in and make some tea. Then we can get some oil and put it on that chain on your bicycle.”
“Mummy likes to put oil…”
“That’s enough, Martin.” I cut little Martin off and hurried him inside. One never knows what these little ones will say next. My nieces and nephews are such little scamps.
Have you been a good boy for Auntie? You can be a special star for me by going onto Fiona’s website and adding a comment on her new page, Member Experiences – where you can tell some of your own story. Be sure to mention that Auntie sent you.
A fun competition. Figure out the link between the video below and Auntie’s Diary entry and I will give you free Good Gurl membership if you you’re not already a member. Email me on firstname.lastname@example.org with your answer. The first 10 get free membership. FD.
This morning Auntie Kittie decided she’d change her Facebook settings. Predictably, Facebook then crashed causing an outage affecting many millions of customers. Don’t worry. We’re working with Auntie Kittie to resolve the issue.
Auntie is on a three way call with my friend Mark at Facebook, Max my neighbour’s son who looks after our tech department ( such as it is).
As you are doubtless aware Auntie Kittie is not very technically minded. These things are to be expected.
Don’t worry. Max is working to restore the system as quickly as he can.
My goodness what a surprise to see young Gerald over at my place when I got home from a meeting of my book club this afternoon. Poor little mite was sitting on the doorstep looking most sorry for himself, waiting for me to get home.
I should explain. I go out to my book club every second Wednesday. I do enjoy it, as we often hold it over at Fiona’s. She’s such a good host, and always provides some of her excellent South African wine. We then discuss a book we’re reading and then just for fun do a game of charades, in which we each mime a book we’ve read in the past. Of course, we are not allowed to say the name of the book, and can only indicate it through the use of mime in the minute and a half we allow each person. I can only say that Fiona seemed terribly thrilled to do Howards End, though she was terribly frustrated once trying to finish off Three Men In A Boat in under 90 seconds.
It appears Gerald has been having trouble with his homework. This week he has to make a list of all the things in his room. As you know I am a school governor at St. Bernadette’s School For Gurls, and I know away around the curriculum. Naturally I can help Gerald.
I told Gerald to write down all the things he could remember while I made a nice cup of tea. When I’d finished I came over and looked over his shoulder. Goodness, his handwriting has improved. As I looked over his shoulder, and told him what a good by he was, I noticed he’d written down one of the items twice.
“Oh, Gerald. You’ve down so well,” I said. “Maybe you should just stay there a moment while I make a quick correction.”
With that I leaned over and quickly helped him rub one out.
“There,” I said gently. “Isn’t that much better”
He seemed so much more relaxed once we’d finished. I think I know why Gerald always calls me his favorite auntie, don’t you?
With Sebastian strutting around in his cycling shorts, and Auntie Kittie coming over to offer me some of her specially imported organic coconut sunblock, anyone would think that going outside in this glorious weather is some sort of sin. However, it is important to look after ourselves in this extraordinary heat.
It is more important than ever to moisturize – personally I like a nice aloe based moisturizer – and also to drink plenty of water. Adding to this a good quality sunblock is a wonderful idea. I have started working early in the day and having a break by the time the day is hot, then going back to my endless labours in the early evening when the day is cooler. It’s a slightly different regime, but one I learned while living in the hottest parts of Africa. There is no point getting over heated and having headaches and the misery of sunstroke.
This stunning weather does give us the opportunity to wear some suitable clothes that are perfect for the twenty-first century crossdresser. Swimshorts, a tee shirt and a pair of sandals. Add lipstick and a little eye makeup and you’re there. You may not quite be Daisy Duke, but that is all a bit 1970’s anyway. I’m not sure Daisy would quite work today, sliding across the bonnet of an electric vehicle and roaring off down a country road listening to Taylor Swift. Nor can I see Sheriff Roscoe taking gender sensitivity training and a course in critical race theory.
I was discussing this with Sylvester this very morning. I explained how today we are all more ‘woke’.
“It’s all those energy drinks,” he replied.
“What?” I answered feeling like one of us was losing their grip.
“Oh, no,” I said. “We’re more ‘woke’, not more ‘awake’. Besides I don’t even touch those things. They’re bad for you.”
“I don’t get all this ‘woke’ stuff,” grumbled Sylvester.
“As far as I can make out, it means we’re more aware of racial issues. And gender ones. And age ones. And some other things.”
“You mean we’re more considerate?”
“I guess,” I replied.
“That reminds me, there was something I wanted to talk to you about,” went on Sylvester.
“Go ahead,” I replied, ever my helpful self.
“Have you ever been hit on by someone in authority? I mean, I know you’re…”
“Yes,” I replied expectantly.
“You’re not like some other people,” said Sylvester awkwardly.
“You mean I have tits, wear lipstick and have a dick? Yes. I am slightly different, but that’s no one’s business but my own,” I replied enjoying Sylvester’s discomfort.
“Well, I know this is a difficult subject, but…” continued Sylvester squirming.
“Sylvester, this is me. You can talk to me about anything.”
“I wondered if you’d ever been hit on by anyone who was your boss, or something like that.”
I must admit I was intrigued by Sylvester’s line of questioning.
“Well, there’s been one or two incidents. I’m pretty abrasive with people that I get a confrontational vibe from, though.”
“It’s just my brothers teenage daughter got hit on by her boss at the store she works at,” I wondered what you thought about it.
I was a little surprised, mostly that any employer could be so stupid.
“It’s a horrible fact, and one that many men don’t understand, but as I understand it many women do get unwanted attention at work. We sort of assume it doesn’t happen, but it does. Actually, it happens all the time. Now, having said that, most young women do learn to deal with it. I know it’s wrong that it would be that way, but many women just deal with it. However, my best advice is to get her a good lawyer, and then have her choose a nice Caribbean island to go and visit with the settlement that is likely to follow.”
“I was shocked,” said Sylvester. “It was all so ‘low level’.”
“What do you mean,” I asked.
“Well, he just approached her and asked if she’d go for a drink,” said Sylvester.
“Unfortunately that’s often the way these things do look. Somewhat harmless and low key. But then, when it’s time for her review she’ll find that the colleague that went out for that drink does a little better than she did. It’s horrible, and it’s insidious,” I said and paused. “It’s a weird thing. It’s easy to see abuse when it’s obvious. When it’s subtle it’s more difficult. And you know what? As a person who has lived much of their life ‘in trousers’ it has never happened to me, at least not as a teenager. So I can never say I’ve lived through that kind of subtle abuse.”
“But that’s good, isn’t it?” countered Sylvester.
“Well, I’m glad I’ve not been bullied like that, however subtle it may have been. But to be honest, I can’t say I’ve lived the ‘female life’ in that sense. I think this is a difficult area for many people who identify as female. The fact is I’ve been fortunate enough to have many advantages of being male. Having said that, it didn’t feel that way when I got a beating or two for being too girly for some people. My journey has different struggles. But I sympathise and I see how unfair it is on young women.”
“And this happens a lot?”
“It happens all the time, which is why we have to be so supportive of young women who are taken advantage of. I’m fortunate enough to work at an agency where even a hint of such behaviour would have the senior person fired and escorted out of the building before their feet touched the ground. People who act like that are a liability to the company, as well as being bullies.”
“Well, it doesn’t happen in my business,” said Sylvester a little defensively.
“I should hope not,” I replied. It’s worth noting that Sylvester runs a workshop servicing vehicles and has a fairly mixed group of employees.
“And it never happened to you?” he continued.
“Oh gosh, no,” I sighed. “I thought it might when I was at summer camp once, but the camp counsellor found out I was trans and then wasn’t interested.”
“Huh,” said Sylvester with a puzzled look on his face. “I’m not quite sure what to make of that.”
“Yes,” I replied. “That’s what he said.”
Stay hydrated and enjoy the sun, and remember, it’s not just the climate that’s changing.
I’ve been sorting a few things out in my house for summer, and as I have no doubt you can imagine in this heat I’ve found a little help from my nephews helps a great deal. Moving some of the furniture to give my place a lighter and more spacious feel has made it so much nicer in the heat.
In my living room is my husbands old sea chest, one of my last mementos of the dear man. He disappeared in the south seas many years ago, though I don’t really like to talk about it. Needless to say, as a widow I do like to keep some of his things about the place, even if it has been 25 years since he went beyond his last horizon. I used to put a few photographs of him and his shipmates on it all arranged nicely in their frames, but they’re all packed away now.
“Goodness, Auntie,” said my nephew Gerald. “You really do have a big chest,” trying to move it.
“Ah, yes,” I replied. “And not so very long ago it was covered in seamen.”
Auntie always wants her sissies to look their best. This week she’s suggesting a great new pair of panties for her Good Gurls.
When Auntie is not working diligently in her role as the Governor of a busy boarding school she is always happy to take care of her nieces and nephews. If you’re not already following her be sure to check out her page.
I’ve popped over to Fiona’s place to give her my diary entry. As luck would have it she’s having a little soiree and the liquor cabinet is unusually accessible. I’ve just dropped in to give Fiona this message.
So, as you may have guessed I am back from visiting St. Bernedette’s School For Gurls. You know, I do love to travel to South Africa, and life in the Natal foothills is really quite lovely. It’s a little like going back in time.
The post is still delivered by the nice young postman, and I often ride into the nearby town of Jabulani on horseback, along with Jack the handyman at the school. Jabulani is about five miles from the school, and a lovely ride in the Natal morning sunshine. The school has a small stable of a dozen horses. Every morning Jack and I would get some exercise taking one or two of the gurls and riding to town to bring back the fresh milk.
Those sultry mornings, with a little mist in the distance, climbing on the back of a well trained pony, and setting out across the veldt, it was quite beautiful. The gurls laughing and chasing along with me, Little Michaela, her ginger hair flowing behind her as we fly across the ground in the morning sun. Quite serene. And Jack the handyman trying to keep pace. He’s a little older, of course and we have to wait for him from time to time.
Once in the nearby village we’d put a few cartons of milk in our packs from the store, and then race back to the school stables. And of course finally we’d help Jack off his horse.
It all seems a million miles away from the cooler weather I have come back to. And Canada is really much more modern and genteel. Things in South Africa seem so much more, I suppose the word is ‘primal’. Everything is more literal and immediate. So, when one of the maids came to me and said they didn’t know what to do about the schools pet dog, ‘Cesar’ chasing after the postman every morning I pointed out that the best way to deal with that would obviously be to neuter him.
Well, as I explained to the poor man later, I had been referring to the dog when I said, ‘neuter him’. These things happen though. Best to move forward and not get bogged down in the details, though I do have some sympathy for the poor fellow.
How lovely it is to be back, though. My nieces and nephews have offered to help me get my Christmas tree up, and I’m looking forward to standing on a chair as my nephew Gerald looks up at me as I place a fairy on the top of the Christmas tree. How well dressed this tree really is. I suppose I should now turn my attentions to young Gerald.
How very kind he is to help me get it up. I’m sure, given the opportunity, you’d do the same.
But now I have to give this account to Max, who is going to post it online for me. He’s so much better at technology than I am. I shall go and sit on his knee and simper, it usually works with him, the little puppy! I’ll just stop off and refill my coffee cup with Bailey’s.