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Sylvester’s giant pain in the …

Sylvester’s giant erection.

What a strange time it’s been. Today in Vancouver we have the strangest light, as smoke from forest fires up and down the west coast fills the air. Visibility here is really quite terrible.

With Covid, and forest fires one can only think that a plague of frogs might be next. It does leave one wondering why more people don’t take climate change seriously. It’s going to get hotter and drier in the coming years, and if we don’t want this every summer we might as well get used to reducing carbon emissions.

Sylvester, my mechanic friend, swung by earlier, and told me how his week’s been going. Not much better than mine I think.

“It took three of use, heaving and panting and sweating to get my erection up,” said Sylvester, my mechanic, sitting at my kitchen table and sipping tea from my finest bone china. Like many of my best friends he just appears in my kitchen sometimes. Like a big sweaty mechanic genie.

“I’m sure it did,” I said sympathetically. “Now, just tell me again, this ‘erection’, what is that again?”

Continue reading “Sylvester’s giant pain in the …”

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Max’s Premature Ejaculation.

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.

Continue reading “Max’s Premature Ejaculation.”
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Is eight inches enough?

Now, I know what you’re thinking. It’s true though, eight inches is my torso measurement. You know, most of us are completely unaware of what our true measurements are. However, because I simply have to get a new corset I need to measure myself correctly.

Some things never change. Get a friend to help…

You know, it can be wonderful fun to have a friend measure you.  I always suggest having someone you enjoy being with come and help. With this in mind I called Sylvester to get him to come over to help me.  Unfortunately he was busy. Honestly, he’s a slave to his business. He’s never happier than when he’s got his hands on someone’s exhaust pipe.

Sebastian is out climbing this weekend. He’s going up the Devil’s Danglers he tells me. They are a challenging climb, I understand, but it’s remarkable what Sebastian can get up when he puts his mind to it.

I would have asked Amanda or Marjory to help with the measurements, but this is Marjory’s busy season in the competitive eating circuit. She’s apparently excelling in the sausage category this year, which is surprisingly ironic considering the blossoming of her relationship with Amanda.

Now, as you know, my next door neighbors son Max has at times been a little jealous of Sebastian, my personal trainer, when he comes over and helps me with yoga. Max has been noticed spying on us from his upstairs window while I’m getting my downward dog on in the garden. Well, in the interests of humanity I felt I simply had to ask Max to come over and help me measure myself properly for a new corset. I felt this might help ease his tension a little.

I stood in the kitchen as Max placed the measuring tape first under my breasts, to get an accurate underbust measurement, and then standing behind me he wrapped the tape around at my waist. Now, this is very important. Getting these measurements is essential to get just the right fit in a corset. You may want to take notes.

“Max,” I said as his breath quickened. “I feel size is very important. Be sure to get it just right.”

Next he placed his strong young hands on my hips as I stretched, and measured very carefully. FInally he took my torso measurement. This is most important. This is from the underbust point to the hip crease of when you are sitting in Max’s lap. Poor boy was struggling quite hard at this point. I think all this measuring was wearing poor Max out. He seemed very red faced and was breathing heavily.

“And now the final part, Max,” I said. “We have to decide if my belly is ‘soft and squishy’ or ‘lean’. What do you think?”

I placed his hand on my belly.

“It’s sort of firm,” he said.

“Yes, and I expect you are too!”

And the final thing you need to have a note of when ordering a corset is your height. It’s most important to let your corsetier know. I had found a delightful denim corset from https://glamorouscorset.com/ which was perfect to wear either with a pair of nice jeans, or a nice skirt. It’s so good to find truly versatile clothes. You can see the one I chose here: https://glamorouscorset.com/product-category/material/denim/  I chose this one specifically because I knew I could rely on the product quality coming from Glamorouscorset.com  and also the stylish look that I’d be able to make good use of year round.

These are important details, because a corset can do so much for your look. While there’s a range of price points with corset manufacturers, like most things, it’s wise not to go down market. A good corset can serve for years when well looked after and really grows to your needs. Don’t just go for the cheapest supplier you can find – look for quality and sound reputation. I knew I was on solid ground with glamorouscorset.com .

GlamorousCorset make a wide range of superior quality corsets that will help you look your best.

Sure enough a few days later I received a package from my friends there. The first thing I noticed was the beautiful presentation of the corset. It comes in a presentation bag that suggests this is a product of quality. My friends included a detailed handbook about care for the corset and how to season it.  These things are very important as the investment in effort pays off as you continue to use their product. I was particularly impressed by the attention to detail that had been made. On inspection the corset was perfect. I’ve bought corsets before and I’ve had them hand made. This corset was without doubt one of the nicest and best fitting I’ve ever had. I look forward to years of service with it.

Now, Max is looking forward to years of service too, I think. I suppose I should ask him to help me put it on sometime. Teasing the puppies can be such fun!

If you’re interested in getting into a great corset I have a special surprise for you. If you use this code – FIONA15 – you will get a special discount from GlamorousCorset.com   Be sure to have a good look around their website. It’s very comprehensive and you’ll quickly realise that your dealing with a company that is proud of doing the job right. Send them proper measurements as I’ve described above, and be sure to mention I sent you!

Have a wonderful week.

😊

Fiona

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My pussy is being hunted!

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 Montreal is in full swing, and I am thrilled to say that we’re welcoming new members to my 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. Have a listen to a couple of my responses here:https://soundcloud.com/user-474146023/probing-fionas-inbox-2

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

 

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Putting a little color in your cheeks.

Well, I feel quite awkward about sending you this message. As you may know, Max – my neighbors son – has been job shadowing at my work for a little while. The advertising agency is very good for this, but what happened today was quite beyond my experience. I feel I have to share.

Max had his young friend Micheal drop by the office. Rather than hanging around like a great goon, while Max finished off what he was doing, Micheal worked on something on his computer in my office. As it turned out, Max was tied up and had to work a little longer than anticipated, so his friend sat at the table in my office working away at an assignment for college. He was doing some sort of graphics training.

I was wearing a very thin pale blue blouse, my navy blue bra visible through it. My skirt was also rather shorter than strictly necessary, though no one had ever complained. Either way, what transpired was probably predictable.

I remember clearly freshening up my eye makeup, and glancing in the mirror of the compact as I applied a little more golden glow, noticing the way Micheal was staring at my behind. The only word that comes to mind is ‘drooling.’ One does get used to this.

Continue reading “Putting a little color in your cheeks.”
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Finding you in good health.

I put my own success and good health down to my adherence to a strict and healthy diet. In Canada we have a wonderful chain of health food stores, called ‘Tim Hortons’. Where ever you roam in this great land you’re never far from a healthy nutritious snack. In fact, I think it fair to say Tim Hortons has become a Canadian institution as identifiable as our polite nature, love of hockey and insistence that we elect a Prime Minister that doesn’t have a serious personality disorder.

As you may know, my wife, Amanda and our neighbour Marjory, are traveling on an ornithological tour of Western Europe.

Amanda, my wife’s appalling friend, has come down with a severe case of Canestin poisoning,  which I understand is rare but not unknown in menopausal lesbians. I hasten to point out that I do not subscribe to Sylvester’s view that when lesbians are exposed to large amounts of oestrogen they run a severe risk of having their ovaries explode. Sylvester somehow equates this to the idea that ‘males have to masturbate at least once a day, or else their testicles burst into flame.’

In my kitchen with Sylvester, Bernard and Max, my neighbours son, I poured the tea.

“Whoever told you that nonsense,” I snapped at Sylvester.

“My mother,” he said.

“Sylvester,” I said in mock protest, “that’s complete nonsense! We all know that Max has to masturbate at least four times a day to prevent such a mishap!”

Young Max blushed and pursed his lips. I smiled at him fondly. Since that embarrassing matter of the carrot, poor Max has been very subdued, poor lamb.

I made the mistake of asking Bernard how he was, since he’d only been out of the hospital a few days.

“It’s all these tests,” he said. “They make me feel like a bloody pin cushion.”

“I’m sure the doctors are doing their best,” I reassured him.

“I’ve become a slave to my prostate,” he said sounding downcast.

“Aren’t we all,” I replied a little uncertainly.

“It seems to rule my life,” he continued.

“How very awkward,” I commiserated.

At that moment the kitchen door was flung open, and in staggered Sebastian. He looked terrible, with a weeks growth of facial hair on his chin.

“Good God, Sebastian! You look like you got interrupted halfway through eating a raw porcupine. What on earth happened?”

Sebastian was shaking with energy. “Just got back from Mexico,” he shouted. His words word tumbling over themselves to get out.

“I did the ayahuasca retreat…It was… It was…” he was stammering his words out, his voice shaking.

“I think you’d better sit down and have a glass of water.” I said.

I decided to call my sister, who works at the local hospital. To cut a long story short, she swung by and using the drug testing kit nurses often carry, she determined that Sebastian’s Ayahuasca retreat could more accurately be described as an LSD retreat. That, and that he’d probably spent the last five days sleeping in a burlap sack. Not bad for a cool $3000.

As my sister was leaving she glanced at Bernard, and said, “Oh, Bernard. I didn’t see you there. I didn’t recognise you from the front.”

My sister does two shifts a week in Proctology.

This week I’d like you to take a good look through my Pinterest for some clothing ideas. As you know, I love my members to experiment. Have a lookand see if there’s anything there that takes your fancy. And before I leave you, I’ve a special request. Help our girlfriends at The Downtown Eastside Women‘s centre. They could use a hand. See the panel below for details.

😊

Fiona

 

Upgrade Now
Let’s make a difference this week. We’re appealing to you to help out some friends of ours. The Downtown Eastside Women’s Centre supports vulnerable women on Vancouver’s Eastside. Mostly these are people who have fallen between the cracks of society’s safety net. We’re focusing on this charity today because it’s in a cool city, it’s a cause I know my members will fall in line with, and because the big charities have the big advertising budgets – and the small ones are often overlooked. This is a small charity, and your gift will make a huge difference. You can support this charity by going HERE and giving something, however small, to help.
Nice Legs, Shame About The Face! Wise words from the early 1980’s. The last verse is the best one. You can always enjoy the Fiona Dobson Playlist HERE.
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The dangers of yoga pants.

The dangers of yoga pants.

You are catching me at a very inopportune moment, so I’m going to hope you can indulge me a moment. Here I am with my hands covered in a white solution – goodness, it get’s everywhere!

Let me explain. This morning, Sebastian was over getting ready for my daily yoga class, when I got a call from Marjory (Max’s mother) from next door. She asked if perhaps she could come over and join our yoga class.

Now, I think you all know how important I find yoga. It really helps me get in touch with my feminine self. And wearing tight colorful yoga pants is just a bonus.

Naturally I agreed Marjory should join us, however she was not sure if she had quite the right clothes. I wouldn’t want her colors to clash with mine so I sent Sebastian over to her place to have a quick look at what she was going to wear.  This was a big mistake.  To cut a long story short Sebastian now has a virulent rash which he seems to have picked up from Marjory’s pussy.

I had no idea he was allergic. Fortunately he has some homeopathic tinctures in his first aid kit. Let’s hope this does the trick!

Have a great week, and remember, if you develop a nasty little rash it’s a good idea to treat it with plenty of lubrication, vigorously. And often. It’ll either cure it, or you’ll go blind.

😊

Fiona

PS. If you are not a full member think about signing up – HERE . When I see payment go through I will start you on your path. I work though everyone’s messages a couple of times a day and work to get you moving quickly. I know you’ll love it. Email me to let me know you’ve upgraded.

Fiona.
Upgrade Now
This music video simply has to be played. There’s a companion on here. Let me explain. In the 80’s we had some great pop bands. We also had some that didn’t quite make the cut. In fact, The Reynolds Girls ‘I’d Rather Jack’ did get into the top ten on the music charts, but more recently rose to some fame as one of the top 100 worst pop records of all time. Personally I loved it. I love the energy and the girls sense of fun. They were so cool that they even did a reunion video in 2007 which is just painfully delightful and has to be watched. If only we could all be so honest and ready to enjoy life. Now, if you really want to elect a celebrity leader, why not one of these two?  For those who have been asking for a playlist of the music videos I use, it can be found here.
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Time to put some color in your cheeks.

Well, I feel quite awkward about sending you this message. As you may know, Max – my neighbors son – has been job shadowing at my work for a little while. The advertising agency is very good for this, but what happened today was quite beyond my experience. I feel I have to share.

tumblr_o4ob3nCqmr1ukdxiso1_500Max had his young friend Micheal drop by the office. Rather than hanging around like a great goon, while Max finished off what he was doing, Micheal worked on something on his computer in my office. As it turned out, Max was tied up and had to work a little longer than anticipated, so his friend sat at the table in my office working away at an assignment for college. He was doing some sort of graphics training.

I was wearing a very thin pale blue blouse, my navy blue bra visible through it. My skirt was also rather shorter than strictly necessary, though no one had ever complained. Either way, what transpired was probably predictable.

I remember clearly freshening up my eye makeup, and glancing in the mirror of the compact as I applied a little more golden glow, noticing the way Micheal was staring at my behind. The only word that comes to mind is ‘drooling.’ One does get used to this.

Throughout the afternoon, now and then I would look up from my work and several times I caught Michael looking at me in a way that can only be described as salacious and lustful. Now, Max has way too many hormones dancing around inside his pants, but manages to control himself, even if I do tease him from time to time. I enjoy giving him the wrong end of the stick now and then and metaphorically giving him a good poke with it. After all, we all love a good poke. However, his friend Michael seemed positively entranced by my figure and unable to take his eyes off me.

I could see his furtive glances were drinking in my shape each time he secretly glanced at me. I could see him getting increasingly uneasy, and shifting awkwardly in his seat. I shot him a smile, as I worked and he blushed. This was all rather cute, until he got up unsteadily and walked over to my desk.

“Fiona,” he said nervously. I could see he was terribly anxious.

“Micheal, darling, what can I do for you,” I said as gently as I could.

“I…I…” He couldn’t get the words out.

“It’s ok, Micheal. You can say anything you want to me.”

He leaned into me and with the greatest of efforts spoke slowly and said, “I want to use your mouth.”

I was more than a little taken aback. I have been approached in many situations, and actually enjoy be propositioned, but this seemed a little odd.

I collected my thoughts and then said, being careful not to offend, “Just hold that thought for a moment.”

I slowly got to my feet and walked quickly out of my office to the coffee room, where I found Max loitering.

“Max,” I said firmly. “Come here! Now!”

He looked at me quizzically and said “Yes?”

“Micheal,” I said slowly, “Is he… Urm… He seems a little,” I didn’t have the chance to finish my sentence.

“Oh, I know,” Max said. “He’s a little odd. Tightly wound. Especially his lisp, and everything. Takes a lot to understand him sometimes.”

“Yes.” I said. “Exactly,” and slowly walked back to my office. As though the fog was clearing, suddenly all became clear, and I realized he must have been asking for a mouse for his computer.

‘Yes,’ I thought. ‘That must be it.’ I knew he’d been working on some graphics and a good mouse would make that a lot easier.

I walked in with renewed certainty and a sense of clarification, a crisis easily averted. Sitting at the table, Michael still looked nervous and awkward. ‘Silly boy,’ I thought, giggling to myself.

“Don’t worry, Michael,” I said. “I’m sure I can help you with that,” and I gave him a smile.

He blushed, and stood up, closed the door of my office and then to my surprise excitedly said, “I altho want your puthy…”

Now, I must get on with this email because there’s so much mounting on my desk, and I am getting a little behind (…phrasing…).

I meant to chat with you as most of my members are in USA and Europe. As we move into the glories of summer a wonderful opportunity comes, as we can apply a little blush, and blame the sun should anyone notice. If you are going out and dressing in public already this may seem a little redundant, of course.

I like as many as possible of my members to integrate a little of their femme self into every day. Using subtle amounts of make up does this wonderfully.

In summer most women actually use a little less make up, though using a bronzer is an exception. There’s no reason in the world why you shouldn’t do the same. Just as secretly wearing panties to work is liberating, using a little additional color on your cheeks has the same effect.

Now, as for Max, I can think of a good way to put some color in his cheeks. Where’s my office ruler?

Fiona

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The Gender Spectrum And Your Box.

The Gender Spectrum And Your Box.

At last, the weekend. It was very busy this week at the advertising agency, and Max, my next door neighbors 19 year old son, joined me to ‘job shadow’. He’s been following me around (no change there!) to see what I get up to and see if perhaps after he finishes college he should consider a career in the world of advertising.

Unfortunately, he chose to job shadow the week we are moving offices. All the same he made himself very useful, his muscly arms being put to good use helping pack up my office.  I have some lovely plants in the office, and made sure they were all packed nicely in a big chest, so they would survive the move.

“Would you like me to drill your box?” Asked Max, as I was stretching over the desk, reaching to unplug a phone.

“I’m sorry?” I said, a little perplexed. Max has always had what might be described as a healthy curiosity about my body, but this seemed uncharacteristically forward.

“Drill your box? Holes,” he said.

I looked very puzzled at him.

“You know, so the plants get more air.”

I realised he was talking about the big box I was using to move the plants. Better air flow would indeed help them.

“Max, you are such a good boy. You go right ahead and drill what ever you need to,” I told him.

That, however is not the main reason I decided to send this message. I decided to send a quick note to tell you about a great BBC radio broadcast I think you may enjoy. It’s an investigation into the idea of gender. I think you may find it every bit as fascinating as I did. It touches on the idea of gender not only being more complex but actually completely fluid.

You can listen to it here: Do We Have Enough Genders? http://bbc.in/23v0LRz

Let me know what you think of it.

Fiona

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Unhand that banana!

Hi,

Seldom, if ever, do I like to come between friends (calm down Amber, in Colorado). Yet this morning I came down the stairs having had a refreshing shower to find Sylvester shaking Sebastian vigorously by the neck. I leaped in, interposing myself (phrasing) between them, my colorful summer swing dress swishing about me.

“Calm down, boys!” I said, as I struggled to hold them apart.

“I will not calm down!” said Sylvester, still fuming. “He said he wants me in a three way!”

I glanced at Sebastian. I’d always had my suspicions. He glared at me, Sylvester’s grip loosening.

“Sylvester, I think you should put Sebastian down. He’s gone a funny color. Besides, you might enjoy…”

“I was trying to explain three way calling,” chimed in Sebastian, as the color came back to his face. “All I said was, “would you like to join Max and I in a three way?””

 

“Well, I think I see where the confusion’s crept in,” I said. “Perhaps Max and you could help Sebastian get a little more utility from his smart phone. You know, Sylvester, I’ve seen your messages that end with that quaint little expression, “Sent from a phone that’s smarter than I am.” I think in your case it might well be true.”

Thirty minutes later Sylvester was being watched by three of us marveling as he attempted to open a Soundcloud song that had been shared over Watsapp.

“It’s quite remarkable,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s like watching a monkey try to operate a type writer.”

“Come on, Sylvester. You’ve got 999,999 more tries to go! Given enough time,” said Sebastian very softly, “some people believe that enough monkeys would type the complete works of Shakespeare.”

You could almost feel the gears inside Sylvester’s head grinding. He frowned again, and prodded the file in the Watsapp window.

“999,998.” Said Sebastian softly.

Max moved toward the fruit bowl, so kindly made by one of my members, and reached for a banana.

“Don’t,” I said to Max reproachfully.

But that’s not the main reason I’m writing to you today. I thought I’d share a rather wonderful BBC article with you. In this piece about the people of Guna Yala, their unusual lifestyle is examined. As a child develops they are allowed to move toward a more male or female orientation. While this is still essentially binary in nature there is clearly a more equal approach to gender. There is also a greater choice in how the Guna present themselves. It’s a fascinating read and I hope you enjoy it.

As summer moves toward its close, you may like to think about a lovely swing dress.  You can find some ideas here. There’s also an opportunity there to help out Sebastian’s sister, who’s got herself into a bit of a bind. Maybe you’ve got an idea how to help her out.

Don’t forget, we’ve started one on one coaching sessions, and our Premium Program is growing all the time.

Have a lovely week,

🙂

Fiona

Continue reading “Unhand that banana!”

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Playtime With Fiona 5 – Come and check out my bush!

Such goings on about the place!

Few sights can be more disturbing than Amanda, my wife’s hideous friend, in a two piece bathing suit. It was this unsettling image that greeted me when I arrived home this afternoon following a photoshoot with Bernard at the advertising agency.

Amanda was in our back garden, trying to tan her body, in much the same way that if you leave a piece of leather in the sun it becomes hardened and cracked. As I let Hannibal, my little black and brown Dachshund, out into the garden to my surprise he sprang across the grass and made a leap to bite Amanda’s bikini bottoms. As you can imagine, Amanda’s scream was so shrill you’d think someone were cutting through concrete with a rotary saw.

“Get him away! Get him away,” she screamed. Never before has so much flesh been restrained by so little fabric.

I sipped on my margarita as I watched Hannibal trying to pull the bikini from her. Then said, “Calm down,Amanda. He’s just being affectionate.”

In response Amanda started to run round the garden, arms flailing, with a dachshund hanging from her bum.

“Hannibal,” I mumbled, as I took another sip of my margarita.

“He’s gone rogue!” screamed Amanda.

The last I saw of her she was flapping away down the street, hotly pursued by Hannibal, who doubtless thought it a great game. I suspect I’ll be hearing more about this incident later.

That however, is not the main reason I am writing to you. Tonight is a warm Montreal evening, and it’s the perfect time to listen to the latest Youtube version of Playtime With Fiona. This weekends offering is a special one, and a little unusual. I know you’ll love it. This weekend is also the perfect weekend to experiment with some lighter summer shades of lipstick, a summer shade of eye shadow, and of course some new outfits for the beach or lake.

Feel free to share some pics. Don’t forget you can always submit a photo for me to share on the website here: https://fionadobson.com/your-pics/

Have a wonderful weekend.

Fiona

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Fluid Movements.

As you are probably aware I lead a strange and varied existence. Since Angelina has returned to Los Angeles, I’ve been very busy and had a houseful of friends today. As luck would have it my personal trainer, Sebastian, brought a friend of his over for my workout, and we opted to do something a little different.  She was a delightful little thing and came to teach a yoga class.

This was wonderful, as I’ve recently bought some stunning new leggings, which when worn with a little pink tee shirt combines to make a lovely simple outfit. Misha, the yoga teacher also had cooked a delightful curry, which we enjoyed and then sat about talking for about an hour before laying out a few mats and beginning the class.

Now, I should point out that Sylvester, my mechanic, who had dropped by to help me with some lubrication issues, is something of a stranger to Yoga, but having enjoyed some curry, decided to join our little class. I also had Ali, my Syrian gardener join us. Bernard my photographer, happened to have come round for tea, still recovering from being Tazered and having a heart attack, also joined us.  It really was a full house.

Max, my neighbors 19 year old son, who I must say I find spending far too much time goggling at me, also took time to join us. It was quite a lovely group. I have on many occasions lately, noticed how Max has been looking at me. I think he’s given himself one too many selfies lately, if you get my drift. Can’t be good for the eyesight!

Sylvester shifted uneasily as he took up a ‘warrior 2’ pose, and Misha cooed that yoga is all about fluid movements. Bernard glanced at Sylvester, who lurched into another position, and grunted that the curry was taking care of the fluid movements – and quietly slipped off to the bathroom.

Ali was looking off into the far distance, very serenely, enjoying every moment. When Sylvester returned he adopted a pose that resembled a shed in a car park, more than it did a yoga position. That said, his body is very muscular. Almost Neanderthal, actually.

Max, positioned behind me as I adopted a forward fold from the hips, stared with adolescent lust. I couldn’t help thinking of the many handed god Vishnu, and how Max wouldn’t mind being him about now.

We did enjoy the class and as it wrapped up Misha told us all how she loved the yoga lifestyle. She teaches and also has a small business selling soaps and perfumes. She’s a very creative young lady.

“I’ve even released my own fragrance,” she commented.

Looking very uncomfortable with the situation, Sylvester added that he had as well, and hurried to the bathroom once more.

Life really is never dull!

If you have not already signed up for the Premium Program please consider doing so. I have some great exercises and tasks in there for all my gurls.  Before you know it you’ll have your ankles behind your ears and be enjoying fluid movements of your own!

I sincerely hope you are enjoying the news I share with you. You can participate and comment even more at http://FionaDobson.com
🙂

Fiona

Posted on

Would you like to stuff my beaver?

Hi,

This morning, just as I was emerging from my morning yoga session, I was surprised to see Max (my neighbour’s son), huffing and puffing and coming in my rear entrance, a bundle of excited youthful anticipation. He was hurrying up the garden path, as I pulled up my yoga pants, and adjusted my hair.

Sebastian, my personal trainer, was as surprised as I was myself. He likes to come early to stretch me, as I’m sure my regular members are aware.

“Fiona,” said Max, bursting into my kitchen. “Can I take a look at your beaver?”

As you probably know, today is Canada Day. It’s a tradition in Huckleberry Close, to come over to my house on Canada Day, and look at my beaver, the centrepiece of the Canada Day party I always throw, to celebrate us throwing off the shackles of oppressive colonialism before Canada declared itself free of tyrannical rule from London. Actually, that’s not really true. We just all sort of agreed that we’d have a new flag and continue to be the friends we’ve always been. No one was being either tyrannical or oppressive, but it’s a good excuse for a party. And the centre piece of the party is my beaver, a stuffed animal that has become something of a mascot over the years. It’s traditional for us to enjoy some lovely Canadian Wines, from British Columbia (a place that is neither British nor Columbian), swap hockey stories and talk about Zamboni’s while apologizing to one another. We all eat poutine and make fun of people we love from Newfoundland, and generally act in an understated but quietly superior way, while listening to The Tragically Hip, 54 40, Five Man Electrical Band, Rush and many other great Canadian bands.

I told Max, “Darling, calm down. My beaver is open to everyone, just give me a moment to prepare it! You’ll get your turn. Just don’t get too excited. It’s Canada Day, you’ll have to pace yourself.”

We have so many wonderful traditions in Canada. Being Canadian means so many wonderful things to all the peoples of our country. We love our diversity, our first nations people and our ability not to elect a leader largely perceived as a psychopath and moron by the rest of the planet.

If Max gets over excited, of course, it will be over before it’s really started. It can happen to us all. I handed him a pot of maple syrup and suggested he put it out on the garden table while I went down to get the noble beast, and then he could examine my beaver to his hearts content.

This year’s wine of choice is Quill, a distinctive Rose from Vancouver Island, which is quite delightful and goes rather well with the short skirt I’m wearing. It’s light, a little cheeky and subtly stimulating.  The wine’s not bad either. I know we’ll be toasting Sylvester, who has decided to commit to a course learning to drive a Zamboni at the local hockey arena. I must get things ready for the party shortly, so this will be a short email.

It may come as a surprise to some of you, but Marjory (my delightful lesbian neighbor) got her hand stuck in my beaver recently while trying to replace some of the stuffing. She was wedged right in there! I know what you’re thinking, what was she of all people doing, jammed up there? Well, she does fancy herself as something of an amateur taxidermist. Strange woman. She’s from Alaska, you know. Eventually we got her hand out, but ever since she’s been acting most strangely. She’s said on more than one occasion that she wishes her hands were a little smaller. I can’t think why! It’s almost as though she’s never heard of lube. I understand it softens the skin nicely and taxidermists swear by it.

I hurried down to the basement and found my beaver, then carried it up to my garden table, already bathed in warm summer sunshine. In the sunlight I could see it has begun to look a little tired. I suppose one can not be surprised. After all, my beaver has been fingered by many over the passing years. And yet, surprisingly it continues to put a contented smile on many of my friends faces. However, I do believe a beaver should be well groomed and well presented. I will speak to my local taxidermist and have him restuff it later this month.

With this in mind I resolved to make a Canada Day offer to all my friends and members. Anyone who emails me with the words in the subject line “Fiona, I’ll stuff your beaver!” before the end of Canada Day, July 1st, can have a free membership to My Little Black Book. This is worth $2.95 a month for crossdressing gurls, and $4.95 a month to Admirers. So, get your digits moving and I can help get some more members in there. And of course, now you’ll be featured in The Fiona Dobson Crossdressing App, as a member of My Little Black Book, which has been downloaded by over 5000 crossdressers.

Have a wonderful week.

😊

Fiona

Posted on

I kissed a gurl and I liked it.

Hi,

What a busy week it’s been here in Huckleberry Close. We’ve got a wonderful new installment of The Making Of A Mistress by Katia Thornwood, another episode in Oakley Dale’s advice column about How To Talk To Your Partner About Crossdressing, and of course all the fun of things going down in my kitchen. Today’s theme is a little unusual, being of a more Eastern European flavor.

But first, to Mildred of Colorado Springs. In reply to your question, I would suggest caution. I don’t think it’s a good idea to take your nephew to the US Mexican Border and abandon him. True, it’s not pleasant witnessing a six year old boy’s tantrum when he’s upset that mummy and daddy aren’t sending him to summer camp this year. However, abandoning the child at the border and suggesting he ask the nice man in the uniform about something called ‘asylum’ might be considered inhuman by some. Exposing him to a photo op and a kiss on the cheek from Melania Trump, on the other hand, would likely fall into the category of cruel and unusual punishment. By the way, if you’re interested in getting a cool T-shirt check this out. I have to say, kissing Eastern European women, in my experience, has often been a little like putting my tongue in an industrial vacuum cleaner that’s recently been used to clean up a toxic waste spill. Okay, I’m going to leave that one right there…

Of course, Sebastian, Sylvester, Max, Aliand I have all been watching the World Cup Soccer from Russia. We’ve also been getting some very interesting input from one of our Little Black Bookmembers, who toured in Russia and learned to speak the language some 20 years ago. Apparently she got about a great deal shortly after the fall of the wall, and found the experience strangely educating. She mentioned that she found it quite easy to master the local tongue. Among the most educational moments, she recalls, was when she was cornered by several members of the US Embassy staff, who took it on themselves to ‘debrief’ her in a Moscow hotel.  She tells me she was quite overcome. At least I think that’s what she said happened. Well, I guess we all serve our country in different ways!

Pictured above is Astrid, our special Sochi Soccer correspondent. She’s a very helpful student, who is helping us out. She’s studying Counselling Psychology, with a minor in Abattoir Management at Sochi University.

The other big news this week is that I opened up the membership of My Little Black Book to all who download The Fiona Dobson Crossdressing App. This means anyone who downloads the app can get access to the members listings free. If you wish to place a listing in the book, the price remains either $2.95 a month for Crossdressers, or $4.95 a month for Admirers. Anyone subscribing to My Little Black Book is now able to connect with over 5000 people who have downloaded the App. That’s a lot of crossdressers!

If you’re a loyal member of the my programs I would love to see you in My Little Black Book. If you’ve not done so already sign up here.

Have a wonderful week.

😊

Fiona
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Posted on

Lady Liberty.

Lady Liberty.

Hi,,
Every time I pull on a pair of panties, I am reminded of the hypocrisy of men in suits. These are the people who have looked critically at those of us who break conventions (often in a very soft lacy pair of panties), and yet who claim to know so much better than those of us on the lacy fringe of society.  These men in suits, who are so accomplished, have a total inability to pass a law requiring stronger background checks for gun owners – something 95% of adults (including gun owners) agree with.

It’s curious how some can be vocal about not allowing transgendered soldiers to serve, even though they are able, committed and willing – and yet these very same voices of moral rectitude fail to have the backbone to stand up and say “Actually, my children and I really do have a problem with you allowing every lunatic in the asylum to buy assault weapons.” Chief among these voices of righteousness is, of course, that of a man who got five deferments. Courage is not a word that seems to mean much to these people.

Those of us who see what is happening in the USA can only look on in sadness. No child should have to have ‘gun drills’ in school. It’s not normal. It’s unnecessary in the rest of the world. We look, shake our heads in consternation and say “Why?”. The rest of the modern world has got this right.

While many of my members have had to have the courage to accept themselves (a courage for which no one gets any medals), I wonder if any members of Congress have the courage to do the right thing, the thing they’re elected to do, and represent their members and stand up to the NRA. Fear of being criticized by the 5% is just too much for them. A Congress without the moral backbone required to protect our children seems to be one of little value to anyone.

When one explores the unusual sides of who we are, there’s a courage required that can only be accessed when one has total honesty with oneself. These ‘small acts of courage’ so outweigh what we see from some leaders that their words seem increasingly hollow, which wouldn’t matter much – accept that this is about the safety of our children we’re discussing. The words now need to be backed up with actions. Without that, all the men in suits are, are cowards.

I was surprised to find Sylvester, Max and Bernard rehearsing with their band in my garage this week.  How they come to have free rein throughout my house is a mystery to me. They use my expansive garage as a rehearsal space, since my wife’s car is still at the airport. She’s travelling, and is currently in Iceland, like everyone else these days.

It’s the time of year at which we usually have the Huckleberry Close talent show. This is a local fundraiser for the community centre and something I like to take part in. This year I’m helping the local Girl Guides put on some songs from Pirates Of Penzance. During rehearsals this week I got stuck in the props cupboard with one of the other parents while getting a Jolly Roger. Most embarrassing.

The sounds coming from the garage were a little disturbing. As you may know, Sylvester is a large man, rides a Harley and would look quite at home in the lineup of Metallica or Kiss. When he opens his mouth to sing, and the sound that comes out is a falsetto high pitched melody, it’s a little surprising.

After listening for a little while, I thought I should point something out to Sylvester.

“I never really thought of you as a protest singer, Sylvester.”

“I have many talents that are unappreciated by others,” he chimed in.

“All the same, do you think the line, “Bring me your huddled masses, except if they’re Muslim,” is really appropriate?  And this part, “We’ll give them a gun, but not a vote,” it seems a little inflammatory.”

“But it’s time our voices were heard,” said Sylvester passionately.

“I’m not sure the people you’re trying to reach are going to be attending the Huckleberry Close Talent Show. Well, I guess you never know who might drop by.”

“You don’t like the statue of Liberty reference?” said Sylvester looking a little disappointed.

“You know it was given to the new republic by the French?”

“Of course,” said Sylvester. “They’ve got lot’s of good things we could benefit from.”

“Military parades,” chimed in Max, while he adjusted one of the amplifiers and fiddled with a keyboard.

“Shut up, Max!” I said sharply.  “It just strikes me that if you were lift that statue’s nightdress, you might find more than you expected. Just sayin’.”

“X-rays,” said Max.

“Pardon?” I said.

“They invented X-rays – the French. Marie Curie. You can do all sorts of cool things with X-rays!”

“What are you on about?” I said testily. “You don’t ‘invent’ x-rays. You discover them.”

“You can’t X-ray the Statue Of Liberty,” said Sylvester, helpfully.

“But you can X-ray someone’s ankle to see if they’ve got bone spurs,” retorted Max.

I felt I should leave, and headed back to my kitchen. It was definitely time for a glass of that South African Cabernet Sauvignon. Besides, I have to reply to five emails, which by chance is the exact number of deferments…

Ah, listening to the band rehearse I can see they’re going with slightly easier sentiments. The sound is drifting in through the kitchen window. I shall post the song below. I think it’s one Sylvester wrote for me.

But that’s not the main reason I am writing. I would love to encourage you to join my Premium Program. Don’t worry, not all the tasks and hypnosis sessions are as long and convoluted as this email. I think I can honestly say that the Premium Program is all about getting you to understand yourself and crossdressing at a healthy and enjoyable level. I receive some lovely emails about it, and always value the kind words my members share.

I’d love to see you sign up, if you haven’t already. It really does give you a chance to accept yourself as you are, and create yourself as you desire.

Wishing you the courage you need everyday.

😊

Fiona
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