It’s Playtime With Fiona

Join me for another episode of Playtime with Fiona. I can hardly believe how creative Sylvester has become.

Here’s a handy crossdressing tip. Sports bras often come with a pocket for inserts. Even when they don’t they are a useful thing to have, as you can increase your feminine shape very subtly, giving yourself a small but apparent breast mass.

This not only looks great, it helps you feel very feminine. If you don’t have one or two, maybe this is a great time to consider buying one. Remember to choose sizing conservatively. They are usually made of a somewhat stretchy material, but avoid making the mistake of buying something too small. It will never be comfortable, and won’t feel so good.

🙂

FD

Elegance.

Many times it has been said that Sylvester is the living proof that homo sapiens interbred with their Neanderthal cousins. One can’t look into that low forehead, that heavy brow, or those dark eyes without wondering if you should give him a bannana.

Indeed, if his brooding look of general confusion – not an uncommon sight – leaves one thinking there’s not much going on inside that head, it is his gait that seals the deal. In fact, the way we walk says so much about us. I’m including Lisa’s video for that reason. She really is very good.

It is fair to say Sylvester’s chosen style of walking is more of a lurch than a stride. It has been said that he moves with all the grace of a horse falling out of a tree.

He really is the limit at times. I took him as a ‘plus one’ to a work function last week, and can only describe it as a disaster. I am usually more careful about who I take to work functions.

I should also say that there are thankfully many fewer work events that involve game playing, alcohol and a senior partner of the advertising company I work for playfully bouncing me on his knee at 11.30 pm. It was however to one such event that I found myself invited to and attending earlier this week.

Now, I’ve never much liked the game Charades. This is the one where you are given the name of a film, a book or a play, and you have to mime the title to the other players until one guesses what it is. I was paired up with Sylvester, which was just as well, all things considered. We play in teams of two because some of the younger staff need things explained to them. Like what a book is.

I revealed to Sylvester what we had to mime, a he immediately burst into a display I can only describe as being distasteful. The gyrating hips, the thrusting motions, and that zombie like gait. It shocked not only me, but also most of the senior staff. I think the head of HR, Brenda, is still quite damaged by the incident.

I won’t go into the details. Needless to say being unfamiliar with the book, Sylvester thought I said ‘Angela’s Rashes’ instead of ‘Angela’s Ashes’. An easy mistake to make, i suppose. It was most disturbing.

By the way, you can learn more about my workplace by reading THE CROSSDRESSER’S WORKPLACE PHRASEBOOK – which is part of the Premium Program.

Have a lovely week.

🙂

Fiona

By the way I am migrating from Twitter. The place has become just too toxic. My Twitter will go dark soon. I can be found now at Mastadon here – @FionaDobson@mastodon.online

The magnificence of dreams.

I stepped out of the warm stream of the shower knowing Sebastian and Sylvester were downstairs waiting for me in the breakfast room. After pulling on some panties, a robe and my pink fluffy slippers I hurried down the stairs.

Sebastian and Sylvester were at the table. I’d completed a particularly rigorous dawn yoga session with Sebastian. If my hips were any more open you could have driven a train up there. As luck would have it Sylvester had offered to make us breakfast. While usually a coarse oaf, Sylvester has the capacity to be quite sweet at times.

As I glided into the kitchen Sylvester was serving up a delightful grilled breakfast, the sausages sizzling fresh off the skillet. A good start to the day is a lot easier with a breakfast like this. And breakfast is really the most important meal of the day. The bacon was glistening with flavor and the tomatoes came from Ali’s own garden. Quite lovely.

“It’s the damndest thing,” I said staring at the plate.

Sylvester looked at my plate and said “what’s wrong with it?”

“No, not the food. It’s just I had the weirdest dream last night.”

Sebastian asked, “What did you dream?”

I closed my eyes and tried to remember how it all went.

“There were a few of us downtown. And there was this guy who had died.”

“Who was he?” asked Sylvester.

“I don’t know. It’s not important. Just some stiff,” I replied.

“Anyway they wouldn’t let him in the graveyard because the church said they didn’t have room. But everyone knew it was because he was queer. So, there was this drag queen. She was lovely. Let’s call her ‘Carlotta’.., and I. And we stole the body and buried her up in the church yard anyway.”

“You know they don’t let you do that,” said Sylvester.

“It was a dream,” I protested. “And we went up there and buried this guy. And then we did other stuff. Loads of stuff… And I had this lovely long velvet riding dress,  like in that English serial.  And Carlotta had these sequins on her pants and a gold cowboy hat and these huge guns with pearl inlays and a smoked blue gunmetal finish. A pair of 44s. Matching nails. Did I say we were on horses?”

“I know all about Carlotta’s 44s. How many of you were there,” asked Sylvester, a canny look in his eye.

“I believe it was seven. Seven trannies and drag queens. And one was bald. I’m not quite sure what her deal was. Yes, that sounds about right. You have no idea how much glitter that is.” I replied.

“Yes, you just dreamed The Magnificent Seven. That’s one of the best movies ever made,” said Sylvester.

“I thought it was a fantasy about masculinity and white privilege wrapped up in a self righteous superior message, all avoiding the whole gun thing, and how it’s a penis substitute and actually they’d all rather be playing with their wieners. Except Yul Brynner. No, If he was coming after me with that huge weapon of his. Well, let’s just say I wouldn’t be running away all that fast.” I replied. “Can you imagine,” I said my thoughts drifting off. “…falling, and Yul leaning over you and reaching down and pulling you to your feet, and grabbing a great handful of ass and ripping….” My voice tailed off.  Sometimes I do forget not to speak my thoughts.

I continued, “But, yes, still one of the best movies ever made.”

Bringing a note of levity to the conversation Sebastian chimed in, “They’re all gone now…”

And what a time it would be to have a magnificent seven. With trans rights, and democracy itself on the ropes, we see so many hard won advances in decline. Things will turn around again soon. And in the meantime I think we have to support our trans sisters, regardless of what stage they are at, wherever we find them. Remember, you’re not alone. There are many of us here.

Enjoy the video clip below.

😊

Fiona


What Superhero are you for Halloween?

“So, wait a minute,” I said, scratching my head. “You want me to dress up as a sexy cowboy who is actually a woman impersonating a man?”

“Yes!” said Sylvester enthusiastically.

“Sylvester, you have met me, haven’t you? Do you know nothing of my journey?”

Like a typical man Sylvester then tried to claim that this was ok, because it’s all about inclusivity and a woman doing a man’s job. And how if I was a man I would know this. And then he went quiet and realised he was speaking aloud.

Sometimes there’s so much wrong with what comes out of the coarse oick’s mouths I just don’t know where to begin.

I looked at the advertisement again, and said, “You can really be quite coarse at times, Sylvester.”

And then quietly added, “I could just bite that ass though.”

You can buy the outfit the pervert had in mind here – https://amzn.to/3CtNh0S

I handed Sylvester a large bowl of Brazil nuts, and some pliers.

“Make yourself useful, won’t you?” I said. “I need you to shell these, with those big strong manly hands of yours.”

Sylvester sat at the kitchen table and started removing the shells of the beautiful nuts.

It was at that very moment that Auntie Kittie burst through the kitchen door, handkerchief in hands touching it to her eyes.

“What on earth’s the matter, dear,” I asked as I helped her to a chair. I expected it would be something to do with her naughty nephews and nieces, but decided I’d hear her out.

“It’s those beastly Russians, doing all this heavy shelling near Kiev. The children, Fiona. The children!”

“I know,” I said. “You just sit there next to Sylvester. He’s doing some heavy shelling of his own, as it happens.”

Auntie Kittie looked confused and sat beside Sylvester while I went to find her a glass of something to strengthen her resolve.

“What are we to do?” Sobbed Auntie. “I feel so helpless. Surely, Fiona, you must have some idea?”

“Of coarse, I have, Kittie. You don’t think we’d have this happen and not have something in mind. If you use THIS LINK you can make a donation to Unicef’s fund for the protection of the children of Ukraine.

With 5.5 million children at risk donating directly to this targeted fund is the most effective way to see your money makes a difference on the ground in Ukraine quickly. I can say this having worked for Unicef in one of their emergency operations for 2 years. They really do incredible work.

I believe there’s an empathetic side of us, in this particular corner of the world, that understands the terrible nature of suffering some people are exposed to, and through no fault of their own. And I believe we must all do what we can to help. You really can be a hero this Halloween.

If you’re able to help please do so. I will not be alone in thanking you for your kindness.

Fiona

https://www.unicef.org/emergencies/war-ukraine-pose-immediate-threat-children

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

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

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

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

Sylvester’s been polishing his nob again.

As you probably know in my work as a busy crossdressing advertising account executive I lead a busy life. In the company I work for there I several boards and committees, with a lot of new faces recently. And I have to say I have been asked to sit on many of them. I like to avoid any of the contentious ones of course. This week however I did chair a couple of meetings to decide who we would award company scholarships to. The committee met at my house and we went over the details of the candidates.

I must say, I am probably not making myself popular but I tend to favor the under-achievers. I am a firm believer that the way schools measure performance is meaningless. Besides, over achievers always make it. It’s those of us that don’t come first in the class that need the help, don’t you think? Rewarding excellence is alright, as far as it goes, but it’s not a bad idea to celebrate those of us who didn’t come home to a wall full of trophies, too.

After the meeting and my guests left I decided to cycle over to Sylvester’s place, where I found him in his garage pulling out bits of old equipment. He has all sorts of things in there. Old parts of motorcycles, a theodolite (whatever that is), and other items picked up in estate sales and auctions. He seems to gather these things in the hopes that one day they will once more be useful. Quite what anyone would do with four Eight Track cassettes of Captain and Tennille I really don’t know. All the same, he always seems happy out here rummaging about in the junk.

“Isn’t this beautiful,” said Sylvester, a piece of electrical equipment in his hand. “It’s a brass light switch. It just needs a good polish.”

As Sylvester put some brass polish on a cloth and started polishing his nob I cast my eyes over the piles of assorted junk in the garage. I supposed it brought Sylvester some joy, and as one who does like to invent things from time to time I supposed there was some practical purpose to it all. He seemed quite content playing with his equipment. A very male trait, I supposed.

I poked about in a couple of the boxes, eventually finding a lovely old motorcycle headlamp, wires sprouting from it like colorful vines looking for something to creep up, a little like some of the junior execs at the advertising agency. I idly decided to polish the metal surround of the lamp, as Sylvester retreated into the house to make us both a coffee.

As I polished the metal, and I know this seems surprising but then such things happen to me all the time, a strange pink mist seemed to form before me. At first I thought I’d open the garage door to let the mist dissipate, clearly an environmental hazard. As I rose to my feet to open the door a form appeared and emerged from the clouds of pink mist, a beautiful woman wearing a sparkling dress and carrying a rainbow colored wand.

“Can I help you?” I asked, taking in the long dress and tiara worn by the beautiful figure before me.

“No, Fiona. I’m here to help you,” replied the beautiful woman before me. “I am the Lady of The Lamp – your fairy god milf, and I am here to grant you three wishes.”

“Well, that seems a little random,” I replied, surprised at her appearance in Sylvester’s garage. I mean, you sort of expect these things to happen in sacred places, not in a hoarder’s garage.

“You summoned me,” came the reply as she waved her hand in front of her face and gave a little cough. “Sorry about the mist.  It’s always like this. Ozone. Something like that.”

“Well, it’s a good job I found you. Poor old Sylvester is out here polishing his knob and things all the time, and he’s never said he found a Lady Of The Lamp,” I replied.

The lady looked a little embarrassed and said, “You should tell him to take it easy on that. He could go blind.”

“That’s exactly what I told him, but what can you do,” I replied. “Boys will be boys. So what are you doing hanging out in an old motorcycle lamp?”

“What sort of question’s that? Old oil lamps, that’s what everyone seems to expect but we haven’t been doing that in years. I’ve got a sister who’s just moved into a Tesla’s LED system. I’ve been stuck in this thing for the last eighty years, but here I am. So, three wishes. Let’s do it so I can be free once more.”

“Well, I suppose I should go with ‘world peace, personal health and wealth.’” I replied.

“Oh, come on, Fiona. You know that’s like the ‘lunch box A’ of wish making. You can do better than that,” she responded.

“Well, it would be nice if Rainbow wasn’t so lonely up there in the light house. Something to make her life better might be nice,” I said.

The lady closed her eyes and snapped her fingers.

“Oh, and someone stole my boobs last fall. They took a bag from my car and it had a pair of 44 DD’s in it. I’d like those back,” I said and a moment later I felt my sweater tighten and a wonderful pair of breasts emerged.

“There you are,” said the lady of the lamp. “Fresh from Glamour Boutique – https://www.glamourboutique.com/buy/breast-forms/affordable-crossdresser-breast-plate – you can’t go wrong. Now, what’s your final wish?”

I’m not going to share that with you, I’m afraid. It’s a little personal. With that the lady gave me a final smile and vanished to roam free.

By the time Sylvester returned with the coffees I did find that I was feeling much more at peace with the world. And so to the moral of the story… These are not easy times, but with a little creativity we can find ways to move forward with a smile, great make up and a pair of 44 DD’s on our chest.

Have a lovely week.

Fiona

Marjorie has an infestation!

Hi,

Sitting in my kitchen, enjoying a quiet cup of tea, wearing my favorite kimono, I was surprised to see Ali hurrying through the gate in the fence between my garden and my neighbors. Ali, you’ll remember is my wonderful gardener. He’s a Syrian refugee, and the nicest man you can imagine.

He bustled into the kitchen looking flustered. 

“It’s Marjorie,” he said looking worried.  “She has the most terrible infestation!”

“She has?” I said, a little puzzled.

“Yes, in her bush. It’s very distressing.”

“Well, it would be,” I replied.

Ali is a gardener, but he was a professor at Damascus University prior to the war.  He is very knowledgeable about botany. When it comes to making my garden bloom, he’s sure to be all over it. 

“If her problem spreads to our garden it’s going to be horrible. Aphids are little monsters! I think I should take care of it. If I don’t everyone in Huckleberry Close is going to get it.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” I said.

Sure enough, later that evening, when Sylvester and Bernard were over enjoying a drink with me at the end of the day, Ali came back happily convinced he’d resolved the issue. He had used some sprays, a little trimming and Marjorie’s bush was looking very thoroughly groomed.

Well, done, Ali,” I said. “After rooting around in Marjory’s bush all afternoon, I think you deserve a little clap.”

As you can see, my life is never dull. .

🙂

Fiona 

Fall is a great time to adjust your look.

As we kiss goodbye to a hot summer it’s time to start adjusting your look. Just think of all those lovely russet hues that you can lean into!

I was just saying to Sylvester this morning, “It’s a time to start adjusting into the warm colors of the fall.”

Sylvester is very touchy these days, what with Amanda travelling the competitive eating circuit with Marjory, my next door neighbor. He does get quite jealous. She’s been gone for weeks. It’s a wonder that Pig and Pig Farmer Weekly hasn’t gone into terminal decline. I understand she edits the trade publication even while on the road.

For Sylvester, putting together a fall wardrobe consists of switching the denim blues to the Carhartt browns, though I have to admit Carhartt does have some functional women’s workwear these days – https://www.carhartt.com/c/womens

It’s rather hard for Sylvester to compete with Marjory, for that beating lump of gristle that passes for a heart inside Amanda’s breast. Marjory is even more down to earth than Sylvester, and she just blunders forth. It’s quite remarkable to me that she ever gave birth to such a sensitive boy as Max, who as you likely know, looks after the technology things for me. Marjory is the kind of person that announces her pregnancy by switching to menthols. She even has a sticker on the back of her truck that says, “My other car is also a truck.”

A gold star dyed in the wool lesbian if ever you saw one! You just have to love her!

Sylvester can’t really compete, although he does turn a few heads down at the hockey rink when driving the Zamboni. Some women are just impressed by the wheels. Honestly! Men! It’s all rather infantile if you ask me. A little like the time he tried to help his friend Roland with his circus act. Roland is a talented spoon thrower. Yes, I know – it’s all to do with the terms of his parole. But you get the idea.

You can find some nice ideas for fall outfits HERE – on my Pinterest page. You may also want to check some of the offerings from Amazon below.

Fiona

What are you driving?

I could not help noticing, whilst driving home from the advertising agency the other day, the names on the back of vehicles. The model names of vehicles are of interest to me, from both the branding perspective and what it tells me about the drivers.

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

A therapist member of mine recently pointed out to me that several of their erectile dysfunction clients did indeed drive muscle cars, in more than one instance a Hummer. Frankly I feel anyone driving a Hummer should be on their knees begging forgiveness from their children as they pump heat into an increasingly fragile environment. On the other hand, given the erectile dysfunction issues associate with Hummer ownership theirs a good chance that having children is one complication these thoughtless tools will not have to concern themselves with.

Sylvester, on the other hand has shunned the muscles cars and even removed the photo on his office wall of him posing with his Dodge Penetrator 3000. I am pleased to see him mellowing. I do remember the day he pulled up outside my house, on his phone calling me to tell me he was there.

“I’m just pulling into your garage,” he said. “No wait, I’m reversing.  Pulling in again… backing up, and going in again now. Perhaps I should go in the laneway round the back. I can get the back way, but it’s a bit tight.”

You know, I may have said this before, but Sylvester can be quite coarse at times.

Personally I like to drive a Buick Vagina. It’s the limited Silhouette edition. So much more my style. Both feminine and powerful, with the twin turbo V6 with the cuddle seats option.

Vehicle names and designs do tell us a lot about their drivers. I noticed a Kia Soul in the traffic as I was driving home, and I can only speculate that some Korean designer sat down and thought hard about what a car designed for Spongebob Squarepants might look like, and then took up the challenge to build it. Ironically the driver of this particular vehicle did look like a cartoon character.

Sebastian, my vegetarian personal trainer, drives a Kia Hymen when not riding his electric bicycle. His sister, Rainbow, drives a Nissan Slide with a synchromatic gearbox. Amanda drives a Prius, which is entirely predictable, while of course Ali, my gardener, drives the Smart Car with a rifle rack on the rear window, adapted to carry his gardening tools. He’s proud to declare he always shows up with his hoes.

One of my Vancouver members, Lenni, is originally from Alaska, and proudly tells of her mother having driven a Ford LTD wagon. This vehicle, with a 7.5 litre engine has the dubious distinction of being capable of hitting a moose, killing it, and then being able to transport it back to the trailor park for butchering. I can’t help thinking life in Alaska holds wonders I am pleased not to have either witnessed or shared.

Instead I think I’ll go and get Sylvester to change the fluids in my Buick Vagina.

Have a lovely week.

Fiona

‘My boyfriend is a vet, but he’s recently started neglecting my pussy and using different pronouns!’

Sylvester was in my garden this morning enjoying a glass of my freshly made lemonade, hand squeezed and made from a recipe I enjoy.

“I do hope you’re like this, Sylvester, I juiced my lemons this morning especially for you,” I said.

Sylvester stared at my chest and then took another sip. You know he really can be quite coarse.

I do find fresh lemonade is a great way to refresh myself on these warm west coast days. Here’s a useful recipe if you have yet to make lemonade yourself. Now, I’m not saying Auntie Kittie has a problem with alcohol, but the moment I added a little gin to the mix her head appeared over the back gate to my garden and she gave a dainty wave.

“Is any body home,” she called out staring at the gin bottle.

And then she was in. Really, what can I do!

Not to be derailed from the job at hand, I sat the two of them down and told them of something that’s been on my mind of late. I am often asked by members and their wives, ‘does crossdressing mean I’m going to be a worse husband?’  I had one such discussion this morning with a member whose husband was, ironically, a veterinarian.

Auntie Kittie topped up her lemonade with a healthy belt of gin and turned to me and said, “Of course it doesn’t.”

Sylvester glanced at Auntie Kittie and thankfully kept quiet. She is an expert on marriage having had two husbands. Widowed twice by the age of sixty is by some measures, quite an achievement.

“My poor Willard used to love to wear a nice frock from time to time,” she went on. “Of course, he was a slave to his prostate…”

She left that one hanging in the air. I wasn’t quite sure how to go on from there.

Surprisingly, Sylvester chimed in, “didn’t I see some statistics recently saying that people who are in the non-binary category are 23% more likely than the other adults to own a dog or cat?”

“Yes, ” I said. “Max pulled up those stats the other day.”

“Well, that suggests they’d be more likely to be sympathetic. You know, having a slightly more gentle nature,” mused Sylvester.

I stared at him, and said, “Well, done Sylvester. I think you just made your first emotionally intelligent observation. I do believe you’re becoming more sensitive. There’s hope for you and all other Neanderthal men out there. Next you’ll stop trying to light your farts at the church picnic.”

Sylvester looked a little morose at this and muttered something about that only happening on the one occasion.

But that’s not the main reason I’m writing to you today. I thought I’d share something Jules and Lenni did last night. In the lovely west coast city of Vancouver Jericho Beach Kayak organised a Pride Paddle for the LGBTQ community. This sunset paddle was joined by 40 or so paddlers in their kayaks on English Bay. This is an great initiative and a positive way to support the local community. I wanted to share this and suggest that if you are in an area where outdoor sports like kayaking are popular this type of event might be a great way to promote the local community during Pride. Suggesting it to local kayak or sailing clubs benefits us all.

Have a lovely weekend.

🙂

Fiona

.

Some people should be bloody well hung!

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

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

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

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

Sylvester’s ‘Manhole’.

With the emergence of the spring flowers in my garden Ali, my Syrian gardener is positively skipping about in the back garden tending to the blossoming blooms. And on such a glorious sunny day what could possibly come along to disrupt my day?

Well might you ask. Looking a little bedraggled Sylvester — he of the bedroom eyes and bathroom mind — blundered into the kitchen and looked expectantly at the coffee brewing.

“You’re looking a little disheveled, Sylvester,” I commented.

“That’s because I’ve been staring into a man hole all morning,” he replied.

“You really can be quite course, Sylvester. What you do in the privacy of your own home I really don’t wish to share,” I replied, quite understandably.

“No! You don’t understand…” he protested.

“Oh, I assure you I understand. I just don’t think you need to advertise the fact.” I poured the coffee.

“Some guy was stuck in it,” he continued.

“For goodness sake, I’ve barely finished my breakfast!” I said and poured a little milk in the coffee.

“There was this poor guy stuck in the manhole in the road outside my house. They’re doing some engineering work after those floods we had last fall. He did something to his back, and so I helped him out,” explained Sylvester.

“So,” I said, ever the patient friend, “you’re telling me that you helped out some guy who was stuck in a ‘manhole’. And you don’t see how funny that sounds?”

But Sylvester’s nefarious doings aren’t the main reason I’m writing. In these times of inflation and uncertainty I’d like to reassure you, when you subscribe as a member on my site you are then locked into a monthly rate that doesn’t change. You’re also able to cancel at any time, and return later if you wish. While there’s a mountain of free content here, there’s also some great paid content – but I fully understand that not everyone can afford this. I try to support all my members, paid or otherwise.

As members go on their journey through gender exploration I know they will come in, and sometime go out, of the site. Many members cycle and have binge/purge experiences. That’s ok, and my systems are built to accommodate that precise activity.

Be sure to explore some of my programs and find the one that’s most enjoyable for you. Whether you are looking for a supportive community, occasional stories, or a program to help with your journey into transformation, I am here for you.

🙂

Fiona


I’m getting Sylvester’s boxers down.

“That’s it, Sylvester,” I said. “You just take down your boxers and I’ll stick a big one up there!”

While perched on the top of a step ladder Sylvester handed me down the two portraits of his father’s prize winner pedigree boxer dogs. They won the dog show here several years ago, and as I liked the pictures so much Sylvester allowed me to display the paintings in my living room while his apartment was being decorated. They made a nice change, but to be honest I’m a little bored of them now.  I’m replacing them with a huge photograph of Hannibal, my dachshund now.  I do like to freshen up the look of my living room in spring, don’t you?

I’ve had a lovely week, Marjory my neighbour invited me over yesterday evening, having hired a sweet young French chef to cook her birthday dinner. What a handsome young man he is! And I think he took a shine to me, too.

After thanking him in the kitchen for such a lovely meal I spotted something between the frog’s legs, and the cake. So many candles! In the end we lit them, and the chef and my friends all sang happy birthday for Marjory before she blew them all out in the dinning room. It brought quite a lump to my throat. Such fun!

But that’s not the main reason I’m writing today. I’ve been trying to be supportive to Rainbow, Sebastian‘s sister. She’s terribly worried about the people in Ukraine, where she has a number of friends.

“They should do something about those awful Russians,” she said to me while sitting at my kitchen table. “Can’t they send someone?”

“Like who?” I asked.

“I don’t know. The Pope, or the other one,” and then she paused and scratched her head, and then remembering said, “That nice Bono, or Greta Thunberg, perhaps.”

“I’m not sure Greta’s quite the right person,” I replied, “though she might have something to say about the carbon emissions of those useless T72 tanks. They seem to burn very well, if nothing else, but I don’t think that does much for global warming. Then again nor does a thermobaric weapon. The environment doesn’t seem to be a priority for Mr. Putin.”

“I feel so helpless,” she added at length.

“Well, you don’t have to,” I said. “Unicef, the UN agency with a mandate to help women and children, is organising help for women and children in Ukraine. So is UNHCR, who look after refugees.”

Giving here has the funds matched by the agency and is applied directly to women and children in need, and is the most efficient way to provide help. I didn’t need to add that previously having worked for Unicef in Africa, in field emergencies in Sudan and Somalia, I could vouch for their effectiveness.

“It’s a tragedy,” I said, giving her a hug. “But one way or another we’re all going to be a part of sorting it out. And I don’t mind paying a few extra dollars for gas if it means we don’t give Mr. Putin the kind of help he needs to hurt innocent women and children in Ukraine. Let’s just hope people are wise enough not to let his friends, people like that orange haired loser of a former president, ever get anywhere near the reins of power ever again.”

With that I suggested Rainbow come upstairs and help me pick out a nice yellow and blue outfit to wear when I go out today. Perhaps you could do the same.

If you feel generous use the links above to send a few dollars to support people affected by the war in Ukraine. Send me a copy of your receipt and I will enroll you at no cost in our Whatsapp Group – a gift worth $10 a month. Just send me a copy of your receipt to fdobson@zoho.com

Have a lovely week.

Fiona

Sylvester wants to squirt some mastic in my crack!

On a fine spring morning like this I often feel compelled to go out and have a jog around the local park and then return for a refreshing morning shower. This morning I did so, with a spring in my step and a discrete bulge in my yoga pants.

After working up a little bit of a sweat running and watching a few of the dog walkers out in the park playing with their balls, (calm yourself Amber in Colorado), I got home, turned on the shower and stepped under the warm stream of rejuvenating water.

I think I smelled as lemon fresh as a grove of lemon trees beside a soap factory when I stepped out of the shower. By the time I sat down at the computer in the kitchen I was ready for anything.

After I opened up my computer two things immediately caught my attention. The first was a delightful email from Kay Lee, who sent this lovely picture. I’m sure you’ll agree she looks delightful.

The second was a drop of water beside my ‘Return’ key on the computer. A moment later there was another. Looking up, I could see a slightly indiscreet stain on the ceiling where some water was seeping through. I moved my computer away from the drip, and then called Sylvester, who is so handy at these things.

Sylvester is such a darling. He hurried round, parking in my wife’s slot, and used my rear entrance. She’s away travelling – I believe she’s in Patagonia this week (wherever that is).

After a lot of huffing and puffing and bending over in the shower he declared very excitedly that he thought he’d have to squirt some mastic in my crack. I felt quite nervous at the suggestion. I’m really not sure what mastic is, but if it helps I guess I will just have to succumb.

Anyway, he’s up there now getting ready. I may have to go and change in a moment. I do hope he takes the proper precautions!

Have a great day.

🙂

Fiona

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.

Don’t forget our Premium Program is growing all the time.

Have a lovely week,

🙂

Fiona

Continue reading “Unhand that banana!”

I’m never too busy to shop.

I’ve just finished a busy week of work at the advertising agency. I’ve hardly had time to do the volunteering I love to do down at the SPCA. I often help out in their office.  It’s so tiny, though. There’s hardly room to swing a cat in there!

I have however had time to get a little shopping in.  I decided to pay a visit to the department store downtown, and Sylvester, my mechanic, joined me. When he’d finished going round and round in the revolving door he followed me into the lingerie department. He really can be infantile at times, you know.

Such a delightful way to spend the afternoon. Looking at lingerie with a neanderthal companion. He is however good at carrying boxes while I’m shopping. You can find some of my shopping list suggestions HERE.

In the meantime I thought you might enjoy the video below.  It’s a talk by Paula Stone Williams. They transitioned in their fifties and experienced life as both a man and a woman.  Their perspective is worth hearing. If you’d like more content on the psychology of crossdressing, you can find it on my site here – https://fionadobson.com/tag/psychology/.

Have a great week.

😊

Fiona

There’s no ‘f’ in trannies!

The latest episode of Clothes Maketh The Man is out. You can find it here.

Before I go any further, I should clarify something for Mildred from Colorado Springs, in response to your question of how to prevent her puppy stealing food from kitchen surfaces I had advised her to put it in the fridge. I was, of course, referring to the food, and not the dog. I understand Spot is making a full recovery, but now avoids confined spaces.

Now that things are a little less locked down I am having more guests over at my place.  Last night Sylvester and I enjoyed a nice glass of wine while we waited for Marjory and Amanda, my wife’s appalling friend, to arrive for a night of board games. Apparently Amanda was a little late getting home, her industrial welding class having over run.

There’s no ‘f’ in ‘Trannies’ said Sylvester, as I arranged the letters on the Scrabble board.

“Don’t be so silly,” I said as I placed the lettered tiles on the board. “There, ‘Transference’ and the ‘T’ is on a double word score.”

I’ve been trying to keep Sylvester amused as he’s been moping about the place recently. I think he’s a little jealous of Marjory, who’s in a lesbian relationship with Amanda. All the same he did his best to be gracious, and put some music on while we played the game.

Marjory, who is very big on the competitive eating circuit, enjoys country music and Sylvester created a selection of Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson classics.

“Sylvester,” said Marjory, “You have such good taste.  I’m a little surprised.”

Sylvester looked a little sheepish, and then Marjory added, “I’ve always liked Johnny Cash, but I’ve never really been a fan of Willie’s.”

Sylvester cast a sideways glance at Amanda, but wisely said nothing. Poor Sylvester.

But that’s not the main reason I’m writing to you tonight. I’m just letting you know that there’s a new episode of Clothes Maketh The Man out, part 52, and reminding all my members that I’ve recently added some wonderful new hypnosis files to the Seahorse ProgramMistress Meg has been particularly busy, creating some great material. There’s always plenty of hypnosis files on the site, many of which are free, and they can be found by following this link.

I have adjusted some of my pricing recently giving a discount to those booking for a one year subscription. Be sure to check out my programs here – http://FionaDobson.com/my-programs

Have a lovely week,

Fiona Dobson



Wrap your lips around this.

First of all I should make a quick correction, for the benefit of one of my members who has contacted me regarding some confusion in advice I gave her recently. When I said that a pair of sugar tongs may be used to pull fur balls from a cat, I should have pointed out that these are found in the cat’s throat. Now that that’s clarified, I can get along with today’s post.

While I do not condone smoking in an way, I admit that at New Year I will sit in my conservatory and smoke a cigar with Sylvester to celebrate the arrival of the new year. I know it’s not very ladylike, but Mistress Meg and Katia Thornwood do enjoy the occasional puff and as long as it’s just once a year I don’t really have a problem with it.

As I sat in a ratan chair, blowing snow piling up outside the window, I remarked to Sylvester that nothing can really beat getting your lips round eight inches of Cuban and that it’s a lovely way to start the new year.

My long maxi pleated skirt fell about my stockinged legs, as we sat there watching the snow. I felt nice and cozy in the night, warmed by a sherry and a radiator which keeps this pleasant room toasty on cold winter nights.

Sylvester blew a smoke ring and then said, “I didn’t realise these cigars were from Cuba.”

“The cigars? Oh, no I think these are from Nicaragua,” I replied.

He really should follow the plot.

Anyway, that’s not the main reason I am writing. There’s a fun new self hypnosis on my site which I thought I’d tell you about. You can find it here.

I hope 2022 is getting off to a good start for you.

🙂

Fiona

http://FionaDobson.com

My dog, Hannibal, has been interred!

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.

😊

Fiona

Join me as a Good Gurl today.

Let’s talk colonic irrigation.

This afternoon I organised a delightful lunch to welcome Bernard, my photographer, back home. You will doubtless remember that he has had some health issues and was visiting the UK and staying at The Devil’s Dyke Health Spa.

It is unsurprising that following a tazering and being shot in the chest with a carrot, he should need extensive rehabilitation. However, the Devil’s Dyke facility, according to their internet profile, specialises in heart, digestive and gastrointestinal tract treatments, including extensive use of colonic irrigation. Ali, my gardener, informs me that this has nothing to do with the irrigation he is dutifully installing in my greenhouse, in expectation of a warm summer.

SylvesterSebastian and Bernard all joined me, as well as Amanda, who ‘popped in’ slipping past Hannibal and the security system. That woman is like a ninja. I should point out that she is an old schoolfriend of my wife, and often appears in the hopes of finding her. Unfortunately my wife is travelling at present, studying flora of the Limpopo.

Amanda was most upset. It turns out her therapist, who she’s been seeing twice a week for the last two years, committed suicide two days ago. This is not made easier by the fact that her previous therapist did the same thing some years ago. At the funeral, it turned out that Amanda was the only person attending, and likely his only client.

“But somehow I feel like it’s my fault,” she said tearfully.

“Nonsense,” I said. “It’s his job to talk you off the ledge, not the other way around.”

“But twice! That’s quite a coincidence, don’t’ you think?”

“Well, not really. I’m sure lots of therapists go that way,” I replied.

“Apparently he leaves a very extensive library of self help books.”

Returning to our lunch, Bernard enthused about his trip to the UK. As we sipped a light chardonnay he told us as much as one can about colonic irrigation at the dinner table. Sebastian asked about the exercise, and probed him about the diet.

Bernard had brought a couple of bottles of Devil’s Dyke bottled water, one of which Sylvester picked up and inspected.

“Devil’s Dyke Water,” he read from the label, holding is at arms length to be able to read it properly. His eyesight is not what it once was. “It say’s here, it’s a great tonic, and good for digestion and flatulence.”
Amanda seemed excited, and asked to see.

“I should try this,” said Sylvester enthusiastically with a laugh.

There was an awkward pause, and then Bernard said, “I think they mean it’s good for stopping flatulence, Sylvester.”

“Oh,” he replied, a little disappointed. “Why would…” and his voice tailed off.

However, that’s not the main reason I’m writing to you today. We now have a little more space in our Premium Feminization Program – and we’re adding some new tasks. So, there’s never been a better time to put your best foot forward and mince into our wonderful Premium Program and enjoy the fun and games we have to offer.

We’re enjoying a great deal of success with our Premium Feminization Program.  If you’re not already a member, then think about joining. I get email daily from my members telling me how much they love it. It’s only $10 a month and provides you with valuable training and exercises to help you get the most out of crossdressing. As a Premium Member you’ll find my emails help you progress and enjoy your crossdressing even more than you do today.  Sign up HERE.

Have a wonderful week.

😊

Fiona

 
BOGGIE : PARFÜM

Boggie is a hugely talented young lady. More than that, she’s a very brave one. This song is wonderfully written, but also bravely filmed in a manner that challenges the societal norm of beauty. Here’s a translation of the first verse.

Hundreds of perfumes, like daydreaming wildflowers
Sweet, bittersweet negligence now overpowers
Rose and oleander in their tiny glassware, shimmer me on
Myrrh and almond fragments in small portion balanced, lilacs and violas, in hidden small vials
Dripping them, spraying them, one by one testing them – that mist dazes me so.

I post this song from time to time to remind my friends and members that the image we see on TV is not the true rendering of the person. Boggie is courageous enough to demonstrate this with great honesty.  FD

 

Looking for that special gift for the dominant uber bitch in your life? What could possibly be better than this Sexy Leather Bodysuit Leotard? Nothing says “I want you to dress me up like a sissie and beat the heck out of me” quite like a faux leather leotard! Just $19.95.