Better, Stronger, Faster.

Sylvester came into my kitchen this morning with a smug look on his face and asked me, “Is your refrigerator running?”
I sighed and thought to myself, ‘ok, Sylvester’s learned a joke. I better let him do it.’
“I believe it is,” I said glancing at the fridge in an exaggerated manner.
“Good, because if it is, I’ll vote for it,” Sylvester then collapsed in a quivering mass of his own laughter. I sipped my coffee patiently until this display of idiocy was over.
“What is this, a Democratic Party ‘in joke’?” I asked.
Sylvester was still quivering. It was unusual to see Sylvester laughing at a joke that didn’t involve panties, coming in the back way or pulling someone’s finger. You know, Sylvester really can be quite coarse at times. Is there a small chance he could be evolving from his Neanderthal roots?
But that’s not the main reason I am writing today, and don’t worry, it’s not going to be an email soaked in political hyperbole. I know some of my members don’t like that. So instead, being Canadian, I thought I’d tell you a quick hockey story. Yeah. That’s more fun. And I have to say, I do like going down to the hockey rink and watching local teams play. I have even supported the local team by volunteering and helping them with the electric scoreboard. I love to go down there and score with the boys. I like to help out the girls too, of course. I always keep my hand in.
But, you’re diverting me from the main thrust of the story today. We have this player who has been the main scorer of the local team. He’s very talented but he’s been having some issues lately. And in a couple of weeks we have a critical game against another very good team. They’re not professional but I know at least one player on their team is exceptional and used to play at a very high level, so we need to be very organised.
Sebastian, who is a very sound strategist, surprisingly for a kombucha drinking yogi, understands.
“Joe is just too old. He’s got arthritis in his knees. And he keeps forgetting to show up for practice,” said Sebastian, while adjusting my downward dog yoga position from behind. “And if we lose this game we’ll be out of the league. It took us at least four years to get back in last time we were relegated.”
“I can see the problem,” I said, easing into the pose.
“I don’t think there’s any choice,” he went on. “We just need to substitute him out for someone better than we had before. Better, stronger, faster.”
“Do we have that technology?” I said.
“We have the technology,” replied Sebastian, very seriously.
“It’s so obvious,” I agreed. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
Sebastian can be unusually wise. His views have adjusted my own from time to time and I find his insights penetrate deeply at both an intellectual and physical level. Anyway, I thought I should share that non-political update with you.
Have a lovely week. Be sure to sign up as a good gurl this week if you haven’t already, as Auntie Kittie is keen for me to suggest a few more sissies come her way. Those were her words, not mine.
🙂
Fiona

Mistress Meg’s Pleasure – Your Pain.
A Beginner’s Guide To Contouring.
We’ve got great new content in my Premium Program.

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Do you need enlargement?
I was sitting in my kitchen this morning with Bernard, my photographer, going through some proofs from the advertising agency that I work for, when Bernard started lamenting the decline in the business of photography. As an advertising agency photographer he remains in demand, but beyond the work at the agency he sees work falling off quite substantially.
“It’s no good,” he said. “These days everyone’s a photographer and no one is interested in having enlargements done.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” I interjected. “I can think of a number of friends that need enlargement.”

“I mean, all they want to do is put it their pictures on Instagram. Hardly anyone prints pictures anymore,” he said.
“But so many more people are enjoying photography,” I said. “It’s so much more accessible now.”
“Well, yes. But where does that leave me,” he asked.
“Yes, I see your point.” I said.
It took my mind back to those summer days several years ago when we’d do so many fashion shoots in the park for the agency. I can still hear Bernard’s voice in my memory as I would slip into a different outfit, and he’d shoot me on his long lens.
“No,” he’d shout from the distance as we’d cycle through various looks. “Jacket off! Jacket off!””
“I’m sorry?” I’d shout back.
“Take your jacket off!”
“Oh,” I’d reply and remove the jacket and we’d do a load more pics.
Such memories. As crossdressers we have a great opportunity to take great pictures using ourselves as the subject. In the quest to ‘accept yourself as you are and create yourself as you desire’ getting great images of yourself is a great exercise. It does take a little effort, but what a wonderful way to enjoy your crossdressing.
But all of this puts me in mind of the skills needed to do a decent selfie. Bernard and I will be posting a few things on the site and on Patreon to help you get the perfect selfie over the coming weeks. Be sure to register (it’s free) to avoid missing these. In the meantime enjoy this wonderful video from our favorite singer, Boggie. If you’ve not heard her before, have an open mind and watch her video.
Have a lovely week,
Fiona
Clothes Maketh The Man – Part 70.
– Find Part 1 here – Chapter list here –

Is it something they say about a drowning man? He was going down for the third time… Well, at the pool party I was drowning.
For the life of me I can’t quite understand how two people can discuss details of their new cars while, only a few feet away, the trannie hired entertainment is getting banged by a man that had just snorted down more powder than we get in a night on our Canadian ski hills.
If these people were indifferent to the behaviour being inflicted on me, they were no more indifferent than I was to the latest in the line up that was forming behind the man between my legs. I was phoning it in, to mix metaphors.
Continue reading “Clothes Maketh The Man – Part 70.”Patriotic Fervor.
Max, my neighbour’s son, came round this morning. He was full of patriotic fervor, as it’s Canada day. He was wearing his red and white tea shirt, and his strong muscles quivered beneath the cotton.
“Fiona,” he said excitedly, “Can I look at your beaver?”
I shifted uneasily. It’s not like Max to be quite so forward.
“Your beaver… Mother says you have a very special one!”
This seemed a little odd.
“She says you had it specially mounted,” he continued.
“She did, did she?”
“Yes, and put in a glass case.”
I suddenly remembered the revolting piece of taxidermy my wife’s equally revolting friend Amanda had left in our garage storage area. It was a beaver in a glass case.
“Of course you can, Max. You’re such good boy!”
Today, as you likely know, is Canada Day. This is the day on which Canadians celebrate the founding of our great country. Now, for those of you who are not Canadian and are hard at work – and from some of the emails I’ve been getting, I can honestly say I mean that in the most literal sense – I want you to try and share in my happiness in this day.
As you probably know I live in Vancouver, that most cosmopolitan of modern cities. Here we enjoy a wonderful tradition of music, performance and fun.
Not to forget my American cousins, I hope you too have a wonderful Fourth Of July. Here’s a nice video to help you celebrate! This is very funny – https://youtu.be/n2b3mkipd3U
So, on this special day join me in celebrating Canada. Think of it as embracing your inner beaver. I know you’ll enjoy it as much as I do.
Fiona
Having ‘the talk’ – ‘Darling, I think I’m trans!’

Many of us worry that sharing the changes we’re going through will destroy our relationships, particularly if we’ve been partnered for many years. There are certainly situations where this is the case, however it doesn’t always need to be that way. If you’re interested in preserving your relationship you may want to read on.
Partners generally can be very accepting as long as they don’t feel their relationship or security is threatened. So, for example, if you choose to share that you are experiencing some shifts emotionally, you’re likely to get a lot further than simply declaring that you want to be known henceforth as ‘Candy’ and that you’re going to wear stripper clothes to your job at the iron foundry. I think you understand what I am driving at. Communication is the key, and it’s communication at a very gentle level. No one wants to hear an ultimatum, or that ‘everything has to change’.
Continue reading “Having ‘the talk’ – ‘Darling, I think I’m trans!’”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 – a beautiful piece of taxidermy – the centrepiece of the Canada Day party I always throw on the Canada Day Weekend, 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 democracy, which we value enough to protect.
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.
Have a wonderful Canada day weekend.
Fiona
Meet the women who love to feminize their men.

Enjoy Mistress Meg’s correspondence with the women who love to feminize their men when you become a Seahorse member. Learn more about these dangerous but seductive new friends, who will turn you into the woman of their dreams. – https://fionadobson.com/women-who-love-to-feminize-their-men/
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Our community – you can join now.

I am delighted to share with you an exciting new development. On my Patreon we now have a group chat. This is accessible by going to my Patreon page, and then selecting the ‘Community’ tab. You can chat here with other members of my Patreon. Be sure to go over and introduce yourself.
Become a member!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
Don’t be left without a leg to stand on this summer!
Following Donald Trumps insane ramblings about sharks this weekend (hear the speach here –TRUMP SHARK SPEACH) I delve into the deep questions that are left unanswered by this unhinged rant. Chief among those is, of course, ‘what would you wear if you had to swim in shark infested waters with sinking battery powered boats?’
This delightful swimsuit in transgender colors is the ideal outfit in which to be admitted to the ER at any fashionable resort. Here’s a selection of great swimwear options.
Quick Dry Beach Shorts – 16.69

One-Piece Swimsuit Transgender Pride Flag LGBT Swimwear – $13.99

Transgender Flag Colors Two Piece Swimsuit – $23.00
You can always depend on insight and thoughtful comment about current affairs and news here on FionaDobson.com. Be sure to support my work by joining my Patreon here – https://www.patreon.com/fionadobsonCD
Become a member!Never be afraid.

Never be afraid to believe in yourself. Happy Pride!
Art by @tikaestudio
With thanks to Lynda Carter – https://www.tumblr.com/reallyndacarter
When it’s time to take the makeup off.
What’s a crossdresser to wear to the company party?
It’s the weekend of the company summer party. An air of excitement is permeating all of Huckleberry Close. Naturally a few of my friends have come by and will be joining me at the costumed event.
After finding the perfect ensemble, I decided to go a little retro and go as Xena Warrior Princess. I have always liked that look, and like Xena consider myself something of a problem solver. It’s just the kind of gurl I am. As Sylvester, Ali, Max and I prepared for the party and got into our costumes Max’s mother, Marjorie, came over to see what all the excitement was about.

“Hello, Marjorie,” I said as she wandered into my kitchen. “We’re almost ready.”
“So, I can see,” she replied eyeing my breast plate. “And Max is doing a wonderful job of buffing up the brass of that breast plate.”
“He’s been most helpful,” I replied.
“Wouldn’t it have been easier if you’d taken it off first?” asked Marjorie.
“Oh, no,” I replied. “What with Max so hard at work…”
At that moment Ali came in, dressed in a set of Klan robes.
“Ali,” I said. “Are you sure that’s entirely appropriate?”
My Syrian friend replied, “I thought I looked very presidential.”
I could hardly fault that, and said so.
“Perhaps we should all go out and stand on the front lawn. Marjorie could take a photograph of us from the landing upstairs? That window overlooks the garden and the picture will lovely with the roses in the background.”
Marjorie agreed and went up the stairs. A moment later she called down to say she couldn’t get the window open, and that she needed a little help. The window seemed blocked by something from the outside.
“Don’t worry,” cried Ali. “I’ll get a ladder and clear it up.” With that, and a flurry of robes, Ali disappeared to get a ladder. Now the reason I explain all this is simple enough. You can imagine the scene when I was then standing on the front lawn, along with Sylvester dressed like a warrior from Middle Earth, about to go on a quest, Max as a Viking, and all of us staring up a ladder at Ali dressed as a KKK klansman, complete with hood, trying to open the upstairs window of my house on a sunny midweek afternoon.
As the sun glinted off my breastplate, we heard the silent hum of Amanda, my wife’s appalling friend, arriving unannounced to visit my wife – who is unfortunately travelling at present.
With the unmistakable sound of tweed rustling she stepped from her car, open mouthed, and said “What on earth is going on here?”
“Ali’s taking care of a blockage,” I said helpfully, and stared up the ladder. Amanda followed my gaze.
“That’s Ali? I thought you’d finally upset the wrong people,” murmured Amanda with her usual distaste for everyone around her.
Ali’s voice drifted down, “Marjories Areolas are coming out beautifully this year. I’ve not seen her garden from this angle before.”
Sometimes I wonder about Ali’s English lessons. Being a Syrian refugee, who was welcomed to Canada in somewhat disadvantaged circumstances, one might forget that he was also a professor in Damascus University prior to the war.
“I thought something dreadful was happening, as I drove up. I could see this crazy Klansman trying to break in through the window. I thought maybe… Honestly, those people should be bloody well hung!”
Looking up Ali’s klan robe, I replied, “Amanda, from where I’m standing, I think Ali’s pretty well…”
“Oh my god,” said Amanda. “You people make me bloody sick. I just dropped by to tell Max, he’s got the job at Pig And Pig Farmer Weekly as my editorial assistant.”
“Oh,” I replied. “What a sparkling start to a career in journalism. Today Pig and Pig Farmer Weekly, tomorrow the world!”
Have a wonderful weekend,
🙂
Fiona