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Your Feminine Identity – Self Hypnosis.
Let me grab a towel.
Here I am getting this post ready for you in the hotel, on a hot evening here in Chicago. I hardly know where to start, so much has been going on. I suppose I should start by telling you all about Sylvester and the other night.
I wiped my chin and said to Sylvester, “Oh, my goodness!”
It took me a moment to catch my breath. “It wasn’t as salty as I expected. I can hardly believe the quantity!”
“My tool is almost worn out!” Said Sylvester. He held the pliers, and dabbed his face with the napkin. Eating east coast lobster at a fish restaurant in Chicago is a great pleasure, but a very messy one. What did you think we were doing?
Sylvester was wrestling the last bit of lobster meat from within the claw. What a character he his. Always with a tool in his hand! As I am sure you know, he’s my mechanic and friend. We flew down together to visit Bernard in the hospital who was recovering in hospital..
I should explain. If you followed last weeks email you’ll know that Bernard managed to get himself Tazered in the arrivals lounge of O’Hare airport. That is far from where the drama ended.
He was rushed through to the hospital, and there – to my horror – they found that Bernard, who had become so excited by certain aspects of my physique, was in the middle of a heart attack. I had thought he looked rather like a freshly landed trout as he convulsed following his Tazering, but not being familiar with how one generally responds to a Tazer, I thought this quite normal.
Even the police officer who gave Bernard the jolt looked quite concerned. He even showed up in the hospital as Sylvester and I were visiting. Bernard was still unconscious, and here we were three days later.
The police officer walked into the private room I arranged for Bernard, and held out his hand. “Officer Speltman,” he said. “You can call me Sparky.”
“Sparky,” said Sylvester. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah… They gave me that nickname at the academy. It kinda stuck…”
“Well, Sparky,” I said, “I’m Bernard’s friend. I’m sure he would be grateful you came and visited. If he were, you know… conscious.”
“I’m sorry he got the jolt. I didn’t really have a choice in the circumstances.”
I took the business card Officer Speltman offered and said I would call him when we had further news. Then Sylvester and I went and found a hotel, and a fish restaurant at which to have some dinner.
“I still don’t quite understand why Bernard didn’t get up when the cop told him to,” said Sylvester.
“I think he was concerned about his clothing being… disarranged. He was in a state of some excitement.” I felt awkward telling Sylvester that Bernard had a prominent erection and was concerned about embarrassing himself when he stood up. “Let’s just say he was hard at work, when it happened.”
The following morning I had a call from the hospital with the worrying news that Bernard was extremely ill and that the hospital was doing it’s best to locate a heart for a transplant. I am, of course, quite shocked – as I am sure you are. I will keep you informed. (See what happened next by going here: https://fionadobson.com/bernard/zipper-job/)
In the meantime, I have a very special self hypnosis file for you tonight.
This file is all about identity, so join me in a lovely relaxing self hypnosis exercise and have a listen. And of course, I will be sure to let you know about developments with Bernard.
🙂
Fiona
Become a member!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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Bernard Gets A Shock.
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Now, I often love to travel in yoga pants, as they are just so comfortable, and show off my legs nicely. I had noticed Bernard looking at me in a somewhat hungry way. I think you know, I do like to tease him a little, but – well, I really don’t think what happened was my fault. Really.
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I’m sorry, Gerald’s not home right now.
Ivy showed the Metropolitan police inspector to what she called ‘the drawing room’. It was in fact the living room, but since she and her husband had inherited the place in 1971 they’d always called it that.
“Your husband’s family seemed most concerned,” said the inspector as he sat down in a love seat that had seen better days, and less weary lovers.
“Oh, don’t mind Mildred,” said Ivy, seeing the inspector looking at the sleeping form of a woman in her mid sixties, dozing beneath a brightly colored blanket. A soft snoring sound emanated from the form of the sleeper.
“She has her good days, and she has her bad days,” continued Ivy. “Alzheimer’s. Can you believe she’s barely four years my senior?”
Be careful who you let walk your dog.
I am very proud of my legs. As Sebastian, my personal trainer has often commented, during our yoga practice, I am able to place my legs in some most unusual positions. As I was doing ‘downward dog’ the other morning I felt first a twinge and then one knee collapsed, and I was revisited by some damage incurred during an old skiing accident.
I am very happy with my general health, however in the fall, now and then, I get a twinge. It passes within a week or so, and then I am back to tip top health, but this week I am very slow. I know you are wondering what all this has to do anything, but I felt I should confide in you, as what I am about to say might sound just a little odd.
Part of my morning fitness routine, usually following my morning swim with Sebastian – he really does enjoy giving me a morning work out – is to walk my dog, Hannibal. Now, some of you may remember Hannibal has had more than one run in with Amanda over the years. He once found a marital aid under her sofa and the resulting drama was traumatizing for myself and my poor little dachshund.
He subsequently saw Sebastian’s homeopath for PTSD for several weeks. Pet’s Traumatic Stress Disorder is not a widely recognized, at least not in the DSM, but if you were exposed to Amanda’s adult toy collection I guarantee you’d not be the same person after the experience. A whole teamof therapists wouldn’t be enough, I assure you.
Taking it to the next level – hypnosis
Is there a gurl inside you ready to be unleashed. Join me on the journey of self discovery that really will set you free.
Hypnosis is a very powerful tool to help you on this journey. Used within the context of a well managed program, such as those I offer, it is even more effective.
Would you like join my free feminization program? It’s a great way to make a start. You can sign up here – http://FionaDobson.com/my-programs
Become a Patron!How crossdressing can change the world.
I was sitting in my kitchen this morning, a skillet sizzling on the hob spilling delightful aromas out into the garden, when I heard the sound of Sylvester’s chopper drawing into my driveway. Sensing the presence of sausage he often unaccountably appears. Now, the same could be said of some of my gurlfriends, but that really is another story.
Arriving just as I was about to pour the coffee, Sylvester showed up with his niece, a glorious young creature of thirteen.
“Fiona, this is Anastasia,” he said as he entered. “She’s heard so much about you, she said she’d like to join
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My Grand Daughter Drops In.
A story written by Fiona Dobson and read by Jules Sanderson.
The Secret Lives Of Kenya’s Drag Queens.
Corsets – All you ever wanted to know!
Can you help fill my holes?
Watching the sun slowly rise over my rose bushes as I sipped my jasmine tea this morning I could almost have been in some tropical paradise. Ali, my gardener, his head bowed toward the east was in my garden on his knees, the dawn reflected by his white robe.
I glanced at the morning news, and swiftly found it depressing. Someone had been arrested for spying on a tech company and there were reports of any number of conspiracies. I really do get tired of these intrigues. I turned off the news and listened to some morning music instead. This really is the nicest part of the day, and I wasn’t going to have it ruined by scandals which I could do nothing about.
I do love my garden, but as I watched the light spread across the verdant greens and browns of fall foliage I noticed a disruption in the tranquility of the universe. My lawn, so lovingly maintained, was pock marked with the evidence of some burrowing creatures. The velvet green of my well manicured grass had evidently attracted an infestation. It was then that I realised that Ali was not praying but peering inquisitively into one of the invaders burrows.
He rose to his feet and then walked purposefully to my kitchen, where I sat enjoying my breakfast of croissants and English marmalade, dressed in a long pale green dressing gown, and creamy silk night dress, with a pink tie about the waist. I do so love the way the silk feels on my skin. It makes me shudder that once I constrained myself with horribly male cotton pyjamas with an image of spider man on blazened on the back. Still, I was eleven at the time.
“Good morning, Ali,” I said as he knocked on the kitchen door and then opened it. “Would you like some jasmine tea, it’s freshly brewed.”
Ali came in and I poured him some of the tea, and he looked at me earnestly.
“We have to act swiftly, madam,” said Ali.
“Well, I’m sure we do,” I said, wondering what on earth he was talking about.
“They’re taking over. Before long we’ll be over run,” he continued.
“Ali,” I said, still confused. “Have you been getting your news from Facebook again?”
“No madam,” he replied. “It’s the moles.”
“I heard something about it on the news,” I said.
“Really?” said Ali. “It must be worse than I thought,” he said, his gaze drawn to the garden. He then added, as an afterthought, “We need to stuff their holes.”
There was an awkward silence and then I said, “That seems a little extreme.”
Ali is a Syrian refugee and came to his new life in Canada a few years ago. Having walked halfway across Europe he and his lovely wife and two girls finally found a safe haven that welcomed them, here in Canada. I know he must have been through any number of traumas during his flight as the country fell into civil war. Still, the inhumane treatment of spies seemed a little harsh. It was then I noticed Ali looking at me rather quizzically.
“Oh, you mean the ‘moles’. In the garden…” I said, realising my mistake.
“Yes, madam. They’re getting in from Marjorie’s, next door.”
“Wine bottles,” he said as if that were all the explanation needed.
Sometimes I think Ali is just saying random words. I really should talk to his English teacher sometime.
“We push them in their holes,” he added.
“Oh, yes.” I said quite suddenly. “I think I saw a video of that once.”
“Yes, we block their holes with wine bottles, and they’ll soon leave,” said Ali.
“Then I suppose we’d better talk to Auntie Kittie.”
Auntie Kittie always has empty wine bottles about the place. I get the distinct impression they don’t stay full for very long with her. But that’s not the main reason I’m writing to you this morning. I thought I’d make a point of dropping you a line and telling you that Auntie’s Kittie’s diary is as popular as ever and this week anyone who signs up for it (just $1.99 a month, or $12 for the year) will get free entry into our Whatsapp Group (usually $10 a month). I wouldn’t want you to miss out.
Have a lovely week, and let me know how you are doing.
😊
Fiona
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How to talk to your partner about crossdressing. Part 5
Remembering that this is all about timing, we’re going to move a conversation into the area of fantasies. This should not seem forced, so pick you time carefully. Don’t just say “The weather’s nice for the time of year, and by the way, what do you fantasise about?”
Wait for your moment. Approach the subject with sensitivity, and be gentle. Tell her you would love to know what she fantasises about, because you want to make her happier and to serve her sexually as well as you can.
Continue reading “How to talk to your partner about crossdressing. Part 5”
Being Trans – If a Klingon can figure it out, so can you.
So much wisdom.
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Become a Patron!How to talk to your partner about crossdressing. Part 4
At this stage you’re beginning to move your partner toward acting in a specific manner with you. She’s been primed, sees herself as a liberal thinking and open to intimate suggestions (after all, everybody sees her that way), and she sees herself as being in control in a liberated and powerful way.
Continue reading “How to talk to your partner about crossdressing. Part 4”
How to talk to your partner about crossdressing. Part 3
The next step is once again a subtle progression in the direction you’re trying to go. When you’re out with your wife and she’s buying cosmetics take an interest. Ask why she likes one brand of make up over another. Be sure to have a sincere interest.
Continue reading “How to talk to your partner about crossdressing. Part 3”
Clothes Maketh The Man – Part 62.
In a slumber I slowly woke. I could feel the rise and the fall of the soft breathing of a form beside me and I quickly remembered 30.
My face was pressed against her shoulder, warm but a little hard. I could vaguely smell the scent of her. I remained still savouring the delicate aromas. I think she used a lavender soap, but behind it I could smell her armpit.
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