The soft sensation of nylon against my skin is almost the perfect form of foreplay. Pulling on the nylon stockings, and smoothing them up my leg, unhurried and luxuriously before a date is always enough to make me wet.
Perhaps it’s a response to my desire for something to
happen, or maybe it’s just a learned response. After all, most times I do go
out dressed in this manner I get what I’m looking for, so it’s only a matter of
time before my body, hungry for the lecherous and desperate touch of a lover, is
served to my satisfaction. You’ll note that I said ‘my satisfaction’. I point
this out as I do like to play a little game.
It’s been about five years now that I’ve followed a rather particular dating practice. I usually use one of the more popular apps, Tinder or some such, and there I will select a – now what should I call them – a project. Yes. I select a project. You know if you go to some of the apps you can even find me. Of course, I’m not going to make that too easy for you, as I really don’t want to give away all my secrets.
From the minute we are born we encounter key moments in our lives—opening our eyes, the first smile, the spoken word, and those first steps. Before we know it we give our first kiss, lose our virginity, get our hearts broken. Yet all the time most of us are living the life that was prescribed in the most basic of forms even before that very first day we entered the world—as a man or as a woman.
Professor David Forbes does not fall into this basic category of ‘most of us’. For him, and many others, life isn’t that simple. He is a man who accepts that he is a man, but who is happier wearing make-up and a dress.
And now one of his student’s has discovered he is a crossdresser and is asking for his help.
David handed Hector the cup of tea and sat opposite him at the small table in his office. “Have you spoken to anyone else?”
“N—no. Just you. And, and it’s good of you to listen to me. It—it’s been a help to get it off my chest.” The stammer was beginning to creep back into Hector’s speech.
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So much naughtiness among my nephews and nieces this week. What is a busy auntie to do?
Even young Gerald, usually so devoted, forgot to bring his swimming costume over when he and my nieces were going to play in the garden, and I was forced to have him slip into one of my daughter’s swimming costumes.
It was a tight squeeze, but he managed to get himself suitably arranged. Goodness, the things I am asked to do! Is there no lengths to which I will not go for my nephews?
I’ve decided they should all have uniforms to suitably remind themselves to be prepared in future. What do you think? A good idea?
Check out this delightful one and let me know what you think. Don’t forget, if you join me as Good Gurl member you’ll get my special diary and so much more for just $1 a month. Use the link below.
“Right.” David got to his feet. “That will do for now. Hand your papers in by the end of the week.”
He sauntered across his office to the far window and gazed down at the concourse beneath. Students were stretched out on the lawn enjoying the late afternoon sunshine. A tutorial on the lush grass would have worked well today, but it was too late now. Hopefully, there would be more opportunities to work outside. It always made a welcome change from the confines of his office. Not that it was a bad office.
David turned around to see Hector hovering at the doorway with some reluctance to leave.
“Yes, Hector?” He waited to hear what was holding back this mature, postgraduate student.
Hector hesitated a moment before closing the door and approaching the table where he had been sitting with three other postgrad students. He hovered behind a chair. “I—I just wanted to let you know. I was in L—L—London recently.”
Part 1 can be found HERE. Find all episodes of The Dating Game HERE.
When David – AKA Diana – puts on the clothes he’d bought to go out dressed on the ski slopes Diana comes alive. This holiday on the slopes is going to get very hot.
David didn’t think he could do it, even after spending a fortune on tight-fitting ski pants and a mink coloured padded jacket with a fur-lined hood to die for, plus a pair of tortoise-shell Ray-Bans where the salesman had obviously seen him coming! There was no way Diana could go skiing in the French Alps.
But here she was. Standing in the boot room complete with hair gel, lipstick and mascara. No one batted an eyelid. The waiter had even held the door open for her at breakfast this morning.
David grabbed his skis, ran his tongue over lips coated in ruby red lipstick and headed onto the slopes for another day cruising down snowy mountains, with only the swishing sounds of his skis for company.
I had a bad start to life – I was born into good family. I am firmly convinced that those of us who are in the gender fluid and trans space have a major hurdle to get over when it comes to talking to our families. Sometimes the effort of getting them to understand the issue of something as simple as pronouns is such a monument task. In my case it’s like trying to have a conversation with the walking dead.
My intent today is really not to upset any who are Christian. So, bare with me for a moment. The fact is trousers were not commonly worn in Jerusalem until well into the seventh century.
In researching this subject however I did come across an interesting bible reference. Deuteronomy 22 verse 5 says: “Women are not to wear men’s clothing, and men are not to wear women’s clothing; the Lord your God hates people who do such things.”
While I am a bit concerned with the presumption that God ‘hates’ anything, there’s nothing there about trans people wearing trans clothes. It seems more concerned with whose clothing you wear, rather than what clothing you wear. And as I always say, don’t steal your mother’s/sister’s/wife’s clothing, so we’re all in agreement there. The clothing I wear belongs to me, so no problem.
I wonder though, if one dedicated one’s life to helping the needy, serving God and healing the sick, while wearing a nice pink blouse and strappy sandles, would this mark you for a place burning eternally in hell next to a murderer who didn’t crossdress? Perhaps there’s just a little bit of an overreaction here. There’s got to be room here for a joke about, ‘Is that a fire extinguisher in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?”, but we’ll move on I think.
In the end one has to come the conclusion that our task is not really to educate the rest of the world. We are who we are. Frankly, I couldn’t care less what anyone uses as a pronoun for me, or what they think about gender. That’s their problem. It’s disrespectful for them to be unkind, but I remain who I am regardless. I’m just not that bothered about how people around me deal with it.
I was recently chatting with Kara, a young member online. She was telling me how her family – a conservative Christian family – were quite unkind to her as they considered Kara to be doing something outside their faith.
I did mention to her that as far as I was aware Jesus didn’t wear trousers one day in his life, and that a principle value in the Christian faith is not to judge others, but it’s sometimes a little optimistic to hope that some who profess Christianity would themselves live by sincere Christian values.
Whether one agrees with the doctrine or not, most faiths are based on the idea that love and understanding are good things, and being a prize asshole is not. So, when we look about us and see all the division and discord it’s fair to say that those who are the engineers and vocal proponents of such hateful divisiveness are anything but godly. People like Marjory Taylor Greene, who are so fond of sowing division, and Gym Jordan, who steadfastly refused to acknowledge abuse when it was right in front of their own eyes, live by values that are so at odds with our own we can do little but stand back and watch as they march with grim determination toward their own demise. History does show that these people generally get what they deserve.
I have to say there is something horribly cynical about the way that many politicians pick up and drop Christian values to suit their own needs. However, we’re not really here to judge them either. Ultimately we have to live as well as we can, being as kind as possible to others, regardless of their prejudices. It’s up to us to be the better person.
I did mention to Kara that they may wish to trot out a phrase like “My relationship with God is something between myself and her.” Standing back and watching the ensuing fireworks might be entertaining, if nothing else.
And with that I will step down from this soap box, into these panties and go back to my work of the moment.
As I continue to manage the roll over out of Patreon, I would like to say how very grateful I am for those of you who have joined my Good Gurls $1 a month membership (you can do so here). This is most appreciated and as I continue to develop some new content it does help the work I do enormously.
All this month I am featuring the work of Mollie Blake on the website. You can follow her on Twitter here. Be sure to check out her series, The Dating Game. She’s got some lovely content there. I have new material on the site virtually every day at present, so checking in at http://FionaDobson.com daily is a great idea. There’s always something there that’s sure to grab your interest. Have a delightful week.
The first time it happened I think I was about seven. I’d recently been sent away to boarding school and was still in that confused state of not being sure of what I had done wrong to deserve this most terrible of fates.
As was normal every day I had got up with the wake up bell at 7 am. I’d stumbled bleary eyed and mussy haired toward the bathrooms at the end of the dormitory. There the cream colored paint, still peeling today in my memory as it was then those many years ago, caught the fresh cold morning sunshine, leaving irregular shadows on the walls. There were other children stirring, all young and as lost looking as I was myself making their way toward their morning ablutions.
I went into one of the stalls and peed onto the frozen surface of the water lying inside the toilet. It would unfreeze soon, and the heavy galvanized iron mechanism of the flush would clunk unsatisfied, until it did. Probably the spent waste of three children would be enough to generate the heat that would unfreeze the water.
David closed his eyes and wanted nothing more than to escape to his bedroom and feel the cool silk of his new negligée next to his skin. It would look perfect with those slippers. He began to feel clammy. “I need a drink.”
Sandrine looked around and spied the kitchen. She handed the slippers to David. “Why don’t Lucy and I get the drinks while you go and make yourself more comfortable?”
David hesitated a moment. “Are you FtM?” …
Wait. He of all people should know better than to ask such a personal question to a woman he barely knew. And she was a work colleague. What the hell was he thinking?
He was about to apologise when Sandrine replied.
“I like to be fluide. I don’t put myself in just one ‘ole. Is that ‘ow you English say it?” Sandrine flashed her eyes at David before fixing them on Lucy.
Uncharacteristically Lucy had been silent for the past minute and a half, her nerves possibly still reverberating from asking Sandrine if she was a lesbian. Now her eyes were on David, and he couldn’t help thinking she was worried for him. Well let her be!
He needed space to breathe. “I think you mean ‘box’ but ‘hole’ works too. Help yourselves.”
“Oh, come on,” said Lucy, heading to the kitchen, never one to hide her impatience, or linger at the back of the queue when there was a glass of wine to be had.
“Why can’t Professor Daniels take her to lunch? It’s his department she’s come to visit. I know bugger all about 17th century French poets!” David heard his secretary’s long sigh on the other end of the phone.
“Professor Daniels has to complete his paper on ‘Horses in the Middle Age—”
“Has to complete his paper? He’s been writing that thing for the last five years.”
“Well, he says it’s urgent now.”
It was David’s turn to sigh. After catching a brief glimpse of Madame Lafayette with Daniels, he could understand why the professor may well wish to finish the paper he wished he’d never started. At five foot two and almost as round as he was tall, the professor was in his early sixties, wore a bow tie and waistcoat daily, and regarded anyone who didn’t know the French poet, Jean Chapelain, as something you might have the misfortune to find on the bottom of your shoe. The university’s guest from Paris, on the other hand, was tall and skinny with poker straight, raven black hair, and he guessed, in her mid-thirties. Her black tailored trouser suit accentuated her ghoulishly pale skin, and David couldn’t help thinking she resembled a teacher of the dark arts in a Harry Potter novel. No doubt she knew all there was to know about Jean C, but Daniels was probably scared stiff of her.
With Sebastian strutting around in his cycling shorts, and Auntie Kittie coming over to offer me some of her specially imported organic coconut sunblock, anyone would think that going outside in this glorious weather is some sort of sin. However, it is important to look after ourselves in this extraordinary heat.
It is more important than ever to moisturize – personally I like a nice aloe based moisturizer – and also to drink plenty of water. Adding to this a good quality sunblock is a wonderful idea. I have started working early in the day and having a break by the time the day is hot, then going back to my endless labours in the early evening when the day is cooler. It’s a slightly different regime, but one I learned while living in the hottest parts of Africa. There is no point getting over heated and having headaches and the misery of sunstroke.
This stunning weather does give us the opportunity to wear some suitable clothes that are perfect for the twenty-first century crossdresser. Swimshorts, a tee shirt and a pair of sandals. Add lipstick and a little eye makeup and you’re there. You may not quite be Daisy Duke, but that is all a bit 1970’s anyway. I’m not sure Daisy would quite work today, sliding across the bonnet of an electric vehicle and roaring off down a country road listening to Taylor Swift. Nor can I see Sheriff Roscoe taking gender sensitivity training and a course in critical race theory.
I was discussing this with Sylvester this very morning. I explained how today we are all more ‘woke’.
“It’s all those energy drinks,” he replied.
“What?” I answered feeling like one of us was losing their grip.
“Oh, no,” I said. “We’re more ‘woke’, not more ‘awake’. Besides I don’t even touch those things. They’re bad for you.”
“I don’t get all this ‘woke’ stuff,” grumbled Sylvester.
“As far as I can make out, it means we’re more aware of racial issues. And gender ones. And age ones. And some other things.”
“You mean we’re more considerate?”
“I guess,” I replied.
“That reminds me, there was something I wanted to talk to you about,” went on Sylvester.
“Go ahead,” I replied, ever my helpful self.
“Have you ever been hit on by someone in authority? I mean, I know you’re…”
“Yes,” I replied expectantly.
“You’re not like some other people,” said Sylvester awkwardly.
“You mean I have tits, wear lipstick and have a dick? Yes. I am slightly different, but that’s no one’s business but my own,” I replied enjoying Sylvester’s discomfort.
“Well, I know this is a difficult subject, but…” continued Sylvester squirming.
“Sylvester, this is me. You can talk to me about anything.”
“I wondered if you’d ever been hit on by anyone who was your boss, or something like that.”
I must admit I was intrigued by Sylvester’s line of questioning.
“Well, there’s been one or two incidents. I’m pretty abrasive with people that I get a confrontational vibe from, though.”
“It’s just my brothers teenage daughter got hit on by her boss at the store she works at,” I wondered what you thought about it.
I was a little surprised, mostly that any employer could be so stupid.
“It’s a horrible fact, and one that many men don’t understand, but as I understand it many women do get unwanted attention at work. We sort of assume it doesn’t happen, but it does. Actually, it happens all the time. Now, having said that, most young women do learn to deal with it. I know it’s wrong that it would be that way, but many women just deal with it. However, my best advice is to get her a good lawyer, and then have her choose a nice Caribbean island to go and visit with the settlement that is likely to follow.”
“I was shocked,” said Sylvester. “It was all so ‘low level’.”
“What do you mean,” I asked.
“Well, he just approached her and asked if she’d go for a drink,” said Sylvester.
“Unfortunately that’s often the way these things do look. Somewhat harmless and low key. But then, when it’s time for her review she’ll find that the colleague that went out for that drink does a little better than she did. It’s horrible, and it’s insidious,” I said and paused. “It’s a weird thing. It’s easy to see abuse when it’s obvious. When it’s subtle it’s more difficult. And you know what? As a person who has lived much of their life ‘in trousers’ it has never happened to me, at least not as a teenager. So I can never say I’ve lived through that kind of subtle abuse.”
“But that’s good, isn’t it?” countered Sylvester.
“Well, I’m glad I’ve not been bullied like that, however subtle it may have been. But to be honest, I can’t say I’ve lived the ‘female life’ in that sense. I think this is a difficult area for many people who identify as female. The fact is I’ve been fortunate enough to have many advantages of being male. Having said that, it didn’t feel that way when I got a beating or two for being too girly for some people. My journey has different struggles. But I sympathise and I see how unfair it is on young women.”
“And this happens a lot?”
“It happens all the time, which is why we have to be so supportive of young women who are taken advantage of. I’m fortunate enough to work at an agency where even a hint of such behaviour would have the senior person fired and escorted out of the building before their feet touched the ground. People who act like that are a liability to the company, as well as being bullies.”
“Well, it doesn’t happen in my business,” said Sylvester a little defensively.
“I should hope not,” I replied. It’s worth noting that Sylvester runs a workshop servicing vehicles and has a fairly mixed group of employees.
“And it never happened to you?” he continued.
“Oh gosh, no,” I sighed. “I thought it might when I was at summer camp once, but the camp counsellor found out I was trans and then wasn’t interested.”
“Huh,” said Sylvester with a puzzled look on his face. “I’m not quite sure what to make of that.”
“Yes,” I replied. “That’s what he said.”
Stay hydrated and enjoy the sun, and remember, it’s not just the climate that’s changing.