This is a celebration put on by The Dogwood Monarchist Society, established in 1972 as a registered non-profit society to run the Imperial Court of Vancouver to support the LGBTQIA+ community. The DMS was recognized as the Mother Court of Canada in 1976, and is now part of over 70 courts across Canada, the United States and Mexico. Since its inceptions, the DMS has raised over $2M for deserving LGBTQ charities, and continues to thrive as an organization and as leaders within the Vancouver community. This is not only a wonderful event, Lenni (our very own) and her wife, Crem, are major drivers of the event and the organisation.
Sylvester took the lovely Brazilian coffee I’d made and tried to look sensible as he sat at my kitchen table. It’s not easy to get him to understand the complexities of the transgender world, but I do my best. It’s rather like trying to teach a monkey to use a calculator. I eyed the bunch of bananas on the windowsill.
“Ok,” I said, ever patient. “I’ll try to explain it again. Think of it like this. I am going through changes.”
“I’ve seen your boobs!” said Sylvester.
“Shut up,” I replied. You know Sylvester really can be quite coarse. “There are shifts in my body, but also in the way I think and process things. Whether or not it’s the hormones, or just that I have become more sensitive, more kindly, more thoughtful, I don’t know.”
At this point Sylvester opened his mouth to speak and I gave him a sharp kick under the table.
“And with all these changes has come a different view of things. A different way of looking at the world,” I said. “But – and this is the complicated bit, Sylvester, concentrate now… But the world at which I am looking is also changing. It’s changing a lot. So, it’s like there’s two moving targets.”
“Oh, I get it,” he said, his brow knotted like an ancient oak tree’s roots clinging to the earth.
“So, as I look at the insanity going on in the world to day, I am looking at it with new eyes. It’s almost impossible to think of things the way I used to before I accepted this part of who I am – and those very same things are now all so different. It’s very confusing. And even sometimes frightening. I mean, there are people who would rather see a dead trans person than have a friendly trans person in their life. And they’re running the country! We used to be the good guys – and now we’re painted as a bunch of freaks!”
“That must be very difficult,” sympathised Sylvester.
“You can think of it like this. It’s like two trains, both moving at different speeds but going in the same direction. One is going a little faster than the other, but if you’re standing on one, the other might only seem to be moving a little faster than the other, but they’re both moving at great speed.”
“Like the two Pride floats on highway one that time?” said Sylvester.
“What?” I said thinking I’d lost him.
“You remember, when we were on Highway one, and we saw that float from First Bank, and we had to race it to get a better place in the Pride procession. Remember, I raced past them and cut them off before the slip road.”
I cringed at the memory.
“I remember the girls hanging on the back of the float as you screamed past, yes. Jenny is still having counselling over that.”
In my mind I saw Sylvester hunched over the steering wheel in the cab of the Kenworth Tractor, pulling on the horns and shouting for all the queens on the flat bed to hold on. As we raced past the other float, the driver flipping Sylvester the bird as we roared past, and taffeta, sequins and crowns flying everywhere as he pulled out and overtook the slower truck, and all just to get a better place in the Pride Parade.
“For the life of me I will never know how Alexa made the jump between the two vehicles,” I muttered. “And in those heels!”
“But we did get a better place in the Pride Parade,” said Sylvester.
“Well,” I replied, “Yes, it’s sort of like that. There’s a lot of moving parts, and at times like this it can be very confusing. And, I mean, we don’t all want to end up like Jenny, do we?”
“I suppose not,” agreed Sylvester.
But that is not the main reason I am writing to you today. Tonight I am going to an event called ‘Coronation’. This is a celebration put on by The Dogwood Monarchist Society, established in 1972 as a registered non-profit society to run the Imperial Court of Vancouver to support the LGBTQIA+ community. The DMS was recognized as the Mother Court of Canada in 1976, and is now part of over 70 courts across Canada, the United States and Mexico. Since its inceptions, the DMS has raised over $2M for deserving LGBTQ charities, and continues to thrive as an organization and as leaders within the Vancouver community. This is not only a wonderful event, Lenni (our very own) and her wife, Crem, are major drivers of the event and the organisation. You may know Lenni from our ‘Lenni And Jules’ discussions – https://fionadobson.com/tag/lenni-and-jules/.
Now, and here’s the important part, in this changing world, if you want to support an organisation that gives to deserving LGBTQ charities you should consider even a small one off donation to the DMS. I know how much good their work does and can vouch for their integrity. Donate Here – https://www.paypal.com/donate/?hosted_button_id=3LZ29C5UQ795Q
I know Jules will be down there as well, and I expect they’ll be posting pics to our support group and Whatsapp Elite Group. I am sure some will end up on our Patreon page as well. It’s happening tonight and if you jump into the Whatsapp Group you’ll see content going up as it happens.
Anyway, I have to go now and get my hair done for the event. Have a lovely weekend!
I cut across the square and walked into the bar after work. I usually only come here at lunchtimes, the fish always being fresh and the salad light. I can come in here, have a quick lunch and be back at my desk within an hour easily.
In the evenings there’s a lot of people in from out of town, there being a large hotel next door. And there’s a fair crop of locals too. It’s quite busy after six. It’s surprising how crowded this lonely city can be when all the commuters go home.
I don’t think I’d seen this one before. Maybe I had but it didn’t matter anyway. It’s not like I go out looking for romance. But he looked interesting. He told me a name, and I just let him freestyle his way into my evening.
He bought me a few drinks, and started to get a little touchy feely. Well, it was ok. The bar was closing soon anyway.
I decided I’d walk home with him, his place wasn’t far from mine, and we’d part and he’d never know how different I am.
But that’s not quite how it went down. Sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it just gets more interesting.
We decided stopping at my place for a nightcap might be ok. Why not? He leaned close as I fumbled for my keys, his breath heavy against my cheek. By the time I found my keys he was running his hands inside my jacket searching for my breasts
I don’t know how long I slept. When I finally drifted back from that blissful sleep Annabel was beside me in the bed fast asleep, her hair tumbled over her gently rounded shoulders.
I watched her for a few minutes as the early light of dawn filtered in through the half drawn curtains. How perfect that shoulder was, the warm brown of her skin, the lift of her breast, half uncovered by the sheet. It seemed inconceivable that this could have been the shoulder once of a boy, or a man. No, I was looking at a woman, regardless of what incongruity may be below that perfect flowing waist and flat tummy. How meaningless the label of this or that was, when what I was witnessing was beauty.
Does beauty demand a label, I asked myself. Male, female, young or old? No, what was before me was beauty – regardless of categorization or analysis.
As the New Year kicks into gear I am pleased to see Ali getting to grips with my garden. As you know, Ali is my Syrian gardener, and a recent immigrant to Canada. He is a diligent worker and has thrown himself into the task of managing my garden in preparation for spring.
A university professor of botany in his home country, he has come to build a new life here in our country, along with his lovely wife and two delightful daughters. Here in Canada we welcome new friends from around the world, and embrace the chance to add to the deep culture of this diverse and remarkable country.
“We don’t have an equivalent of your ‘Santa Claus’,” he recently explained while we were working at preparing the greenhouse for this years plants.
“Besides, anything flying over our airspace at low altitude stands a good chance of being shot down. And… well, reindeer meat… I think he’s well advised to respect the no-fly zone.”
“Be that as it may, Ali,” I said. “I’m most concerned about Amanda and Marjory. All through winter I’ve barely seen them.”
“Fiona, they’ve been very busy. Amanda’s been there all week. And you know what they’re like,” replied Ali.
I don’t think Ali really approves of the nature of Amanda’s relationship with Marjory. Same sex partnerships are not exactly common place in Syria, on account of people not wanting to be stoned to death in the public square.
“All the noise and fuss they make,” said Ali. “It’s very disruptive.”
“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “You’ll get used to it. Besides, it must be nice to be in love.”
“They were making an Italian dish yesterday with the left over turkey,” he mused, while cleaning one of the planting beds in the greenhouse.
“That sounds lovely. One of the things I enjoy about home cooking is getting creative with all those meals using left overs. I had turkey curry yesterday, myself.”
“If I over heard it correctly, Amanda got her finger stuck in the pasta maker. It was quite disturbing,” said Ali.
“Oh,” I said surprised. “I thought Marjory made the pasta.”
“Yes,” replied Ali. “She does.”
But that’s not the main reason I am writing to you today, as we go into what I think we are all hoping is a more hopeful year than last. I understand many of us are finding it harder to dress during the lockdowns that we must inevitably endure. I also realise that this increases the stress for all of us, and I want to make a suggestion that I find has helped many of my members.
While it would be wonderful to be able to dress everyday, all day, many of my members are simply unable to do this. When it is impossible to dress, for whatever reason, there’s still the middle ground, of becoming more androgynous. This is a way to start shifting what you wear to something somewhat more feminine, though without being entirely crossdressed. If you get creative you’ll find ways to do this, and enjoy that middle ground in the gender spectrum.
It could be as simple as shifting the colors you wear. Pastel colors and moving away from hard contrast color patterns is somewhat more feminine and gentle. Equally, going for the lambswool sweater and softer fabrics is always more enjoyable.
For others it will be engaging a more feminine clothing style, without crossing the line. Nice jeans can bring out the shape of your legs, and if all you need to do is add heels to shift over the line, then you’re always just moments from being able to express yourself in a gently feminine manner. Sometimes the only difference between dressing straight or crossdressed is the presence of eye makeup.
It’s always important to remember though, the clothing is really only the aesthetic. How you feel and how you think will always be more important. Check out my Patreon for more ideas.
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.
As I think you know, I am a fairly modest individual. I don’t take any pleasure in blowing my own trumpet. I need hardly tell you that on mentioning that to Sylvester he trotted out some trite comment. He really can be quite coarse at times.
With the small amount of celebrity that I have garnered over the years there are naturally moments when I am recognised and photographed, when out in public. I don’t resent this. I accept that it comes with the territory of being a transgendered account executive at Canada’s seventeenth most awarded advertising company. Apparently, with great power comes great responsibility, to quote Maya Angelou.
It was during the Pride Parade in Vancouver recently that a flock of paparazzi recognized me and descended upon me flashes flashing and video videoing. I must say, in the centre of this light storm I found myself very lightheaded. Perhaps it was the hot weather, or maybe the noise of the parade, but quite suddenly I felt very feint. A moment later the world seemed to tilt on its axis and I was suddenly falling, falling, falling.
When I opened my eyes I found myself in an unfamiliar place. I was surrounded by mist, and there seemed to be no horizon. There was a soft white light, no walls and no floor. A gentle fog rolled about the place, a little like when Sylvester had that smoke machine in the car and couldn’t turn it off and we got pulled over by the police. Sorry, a story for another day.
From out of this monochromatic landscape a figure emerged with a long white beard and a scroll. Now, I know what you’re thinking. They always have a scroll, right? Why no Ipad? I know – I’ve asked the very same question.
Andy has requested that if you are feeling generous and would like to support an organisation, they’d like you to consider Mermaids UK, or Transrescue. Both do amazing work supporting trans kids in the UK, and helping trans people move to a safer country. You can find out more about them and donate here: https://mermaidsuk.org.uk/ – https://mermaidsuk.org.uk/?form=donate https://transrescue.org/ – https://transrescue.org/donations/donate
“You are never going to get all that in there,” I said to Sylvester.
“I squeezed it in before,” he replied, reaching down and pressing harder.
“You should try to sit on it,” I suggested helpfully.
Sylvester is one of those people who try to pack too many things into his ancient suitcase, and then expects it to close as though it’s half empty. It’s always this way. And I have to say it’s never the way it is in the movies. I mean, James Bond doesn’t go through the sort of trials and tribulations at checkout time that Sylvester does. He’ll be trying to close an overstuffed suitcase, and finally when he does he finds he’s zippered his tie into the thing and is walking around the hotel room trying to disentangle himself from 20 kilos (45 lbs) of suitcase. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad. Poor Sylvester.
“All you should do is gently tuck everything out of the way. Don’t over do it. It just doesn’t need to be so hard,” I told him.
“But I’m carrying the bare minimum,” he protested.
“I would hardly say that,” I replied.
I glanced down at the contents of the case.
“What are these,” I asked, holding up a large pair of oversized shorts. “Beagling shorts? Were you planning on going Beagling when in Brazil?” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beagling
“They’re comfortable,” replied Sylvester.
“I think the Capybara Protection League might have something to say about that,” I muttered.
Sylvester looked thoughtful for a moment and then asked, “Do you think people hunt Capybaras?”
“Well, I don’t really know how they taste,” I said.
“They’re a bit like beaver,” mused Sylvester and then said, “And people eat…”
“Shut up, Sylvester!” I snapped. You know he really can be quite coarse.
Actually, the capybaras are friendly lovely things. They’re quite big too. Like an over inflated guinea pig. Two hundred pounds of guinea pig.
I’ll be heading back to Vancouver shortly, and posting a lot more content. I have a sense that the Canada I return to is very different from the Canada I left. I am picking up a lot of anger about the situation in the US. I will write more later.
On to more serious issues: I have today read about a tragic murder of a trans man in the US. I urge all my members to be very careful in the current climate in the US. I would strongly suggest you get off dating sites until some of the tension dies down. If you have to meet someone unknown please be extra careful. That means making sure someone knows where you are, and that you will contact them after your meeting ends. Let whoever you are meeting know someone is expecting to see you after the meeting. And use your phone to share your location with a trusted friend. Be careful.
If you are on my Patreon you’ll know a lot more about what’s going on in the transgender world, and of what’s happening for me. I’d love to see you as a member. Join my Patreon here.
It’s still a wonderful world, it’s still the Gulf Of Mexico, and I am still transgender – regardless of anyone’s executive order.
This will seem a little self indulgent, but it’s something I feel I should share. I have observed an unusual shift in the way I feel about myself as I walk further down this transgender path.
At moments in which I’ve felt the disapproval of others I have chosen not antagonise anyone. I find rudeness is rarely a solution to anything, and if my appearance offends someone I generally choose to retreat a little.
I have contained myself a little and I fall into a more androgenous behaviour. I generally feel the desire to appease rather than confront. However, recently my perspective on the question of presentation has shifted a little.
Recently I was in a bar with a couple of friends enjoying a beer. I glanced across the bar room and noticed a trip of young men looking in my direction. I wouldn’t describe their attention as exactly hostile, but it certainly was ‘something’. But who can guess what is in someone else’s mind?
I found my immediate reaction was to look at my reflection in a nearby window. Were my forearms looking a little too masculine? Was I appearing a little too masculine?
Swiftly my thoughts shifted, though, and I found myself thinking I wanted to present in a more feminine manner. In other words I wanted to push the needle further to the feminine side of the gauge. I felt no desire to retreat into the androgynous space.
I’ve become aware that as I progress further in this transgender journey the desire has become to dress better rather than to dress in a less confrontational manner. And of course, the dressing is merely the aesthetic. An expression of who I am, rather than actually ‘who I am’.
It really comes down to my simple acceptance of myself. I am what I am.
I really don’t wish to force that on anyone. However, I am not responsible for others discomfort. They own that.
While I won’t intentionally antagonise others I do have a right to be myself.
And the three young men? Well, they certainly weren’t rude to me. Perhaps their attention wasn’t so malevolent, after all. Instead I chose to think that it was nice to be noticed.
A few moments later a drink arrived at our table courtesy of the young men across the room. It just goes to show, first impressions can be wrong.
I don’t really like to approach the bathroom issue. It seems so divisive for some people.
My mother always used to say that a guest may use any bathroom they wish – otherwise why invite them into your house? Sadly in some places this line of thinking seems just a little too adult for the simple minded. I’m thinking particularly of the Montana State Legislature.
In a display of outright bigotry and a childish attempt to embarrass a duly elected member of their Congress, a motion was introduced to ban Zooey Zyphyr from the female bathrooms in the building. You can see the attempt, and watch it fail, here – https://youtu.be/LTJJi4QrKCQ?si=P18xXcI3lzUgodBV.
Zooey is an elected member, simply doing her utmost to represent the members of her constituency. She is a fine trans woman and takes her public service seriously. Regrettably some members of her state body are too infantile to accept that they have a responsibility to work like responsible adults – but what can you do!
Meanwhile, here in Brazil, where I am currently traveling, I have found people not so much ‘tolerating’ of transgender people, but more calmly indifferent. It is, to use the common parlance – like, ‘whatever’. The idea that people are people is quite the norm. Why would anyone have an issue?
I am currently in Curatiba, home of the capibyra and beautiful art. I will do more on that a little later, however last night Sylvester and I treated ourselves to dinner at Hambergay, a gay restaurant. In fact it was so gay we were practically showered in glitter on arrival.
The food was lovely, I had the Barbie burger, and Sylvester chose the flamboyant Gaga burger, both of which came with rich toppings including edible glitter. In fact, the drinks (Margayritas) also had edible glitter in the ice cubes. Fabulous!
The restaurant is genuinely family friendly, a couple seated by us included their young children. Halfway through the cocktails I was provided with a pink feather boa, and led to their photo wall and photographed extensively. Perhaps, I thought, my fame had stretched even to here, but ‘no’, most guests get the same treatment. The staff are courteous, engaging and add a note of fun.
Now, Sylvester being Sylvester, had to make some vulgar comment about needing to use the bathroom, and disappeared into a pink mist that led the way to the facilities. After a suitable time he came rushing back, out of breath, and at first I thought he had done something self indulgent in there – as you know he can really be quite coarse.
But, no. He was excited to announce it was one of the most extraordinary bathrooms he had had the pleasure of… Well, using. I include some photos above.
I shall be contacting my people back in Canada and suggesting we adopt this very decor in our Parliament building. It seems very appropriate. Justin is usually quite attentive to such things when we chat.
This post first appeared on my Patreon. I’ve been traveling in Brazil and following some tech challenges could post only on my Patreon. If you’re not already a member on there, this might be a good time to join.
As I continue to travel here in Brazil I am falling into a routine of listening to the news as I shower and prepare for the day.
I wash and shave, even with HRT there’s still a little shadow there. I don’t really suffer from dysmorphia, but I really don’t like facial hair. It is something of a reminder of something I want to leave behind. So I shave thoroughly, as the BBC newscast goes on and I hear of further erosion of trans rights in the US.
In the mirror I see the reflection of my upper body. I see the curve of my breasts and I brush my hair, now long and lustrous after years of care.
On one breast I have the names of Nex Benedict and Brianna Ghey tattooed, memorializing two of the many trans people who have been tragically taken before their time. I honor them and say their names each morning.
I say a prayer for all my trans sisters as I ready myself for the day. That reflection reminds me that the sun will still come up, I am still transgender, and no executive order will change that fact. The Gulf of Mexico is still the Gulf of Mexico, and life does go on.
The actions of one insecure little man will not change any of this. It is still a wonderful world. Those who mistreat us define themselves through their cruelty.
“The National Park Service has removed references to transgender and queer people on its web page for the Stonewall National Monument, which marks the site of the New York City inn where LGBTQ rioters – including now-legendary transgender activists – galvanized a movement for LGBTQ rights.
On the NPS web page, the term “LGBTQ+” was also shortened to “LGB,” according to an archived version of the page.”
I can only interpret this as the modern equivalent of book burning. I hope no one is left in any doubt what this government now is.
When your government tries to erase a group of people from history it does not bode well for its future.
