Posts

Posted on

The Dating Game – Part 3 – By Mollie Blake.

A Singapore Sling

In the third part of Mollie’s story we continue to follow David, or ‘Diana’ and Lucy. Part 1 can be found here.

“You’ve got a free trip to Singapore? You lucky sod!”

David’s best friend, Lucy, had him chuckling into his phone. “Yeah, but hey! I have to work for it.”

“Work, my arse! You’re just gonna chat about your precious topic on some quantum physics shite, and then have a ball with whoever’ll fondle yours for you.”

“Fat chance of that with Singapore’s lack of LGBT rights. Anyway, I’m scheduled to give three lectures with Professor Amanda Lo. I’ll be flying home before I know it.”

David cast a quick glance at the sleek turquoise gown hanging on the back of the door. At the very least he planned on having an evening out, just for himself, with the chance to be who he wanted to be.

“You’re just jealous.” He laughed, relaxed now that he was almost ready to leave his apartment for five days. “I promise I’ll bring you something back.”

“It had better not be chlamydia.”

“Ha bloody ha.”

Continue reading “The Dating Game – Part 3 – By Mollie Blake.”

Posted on

Smart cars, and gardening.

First of all I’d like to say that I hope you are loving my programs. We have over 2500 gurls enjoying my helping hand… Wait, that sounds a little wrong. If you are not already in one of the programs you should sign up today.  Anyway, I thought I’d share what I’ve been getting up to this week.

With all this sunshine I’ve been spending a lot of time in the garden and at the beach. I do love to sail, and Bernard’s boat is finally in shape. It’s so good to live in a city in which the outdoor lifestyle I love is so accessible.

My gardener, Ali Ibrahim, pulled into my drive way in his Smart Car this Tuesday. He’s been doing some topiary in my garden. With him was Sylvester, my mechanic. Now, Sylvester is a very large man and seeing him struggle out of Ali’s tiny car was rather like watching a man get out of an overcoat that is three sizes too small for him.

“I had no idea you knew Ali,” I said to Sylvester.

“I don’t. He gave me a ride from the highway. My truck broke down, again! Very kind of your friend Mr. Ibrahim to pick me up.”

The irony of this was not lost on me.

tumblr_o7psnopCet1uxh3kao1_500Sylvester was speaking very slowly, so Ali would understand him. So slowly, actually, that one might assume he thought Ali had some extreme form of learning disability. Sylvester was, of course, unaware that Ali had been a professor in a university in Damascus until fleeing the country and finding his way to Canada.

“He just pulled over and offered me a lift, and it turned out we were both coming to your place.”

“How fortuitous,” I said. Sylvester was looking a little dubiously at Ali, who in turn was smiling happily, as is his nature.

Sylvester took me aside and looking a little worried said “he keeps saying he can’t get his whores in his car.”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s very small.”

“Car no good for hoes,” said Ali, catching my eye, and nodding and smiling happily.

“Yes, Ali. I’m sure,” I said smiling.

I turned to Sylvester and said, “Ali is struggling a little with his English, but I think he’s trying to tell you that he doesn’t like the smart car because he can’t put his rakes and hoes and spade in the back. He’s got his small tools for working in the garden, but his large tools get… stuck. But you’d know all about that.”

Sylvester sniggered and turned to Ali and said, “Hoes, eh? Well come by my shop in the morning, ok?”

Ali smiled his enormous smile and nodded enthusiastically.

When Ali showed up at my place the yesterday to continue his work on remodelling my bush he came with the most extraordinary collection of tools on the back of his Smart Car. Sylvester had given him a nice new gun rack, salvaged from a car that had been written off.

Ever the inventive soul, Ali had fitted it and now uses it to carry his hoes and rakes and larger tools. And we all like larger tools.

But that’s not the main reason I am writing. I am thrilled to say I have a few spaces available in our Whatsapp Group.  You can find all the details here, if you like chatting with other CDs.

Come on in and join the fun.

🙂

Fiona

Posted on

The Dating Game – Part 2 – By Mollie Blake.

In the second part of Mollie’s story we continue to follow David, or ‘Diana’ and Lucy. Part 1 can be found here.

Wax Lyrical

David ripped the last length of wax from his leg, wincing only slightly and pressing his hand against the newly smoothed skin to relieve the sting.

A broad smile smile stretched across his face as he remembered his first encounter with a spatula of wax and strip of tape.

000

David shot bolt upright on the makeshift massage table. “Fucking hell! That hurt!”

There was no compassion from the sadist already applying another strip of hot wax—was Lucy sure it had to be this hot?—to the next stretch of hair on his leg.

Waxing makes all the difference.

This was a bad idea. Why didn’t he just stick to the black leggings? They felt good on him, beneath the grey chiffon dress.

“Come on, don’t be a wuss. Are you gonna’ man up to be the woman of your dreams?”

“Argh!” Wince, wince. Maybe he’d just have one leg done today, the other next week?

But Lucy’s torture was relentless. “Keep still, or I’ll have to go over that bit again.”

David could hear the taunting in her voice. For a petite five foot nothing slip of a lass she was a formidable character. It would make her day to keep him here all afternoon, subjected to burning pain, followed by everlasting smarting.

Continue reading “The Dating Game – Part 2 – By Mollie Blake.”

Posted on

The Dating Game – Part 1 – by Mollie Blake

I am thrilled to introduce you to Mollie Blake, a wonderful writer from England’s west country. In this, her first piece for FionaDobson.com she’s going to lead you through a story telling the tantalizing crossdressing story of a date night to remember. You can find more of her stories at MollieBlake.com

The Dating Game – by Mollie Blake

Find all episodes of The Dating Game HERE.

“Professor Forbes, I’ve got a
er
Lucinda de Vilish on the phone for you.”

David glanced up to check his office door was closed. “Thanks, Edwina. Put her through.”

“Professor Forbes. This is Lucinda de Vilish.”

Before responding he waited for the “click” to make sure his inquisitive secretary had put her phone down. “Lucy. You’ve rung me at work! This had better be a matter of life or death.”

“Well, hi, David. How nice to hear from you! And it is a matter of life, and my future happiness.”

“So what’s that then?”

“I’ve set us up on a double date.”

“A double date?” The frown David had been wearing for most of the day so far, slowly morphed into a broad smile. He pressed his hand over the top of his dark grey trousers.

“Oh, come on! You know you want to. It’ll be fun. I met this guy and his friend in the bar last night. I said we’d see them tonight. At Don Antonio’s, your favourite Italian. You can pick me up at 7.30
and David, I’m relying on you. 7.30 okay?”

“What if I’ve got plans—”

The line had gone dead.

Who was he kidding anyway? Lucy knew he didn’t have plans. During semesters, the only thing he had going on was teaching a bunch of students about quantum technology. He focused on the report he had been writing with renewed zest—his day had just got better.

  Continue reading “The Dating Game – Part 1 – by Mollie Blake”

Posted on

It’s important to get one’s priorities right.

I had just disconnected from a Zoom meeting with a client who was looking at rebranding his chain of laundries when Ali, my Syrian gardener, arrived for his English lesson.  I have been concerned about his use of English and offered to help him as best I could. The Trimark Laundry Company would have to wait for their report about renaming their stores.

Have you read Julie’s story yet? The Sweet Stench Of Revenge.

As a busy advertising account executive I find I do have to prioritise my private life. If Mr. Skid of the Trimark Laundry Company expected to be prioritized over my own personal interests he was very much mistaken.

I spend a half hour each day helping Ali to advance his use of English.

“So you see, Ali,” I explained, “using capitalization properly can completely change the meaning of a sentence. For example, ‘I was helping my cousin Jack off his horse
”

At that very moment the door swung open and Bernard bustled into the kitchen.

“Goodness,” I said. “You gave me a start, Bernard. What on earth’s the matter?”

“I’ve got a leak,” he said hurriedly.

“Well, you know where the bathroom is,” I replied.

“No. It’s the boat.  I need to go and pump it out.  It seems to be taking on water.”

I should explain. Bernard keeps a small sloop in the mariner near Huckleberry Close.

“Well, can I help with anything? Biscuits perhaps?” I got up to put the kettle on.

“No. We have to get down there right away. I wondered if you and Ali could help out,” he said.

“Of course,” I replied reaching for my new London Look lipstick. I wouldn’t want to be caught out in a sinking boat without a nice shade, and went to find a nice pale pink sweater.

“It’s just that I need someone to help pump it out.”

I remembered the hours I’d spent onboard pumping my arm up and down seemingly for hours on a previous occasion. Anyone who’s been around boats will know this feeling. Up down, up down, and up down. And all to drain the scuppers.

“Oh, I’m sure I can help with that.”

“Can I come too,” piped up Ali.

“Of course,” said Bernard. “The more the merrier!”

What a fun morning we had.  And all because Bernard’s worm gear clamp had not been properly adjusted. I admit this does sound rather more like something in Mistress Meg’s realm than mine. Which brings you to the main reason I’m writing today. I put out a lovely story for my all my members this week – The Long Game.  And true to form Mistress Meg has released one of her great self hypnosis files. You can find Mistress Meg’s Denial self hypnosis here.  You’ll need to be a Seahorse member to access it and if you’ve not already done so you can do so here.

Now, I have to go and massage my bicep. All that pumping is quite exhausting.  However, at least Bernard’s boat is all shipshape now.

Have a lovely week.

😊

Fiona

Posted on

The Long Game. Part 2.

I said nothing, instead staring at my feet. She sat quietly on the bed, and motioned me to sit beside her. I did so, doubtful of her good intentions, but aware that this was surely better than the beating she could so easily have resorted to.

“Now, tell me the truth. Did you do it because it feels nice?”

I continued to look at my feet, but nodded silently. I couldn’t face her.

“Well, at least we have the truth, now.”

She put her arm around my shoulders. Her body was warm and soft, and she said softly, “Michael, you’re not the first young man to put on panties. It’s ok, you know.”

Continue reading “The Long Game. Part 2.”

Posted on

The Long Game. Part 1.

A young boy is caught crossdressing.

The long game.

My step sister would intentionally pose provocatively, knowing I was watching.

I was twelve years old when my step sister caught me.  I was in her room, returning her panties. She was older than me, a beautiful 19 and fully a woman. I stood in her room, guiltily holding her red silky panties.

Inside I could feel the tears welling up. I was confused, and had been taking her panties now and then, unsure why, but enjoying pulling them on and posing in front of the big mirror in my mother’s room, when the house was empty.

“I should tell your mommy, you know. It would break her heart, of course,” she said condescendingly. “You wouldn’t care about that though. Why would you care for other people’s feelings, if you think it’s ok to creep around taking their clothes.”

Continue reading “The Long Game. Part 1.”

Posted on

I was ‘outed’ to my kids by my stalker.

I would like to say it was a morning like any other. I would like to say I didn’t receive a string of texts from friends and family asking if what they were reading on line were true. I would like to say I wasn’t being outed by my stalker.

But we don’t always get what we want, do we?

Instead that morning, as I drove to work I made an awkward phone call to my son and asked, “So what are you seeing online?”

“Some weird guy says you’re a crossdresser. He say’s a load of stuff.”

I avoided sliding the car into the oncoming traffic and said, my voice a little strained, “And what did you say back?”

Continue reading “I was ‘outed’ to my kids by my stalker.”
Posted on

Clothes Maketh The Man – now free.

CLothes Maketh The Man

Yes, I know. It seems incredible. However, it is true. The iconic serial about poor Andy, a man who stumbles from disaster to crossdressing disaster, all the time under the tender gaze of Davina, is now available free.

I was just getting ready to go out this afternoon, when a very distraught Max came and pleaded with me. I had my favorite heels on, and Hannibal was staring at me looking forward to his walk.

“You can’t make it all free,” protested Max, who has been handling our site rebuild.

“But my members love Andrea, and Davina,” I said. “We can’t just take it offline.”

“I don’t think I can separate it out,” he said pouring over some code. “At least not in a way that’s going to be easy to work with.”

“Then we’ll give it to our members free,” I said, and applied a little more lipstick. I have a spectacular crimson shade on today.

Enjoy the very best in crossdressing stories. There’s a new episode of Clothes Maketh The Man out later this week. Maybe Andrea is going to get a lucky break. Or not. Be sure to enjoy it when I post it later this week, free.

Fiona

You can find all Clothes Maketh The Man episodes here.

Or just go to the first episode here.

Posted on

Max’s choice of last words.

The other morning I walked into my kitchen and immediately knew something was wrong. I should explain that my morning yoga is a sacred time for me, and I let nothing interrupt it. I’m only ready to start the day once I feel grounded and settled.

I usually follow my morning yoga with some tea, and a piece of toast, so I was surprised to find a deputation of some of my team waiting for me as I entered the kitchen.

“An odd choice of last words, Max,” said Mistress Meg.

Max, Katia and Mistress Meg fell silent as I entered. I glanced at them, and walked over to the kettle and put it on. To say the atmosphere was tense was an understatement.

“Well,” I said. “What are you all looking so worried about? Has someone died?”

Max, who was backed up against the wall looking a little scared, was the first to speak.

“Meg wants to hang me up by my
” he faltered.

Then Mistress Meg cut in, “I want to hang him by his wrists and have Stacy give him a damned good strapping.”

Katia just looked angry.

“What on earth’s going on,” I asked. “Max, tell me what’s the matter.”

Now, perhaps you remember that Max is my neighbour’s twenty year old son, and looks after much of the technology side of the work I do. There’s a surprising amount of work running the blog. He also manages my Patreon and a few other things, including entering Auntie Kittie’s content. He’s our tame techie.

“It’s Patreon,” he said and everyone fell silent.

“Oh yes. They recently named me as one of their top adult writing creators, didn’t they?”

“Yes, they’ve done very well from your Patrons. You’d think they
”

“Tell her what they’ve done, Max. Stop blabbering,” said Meg.

Max, who by now was close to tears, turned to Mistress Meg and said, “You’re not the boss of me! I’m just doing my best. You can’t tell me what to do!”

Mistress Meg picked up a breadknife, rubbed her thumb against the blade and then said menacingly, “Odd choice of last words, Max.”

“I think perhaps we should all calm down,” I said gently. “Now, Max let’s sit in my study and see what’s the matter.”

I took Max through to my study, usually my sanctuary away from others, and sat him down on the couch. His eyes were brimming over, and a tear ran down his cheek.

“It’s ok, Max. Just tell me what the trouble is.”

“We’ve been kicked off Patreon. They say our content is too adult.”

“What? Make up tips and hypnosis?” I said looking a little shocked. “Or was it that joke you said I should take out?”

“You mean the one about stuttering?”

“Yes, where I said that jokes about speech impediments were a big big ‘no no’?”

“No,” he replied. “I pulled that out before we posted that piece.  It’s more Mistress Meg and Katia’s content. They say it’s too adult and they don’t want it on their servers. But that’s not the worst of it.”

“Really? What else is there?”

“We have hundreds of members there. And they’re not going to be happy. And Mistress Meg and Katia depend on the revenue from there,” he said clearly upset. “I’ve let them down. And I think Mistress Meg might want to do something horrible to me.”

“Mistress Meg does horrible tings to people all the time. It’s sort of her thing,” I said softly. “I won’t let her do anything to you, don’t you worry. She just want’s to look after the Seahorses.”

“I didn’t mean to get us kicked. Really. I thought we were ok, but they’ve just clamped down.”

“Don’t worry, Max,” I said soothingly. “We’ll take care of Patreon. If we have to be off it then I’m sure our members will understand. We got along just fine without Patreon before, remember? We’ll just have to accommodate the members on the website.”

I thought about it for a moment and then said to Max, “Mistress Meg is just concerned because her writing is more edgy. She probably thinks it really her fault.  None of this is anyone’s fault. Patreon are just trying to be careful.”

Max looked a little awkward for a moment and then added, “Well, there’s more to it than that. I was thinking of saying we should get off it anyway.  Some people feel it’s a bit of a scam. You should see the review of it.”

“Well, if that’s the case then we should get off it anyway. They’ve done us a favor. I want the best for my members,” I said.

Max stared into he distance and then said, “I can build a membership system on the site. We can ask Patrons to switch over. That way you can chat to them when they visit the site, using that chat window you use some evenings.”

“I love chatting with them,” I said. “Now, I’d better go and calm down Meg and Katia. Don’t you worry about a thing. It’s not your fault.”

And with that I left and went out to the kitchen. It didn’t take long to calm down Meg and Katia.

“We’re just going to build a membership system on the blog instead,” I told them. “Besides that way we can service them much better. Patreon has never been that great. I know people can’t find half the content you write, because their navigation is so outdated.”

Katia cut in, “You’re right. Someone wrote to me the other day saying they couldn’t navigate properly in their app. Half the time it doesn’t work properly.”

“Now, let’s not be unkind to Max. He’s going to have our website updated in a few days with a bunch more content for our members and we’ll let everyone know exactly how to switch over to our website,” I said. “Besides, it gives us an opportunity to do more on the website itself, rather than someone else’s platform. We can do even more cool things for our members.”

And that’s why I’m writing to you today. This has given us the great opportunity to improve the way we serve up content. It’s also a heads up that Clothes Maketh The Man is soon going to be served entirely free. You probably know that the first 24 episodes are currently free, but that subsequent episodes have only been available on Patreon. Well, I’ll be making them freely available on FionaDobson.com in the next couple of days.

Now, if you’re a Patron you’ll need to subscribe to one of the services here to continue your membership – and I want you to know how very much I appreciate each of you that does so. And if you’d just like to support the work my little team and I do then you can simply join for $1 a month in my Good Gurls membership here. You know how very much I appreciate each and every one of my members, and over the years we’ve overcome hurdles like this plenty of times.

If you’d like to tell Patreon what you think of their decision to throw us off their platform, don’t let me stop you. You can email them here: platform-support+id1217903@patreon.zendesk.com – It won’t change their decision but it might remind them that they’re a bunch of homophobic self righteous dicks.

Don’t worry. This isn’t going to stop us delivering the very best crossdressing content, just as I always have. Now, I have to hide the cooking sherry. I can see Auntie Kittie coming up the drive, and if I don’t she’ll be here all night.

Have a lovely week.

😊

Fiona

Posted on

The Texas Chainsaw Manicure.

The Texas Chainsaw Manicure

I had the strangest experience this week on the way to work.  I was on my way into he office and stopped at my favorite sandwich maker to pick up a something light for lunch.

I love to wear a hat on sunny days like the ones we’ve been enjoying in Vancouver recently. As a result I had on my nice new black fedora. It’s a wide brimmed hat and really quite lovely. I’d done my morning yoga with Sebastian, and then enjoyed a warm shower. I had not managed to dry my hair, being in a rush to get to the office for a meeting. As I’d left the house I knew I had wet hair tumbling over my shoulders, and I put on my nice new black hat.

I was really quite pleased by the look of it, and with my black coat and white blouse I felt I looked rather sharp. The nice young man behind the counter at the store seemed quite happy to chat to me as he made my sandwich, and I felt quite coy, I must say. I think I was even playing with my hair a little, twisting it around my finger as I do when I’m a little nervous. It was therefore a surprise when, after he’d handed me my nicely made Reuben sandwich ( https://natashaskitchen.com/reuben-sandwich/ ), just as I was leaving the store the nice young man behind the counter gave me the sweetest of smiles, which I returned, and then he said “Shalom.”

You wouldn’t think I would be confused with a member of the Hasidic Jewish community.

It wasn’t until I was half way down the street, passing a synagogue, that I caught sight of my reflection and realised, my chatty young friend at the sandwich store must have mistaken me for someone in the Hasidic Jewish community. I was torn between rushing back to explain that I’m not of that particular spiritual persuasion and getting to my meeting. After a moment’s thought I decided I’d wait till next time I passed the sandwich place, and then I’d order some ham sandwiches. I’m sure he’ll work it out in the end.

In the office I loaded up on coffee, in my “You don’t have to be a crossdressing account executive to work here, but it helps!” coffee mug, and then went into my meeting. I was so pleased when after the meeting I got a call from Rainbow, who is visiting on leave from her job at the lighthouse – you may remember she got a job after a little mix up – and we decided to go to the nail salon together. I recommend this to all my members, and it’s also a great way to connect with a girl friend. What could be nicer than going out to get your nails done together. I decided to go to Rainbow’s usual nail salon, rather than my own, as she supports a business which has a policy of employing seniors. How very thoughtful, I thought.

Now, as you know I am most sensitive to the feelings of those around me.  I connect with people, you see. I suppose it’s just my own natural empathy. A gift.  How it was that I managed to find myself having my nails painted with the only nail tech I’ve ever met who I swear had Parkinson’s disease, I don’t know. Either that or they were suffering withdrawal symptoms from something. Maybe it’s the fumes from all those chemicals.

“They’re going to look lovely,” she croaked in a broad southern drawl as she shakily painted another toe.

So, tonight I am removing the nail polish from my toes. That lovely shade of scarlet looks more like a nasty accident involving a chainsaw and a particularly slippery hand grip. Of course, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. Anyway, if you’ve not painted your toes lately perhaps it’s time. Feel free to send me a pic to post on the site.

😊

Fiona

Posted on

Bernard put his foot in it.

As you know, I am a very sensitive person.  I like to think others come to me because of my gentle nature and empathy. For this very reason I was very concerned about a conversation I recently had with Ali, my gardener and Bernard, my photographer. Things are a little quiet at the advertising agency at present, so Bernard has been out getting his boat ready for the season. He does so love his sailing.

Ali and I were enjoying a very nice German Riesling in the garden, talking about plans I have for the arboretum, or scrub land as Sylvester rather ignorantly refers to the more unkempt  section at the bottom of my garden.

“The Germans really are talented wine makers,” I said as I surveyed the wild flowers.

“Indeed,” said Ali, in his heavily accented Syrian English. “This is a very ‘HĂ€nde hoch’.”

“Ali, I don’t think you can say that. We’re all on the same side now! Is it racist? I don’t know. Besides,” I added, “you drive a smart car. Isn’t that made by Mercedes?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s my English, you know,” mumbled Ali. I am concerned about his language skills, but I some times suspect he may be trying to pull the wool over my eyes.

At that very moment Bernard appeared at my Garden gate looking most concerned. I invited him in and sat him at the garden table and asked what on earth could be the matter.

“Well,” he started, looking very downcast, “I think I may have upset someone down at the sailing club.”

“How on earth did you do that,” I asked, eager to help, as ever.

“I was trying to be helpful,” said Bernard.  “It was the Commodore.  He was moving his boat, and I offered to lend him a hand.”

“Bernard, that sounds very kind of you,” I observed.

“You obviously don’t remember I introduced you to Andrew a couple of years ago at the year end dinner. You remember, he was the guy with only one arm,” replied Bernard awkwardly.

“Only one arm,” I said slowly. “Ah, yes. I remember now. And you offered to lend him a hand?”

“Yes. It just, sort of, came out,” he continued. “And things got a little chilly after that.”

Just because numbers are improving, it’s not yet time to stop wearing a mask.

“Are you sure he took offence,” I asked. “It might be that you’re imagining this. He’s probably just fine.”

At this point Ali chimed in, “You offered to help the fellow. Where’s the ‘arm in that?”

I fixed Ali with a cold stare.

“Ali, that’s not funny,” I said.

You can see the sort of dreadful thing I have to put up with. However, on a brighter note, I am thrilled to say my Premium Program for women is going very nicely. If you know anyone that would benefit from this great program, be sure to suggest they visit my Patreon and look for the $5 a month Package, which is especially for them.

Auntie Kittie has a great new diary entry today, so if you’re a member be sure to check it out.

Have a lovely weekend, stay safe and get a vaccine!

Fiona

PS – Yes. Be sure to get a vaccine. I said that. And I had mine about 10 days ago. It’s about the most satisfying prick that’s been in me in a while!

Check out my programs here. I have something for everyone.

Posted on

Things are warming up.

Auntie Kittie and her naughty nieces have been having an exciting spring. Get Aunties diary for just $1 a month.

I am happy to say that a few friends and I have been able to gather safely, and socially distanced, in my garden of late.  Seeing Sebastian, Sylvester and Bernard all sitting there, along with Marjory and Amanda was a very special treat after such a long time when gatherings have been a bad idea.  I am thrilled to say that we’ve finally all ben vaccinated.

Each of my friends brought an item they had prepared themselves. Sebastian whipped out his lovely sausage, which I am sure you know I just can’t get enough of! Just when I think I can’t take any more of it, he surprises me with more.

I was however a little disturbed as Sylvester leaned suggestively over toward Amanda and asked her if she’d like to try a cream horn. He really can be quite coarse, you know. It did remind me though, I did have to speak to Amanda confidentially, and make something of an apology.

This was a matter which by its very nature is unpleasant, however, when Amanda had asked me about a little problem she has I felt obliged to assist. Now, as you know, Amanda is not exactly my favorite person being my wife’s friend and former lover from university. Anyway, it seems Amanda has a problem with something politely described as ‘hyperhidrosis’. In plain English this translates through to ‘she sweats like a gross pig’, something not all together surprising as she is the editor of Pig and Pig Farmer Weekly.

Join me in the Premium Program for just $10 a month.

When she approached me confidentially to ask my advice, which as you are doubtless aware I offer without judgement or any desire to embarrass, I was happy to help the poor pig
 oops
 woman. Pointing out the fact that it may be a sign of more serious health issues, such as diabetes, infection or a thyroid issue, I suggested that the most likely cause was that she was a little out of shape and that she might think of getting more active.  Perhaps she should go out with Bernard in his sailboat, or spend more time on her bicycle than in her Prius. Or occasionally walk somewhere.

“But, Fiona,” she replied by text, during a brief exchange, “I feel so embarrassed about my sweating. If I exercise more people will see it. I have great lines of sweat on my tee shirt, and under my arms.”

I pushed the gross imagery from my mind and suggested “Perhaps an antiperspirant
”

The texts flowed to and fro with her asking for recommendations, and as it happened the advertising agency for whom I work do handle an account for a large manufacturer of healthy personal products, so I suggested their antiperspirant stick product, which I had couriered over to her directly. We’re particularly proud of our association with this company, having suggested some slight revisions to the previously ungainly shape of the product. It is now sportily shaped in an aerodynamic style.

“It’s easy to use,” I texted her. “Just remove top and push up bottom.”

Well, needless to say I did not mean her to take the instructions quite so literally. I suppose when people depend on texts it is somewhat easy to take them a little out of context. Needless to say Amanda was experiencing a degree of discomfort, and I felt I should offer my sympathy.

By the way you can read more of any character I mention by drilling down into the hotlinked references to them, if you feel so inclined. It’s a fun way to explore the strange world I navigate daily.

I’d like to suggest a very worthy charitable cause for my members today. I don’t do this often, as I know not everyone is able to help. Today however I think it important to raise awareness of many of our sisters in quite dire need in India. It’s not easy being trans at the best of times but during a pandemic things can be extremely difficult. Of course, we can’t help everyone on the planet, but helping those where the buck goes furthest is probably not a bad idea. Anyway, check out this campaign, and if it resonates I am sure your help will not be unappreciated.

Check out my programs here. I have something for everyone.

Have a lovely week and stay safe,

😊

Fiona

Posted on

The shock and the awe.

As I said to Sylvester today, I’ve been so busy recently, I’ve been getting a little behind!

All I can say is that a little knowledge is a very dangerous thing. It all started so innocently.

Now, as you likely know, Amanda (my wife’s appalling friend), is something of a thorn in my side. My dear wife is currently in isolation in Dubai, or Mumbai. Somewhere.

Ever since my dog, Hannibal, had an unfortunate run in with an adult toy in her house, Amanda has been going on about getting a dog.  It was therefore no great surprise when she called me to tell me she’d done so, but that she needed some help. Apparently she’d got herself a delightful little dog, a Chihuahua named Whisky.

Now, this shouldn’t be so hard to deal with. However, this particular dog was a real barker. Little Whiskey would bark whenever anyone came near the house and Amanda was extremely irritated by the incessant noise. She’d bought a shock collar to try and dissuade little Whisky from barking, but apparently there was something wrong with it. She called me to see if I could take a look at the device.

Naturally, I did what any sensible crossdressing advertising executive would do, and picked the thing up, and gave it to Sylvester – my mechanic – to see if he could fix it. I am a crossdressing advertising executive, not an engineer, after all.

Sylvester promptly strapped the device to one of his staff, and giving him a burst or two of the shock, it was evident that the batteries were flat. In no time he’d fitted new batteries and a small charge was transmitted to his workshop assistant. I thought it a rather unusual practice, but one that could be a breakthrough in personnel motivation. While a little controversial, it would doubtless result in greater productivity.

Sylvester laughed a little about this, and said he wanted to see if he could lift the output a bit, and we thought nothing more of it.  As I was passing his workshop the following day, I wandered in and picked it up, even though Sylvester was out the back of the workshop polishing his chopper, as he so often is.

That night I dropped the collar off with Amanda, and she fitted it to little Whisky. I remember thinking, as I slipped into a long silk evening gown that night, that I should probably have tested the collar before giving it back to Amanda. I didn’t really give it much more thought.

So it was that, this morning I pulled into her driveway, stepped out of the car and a tiny white bundle of chihuahua hair came bounding out of the house in my direction. Little Whisky started yapping, the way he often does, and then quite suddenly he stopped. He seemed to stand bolt upright, twitch twice in silence and then he keeled over at my feet.

I stared at the catatonic form of Whiskey, my mouth open in surprise. I could barely believe my eyes. Then, from an upstairs window, Amanda leaned out and said, “That device works wonderfully well.”

Whisky was at my feet twitching. Evidently Amanda had heard the yapping, and hit the remote zapper. Unaware that the poor dog was twitching, and convulsing at my feet. As far as Amanda was concerned, the barking had stopped, and therefore the shock collar worked perfectly.

“Yes,” I said, maneuvering myself between her line of sight and the poor dog. “I think it works quite, errr, thoroughly.”

As her head disappeared into the house I picked up little Whisky. In a state of both panic and sympathy I wondered how you give mouth to mouth resuscitation to a chihuahua. As quickly as he’d been put into a seizure Whisky seemed to come back to life, and started licking my hand. I took the opportunity to remove the collar and slipped it into my pocket.

Poor Whisky, rather like Bernard, who had been tazered last year, looked quite disturbed. He was however a little quieter.

Now, I have to hurry off to Sylvester and have him reconfigure this thing before Amanda electrocutes the poor thing permanently. Doubtless, no good deed goes unpunished! However, before I finish, I’d like to remind a few of you who love to buy their clothes online that I do have a few great suggestions, and Auntie Kittie has even made some suggestions for those of a more sissy nature. When you click through on those links you help me out a lot, even when you don’t end up buying.  At the foot of most of my posts I include a few suggestions.  Be sure to explore them, and of course I love to hear about it if you’ve bought something particularly satisfying.

By the way if you are ever interested in learning more about the characters mentioned in the World Of Fiona Dobson you will find that the names are often hotlinked in their first mention in a post. If you click on this you will pull up all the posts in which they are mentioned, which gives you an interesting way in which to explore my community.

Be sure to support me on Patreon if you’re enjoying what I’m doing.

😊

Fiona

Become a Patron!