Just the other day I mislaid my keys, which is very unlike me. Sylvester happened to be round at my place, and as I explained, it was a great inconvenience.
He whipped out his tool, and before I knew it was grunting and gasping as he worked away, pumping to and fro as he hacksawed off the lock on my bicycle.
There are a great many members of my blog who love a chastity lifestyle. Imposing this is hard work of course, and yet Katia and Mistress Meg put themselves to this task with great skill. If this is something you’d like to explore you should certainly join my Patreon as a Seahorse. You can learn more about this very special area HERE.
Which brings me to this afternoon’s offering from my shopping list. Below is a delightful device, for those so inclined. Don’t loose your key!
My decision to go out and buy some panties was the result of wanting to experiment, nothing more. I’d found myself in what can best be described as a compromising position recently, when through a series of unfortunate events I had been photographed wearing some panties mistakenly put out by my sister. It’s kind of a long story, so to best understand it you should probably go here: https://fionadobson.com/clothes-maketh-the-man-part-1/
In the spirit of experimentation, I decided that I would try the experience voluntarily, and see if the process still came wrapped in feelings of embarrassment and shame. As I wandered into a large clothing store, I wondered, perhaps this process would purge me of the strange feelings I’d recently been experiencing.
I found the women’s underwear section quickly, looked along racks and rails of panties and quickly scanned the colors and sizes. I decided to keep it simple. Black. Size, I took a wild guess and thought XL. I quickly found a pair, little bit of lace trim, and picked them out to take to the checkout.
As I turned to walk towards the checkout I stopped. A little voice was telling me, wait! This isn’t the way to do it. This is how men buy clothes, slow down.
When I finally woke up I was in bed. At the time I had no memory of how I got there, but for the episode of being given some clothes in the living room and being overwhelmed with fatigue. Some men’s clothes, bought by Devina. Things came to me later, but we’ll get to that in time.
I remember thinking I’d had a drink and then got very tired. Maybe I’d just dozed off. It had been an exhausting few days. As I shifted beneath the sheets, though, I felt very strange.
I must say, I noticed that my legs were actually week. It was as though I had run a marathon. I could not imagine why, my final memory being sliding into a doze in the living room. I guessed Jenn had dragged me up the stairs and between the two of them they’d managed to manhandle me into the bed. It was most unusual. I put it down to the tiredness and the journey and the stress of the interview.
Then I remembered the business of the picture which Devina had posted. On the other hand, she had bought me some clothes, hadn’t she? My mind was very foggy. And my mouth tasted very strange.
Well, I thought what Sylvester was saying was that Hannibal, my dachshund had been interred. Wondering if this were some punishment for running wildly about the park, I assumed he meant he’d been taken by the bylaw officer. This is what you get for letting your friend walk your dog.
I’d have walked Hannibal myself, were it not for the fact that I need my legs waxed. Rainbow has been kind enough to come over to help, and after we’ve finished we’ll be enjoying an eggplant yoghurt facial she has concocted. As you can imagine I am using the term ‘enjoying’ advisedly. I’m sure you understand there’s a certain amount of scheduled maintenance has to happen to keep up appearances, as a crossdressing account executive at the advertising agency. Much as one would care for a beautiful object, or as Bernard, my photographer, put it rather unkindly a large public building.
Sylvester thinks Hannibal, who is extremely sweet particularly when he snarls at Amanda, is a chick magnet. Whenever he walks Hannibal young women who ought to know better come up to Sylvester and start fawning over him. I mean, Hannibal, not Sylvester. Fawning over Sylvester would be like fawning over a Caterpillar Tractor. As a result Sylvester enjoys walking Hannibal some days, usually after the local yummy mummies have dropped there screaming charges off at the Huckleberry Montessori Daycare Centre For Spoiled Brats.
He wanders around the park looking sombre and brooding like a poet or a man recently widowed who needs the loving embrace of a dissatisfied young mother. Preferably blonde, a former gymnast, and quite possibly with poor English skills.
“What do you mean, Sylvester,’ I said into the phone. “They can’t inter my dog!’
“No, he’s been ‘interred’. It’s a fancy way of saying he’s got very dirty.”
I paused. I think Sylvester has been spending too much time with Ali, my Syrian gardener.
“I don’t think that’s what that means,” I said. “If you mean he’s dirty I suggest you bring him back here and give him a good wash. And I don’t mean like last time.”
I could tell Sylvester was about to protest and quickly added, “Sylvester, throwing Hannibal’s ball through Mr. Singh’s car wash does not count as cleaning my dog. I’m still getting abusive phone calls from him from the last time.”
I hung up the phone and returned to the business at hand, Katia having recently arrived and was presently sitting with Rainbow and myself contemplating the yoghurt facial.
“Do you plan to eat it or fix the grouting with it?” she asked.
As you likely know, Katia Thornwood is what I can best be described as a disciplinarian, working with some of my Seahorse members. These are those special members who require that extra little helping hand in their dressing. Katia and Mistress Meg look after them and can be found on my Patreon. However, Katia was visiting my house to discuss some minor business matters and was looking forward to seeing Sylvester.
“He’s a very useful sort of chump,” observed Katia. “He leant me some of that very fine oil for a pair of nipple clamps I use on my visitors. I’ve been using them a while now, and I hardly hear a squeak out of them.”
“The clamps or the visitors,” I asked.
“Both,” she replied. “I have these rather frightening surgical shears I’d like him to oil. They’re most intimidating. They look perfect for castration.”
I winced a little and then said, “Well you can be sure your clients would speak highly of you after that.”
Katia sniggered and replied that they’re really just for show and insisted it’s good to maintain her tools.
As the taxi took me back to my sister Jenn’s house I occupied myself by thinking of ways I might extract suitable punishment from the degenerate and dangerous Devina. Not only had she seen me in panties, the result of a perfectly innocent situation, but she had photographed me and posted the picture on social media, which a prospective employer had then viewed.
This was beyond awful. This was catastrophic. Anyone might see such a picture, and copy it. It was likely beyond my control, even if the blasted women did take it down.
I remembered Steve’s message about needing me to help him run an account. After a quick call back it transpired he did indeed want me to set up an agency with him, that we’d be equal partners and why not make a go of it? I told him I liked the sound of the idea, but wanted to sleep on it.
It seemed a fairly good plan under the circumstances. I was, after all, in the rather unfortunate position of having absolutely nothing to loose, except for a reputation of moderate success – although if word of my (accidental) cross dressing got out, that too might evaporate swiftly.
‘Dammit,’ I thought. ‘I’m being outed and I wasn’t even ‘in’.’
I woke up the next morning in a state of mild panic, having slept right through my alarm. I was due for the interview at 11 am, and it was already 9.45. As I pulled on the beige pants I had borrowed from my sisters husband I couldn’t help thinking I was not dressing to character.
Beige socks, beige pants, and a plain white shirt. Maybe the staff at the advertising company I was going to would think I was such a power dresser that I’d chosen to play it down. I was clutching at straws, and I knew it.
As I grabbed my jacket I rushed down the stairs. My sister Jenn, and Devina were at the kitchen table eating toast chattering and laughing. They fell silent as I entered. I wanted to tell Devina that it was a mean trick she’d pulled last night taking a picture of me in those panties, but this was not the moment. I was more concerned about getting to the interview.
I looked outside to see if the taxi I had called had arrived. The street was empty, all the morning commuters having left this quiet suburban cul de sac.
“Dress for success,” said Devina. I noticed Jenn smirk. “Always a good strategy,” she said.
Jenn chimed in, “You’ll do fine! Don’t worry about it. You know you ‘re good at interviews.”
“I just don’t feel myself in these clothes!”
“I should hope you are not ‘feeling yourself’!” quipped Devina.
It was one of those crazy situations that you just never believe can happen. I was visiting my sister in San Francisco and arrived at the airport only to find my luggage was in Albuquerque – which was not part of the plan at all.
I’d flown out of Chicago just hours before having been called to come in and interview for a position with an advertising agency, and I was excited about the possibility of a great career move. I’d packed my best suit, a shirt and some shoes, and that was about it. I could be in and out of San Francisco in a coupe of days, and I’d stay over with Jennifer, my sister.
Jennifer is one of those people others look at and think is the perfect sister. However, behind closed doors she could be a little harsh, to say the very least. I think growing up I’d seen a mean streak no one else had been exposed to. Either way, I always knew there was something a little dark about her.
I wouldn’t say I am exactly ‘sensitive’ to these things, but there was definitely something about the way she would tease me as a child. You just never knew how far it would go. And there was always the possibility it would go to far.
I arrived late in the day, and with the interview at 11.30 the following morning I knew I would end up buying a new suit and a few bits and pieces. Jenn had picked me up at the airport and as we pulled into her drive she told me “Don’t worry about your clothes, there’s a mall five minutes away. We’ll get you some things in the morning.”
“Thanks, Jenn,” I said. “Maybe Dennis has a shirt I can borrow.”
Dennis was Jennifer’s husband. He was painfully boring and very intense. He was one of the few men I knew that was born with the sad affliction of having absolutely no sense of humor whatsoever. This did, however suit him very well, working for the IRS.
“Dennis is away this week,” said Jenn. “He’s doing some training in Los Angeles.”
“Oh,” I said. “I am sure he’ll find that very exciting.”
Jenn gave me one of her looks, knowing how much I disliked her husband.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll find his sister Devina to be fun. She’s staying over while he’s away. Just to keep me company.”
“That’s very thoughtful,” I replied. I’d never met Devina, though I’d heard of her a few times. She was generally though tot be the absolute opposite of Dennis. Any parents who would name their kids Dennis and Devina had to be a little odd. Mind you, they were named Deborah and Devon.
“I’ll put a few clothes out in the spare room, and you see if anything fits,” said Jenn as she stepped from the car.
To say Amelia is a voyeur is a little simplistic. Amelia is downright perverted, and that comes out in many ways, ranging from the delightful to the distasteful.
I hold none of this against her, however I am very much aware that when she arrives at my rooms dressed smartly, fresh from her office, and clutching a notebook in her hand I can be sure she’s going to ask me to do something complicated, not to mention enjoyable, to her long suffering husband.
There’s a wonderful thing that happens in the face of adversity. People really do come together. In the last week in southern BC we’ve needed a bit of that.
If you’ve followed the news you may have heard we’ve had some extreme weather. It’s called an atmospheric river and it’s a direct result of global warming. So, in case you had the idea that global warming would only affect third world countries, it may be time to revise that idea.
This is just one of many landslides cutting the main highway to the interior.
No one has any idea what the total cost will be, as we’re still in the early stages of recovery – and praying it doesn’t freeze up too soon. The figure I am hearing, and I can’t back it up, is that there’s been over $30 billion worth of damage. At present we’re under gasoline rationing, as the oil pipelines have been severed by the landslides that resulted from the massive rainfall. We need to ration gasoline so that emergency services have sufficient fuel.
It is quite heartening to see Auntie Kittie, Rainbow, Sebastian and Katia Thornwood all arriving at my house on their bicycles. People have come together to prevent things getting any more difficult. Rainbow is naturally concerned that they may start rationing kombucha, but has resisted the urge to start panic buying the stuff. I suggested she start making kale smoothies to distribute if the situation deteriorates. She’s out buying kale even as we speak.
Dozens of volunteers at Surrey’s Dukh Nivaran Sahib Gurdwara cooked more than 3000 meals for those stranded in Hope. They’re paying for private helicopters to deliver meals (roti, cooked carrots, fruit) Wed AM – and will try for more trips in the coming days @CityNewsVAN
So, you can imagine life in Huckleberry Close has been just a little disrupted. Sylvester has been driving his truck up to the nearest affected areas to help in the cleanup, and Ali has been helping prepare meals which are then ferried by helicopter up to people stuck in areas between landslides. The Sikh Nation has been distributing food to many people who have been cut off. They’ve done some wonderful work, all are volunteers. While Ali is not Sikh, people have all been pitching in together.
One way or another we’re all going to be ok. I did notice that Sylvester has been driving up to the landslides and delivering tools and supplies, and returning with christmas trees. Yes, that’s what I said. Apparently the trucks bringing christmas trees to Vancouver for all the malls was caught in the slides and we have, of all things, a christmas tree shortage. So, he’s been shipping them back a couple of dozen at a time from a small grower who is on this side of the slides. He tells me he’s distributing them to the hospitals and schools. It sounds like one of his capers to me.
As you may know, Bernard is a keen sailor. He has great wet weather gear, and kitted Ali out with a stunning set of bright red storm clothes. As Ali has been getting up to the remote sites, where it’s still raining and snow is beginning to fall, he’s been seen trudging through the weather, his big white beard and red suit very distinctive in the mess. Apparently one family thought he was father Christmas. Well, it’s an easy mistake to make, after all. Magic flying christian saint – Syrian refugee in Canada…
Yesterday was the Trans day of Remembrance, in which we remember the injustices against trans people. There’s no shortage of them, for sure, however most of us in this space are so used to injustice that it just becomes part of being trans. I’ve tried to stay above the fray on the whole Kyle Rittenhouse situation, however when people who are so exposed to discrimination see how society can be so openly lacking in justice it seems to leave little room for hope. The video below was one I found quite on point.
I would, however, say that we all have an innate sense of justice. These things sit above the law. They are the values that make us people of integrity. I know so many of my members have faced injustices of their own. And things like the Rittenhouse farce will come and they will go. Life has a way of ultimately delivering justice. We do have to move forward with our own sense of what is right, even when it is challenged. Sometimes we have to hold our silence and live the change we want to see in the world. So, for those many people who feel disappointed in this farce of a situation, it’s worth staying focused on being true to ourselves and moving forward. However messed up that judge, the jury and the sad sack of $hit Kyle Rittenhouse may be, we still move forward. We can still live our truth and hold our own values. Gradually things will get better.
To move things on to a lighter note, if you’ve not read The Sweet Stench Of Revenge, perhaps now is a good time. You see, there is a such a thing as justice.
I am always interested in the private lives of my
clients. While not wishing to be a part
of them, I am interested in the process of observing them. Understanding what makes them tick makes it
so much easier to help them.
I see myself as something of a therapist, albeit in an unusual
manner. As I was tightening a nipple clamp on Ian’s chest, I remarked that I am
here to help him, after all. A couple more turns, after the whimpering and the
wincing has subsided, when observed closely I can enjoy the process and help my
client simultaneously.
Dressed in a suspender belt, stockings, and heels I do
deliver considerable help – relief even – to my clients. I suppose at some
level that does make me a therapist.
“So, Ian,” I asked while adding a further turn to the clamp,
“why is it you’re looking so down in the mouth today?”
I received a lovely email today from one of our Premium Members, Helena. She had just completed the second of the Premium tasks, and was kind enough to provide the following report back. I thought I’d post it as she writes so very well, and also as an indication of how some of these tasks can help my gurls develop. Helena writes:
“
Hi Fiona,
I completed task #2!
I went to Walmart to buy 3 pair of panties and fishnet pantyhose.
When I arrived I started roaming near the lingerie section, I was very nervous so I had to make sure there weren’t many girls nearby, was trying to avoid any looks or something. But when I started browsing, hunting for the simple black ones, I realized you are totally right!
They are just minding their own business when shopping and didn’t even look at me, even the attendant woman was like, I just wanna get out of here, yawning even. So that relaxed me immediately, I just browsed everything in there, and picked 3 pairs, one simple and black, some lacy red ones, and a pinkish thong with black highlights.
I am a tall person so I went for XL and they fit nicely, maybe a bit snug, but I like how they look, then I continued over to the nylons and stockings section and had more trouble with sizing than anything else,
I stayed there some time wondering and the attendant came along and asked me if I needed help, as natural as I could I just told her I was having trouble with the length of the nylons and she suggested a pair of fishnet pantyhose, because even if I didn’t know my length they were flexible in that regard, more so than stockings which may be too short and unfixable, pantyhose would be more suitable, and fishnets do provide more stretch and resistance she said, so I just went with her suggestion and thanked her for it 😀
At home I tried them all on immediately and found them to be good choices. Thank you so much!
It was a good start, I feel much more confident now.
Whether you like to get into a dance class, or just like to do a little yoga at home, you can look wonderful at the bar or on the mat by slipping into something figure hugging and fun.
For those who want to wear their leotard in a slightly different way, it’s going to look great as a top, over jeans or just a light skirt. As a simple androgenous look there are many leotards that work perfectly, and as a feminine icon, it is of course, spectacular. FD.
“I would never have believed it would get this big!” I said to Sylvester.
“Look at this huge bulge!” he replied, his eyes wide.
“I had no idea it would be this big when I started working on it,” I said, still surprised.
We were examining in detail the growth figures for Clothes Maketh The Man, the serial which started this very website. The graph showed a massive explosion – almost a volcanic emission – the huge growth spurt we got in 2016 when Clothes Maketh The Man first appeared.
Since then over 75,000 members have enjoyed the series. And of course, a lot more has happened besides. We’ve done everything from helping Mildred from Colorado Spring understand that when it says ‘Push up bottom’ on the deodorant stick she’s been using for years it means depress the base of the packaging – it’s an easy mistake to make -, to voting Ashley Baron our crossdresser of the year. We’ve not had that competition for the last couple of years, so I guess Ashley is still our reigning Queen. Don’t forget we also have some great music in The Fiona Dobson Playlist that’s always sure to give you a lift.
Today I have posted Clothes Maketh The Man part 50. If you’ve not been reading this great series you can do so here. And don’t forget, your memberships keep this iconic series running, so if you’re not already a member be sure to join one of my programs here.
Just a reminder, if you are enjoying some of the emails you can click on the hotlinks within the email to drill deeper (phrasing) and penetrate the stories in more detail. And we all like deep penetration. You can of course also find a wealth of my content on Pinterest. https://www.pinterest.ca/fionadobson22
Some of you know that I love to hang out on the site some days and use our chat functionality to chat with members. If you see a chat window come up when visiting http://FionaDobson.com you’ll know it’s me on the other end. Feel free to join me there. I usually go on in the mornings for a little (Pacific time) and the evenings.
Now, I must get back to looking after life in Huckleberry Close. Some of you will know I am very much a caring soul. I will not use the word ‘healer’, but I do feel I have a special power. Anyway, Amanda my wife’s awful friend, has been having trouble with her pussy. I’ve said I will go over and lay my hands on it to transfer positive energy from Hannibal, my dachshund. I am good with animals. Between you and I, it’s probably diet. I don’t know what she’s been feeding that thing!
Have a lovely weekend,
😊
Fiona
PS – my musical selection this week is for all my closeted members.
I was remarking to Bernard, my photographer, recently that
there seems to be a curious link between crossdressing, divorce and death. We
were returning from a photoshoot for a client with a well known fashion
business, having photographed the new Spring Collection in anticipation of next
years marketing.
“I’ve never been divorced,” said Bernard. “Marriage is one
institution I have not had the pleasure of enjoying.”
I glanced at him as we moved slowly through the city
traffic. I tried to see if he was being sarcastic.
“Well, the term ‘enjoyed’ is not the first that springs to mind,”
I said.
“Is your wife back from her trip yet? Where was it, again?”
“Kalamazoo. Or Katmandu. One of those places.” I replied a
little testily. “There really are a remarkable number of my members who seem to
return to their love of crossdressing following divorce. I wonder why that is,” I said.
“Well,” said Bernard, “I suppose following divorce in middle age one is forced to re-evaluate things. You know, be a little introspective.”
When I arrived I started roaming near the lingerie section, I was very nervous so I had to make sure there weren’t many girls nearby, was trying to avoid any looks or something. But when I started browsing, hunting for the simple black ones, I realized you are totally right!
Whether you like to get into a dance class, or just like to do a little yoga at home, you can look wonderful at the bar or on the mat by slipping into something figure hugging and fun.
