We all get to swallow our own medicine.

“Swallow, Fiona!” said Sebastian, pushing me onward.

“But…” I protested, my mouth almost overflowing.

Rainbow, Sebastian’s sister, added, “Go on, Fiona. You’ve taken more than a couple of mouthfuls already.”

She gave me a knowing look and whispered, “I know you love it really!” Then she lay back on her yoga mat in my garden, the soft fragrance of lavender wafting over us.

I should explain, Rainbow and Sebastian are at my place this morning and brought some healthy kale and ginger smoothies with them. I know how good it is for me, so even though I may gag a little, I manage to force it down. I don’t mind Sebastian and Rainbow coming over for breakfast and we enjoy it in the comfort of my garden.

“It tastes very,” I searched for words, “…healthy.”

It tasted so healthy I wondered if I was going to throw up. It’s not the first time I’ve been exposed to this recipe. To be fair, one does feel wonderful when one stops drinking it.

Sebastian is a very diligent personal trainer. He and his sister come over to my place every two or three days for morning yoga, which helps me keep nice and trim and I feel glad of their presence. I get to dress in a beautiful leotard and tights as we do our yoga class and all the while Max (my next door neighbor’s young son) surreptitiously watches us through his binoculars from his bedroom window. I think he’s furthering his knowledge of human anatomy. He should be careful doing too much of that, he could go blind.

“You know,” said Sebastian, “your body is the sum total of all that you put into it. It’s best to choose things that are wholesome.”

I briefly thought back, remembering a long and and enjoyable youth, and smiled.

“See,” cut in Sebastian, “the thought has brought a smile back to your face.”

“No, you misunderstand,” I replied. “I was just thinking about a little encounter I had last fall. Very wholesome.”

Enjoy the beautiful song by Marvin Gaye. Be sure to let me know how you’re getting along.

Fiona

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The Apartment. A Halloween ghost story for crossdressers.

Going back to places in our past can stir up emotions, don’t you think? Perhaps it’s the same for you. Settle down and enjoy this story, as Jeff returns to his old apartment to find more than a few old cobwebs.

You can find more stories HERE.

🙂

Fiona

  • http://FionaDobson.com

Sylvester has entered me!

As summer gently shimmys toward the exit door, and fall gets in the queue to get into the club of the passing year, we’re slowly seeing the weather change. Even Auntie Kittie has started wearing a sweater now and then, a matter of considerable relief to Max, who types up her material.

Auntie Kittie is often surprised how quickly Max gets it up.

“Max is such a dear,” she said the other day. “I’m so grateful he’s so good at putting it in. He’s so thorough.” and then added as an after thought,”… and so quick.”

The poor 20 year old lamb goes the color of a beetroot when he’s embarrassed, and Auntie Kittie will say such things in front of Sylvester and Mistress Meg. And it was Sylvester and Meg who were sitting at my kitchen table this very morning. Sylvester was telling us how in these troubled times we should all be finding ways to lift our spirits. Instead of worrying about the Corona Virus we should be reaching deeply within ourselves and fostering our creativity. Meg was a little skeptical.

I’ve been doing that very thing myself. I’ve been doing a little embroidery, making some of my jeans look a little more feminine by adding a few little designs. It’s really very simple and gives even the most masculine of trousers a nice feminine touch. If you’d like to change your favorite dungarees from the farm yard, or even the ones you wear when cleaning out the slag from the iron foundry this will do just the trick. Even your most stylish denim pants can be personalised and uplifted – and we could all use a personalised uplifting of our denim clad butts, I’m sure you’ll agree.

I leaned over the kitchen table and turned to Sylvester and said, “What do you think of this?”

Sylvester looked at my jeans as I did so, and said, “That’s really very impressive.  I think I should enter you.”

“Sylvester, I…” but before I could speak he went on, as Meg looked on, arms folded and unimpressed.

“I should enter you in the embroidery competition. It’s part of the end of summer cultural fair at the recreation center.”

“Oh, really I don’t think so,” I said. “Most of the people entering are really rather older than I am. They’re quite a conservative lot. I’m really not sure what they’d make of me. I can imagine it would be like that poor South African athlete who they didn’t believe was a woman.”

Sexy jeans – just add heels.

Sylvester looked a little doubtful. “No, I don’t think it would be like that.”

Anyway that’s what I’m doing. Sylvester tells me he’s working on a book. The Complete Idiot’s Guide To Being A Complete Idiot. A catchy title.

“Are you writing it or reading it?” muttered Meg, ever the acerbic wit.

It turns out that half the people in this competition I’m now entered in are young arts students. I thought they’d all be doddery old buffers like Auntie Kittie’s father, who’s staying with her rather than going into a care home. These days that seems a rather good idea. The old fellow is about 150 years old and sits smiling looking into the far horizon. He seems a kindly old fellow, though the dementia is quite complete and he has little idea of what’s going on. He seems cheerful, though.

I said to Auntie Kittie, the other day when I was round there, “He looks like he’s fondly remembering the things he used to do when he was a young man.”

She frowned and agreed.

“Yes, you’re probably right. He’s remembering flying aeroplanes and bombing Germany. He’s always been a belligerent old bugger.”

I suppose we all have our own journeys.

Have a safe week.

Fiona

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I don’t know what came over me!

 

My photographer, Bernard, had a session with me this week. He’s a very nervous little man. So many times he gets so close, and his excitement overwhelms him. He starts getting so excited as he points his longest lens at me and says for me to relax, while he is just panting with anticipation. It’s a good job I like him so much.

“That’s it, darling,” he whimpers. “Keep it going.”

And I am working away so hard in front of him, which I have to say I love. Sessions in the studio are so much fun. I become a different gurl. Sometimes I just don’t know what comes over me!

Afterwards I have to slip back to the office, and the IT manager looks at me strangely. He said to one of the partners in the firm, “Some times I just just don’t know what gets into that one, I really don’t.”

I’d like to say how happy I am this week, as I’m getting into the office once a week. There’s really no need for me to be there more, as I love working from home, and I am able to cover my responsibilities easily this way.

Be sure to let me know how you are going.

Chat soon.

Fiona

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Part 66 of Clothes Maketh The Man is out!

– Find Part 1 here – Chapter list here –

On the way to dropping 30 and I at the rail station, my sister had reassured me that things at the company were ticking along just fine without me. The thought made me feel a little redundant. Yet, it wasn’t a point of any concern to me, as I had other things to think about. Things like embracing an entirely new gender and lifestyle, and a new personality.

“Besides,” Jennifer had said, “you don’t think Devina would leave you in the lurch, do you?”

The mention of that name made me shiver. I wondered, did she miss me?

Read Part 66 HERE.

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Look what the women who feminize their partners are up to!

Well, it’s been a lovely week already. Here in Canada we have just celebrated Thanksgiving.

Amanda, who hails from the Midwest and is the esteemed editor of Pig And Pig Farmer Weekly, recently asked Sylvester why we celebrate Thanksgiving at a different time to our dear friends to the south, in the US. Sylvester cryptically replied, “That’s one of those climate change things, Amanda,” which appeared to satisfy her.

I have to draw attention to a slight correction on the website, where some confusion arose among readers. As you know people ask my advice for all kinds of things. When Mildred, from Colorado Springs recently enquired about how to help her niece house train her new puppy, naturally I replied on the site with what I felt was very good advice.

“Pick the puppy up, and take it around the house, saying ‘no’ at each location, before carefully putting it down on a piece of old newspaper.”

A surprising number of readers thought I meant shoot it through the head. Well, it’s an understandable mistake.

To compensate I am offering those members who mentioned this a booklet I have prepared on how to remove animal blood stains from curtains and soft furnishings.

But that’s not the main reason I’m writing to you tonight. I thought I might mention to you a rather sweet gesture made by one of the ladies who are members of my feminization program for wives. You can find it here. What a thoughtful sweetheart she is.

Be sure to join my Patreon to show your support for my programs HERE.

🙂

Fiona

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A nice trick for our wives who love to feminize their partners.

So many of my female members love to dress their partners. Sandra, for example, tells me that after making up her husband, who has the femme name ‘Alexis’, she took a couple of headshots, she found a thoughtful way to surprise him.

She ordered a lovely ceramic cup with his headshot and the name ‘Alexis’ on it. Imagine his reaction when she gave him a nice cup of hot chocolate in the cup for the first time. Of course, Alexis loved it.

Here’s a link for you to do the same thing. https://amzn.to/3PTmdi8

You can find out more about my program for ladies here.

Join my Ladies Program now.

History has not always been kind to crossdressers.

I sometimes have the strangest of dreams. Just last night I woke up quite startled, something slipping into my head quite unexpectedly.

It’s not unusual for me to have the occasional nightmare. I’ve even had dreams of playing the role in an unusual depiction of the death of renowned medieval crossdresser, Joan of Arc. That one was very odd. It followed an evening where I’d been out and watched an ice skating spectacular, and I later dreamed I was playing the lead in a dramatic presentation of the story of Joan, performed on ice. Needless to say the story had something of a surprise ending.

Last nights dream may have been the result of my reading some of the history of Marie Antoinette. She is widely quoted as having said, “Let them eat cake,” when told of the peasants plight in revolutionary France.

It turns out that she never said that. Instead it was written some twenty years prior to the revolution by well known French cuck Jean-Jaques Rousseau. You can read about it here. The words were attributed to Marie, along with a lot of sexually deviant behaviour (most enjoyable) that never actually occurred. This was politically motivated and provided a suitable excuse to whip her head off, thus putting paid to the problem of crowned heads wandering about the place after their revolution, instead of ending up in the basket along with all the trouble makers the French revolutionaries wanted to be rid of. Some of the fat bastards taking flights to space should take note.

Perhaps reading about this before I slid into sleep primed me for the disturbing dream, from which I woke with a start. My dachshund, Hannibal, was curled up in his basket beside my bed sleeping soundly at the time. I had to get up and pull on a kimono and make restoring cup of tea before finally feeling calm and getting back to sleep again. I did however take time to note the dream, and so I will share the entry I made in my journal, a pink volume by my bed with a picture of a unicorn on the cover.

I hope you enjoy sweeter dreams.

It was a cold dawn, the early light glistening on the cobbles of the Paris streets. A somber crowd had gathered in the square, where a guillotine stood.

Through the wreaths of mist a cart, pulled by two broken down horses clattered to a halt. And there she was, her hands bound behind her back. This wasn’t a princess, but someone of meagre birth. She stood proudly, but was manhandled down some rickety steps and led to the sinister looking device in the center of the square. Her little dog, Sasha, followed loyal to the very end.

The crowd fell silent as the metallic rasp of the blade being raised reached their ears. All eyes were on the woman, as she was pushed into place, a hard wooden yoke closing about her neck.

She knelt with dignity, silence descending over the crowd in anticipation of what was to follow. Then the unmistakable sound of the blade descending and suddenly it was all over. Until someone said, “Fetch” and that was when the wheels really came off.

Goodnight.

Fiona.

Sylvester’s going to Amanda’s opening!

I was so shocked I nearly swallowed the glazed cherry in my appletini!

“I beg your pardon?” I said to Amanda.

“I said, ‘Sylvester’s coming to my opening,” she replied. I have to admit I was only half listening, keeping an eye on Auntie Kittie who was making another move toward the punch bowl. With so many guests in my living room I have to be ever vigilant. I refocused my attention on Amanda.

“Good God,” I murmured. “Does Marjory know?”

I should explain. Amanda and Marjory are indulging their most carnal desires with one another. Urgh. Regardless, now and then Amanda and Sylvester succumb to their insatiable lust. It’s all most distasteful.

Amanda was babbling on, “… and since my parts have been drying up lately…”

“For God’s sake, Amanda! Have you no shame?” I said.

Amanda sidled off to the bathroom, through the assembled herd of white privilege. As though materializing from thin air Marjory appeared. I swear she’s like a vampire., the way she comes and goes soundlessly.  

“Has she been trying to strong arm you into going to her play?” asked Marjory. “It’s opening on Saturday night and she’s trying to get anyone she can to go and see it.”

“Oh, that’s what she’s babbling on about. Are you going?” I asked Marjory. “I went to the last one.  No way! I’m not doing that again,” she replied, opening a bottle of beer with her bare hands

“I went to the last one.  No way! I’m not doing that again,” she replied, opening a bottle of beer with her bare hands.

I saw Amanda returning and turned back toward Marjory but she’d vanished leaving nothing but a feint smell of ozone.

“Ah, Amanda,” I said with a smile. “You were telling me about your parts.”

These evening soirees are very pleasant. I tend to have a small gathering once a month, and the mixed residents of Huckleberry Close seem to enjoy them. Now that fall is closing in and the evenings are a little cooler it makes a nice diversion.

But that’s not the main reason I’m writing. I thought I’d just mention to you a new feature I’ve included in the website.  As you likely know there’s some anti-Trans efforts emerging here and there. I was at a counter demonstration this very week in Vancouver, opposing some white supremacist nut jobs who were singling out trans rights and trying to persecute trans youth by lobbying to remove some of the many protections we enjoy here in Canada. Needless to say, they were met with vocal opposition. There were barely 150 of them and at least 1500 of us. It was great to connect with friends at the demonstration.

As you know, I generally try to keep politics out of the content here, however, with trans youth under threat I cannot avoid it entirely. As a result I’ve been including some other voices on the site. It’s a mixed bag of Featured Friends. If you’re curious just look for the tag Friends at the foot of some posts and you’ll find the likes of Contrapoints, Mia Mulder and Philosophy Tube among others. They provide some alternative views and voices. You can also use this link ( https://fionadobson.com/tag/friends/ ). There’s a broad range of trans content there. I hope you enjoy it, and I am always happy to see your feedback.

As ever, if you wish to support my work, be sure to join one of the programs here or on Patreon. I am currently trying to build up my Patreon, so joining there is particularly appreciated.

Have a wonderful week.

🙂

Fiona

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It isn’t easy being a crossdressing advertising account executive.

I think it fair to say that one of my favorite occupations after I run screaming from my office at the end of the week, is to relax and settle down for a quiet weekend on the water. This is the time when, after the gnashing of teeth and sobbing generally has subsided that I can put my feet up, watch one or two friends trying to look masculine and impressive, and lament the absence of my wife, still unaccountably travelling in Europe.

If there was a week that would drive one to a gnashing of teeth, and generally pulling one’s hair out in frustration, it was indeed the week that has just ended.  On the whole my clients at the advertising agency are a sweet and very receptive group of people. They accept my somewhat unusual approach to life, in exchange for some very sound advertising and marketing guidance for which I am grateful, as it does provide me with a satisfactory income. Having said that, I despair at some of the clients. 

We do have a number of ‘pro bono’ accounts, which is to say they are charities which we support by donating our time to them. One does hope, however, that they have some experience in the worlds of advertising and marketing.  When the Eczema Awareness Foundation recently came to us looking for some assistance raising awareness of that unfortunate condition, I hosted a roundtable discussion at the advertising agency, to encourage their creative ideas. I was surprised then, late last week, when they came back with the idea that they’d like to try a scratch card campaign. While these campaigns do indeed raise awareness and can be fun, a scratch card doesn’t seem an appropriate way to raise awareness of Eczema. These are the challenges I am forced to deal with.

And, of course, there’s the development company attempting to convince the small and ecologically perfect community on the coastline nearby, that they should be the location of an enormous Liquified Natural Gas refinery and port. Not realising that most of the people in this community are retired and living in a place of outstanding natural beauty,  their advertising campaign focused on their idea of bringing business to the small town. Our agency was called into to quell the negative publicity after the natural gas company plastered signs all over the small town, saying “LNG – This place is going to boom!”

Spending a lovely sunny afternoon wandering around the town tearing down posters with Sylvester, who came along for the ride, was not really the kind of thing I expected to be doing at this stage of my career, but I really don’t mind. Especially as we spent so much of the late afternoon and evening kayaking up the spectacular British Columbia shoreline after checking into an AirBnB.

For those of you who love Clothes Maketh The Man, I’m pleased to say that Part 66 will be coming out soon. You can always find the latest episode listed in the chapter index here – http://FionaDobson.com/cmtm

Now, Bernard tells me we’re in for a lovely day of sailing tomorrow. I think we can squeeze out a few more good sailing days this summer. Have a lovely week.

😊

Fiona