Can you imagine, Sylvester, my resident Neanderthal, still has a home phone. Sebastian was curious about this, thinking it an upgrade to a cell phone, being chained to the wall so no one would steal it. I had to explain that this is what people had in their caves before cell phones.
In some ways Sylvester is a throwback to an earlier time. Perhaps this snippet of conversation will help you understand. We were chatting while I was moisturizing and pulling on some yoga pants in preparation of Sebastian coming over to do a yoga class with me this very morning.
“Look at this rain,” he said looking out of my bedroom window. “I want to go to Spain!”
“How lovely! Such a magical country,” I replied as I applied the coconut oil to my face.
“Where’s the best travel agent?” he asked.
“Do we still have those,” I said.
“There must be one somewhere,” he insisted.
“Perhaps you should look online,” I suggested. “I think there’s one in the main street though, just beside the dog groomers, which reminds me, I should get Hannibal’s toes done.”
“The place next to the Korean take away?” he chimed in.
“Yes, the other side of that new spa place. You know, the one with the fish that chew your feet. I don’t really get that whole thing myself, but apparently it’s good.”
“I know the place,” said Sylvester. “By the sushi restaurant.”
Conversations with Sylvester are never simple.
“Why particularly do you want to go to Spain,” I asked.
“Oh, they have this amazing event in Pamplona in July. They have all these bulls and they let them out in the street,” he said. “Lots of people take part.”
“I think I’ve heard of it,” I cut in.
“Yes, I’ve always wanted to participate in the catching of the bulls,” said Sylvester.
I thought I’d better end the conversation there. Sebastian was just arriving. I pulled on a loose fitting tee shirt and told Sylvester to run along while I let Sebastian stretch me.
As you may know I am transitioning more of my content onto Patreon. If you feel like supporting me as we move toward Christmas you can do so for as little as $1 a month by using ‘my back door’ on Patreon.
I was sitting with Sylvester in his workshop just the other morning, listening to how one of his customers had split his rim, when my dear friend Nikita happened to come into his auto shop. I have no idea what that is or how one does it, but I did my best to look interested as Sylvester worked on the wheel of a vehicle that had just come in.
“Nikita!” I said, excited to see her. “I barely recognised you without your horn in your hand!”
I should point out that Nikita is a talented musician. She began her transition some years ago and now enjoys life as the woman she is mean to be.
The reason I mention this is that, as someone who transitioned at 62, her story is one that I know many of my members will find of interest. Nikita has just released her new book and I include a link below and encourage my members to reach out for it.
In “Both Sides of the Great Divide,” Nikita Carter describes her awakening. How, at 60 years of age, a series of shattering experiences lead to her being “broken open” to the awareness that she is a trans woman, and that she must make changes in her life that reflect that truth.A musician, composer, educator, producer, the past Artistic Director of a music company, and founder and co-leader of a large ensemble orchestra. Today, Nikita emerges from a life filled with extraordinary experiences and people, as a strong, confident, loving advocate for the trans community, a “hybrid being, being hybrid.”
The helicopter raced over the flat landscape in a roar of sound and dust. As we moved fast and low I glanced at my traveling companion.
He was indeed handsome but as I studied him a little more closely I began to realize that those rugged good looks could equally be described as hardened. There was doubtless a curl to his lip that could be described as ‘callous’, beneath that coal black mustache. I took a moment to adjust and reframe him as kidnapper rather than rescuer. To have thought him a saviour, only to find he was just my next captor was to be lifted and given hope, and then to have it cruelly taken away.
Regardless I was no longer being fed like a dog nor chained to a wall in the hot Texas sun. My companion handed me a bottle of water from his pack. Things were looking up.
Trans Passions is an ongoing project where Jai Sallay-Carrington, a Canadian trans-non-binary ceramic artist, is sculpting transgender people as their passions in life. The intention is to showcase trans joy, as often trans bodies are only represented within the discourse of only being trans. While transitioning is an important aspect of being trans, the goal of this project is to show the passions and lives that trans people hold as being as unique and diverse as each person is.
Jules and Jai talk about a journey spanning genders and how the artist experiences and witnesses the process.
Sylvester came over for coffee this morning, looking a little downcast. I was quite concerned for millisecond or two. You know I have a very caring nature, I am sure.
As I poured the freshly brewed coffee into his ‘You don’t have to be mad to work here’ mug he spelled out the source of his troubles.
“It’s this yoga class,” he said. “I’ve been going to this studio for a year or so but recently I’ve started doing it remotely, and the studio does it on Zoom.”
“Oh,” I said. “That doesn’t sound very ‘yoga-like’.”
“Lot’s of places do it like that now,” he said.
“I see, so what’s the problem?”
“It’s Captain,” replied Sylvester.
Perhaps you remember Sylvester inherited a parrot, Captain, from a relative who passed away. She had been a school teacher and had owned the beautiful macaw for donkeys years. It had been a big hit at the girls school at which she taught, until someone taught the bird to start using some profane words. For some time now Sylvester has been doing his best to retrain the bird – https://fionadobson.com/you-wont-believe-what-came-across-my-desk/. To be quite honest, though, I think Sylvester is the one who has been trained. He certainly seems to have extended his vocabulary of swear words. This is unsurprising to me.
“I was doing my yoga practice and there were a dozen of us all signed in on Zoom, and the teacher, a friend of Rainbow’s, was there leading the class.”
“Yes, I think I understand,” I said.
“And there on my screen is everyone and the teacher in the centre on the bigger panel. It’s all very sophisticated,’ said Sylvester.
“It sounds like it,” I said humoring him.
“So there I am in cobra, sticking my chest out, when suddenly Captain starts up, squawking away, “Show us your tits, Show us your tits!”. And then, of course the Zoom focus shifts to me as it goes to the sound and I am right in the middle of the screen.”
“Oh,” I said. “That’s awkward. It’s a good job there were only 12 people online!”
“Yeah, except that it’s on the screens in the yoga studio. Apparently they had record attendance. Fifty students,” said Sylvester.
“I see,” I said thoughtfully. “Perhaps you should move him into another room when you’re doing yoga,” I said helpfully.
Sylvester looked at me rather coolly.
“I’ll try to remember that in future,” he said.
“Other than that, how is Captain?” I asked.
“Oh, he’s fine. After that incident I’ve had a few messages from people who want to meet him, oddly enough. My friend Daphanie suggested he should have an OnlyFans page,” he said.
With the cooler weather I have been trying to organise my social calendar more thoughtfully. I do, of course, enjoy the Curling Season. I like to support the local team. I keep an eye on the scores and regularly get them down for the team. It’s a very social sport.
Auntie Kittie keeps asking me to join her card playing friends, they’re always looking for new victims. She likes an evening of cards often wrapping up with having some blackjack or some stud poker. At least I think that’s how she explained it.
Personally I’ve never liked the idea of gambling with card games. I can see myself getting into awful trouble, loosing everything and being forced into some terrible circumstances and forced into poverty. I might have to resort to sex work, or worse still, journalism. Urgh.
I want to make a special shout out today to my friend Andy, who is in Warsaw and has been marking this week of Transgender Awareness week. You can find her channel here – https://www.youtube.com/@Andy_trans_education/videos Andy’s videos are very sincere and authentic. I think you will find them interesting and informative.
I am currently transitioning my programs to Patreon. You can follow me there for free, or join one of the tiers (from as little as $1 a month). You can find my Patreon here – http://Patreon.com/fionadobsonCD
My friend Andy has made this transgender day of awareness video. I think it very good. On this special day we must remember our sisters that didn’t make it. Please share this.
She writes:
Through Transgender Awareness Week, I have been requesting that if you are feeling generous and would like to support an organisation, I’d like you to consider Mermaids UK, or Transrescue. They 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
It was when I was cycling back from the advertising agency toward Huckleberry close thinking about the last meeting of the day that a rather odd thought crossed my mind. As you likely know, working in the advertising business I am consulted on a wide range of public relations matters by all sorts of organisations.
I found myself wondering how appropriate it was that the dental school at the medical faculty of the University of British Columbia should wish to celebrate the hundred year anniversary of their organisation by putting up a plaque. It just seemed strangely ironic. I can’t think why.
Being the first week of November it’s the start of the advertising agency awards dinners. I was excited to go out tonight, and sure enough when I arrived home I ran upstairs, had a quick shower and started dressing for the evening. It was then that I was disturbed by a terrific banging. Not what you think. Sylvester had arrived at the front door, and I hurried downstairs and let him in. I take him along to these things as my plus one. And this evening I was up for an award for my work on negotiation skills. Perhaps you are familiar with my groundbreaking work on ‘Getting to No’ or ‘The Crossdresser’s Workplace Phrase Book‘.
Sylvester came upstairs to the bathroom and watched me doing my make up and caught me up on the local gossip. You know, he comes into the bathroom and plants himself on the toilet, and chatters away like a very large budgerigar. Thankfully he was not putting the toilet to use, but merely using it as a place to sit. Regardless, it is a little disturbing being watched by a man on the bog as I do my make up.
“..and that Marcus down the road, the one that works out in the park every morning. He was in my shop the other day, it turns out he’s coming out as gay,” said Sylvester. “He said life had sort of crept up on him from behind and leapt on him. He feels he can’t go through life hiding behind a mask.”
I carefully applied a little contouring to my face and then started working on my eye shadow. I do like Mac make up, and they do a lot for the community.
“Oh,” I said as I studied my eyelids in the mirror, “I totally understand.”
I checked my lipstick color against my blouse. Perfect.
“Yes,” I said thoughtfully. “I always thought Marcus had something going on. I think it was those shiny gold boy shorts he wears when he works out. No, I couldn’t live life behind a mask,” I continued as I completed the final touches to my lip liner. “I feel it’s important to be absolutely authentic and to live one’s truth.”
I put a touch of shimmer dust on my cheekbones, straightened my hair and stepped into my heels, and grabbed a little Prada clutch bag.
“It’s too easy to become superficial if one simply submits to societal norms,” I said as we shut the front door and walked to Sylvester’s car.
“No,” said Sylvester opening the card door for me. “It’s better to be your true self,” he agreed.
For those feeling concerned about the election and needing to chat I would strongly suggest you join my free Whatsapp Support Group. You can find the sign up here – https://fionadobson.com/you-can-now-join-our-online-support-group-for-us-based-trans-people-for-free/ . We’ve got members from all over the US and a few Europeans too. All are welcome. Judging by what the former rapist is doing in terms of appointments, I think we may be in the support group mode for the long haul. One can really only find encouragement from the idea that most of the people he is appointing have a history of massive incompetence and not being able to work with anyone. The idiot Musk is a great example. Just because someone can run a business doesn’t mean they have remotely the skill set to run a government department. Let’s sit back and watch the carnage. I’m sure they will turn on one another soon enough, it’s all they’re good at.
All that said, I hope you have a wonderful week. This is transgender week of awareness. Please take a moment to give your thoughts to Nex Benedict and Brianna Ghey. They are just two lives among many cut short through ignorance and hatred. We must never forget. As we approach Transgender Day Of Remembrance please give them a moments thought or prayer. We must cherish all our sisters.
Fiona
PS. Enjoy the video below. I know I have posted it before, but Boggie is great.
As a member of my Premium Program you are very special to me, and other readers of my site. You are a member of the most exclusive feminization program online and you are accepting yourself as you truly are, and creating yourself as you desire.
You are likely already receiving tasks in your email every day or so. For some these are easy, and for others they take more effort.
You are able to log in ( https://fionadobson.com/login ) and make comments on the tasks you are completing. It’s very good to leave a comment about any of the tasks you complete, describing your experience of the process.
Just go to the task page and then scroll down to the comments section. Here’s a few examples – https://fionadobson.com/the-pr…
By making a comment you help others who will be doing the tasks in future. You set the standard. It also helps hold you to account. Mistress Meg is always telling me how important such things are.
Hi everyone! For those new here, my name’s Andy and I’m a transgender woman who has recently started coming out and transitioning. I’ve been sharing my story and experience here on YouTube as a way for me to share what’s on my mind, and to help me verbalise certain things and send them into the universe.
I have to be honest, the decision the American people have made to re-elect Trump has devastated me and so many other people. It’s hard to come to terms with this, and a lot of people are feeling so scared and anxious about the future.
I must admit that I feel somewhat powerless in the face of this rise of a much more right-wing, authoritarian (at best) way of thinking. It saddens and terrifies me that the people who have learned from history are the ones dedicated to repeating it.
I felt I needed to say something – anything – in the hope that it might touch and comfort some of you out there. I want you to know that I am here, even though perhaps a long way away, I feel you.
Looking to history as a blueprint for what we can do – what I can do – shows that there is such power in strenth in unity and community. I hope you can find your group and your people if you haven’t already done so.
As always, I’d love to hear about your experiences and your perspectives – I look forward to hearing from you all in the comments section below!
The people have spoken and have definitively elected Donald Trump as the 47th president of the United States. This was close, but it reflects the current divide in the United States. What can we learn from this election and what do we do now?
We talk about everything in the Whatsapp Group. Here’s one of my favorite members, Julia, with some rather extreme heels. Julia’s come on a long way since they joined.
I am very much aware of the distress of many of my members following the election. Many trans people are feeling vulnerable.
I have to say, I’ve seen this before. I remember when Maggie Thatcher was elected in the UK. We shared many of the same feelings people are experiencing today. And we survived, pressured the government and pushed the old witch out. We never give up.
If you are feeling concerned and exposed please use the sign up form below to join a system I am setting up. The idea of the support group is to put members of each US state in touch with one another. There is no cost associated with this. By signing up you will be joining this fledging project, and I will email you instructions to join.
Be aware that this is a work in progress. I feel we should get active swiftly though, hence this post. The people who will benefit from this group are trans people in the US of all ages, who are feeling concerned about their healthcare, their physical safety or about social pressures in their area. This is not going to be of interest to people who are purely in the scene for dating/fetish activities. Don’t worry boys, we have other activities for you at FIonaDobson.com 🙂
If you feel you’d benefit from connections to other trans people in your state be sure to join and look out for the emailed instructions.
Fiona
Support Group
Sign on for participation in the US Support Group.
There are stories which we choose not to share, for one reason or another. Perhaps it is related to shame or embarrassment. Or maybe we just hold them so dear, that in sharing them they would become devalued.
One of my visitors recently brought a rather unusual collection of note books with him when he came into my studio. He was an elderly man. I will not give many details as I do not wish to identify him in any way.
Wrapped in brown paper of the sort people used for parcels many years ago, these note books were dusty handwritten relics. I can well imagine them being tossed out with the trash when someone moved house, or recycled along with old copies of magazines when clearing out a loft or basement.
My visitor explained that they were among his mother’s personal papers in her house which he had inherited years earlier. For the purposes of this document we will name her ‘Valerie’. The papers had never really been sorted through as there was nothing of much importance there. Valerie had been well organised and secured all the financial documents with the family lawyer.
You will understand then that the contents of these papers were at first a mystery, then quite surprising — and ultimately quite shocking. The following is an edited version, mostly to protect the innocent, or not so innocent, and partly to keep the identity of my visitor confidential.
I would estimate the contents to have been written variously between about 1955 and 1973. I can only assume Valerie’s notebooks were written for her own satisfaction, or perhaps to one day share with someone completely unconnected with the events portrayed.
All that said, as you will doubtless see, the contents help explain her son’s unusual tastes in his personal entertainment. I should say that once he discerned the nature of the content he immediately stopped reading, having barely read the first few pages. At first he was unsure what to do with the material, even thinking of burning the precious documents. He said they made him profoundly uncomfortable.
My own interest was not so easily deflected. After studying the notebooks I decided on a rather different course. His particular interest was to be dressed and made to perform a number of humiliating tasks. Dressed as a young girl and forced to perform the duties (and personal services) suited to a young girl, he found a secret pleasure that surmounted anything else he had ever experienced. My assistant Stacy and I were always pleased to see him.
Over the coming weeks I would often have him perform certain tasks, culminating with him being made to stand in the corner, on pain of a firmly applied spanking, and then listen to stories read variously by myself or Stacy. The stories of course, were the contents of his mother’s note books.
Valerie had such a lovely expressive style. Really, it was a delight to read to my visitor. Watching him squirm, unable to ‘unhear’ his mothers lascivious words was a delightful form of mental torture, of the kind I find simply delightful.
So, having witnessed the profound affect these writings had on my visitor, I am now pleased to be able to share them with you. I should warn you this writing are what today we would describe as Not Safe For Work.
I hope you will forgive some of the editing. It’s been done to protect others, and wherever possible I’ve maintained the spirit of this extraordinary lady’s words.
I was talking to Sylvester this very morning. He said to me, “How is it that anyone who was alive in the eighties and nineties- people who listened to our music – could possibly vote for that stinking pile of orange crap?”
“I assume you are talking about Mr. Trump,” I said. “And I’ll thank you not to use that language in my kitchen.”
“Really, though!” He said. “How can this election be this close? People who lived through Boy George, The Thompson Twins and David Bowie… How can they betray the things we all believed in?”
“Sylvester, calm down,” I suggested. “In any given population you are going to get a certain number of people who are either misinformed, selfish or monumentally stupid. People who don’t understand how to use Google to check facts. They’re what we call in Canada, ‘Morons’. We will see exactly how many there are in the US in a few days.”
“You can usually tell them apart from normal people,” I continued. “They refuse to consider any opinion but their own, often buy into ideas that keep them at the bottom of the social pile, and are too uneducated to realise that what they think is commitment is actually ignorance. They fear women, they fear immigrants and they fear people who don’t subscribe to their brand of idiocy. They also often think that their gun is a solution.”
As you likely know Pig And Pig Farmer was one of the first publications to endorse Donald Trump in 2016. Even Amanda, who edits this venerable publication has refused to endorse the foul pile of orange crap this year.
She just can’t bring herself to vote for a person who sexually abuses women, pushing policies that will damage so many people, and only enrich the wealthy few. While Trans healthcare is not her foremost concern, as a mother she can’t in good conscience vote for a person who is denying so many women the right to autonomy over their body. She knows that if one of her daughters needs an abortion, she doesn’t want to have to argue the point with a politician or a law enforcement officer.
“Amanda,” I said as we chatted on the phone while I organised a few things in my office, “most of the things they blame on Biden are nothing to do with him. I assure you this isn’t the first time the middle east has had a war, and while they blame Biden for the immigration situation, I guarantee you that’s something that’s been developing over decades. They’ll take these issues and try and manipulate you into thinking they’re all the fault of the person in power. As for that Afghanistan mess, Trump created the whole thing by being an inexperienced and naïve commander in chief. The truth is, neither of them are great, but Trump comes with a whole fascist agenda – and that’s what our parents fought a war to overcome.”
I then had to ring off as I told her I had to assign a few jobs to the team her and hand jobs out in the board room. I really do think her hearing is going.
“Hand jobs out in the boardroom?” she replied.
“Don’t worry, Amanda,” I said. “Things will work out if everyone keeps their heads.”
Sebastian stopped by during the morning, too. As you know, his sister is named Rainbow. What you might not know is that she’s named after the Greenpeace ship, Rainbow Warrior. As you can imagine she was raised with values around the environment that are dear to my own heart. Here in beautiful British Columbia we live by the words, leave only footprints behind. To be fair, my footprints are usually with a very pronounced four inch heel – but looking after the environment is very dear to my heart. It’s a small thing, but I don’t want my children living on a burned out cinder of a planet. And talk of ‘drill baby, drill’ turns my stomach. If you can imagine a dinosaur looking up at the sky and saying, ‘Gee, isn’t that a great looking asteroid heading our way! Let’s try and get a closer look!’, then you can imagine the way I feel about pushing carbon fuels further than absolutely necessary.
Personally, it’s the trans persecution that is the hardest of many lines that have been crossed. I know of many trans people who are feeling frightened by the possibility of losing health care. If he gets in, that’s practically guaranteed to end. Any thought that RFK has any knowledge or understanding of modern healthcare is beyond comprehension. That Trump would give that antivaxxer any say in health matters defies understanding – yet no more so than injecting bleach to overcome Covid.
Only someone who fails to understand how tariffs work could ever suggest the idea of bringing in tariffs in a country that imports so many of its consumer goods. The tariffs will come straight out of American pockets and trigger one of the worst recessions the US has ever seen.
And let’s be honest here. He’s going to be dead long before his mess gets cleaned up. He’s an old crock who is making his last play before he dies a lonely failed little man. Most people stupid enough to vote for that will have to live with the results longer than he will. Unfortunately, if he gets in, so will the rest of the US. For those of us who are trans, the consequences will be far reaching. Fortunately, Canada will always provide a home to people persecuted in their home countries.
As for making America great again, if Trump is elected the US will become the laughing stock of the world. Except that if you’re trans, it’s not going to be very funny. Anyone voting for Trump is no friend of the Transgender movement, and they’re no friend of mine.
Many of us are worried. Of course, it’s a worrying time. However, we will get through this. I’m online much of the time over the next few days. Visit the website if you need to, and look for the chat system if you need to talk. I will make m yself as available as I can. We’re going to be ok.
Have a voting plan, take a friend and bring whatever you need in case you need to wait in line. Make it count.
After school I walked home, at first with my friend Tom Silver and his little sister, Jennifer. I left them at their house on the outskirts of the village and then continued on toward the light alone. This was quite usual.
I remember Mrs. Worsely seeing me coming up from the gate and hurrying up to meet me. I knew something was wrong immediately.
One rainy afternoon in spring I was walking home from school and something rather unusual happened. It wouldn’t be something that would stick in my mind, but for the fact that it was so out of place. In the rainy light, which flattened everything and was like a great grey curtain pulled across my view, I trudged my way up the muddy path.
My father had spent the morning mending the gate and replacing the rotten timber with some new beams. It swung closed behind me as I made my way up the road. The thin rain seemed to run down my neck and infiltrate my collar. East coast rain gets everywhere.
I can tell this story now, after all these years. Most of the family are long dead, and I’ve never been blessed with children of my own. What little family I have that are still alive are long estranged from me. The events I am going to relate took place sixty years ago, so I know you’ll appreciate that I am not breaking any confidences. However, to a young twelve year old the episode remains one I have struggled with for decades, but perhaps I am getting ahead of myself.
