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 ‘Hände 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.”
“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.
As the New Year kicks into gear I am pleased to see Ali getting to grips with my garden. As you know, Ali is my Syrian gardener, and a recent immigrant to Canada. He is a diligent worker and has thrown himself into the task of managing my garden.
A university professor of botany in his home country, he has come to build a new life here in our country, along with his lovely wife and two delightful daughters. Here in Canada we welcome new friends from around the world, and embrace the chance to add to the deep culture of this diverse and remarkable country.
“We don’t have an equivalent of your ‘Santa Claus’,” he recently explained while we were working at preparing the greenhouse for this years plants. “Besides, anything flying over our airspace at low altitude stands a good chance of being shot down. And… well, reindeer meat… I think he’s well advised to respect the no-fly zone.”
“Be that as it may, Ali,” I said. “I’m most concerned about Amanda and Marjory. All through the Christmas season I barely saw them. I know it’s been harder this Christmas with the whole Covid thing, but you’d think she’d say hello over the garden fence.
“Fiona, they’ve been very busy. Amanda’s been there all week. And you know what they’re like,” replied Ali.
I don’t think Ali really approves of the nature of Amanda’s relationship with Marjory. Same sex partnerships are not exactly common place in Syria, on account of people not wanting to be stoned to death in the public square.
“All the noise and fuss they make,” said Ali. “It’s very disruptive.”
“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “You’ll get used to it. Besides, it must be nice to be in love.”
“They were making an Italian dish yesterday with the left over turkey,” he mused, while cleaning one of the planting beds in the greenhouse.
“That sounds lovely. One of the things I enjoy about Christmas is getting creative with all those meals using turkey in the days that follow. I had turkey curry yesterday, myself.”
“If I over heard it correctly, Amanda got her finger stuck in the pasta maker. It was quite disturbing,” said Ali.
“Oh,” I said surprised. “I thought Marjory made the pasta.”
“Yes,” replied Ali. “She does.”
But that’s not the main reason I am writing to you today, as we go into what I think we are all hoping is a more hopeful year than last. I understand many of us are finding it harder to dress during the lockdowns that we must inevitably endure. I also realise that this increases the stress for all of us, and I want to make a suggestion that I find has helped many of my members.
While it would be wonderful to be able to dress everyday, all day, many of my members are simply unable to do this. When it is impossible to dress, for whatever reason, there’s still the middle ground, of becoming more androgynous. This is a way to start shifting what you wear to something somewhat more feminine, though without being entirely crossdressed. If you get creative you’ll find ways to do this, and enjoy that middle ground in the gender spectrum.
It could be as simple as shifting the colors you wear. Pastel colors and moving away from hard contrast color patterns is somewhat more feminine and gentle. Equally, going for the lambswool sweater and softer fabrics is always more enjoyable.
For others it will be engaging a more feminine clothing style, without crossing the line. Nice jeans can bring out the shape of your legs, and if all you need to do is add heels to shift over the line, then you’re always just moments from being able to crossdress. Sometimes the only difference between dressing straight or crossdressed is the presence of eye makeup.
Let’s make 2021 a wonderful year. Don’t let Covid get you down. This is where we learn patience – a good lesson for anyone who is trans. If you’re struggling and haven’t done so already, remember my Whatsapp Group is a great way to connect with others and see yourself through this challenging time. Alternatively, remember there’s a host of entertaining stories right here. Be sure to enjoy the video below.
My goodness, if you could see what’s going on outside my window. I can hardly believe is! I’m standing here in my Christmas lingerie, and my heels, and quite shocked at what I can see going on out there!
Ali, my gardner has just told me, “It’s ok, Fiona. It’s just Sylvester and Max jacking off in the flower beds.”
Now, I know you can imagine me standing here in my flowing red silk robe, mouth open in surprise. I am staring out at the snowy Montreal scene, and everybody seems to be having a wonderful time! Oh, perhaps you should even be here!
Let me explain. I’m watching Sylvester’s muscle bound arm pumping up and down and Max, my next door neighbours 20 year old son laughing – I think he’s licking his fingers – yes, he’s spilled some Bailey’s Irish Cream on his hand, or at least I think that’s what it is. And Ali is watching, engrossed in the unfolding scene.
They’re laughing and very jolly, Sylvester’s face red with exertion, and he has a look of deep concentration. Apparently, Ali’s Smart Car slid off the drive in the snow as he pulled into the icy driveway. It slid into the flower bed, and onto a rock in the rockery. Max and Sylvester were already at my place enjoying a Christmas eve drink, and now the three of them are working away to lift the little vehicle off the rock and manhandle it back onto the drive. What Christmas excitement!
I should hurry along! Amanda, the queen of tweed will be here soon, and Bernard is coming over. My wife, sadly is travelling. She’s a slave to her job! In the meantime, we are a fun gang, all hoping that Christmas will go with a bang!
I know Sebastian wants to show me his mince pies and sausage. He has been making so many delightful treats lately.
I hope you have a lovely Christmas! Have a wonderful holiday and remember, be careful if you are driving in the snow. Otherwise you too might find yourself licking Irish cream from your fingers after jacking off in someone’s garden!
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.
What a very stressful few days it’s been. Just today I had one of the neighbourhood boys over while my delightful niece, Nancy and I arranged some flowers in my house. I do find it so relaxing to put out a few nice flower arrangements.
The children in Huckleberry Close seem to gravitate to my house, and the large garden I’m lucky enough to have. Fiona’s delightful gardener, Ali, has been helping me and cutting some beautiful blooms for me to arrange in the house. The unfortunate challenge of being so available to the neighbourhood children is that from time to time the rather revolting neighbour, Donald comes and plays in my garden. I try to be kind and even handed, but it’s really not always easy. I think all the children think of me as their personal Auntie.
It’s hardly surprising really. They love to come over and are sure to sample my pie, or anything else I put out on the kitchen table. I like to provide a nice spread. Some of the young boys just can’t get enough of it. I should be flattered I suppose, that they have such hearty appetites.
“Auntie,” said young Donald this very afternoon. “What’s an erection?”
“Donald, that’s a very unusual question. Now, let me see. Your mother should really talk to you about this, but when a man and a woman… No, when two people… No, when a small group of people of undetermined genders or something between genders…”
“Auntie,” said little Nancy jumping in and coming to my rescue between placing holly sprigs in vases I’d put out on the table. “I think Donald means, ’What’s an election?’”
“Oh, I see,” I said with relief. “Really? You don’t know what that is? Ok, let’s see. How can I explain? It’s something we do now and then to get rid of people who aren’t running the country the way we like it. For example, by locking up all the little children. Or making promises they don’t keep, or are generally doing things that are douchy and not representative of our values.”
“What are values, Auntie Kittie?” asked Donald.
“Don’t worry, Donald,” I replied. “I’ll let you know if you ever get any. We usually elect people based on policies, Donald. So, for example in Canada we believe in religious freedoms, freedom of thought and belief, and freedom of expression. You believe in freedom of speech, don’t you, Donald?”
“Well, I guess,” agreed Donald reluctantly.
“Well shut up then,” I said firmly.
“Tell him about the polls, Auntie,” piped up Nancy, always keen to be of help.
“I don’t trust the Poles,” said Young Donald.
“Don’t be so racist,” I said and cuffed him around the ear, before sending him off to the bathroom. “Be a sensible boy and be sure to wash your little hands after.”
Donald has a lot to learn in the hygiene department.
Nancy turned to me and said, “I’m not sure Donald quite understands about democracy.”
“Oh,” I said gently. “I’m sure he’ll learn. And then probably be thrown in a cell where he belongs, before dying alone in disgrace. Under the circumstances I think that’s not a bad outcome.”
“What do you mean, Auntie?” asked Nancy.
“Well, five hundred years ago we would have stoned him to death, in the time honored fashion. Under the circumstances, if I were Donald I would consider myself lucky.”
Don’t worry, it’ll soon be over. Let’s just stay calm, and choose an extra special pair of panties with which to celebrate as the tide of change flushes out the U-bend of the last four years.
Well, what can I say. It’s not been an easy week. As many of us go into an election week, I know all of us are going to be feeling a certain degree of stress. Be assured I am here for you.
I always find it helpful to listen to the Fiona Dobson playlist on Youtube to dispel stress. It really does help put a smile on my face, even when I do read about something mind bogglingly moronic that the buffoon in the White House is up to. I believe it was Mayo Angelou, that great philosopher that said, “Mask up, asshole.” That, however, is not the main reason I’m writing to you.
Several of my members have written to me this week concerned about my good friend Rainbow, the yoga teacher, who has recently found herself out of work due to the problems we face associated with Covid. I selected one email at random, from Mildred, of Colorado Springs, that I felt I might share with you. Mildred suggested that perhaps Rainbow could make use of her talents as a vegetarian, helping others improve their diet. How very thoughtful, Mildred. I will pass the suggestion on to Rainbow. Vegetarian meals can indeed be an exquisite blend of flavors and are sure to excite the taste buds and satisfy the appetite, unless you’ve ever actually tasted meat.
Fortunately Sebastian, Sylvester, Ali and the rest of the crew are all managing ok. Amanda, my wife’s good friend, has moved in with my next door neighbor Marjory, with whom she is conducting a sordid lesbian relationship. She is working from home there, and I mentioned to Sylvester (who has designs on Amanda for some inexplicable reason), that I often saw her in the conservatory beavering away. He replied “Amanda is indeed elbow deep in,” and at this point he paused meaningfully, “…work.”
What times these are. Nonetheless, I felt I would write and tell you of a rather unusual incident that took place the other night. As you may be aware Canada is large. In fact it’s huge. Earlier this week I was driving across one of our seemingly endless prairies, late at night when I saw mysterious lights in the sky, approaching at high speed. At first I thought it might be our Prime Minister, my good friend Justin Trudeau in his private plane. He has the disturbing habit of flying very low over the prairies, smiling and waving at us as he goes by. You may have heard of him, he’s the head of state in the North America that can read.
However, it was not he. I should have remembered he’s usually tucked up in bed by 9 pm with a cup of hot milk. No, this was altogether too fast to be something of this world.
Now, I think I know what you’re thinking. “Oh, not again!” Yes, that’s right, you’ll remember I had an encounter with alien life forms a little over two years ago. And indeed once again this vessel drew level with my speeding Buick, and I felt the sensation of being lifted off the ground, as if by a giant alien hand.
Faster than you can say ‘anal probe’ I found myself in the hold of the enormous vessel. Two alien figures dressed in a silver grey fabric, some type of satin I imagine, walked out of what seemed to be a wall of light toward my car. I was a little disconcerted, as you might imagine. After all it’s not everyday that you are accosted by higher life forms. One of them tapped on the window, and as I looked at them I realised these were the very same two aliens I had met once before.
I put my mask on, and then lowered the window.
The closer of the two aliens leaned toward me and then said, “Excuse me madam, are you the owner of this vehicle?”
“You know I am. Remember, we’ve met before.”
“Just my little joke,” he said with a smile. His sense of humor had not improved in the two years since last we met.
The closer of the two aliens turned to the other and said, “I told you, we’ve seen this one before.”
They seemed to pause for a moment, consulted what looked like an Ipad, and then one shook his head in disappointment, before saying, “Well, let’s get on with it, otherwise we’ll never make the quota.”
Ever helpful I said, “Are you running out of people?”
The nearest alien nodded, and said. “It’s this Covid business. No one’s going out much these days.”
“Well, it’s not like you ask permission,” I said.
“No, but when we pick up someone off Davie Street in Vancouver, and they’ve had six pints of Alexander Keiths everyone just thinks they had a good night at The Junction. No one believes they’ve really been abducted. You know, plausible deniability and all that. But these days,” he shook his bald head, “not so many people are going out for the night. That’s why we have to hang out in the middle of nowhere.” At this point he turned to his friend and said, “I’m not even sure where we are!”
I sighed and said, “Covid.”
In agreement he nodded and sighed, “Covid.”
The senior alien, clearly impatient, then chimed in, “would you mind getting out of the car please?”
I stepped out of the car, and the two of them led me into a small examination room. Instead of the surgical table and lights that one expects in these circumstances, I was placed in a reclining chair and the first alien asked if I would be kind enough to read the letters on a lightbox directly in front of me.
“A, F, G, H,” I said and then asked, “is this it? I mean, you’re giving me an eye exam?”
“Please just read the letters,” said the one that appeared to be in charge.
“M, S, X, no, really is this it?”
The second alien cut in at this point and said, “They don’t let us use the probe any more. They said it’s not politically correct. Something about it not being ‘woke’, whatever that is.”
“Well,” I replied, “it’s not like you ask for consent, is it?”
“We didn’t get many complaints in this sector. At least not on Davie Street.”
“No,” I said. “You wouldn’t. You might get a few people disappointed that you didn’t at least leave your number after you’d finished.”
At this point the first alien smiled at me and said confidentially, “who said he didn’t,” and then winked.
Anyway, I felt I should share these events with you. Now, if you’re in the US be sure to get out and vote as soon as you can. If you don’t live in the US, let’s wish our friends’ the best for their election.
I’m so pleased to be able to write to you, in these troubled times it’s so good to be able talk to others just like myself. Perhaps you too get frustrated by the pace of modern life coming face to face the slowed down life we now lead due to Covid. Well, don’t worry, I’m here to help.
On the site there’s a host of content to help you get through the day, as well as some great hypnosis files that will help relax you. Just explore and you’ll find a ton of it.
Before I go on I should answer a query that’s come in from one of my members, Mildred from Colorado Springs. In reply to her I have to point out that Minsk is a coastal city in northern Russia and not how a Russian drag queen walks down the street. I’m glad to have cleared that confusion up.
I also want to remind all my Patreon Members that you get a great part of the Patreon site that few people are really aware of. There’s a community aspect here where you can post pics and even connect with other members. When you’re a member just go here – https://www.patreon.com/fionadobson/community to participate. It’s a lot of fun.
Life in Huckleberry Close is a little muted these days, as people reduce the number of people they’re seeing – reducing their ‘bubble’. Well, as inconvenient as it may be, I think we all understand that this is necessary. Personally I am using this time to get a little fishing in – socially distanced of course. I’m also enjoying reading a few more books than usual. It’s a chance to do some of the things I don’t usually get time to do. For the moment I just don’t really feel comfortable with the idea of going out to restaurants, or getting on a plane.
Sadly Rainbow, who teaches at a local yoga studio, has been laid off, like so many others in that type of work. She’s asked me to help her with her resume and to help her apply for a few jobs. I asked her what qualifications she had, and if she’d graduated.
“Of course,” she replied while sipping her home made kombucha in my kitchen with Ali, my gardener, and I. “I have an advanced degree in Enlightenment with a minor in Colonic Irrigation from the Healing Light Yoga And Ayevedic Academy. I’m really not used to being unemployed. It’s almost as if my spiritual GPS is not functioning.”
“Well, I’ll try to help, darling,” I told Rainbow, feeling a little doubtful that those were skills that are in particular demand at present. “Perhaps Sylvester knows someone. He’s quite well connected in Little Italy.”
“Oh yes, I know. That’s the area around Patel’s Pizzeria, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said helpfully. “He’s quite big in the business community there.”
Now, you’re probably wondering why that part of town is called Little Italy. You wouldn’t be the first to think it was because of the profusion of immigrants from years back. It’s got more to do with the fact that it changed sides three times during the second world war, though. A very confused part of town, you’ll agree.
Ali listened sympathetically to Rainbow describing her difficulties finding work.
“I sometimes feel like the goddess Kali has cursed me,” said Rainbow.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Ali sagely. “I mean, it’s not as if she’s going to chase you down the high street beating you with her many arms and laying about you with that nose, trunk, thing of hers. It’s not like she caught you drinking Coca-cola instead of your usual distilled water, after all.”
“I don’t think the goddess Kali would curse Rainbow for that,” I said to Ali, unsure if he was teasing her. I am most concerned that his English lessons sometimes miss the mark a little.
“You’re right Fiona,” agreed Ali. “Perhaps Sylvester has something for Rainbow in his workshop. After all he runs a very tight shipwreck.”
I look skeptically at Ali. It’s taken him time to settle into the ways of Canada which are a little different to those of his native Syria.
In these difficult times we are all making adjustments.
Now, I want to tell you all about some spectacular Mary Janes I have recently tried from Glamour Boutique, my favorite online store. First of all, the quality of these shoes is faultless. They fit my size 10 male, size twelve female, feet perfectly. When I recently stopped by The Junction in Vancouver’s Davie Street, the boys were all very complementary, with comments ranging from how elegant they looked, to how good they’d look beside my favorite server’s bed.
These are a patent leather shoe, with a four inch heel – I can best describe it as being a heel size that say’s you’re somewhat innocent, and yet at the same time accessible and possibly a filthy little crotch ferret, much like myself. The dainty strap is equally at home being undone hurriedly after a night out, or being released by a lover’s teeth in a frenzied moment of passion.
Have a good look through Glamour Boutique’s site and be sure to mention my name when you order them. They’re a great company, reliable and always on point with quality merchandise. You need never feel awkward contacting them, and discretion is their watchword.
Now, I must get back to work. Sebastian, my personal trainer, is coming to give me a workout soon. He tells me he’s got an exciting new exercise regime he wants me to get into. Or vice versa. Something like that.
My gardener, Ali is a Syrian refugee. He’s a lovely man, and he and his family are making a go of things in Canada, and doing exceptionally well. His girls are doing so well at school. When I recently asked him what he thought of‘Proud Boys’he said that while his home country was not very tolerant of their lifestyle, he personally felt that people’s lifestyle choices are their own affair.
Ali’s English is sometimes not quite what it might be. He’s been here a few years now, but he still sometimes struggles a little. He has become firm friends with Sylvester, my mechanic and confidante, and I commented on it recently saying how pleased I was that they get along so well.
He replied, “Ah, yes. Sylvester. He’s a very good person. We get along like a horse on fire.”
Which reminds me, I must chat with his English teacher. I believe Mistress Meg is acquainted with him – Professor Longstaff. If you follow my Patreon as a Seahorse you’ll have read about him.
“But Ali,” I said. “Surely you don’t agree with Mr. Trump, embracing the Proud Boys.”
He looked at me with some doubt in his careworn face.
“As I said, Mr. Trumps lifestyle choice is his own affair,” he replied. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
I sometimes struggle to understand if Ali is teasing me.
“But what about all this “Stand back and stand by” business?” I said pressing on in what I was beginning to feel was a pointless exercise.
“’Stand back and stand by’? I thought they said ‘stand back and bend over’!” said Ali.
I gave up and left him to continue raking up the fallen leaves. Don’t you just love the fall? You can find some fun fall clothing ideas on my Pinterest HERE.
Don’t forget to sign up for my Patreon and help me keep shoving it up the Proud Boys… I think you know what I mean.
We are fast approaching the end of summer. I’m preparing for fall and the long wet months of winter. To make my house a little more efficient Sylvester is helping me install some insulation in the loft.
With all these wildfires, don’t you think being a little more aware of the dangers of climate change is a good idea? I said this very thing to Sylvester just the other day.
“I think it’s important we all do our share to reduce our carbon foot prints,” I said to him while in the garden.
I noticed Ali checking the soles of his gardening boots, as I said that.
I continued, “The sooner I get felt up in the loft the better!”
My Pinterest boards are full of great ideas for crossdressers. One of my favorite boards is the fall fashion board below. Have a look and get some great ideas for the rusty reds and browns that come to us with every fall.
The long sultry days of summer are easing to a close, and the sun sliding from the sky a little earlier each day now. Here in Canada we’re experiencing a delightful Indian summer, as the last days of this season slowly ebb away.
This week I enjoyed a moonlight paddle in a kayak with one of our members who’s birthday fell on the night of the full moon. A small group of us paddled out in the night across English Bay, in Vancouver. It was a magical night. We sang The Volga Birthday Song ( https://youtu.be/1oXsRteMGy8 ) beneath the majesty of the BC coastal mountains as we drifted on the gentle swell of the inky black sea.
Perhaps it’s the easy going nature of people here, or maybe it’s the liberal nature of society that makes living in Canada so agreeable. Those of us in the gender queer space are generally well received, particularly on the west coast. So it’s really quite a downer to see Sylvester mooning about the place, and that’s not a sight for the feint of heart, let me tell you.
I was a little surprised to see Ali in my garden this morning, spying over the fence in Marjorie’s direction, looking through an enormous pair of binoculars. Now, you’ll remember Marjorie is Amanda’s lover.
It’s very cold at this time of year and much of the wildlife
of the garden retreats into the foliage where it’s warmer. Ali takes a keen
interest in such things.
I quietly crept up beside Ali and tried to see what he was
looking at so intently.
“What on earth are you looking at, Ali?” I asked quietly,
pulling my robe tightly around my body.
“It’s Marjorie’s pussy,” he whispered back.
A moment later Marjorie’s back door swung out and she came
striding across the garden towards us, her impressive physique sailing toward
us like a battle ship with sixteen inch guns primed and being brought to bare directly
“What on earth are you doing?” she asked, arms crossed across
her thinly veiled breasts and looking like thunder.
“I was watching your pussy,” said Ali.
Thinking I’d better diffuse the situation before the chill
air exposed any of us further I invited Marjorie in for a cup of tea, and Ali
joined us in the kitchen.
“I don’t much like being spied upon,” said Marjorie, as I poured
the tea. At that very moment Sylvester
arrived and joined us in the kitchen. He placed hi enormous mug on the table
beside our delicate tea cups, and smiled expectantly.
Ali piped up, “I’m not spying on you. I was just checking out your pussy.” I do
wonder about Ali’s language skills at times.
Sylvester smiled, and I shot him a glance hoping he’d get
the message to behave.
Ali continued, “it was about to get the thrush.”
Marjorie looked livid.
“I’ve noticed they’ve been getting into your bush in this
cool weather,” he added not helping himself very much.
I managed to calm Marjorie down, and assured her Ali meant
no disrespect. It’s so easy to offend when dealing with such sensitivities. I
suppose I have learned to be more careful in my language recently. Especially
with all the talk about pronouns we hear these days. I do find that the best
approach is to try and be as sensitive to others needs as possible. After all,
in the end we are all just trying to get along as nicely and with as much
kindness as possible. I do feel that is the approach that brings the best in
good taste to our friendships and our relationships.
Indeed, I was feeling rather pleased with myself as we all
enjoyed some Danish pastries and a lovely cup of tea and chatted. You’ll probably
appreciate that this is one of my great skills. Bringing calm where there was agitation
and disruption, before I arrived.
As I walked Marjorie to the back door when it was time to go
she smiled at me and squeezed my hand.
“I’m sorry if I’m over sensitive, Fiona,” she said.
“Oh, don’t be so silly,” I said. I added, “Besides, in
spring I can hardly wait to see your tits in the garden myself,” and closed the
door behind her.
I could not help noticing, whilst driving home from the advertising agency the other day, the names on the back of vehicles. The model names of vehicles are of interest to me, from both the branding perspective and what it tells me about the drivers.
A therapist member of mine recently pointed out to me that
several of their erectile dysfunction clients did indeed drive muscle cars, in
more than one instance a Hummer. Frankly I feel anyone driving a Hummer should
be on their knees begging forgiveness from their children as the pump heat into
an increasingly fragile environment. On the other hand, given the erectile dysfunction
issues associate with Hummer ownership theirs a good chance that having
children is one complication these thoughtless tools will not have to concern
Sylvester, on the other hand has shunned the muscles cars
and even removed the photo on his office wall of him posing with his Dodge
Penetrator 3000. I am pleased to see him mellowing. I do remember the day he
pulled up outside my house, on his phone calling me to tell me he was there.
“I’m just pulling into your garage,” he said. “No wait, I’m
reversing. Pulling in again… backing up,
and going in again now. Perhaps I should go in the laneway round the back. I
can get the back way, but it’s a bit tight.”
You know, I may have said this before, but Sylvester can be
quite coarse at times.
Personally I like to drive a Buick Vagina. It’s the limited Silhouette
edition. So much more my style. Both feminine and powerful, with the twin turbo
V6 with the cuddle seats option.
Vehicle names and designs do tell us a lot about their
drivers. I noticed a Kia Soul in the traffic as I was driving home, and I can
only speculate that some Korean designer sat down and thought hard about what a
car designed for Spongebob Squarepants might look like, and then took up the
challenge to build it. Ironically the driver of this particular vehicle did
look like a cartoon character.
Sebastian, my vegetarian personal trainer, drives a Kia Hymen when not riding his electric bicycle. His sister, Rainbow, drives a Nissan Slide with a synchromatic gearbox. Amanda drives a Prius, which is entirely predictable, while of course Ali, my gardener, drives the Smart Car with a rifle rack on the rear window, adapted to carry his gardening tools. He’s proud to declare he always shows up with his hoes.
One of my Vancouver members, Lenni, is originally from
Alaska, and proudly tells of her mother having driven a Ford LTD wagon. This vehicle,
with a 7.5 litre engine has the dubious distinction of being capable of hitting
a moose, killing it, and then being able to transport it back to the trailor
park for butchering. I can’t help thinking life in Alaska holds wonders I am
pleased not to have either witnessed or shared.
Instead I think I’ll go and get Sylvester to change the
fluids in my Buick Vagina.
As you likely know, I work for a well known advertising
agency in an active office in the delightful cosmopolitan city of Montreal. It
is often said that for each job in some industries, several other people are
supported. So, for example while a car plant may employ 4,000 people a further
6,000 jobs are created servicing the 4,000 people employed with things like transport,
employment services and catering. In much the same way, my work supports not
just myself, but also Sylvester my mechanic, Sebastian my personal trainer, Ali
my gardener, young Max who helps with technology on my blog and several other
assorted hangers on and peripheral individuals.
I was talking on this very subject with Bernard, my photographer, when we were out on agency business just the other day. Ali, who so lovingly tends my garden, spends more time there than I ever do. Instead, while he enjoys my delightful Champaign colored roses in my garden I am out driving with Bernard on a task for the advertising agency. And I’m paying Ali! It all seems rather obtuse. That said, I do love Ali, and his daughters are sweetness itself. They arrived in Canada just a couple of years ago, refugees from the war in Syria.
I’ve been having some dreadful trouble with my colon lately. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but ever since Max changed some of the settings on my computer keyboard I just keep getting a problem with it! I think he reset the layout to the French keyboard!
In the wonderful sunny weather we’re having I’m going to remind all my girls the importance of moisturising your skin. Using a nice aloe cream helps, and you can find them at any pharmacy or health food store. It keeps you looking fresh and really helps your skin.