The Dog Days Of Summer.

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.

Continue reading “The Dog Days Of Summer.”

We’re looking at Amanda’s crack!

I’m so sorry I’ve not been available much this week. I’ve just got back from a brief expedition with Bernard my photographer. He had me out in his boat this week. What a salty little sea dog he is, whipping out his equipment at the least expected moment. He likes to do a little wildlife photography on the water.

For those of you who read my messages regularly, you’ll know that my wife’s childhood friend Amanda, is something of an unfortunately regular visitor to my house in Huckleberry Close. My wife, who is regrettably travelling at present in Bulgaria, or Belgravia… or was it Bolivia, insists I treat Amanda with kindness.

“If you love me,” she said before leaving last time, “you’ll be nice to Amanda.”

I understand that doesn’t include pretending not to be home when Amanda visits, telling her the party is at an obscure address in Poughkeepsie, or creating fake profiles with her picture on Grinder. So, I have to watch my step. All that said, when I arrived home the other day only to put down my bags and hear a knocking on the door I was surprised to see a very upset Amanda on the doorstep, swathed in her usual tweed.

Seeing she was clearly upset I invited her in.

“What on earth is the matter, darling,” I asked as I poured her a large glass of wine, and an appletini for myself.

For those of you who wish to learn more about the various people in my life, just drill down using the hotlinks in these emails. I usually put a link to all the tags mentioning them early in the email, so it’s not hard to learn more about any given person. Amanda appears a great deal, as does Sylvester and Sebastian. You’ll find it’s quite a rich world of personalities and situations.

Amanda, as you possibly know, is the editor of Pig and Pig Farmer. This pillar of the journalistic establishment has been described as the fourteenth most influential publication in the sphere of Pig and Pork production monthly periodicals. As you can imagine, this makes Amanda quite an influential voice in the world of pork.

“It’s work,” she said. “I just feel so… so… so overlooked.”

“Why on earth is that,” I asked.

“It’s these bloody men! They’ve passed me over once more. I was hoping to be made group editor this year. I just feel I have so much more to offer,” she said between sobs. “And now they made Jed Richardson group editor and he’s barely been with the company three years.”

“Don’t worry,” I said trying to hug her and keep socially distanced. To do so I’d have to be an orangutan, I suppose, but I tried to show some human kindness. I know what you’re thinking. I give too much of myself to others – I know. Well, it’s just who I am, I suppose.

“I know it must seem terribly unfair,” I said. “These things happen. Don’t worry. Perhaps he’ll have an unfortunate accident, or something. You never know when fate is going to play a hand.”

“But it’s such an insult, being passed over again. It’s like I’ve hit a glass ceiling,” she said between sobs, pushing her face between my breasts.

I have to say the estrogen regime has done a great deal to help me comforting those that lean on me. You just can’t beat breasts!

“The workplace is a very unfair place,” I said to Amanda. “If it doesn’t feel right, you should just tell them where to shove their job.”

“In this economy?” she replied. And she did have a point.

“I remember all the trouble Sylvester had years ago when he was looking for a career in healthcare,” I said. “He got fired from that centre where they do the long term care for people with leprosy.”

“He worked in a leper colony?” said Amanda perking up a little.

“Well, they don’t call it that now,” I replied. “It’s some sort of long term care facility. Anyway, he started a poker school for some of the patients and ended up getting fired over it. Apparently someone threw their hand in, and lost their head. It was all very distasteful. Anyway, you know what a sweetheart he is. Employers are usually completely insensitive and out of touch. You just have to learn to take their money and keep on smiling.”

Amanda looked at me doubtfully.

“I suppose I do get some good perks,” she replied. “The bacon, and stuff. And I get to go to Porkers every year.”

“Porkers?” I said.

“It’s the Pig farming convention,” she explained. I should add that there is an irony here. Amanda is currently in a relationship with our next door neighbor, Marjory, who is quite a big noise on the competitive eating scene. https://majorleagueeating.com/ She is apparently accomplished in the sausage category, which seems unusual, with her being a lesbian and everything. Anyway, there’s Amanda growing the stuff, and Marjory wolfing it down. I can’t help thinking there’s a joke somewhere in there about Amanda firming it up and Marjory swallowing… well, you get the idea.

“Look,” I said comforting Amanda. “You have to remember, there’s a lot of people down at that paper who look at you with admiration. They’ve watched you from behind their desks as you’ve climbed higher and higher, and eventually burst through that glass ceiling, in a shower of glass and workplace discrimination. I mean, come on! You’re the first women to edit Pig and Pig Farmer in the history of pig journalism. And all those other people are left below in a pile of glass, looking up at… at… your crack. The crack you left in the ceiling.”

Amanda’s shoulder’s heaved and she sobbed again.

“Really, Amanda,” I said. “You know it’s no measure of who you are. We all admire your crack. The way you’ve opened things up.”

I had the distinct feeling I wasn’t helping. At that moment Marjorie’s F150 pulled up next door and I heard her boots on the gravel path. I let out a sigh of relief and Amanda pulled away and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

“I’d better go,” she said. “I don’t want Marjory to see me like this.”

So, this week as we move further into a difficult time in the workplace for many of us, I’d like to take the opportunity to remind all my lovely friends that you are not defined by your work. It’s good to remind ourselves from time to time that our work is only a small part of who we are. We work to support our life, we don’t live to support our work.

Many of my friends can’t work dressed as they wish, or even being the person they really are. When one is fortunate enough to live as one desires life gets a whole lot better, but many of us don’t have that opportunity. If you’d like to explore this idea further you may want to read this – https://fionadobson.com/can-i-be-femme-behind-closed-doors-but-masculine-in-public/

I should say, I’ve been very fortunate. Having worked in the press, I can honestly say I’ve been fired by some of the finest papers in the world. To be honest, when I was in the press world that was practically a recommendation, and no one was considered very serious if they hadn’t been fired from one or two papers. I’ve even been hired back by a few, too. I think things are a lot different today, though not particularly better. Times change. For those of us who are gender fluid, keeping things in perspective is important. Workplace discrimination is a pretty serious and massively prevalent issue. We have to learn to laugh, and have patience. Being trans sure teaches us that. But we’re still here. And we aren’t going anywhere.

Have a lovely week, and don’t let Covid get you down. I must say, my good friend and Prime Minister of Canada, Justin was on the news today. Which reminds me, I think he’s still got my copy of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. He always leaves the pages of books I lend him with the corners turned down. I’ve given him no end of bookmarks, but what can you do!

😊

Fiona

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Continuing crossdressing adventures, and leotards!

Hi,

After a busy morning I returned to my house today to find my wife’s appalling friend Amanda waiting for me. Max had let her in, something I’d warned him about, but he seemed to have forgotten. I was a little irritated as I had a lot on, and had to get to a jazzercise class which would start shortly.

As I hurried in Max silently mouthed his apology.

“Hello, Amanda,” I said as I heard her beige trouser suit rustle in my direction and she appeared from the living room. “Have you been having fun on the newsdesk?”

“Why, what have you heard?” she replied nervously.

I couldn’t really imagine what fun one could have on the newsdesk of Pig And Pig Farmer Weekly, but didn’t waste too much time thinking about it.

“I wasn’t expecting you today,” I said. Had I known she’d be coming I would have been out.

“Well, I thought I’d stop by. Leo’s with me today,” she said, and glanced over her shoulder into the living room.

I should explain, and I’d like to do this with the sympathy and delicacy this subject deserves, that Leo is what we used to call ‘developmentally disadvantaged.’ He is a very sweet young man, but has never really progressed beyond the early stages of mental development. Now, I should point out that in Canada we have a very inclusive approach to those less fortunate than ourselves, and we embrace those less able than the rest of us. It’s a point on which we stand with great national pride. Not withstanding my recent unfortunate episode with a homeless person, I believe we measure ourselves as a nation by how we treat the less fortunate. To us, universal healthcare at no cost whatsoever, for example, is an absolute no brainer. Which, in it’s way makes what happened this afternoon even more difficult to relate.

I made my apologies to Amanda and said I had to hurry to get ready for my Jazzercise class, and had to change, and so hurried upstairs. I had washed and prepared a few things, and as I gathered them together and put them in my bag, I realised I’d left some clothes lying in the living room.

I called down to Max, who came upstairs.

“Max,” I said, “I seem to have left some things in the living room. Some tights and a leotard, they’re probably in the living room. Can you be a sweetheart and see if you can find them. I think they may be lying over the back of the chair by the window.

With that I changed out of my office clothes and into a light summer dress. I’d slip into my dancewear at the studio.

It was then that I heard a commotion from downstairs, and the slamming of the front door. From my bedroom window I saw Amanda hurry to her Prius, and help her brother Leo into the passenger seat. I couldn’t think what had caused such a commotion, and a moment later Max was politely knocking on my bedroom door.

I opened it and stepped out.

“What on earth was that all about?” I asked.

“I think I must have said something to upset Amanda… I don’t know what I did. She just erupted.”

“Max, calm down. I’m sure it’s nothing.  Just tell me what you said.”

Max followed me downstairs, and recounted his words.

“I just walked into the living room and said to Amanda that you were changing upstairs and I had come down to find a leotard that was lying around in the living room.”

“That’s all you said?”

“Yes,” he said looking hurt.

“Those were your exact words?” I pressed him.

For a moment he closed his eyes, and then in a moment of reflection he said, “No, wait a moment… I came through that door, and then I said “Is there a leotard lying around in here?”… And that’s when she took off in a huff!”

“Oh,” I replied.  “You don’t think she thought you were referring to her brother, do you? I mean, his name is Leo… and he is… well, you know.”

We looked at each other ashamed of ourselves. I felt pretty sure I had an awkward phone call ahead to make to Amanda.

But that’s not the main reason I’m writing to you today. I thought I’d drop you a line and tell you about some of the spectacular leotards that you can find on my website. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. That’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it? They’re versatile and fun, and as you’ll see can be worn either in a very femme way, or quite an androgynous manner. Check out the page on my site that tells you about them and you’ll find they’re fun and can make you look great.

Till next week.

😊

Fiona

If your mum comes in while you’re watching this, switch to porn whatever you do. It’s just easier to explain away!

Be careful who you let walk your dog.

I am very proud of my legs.  As Sebastian, my personal trainer has often commented, during our yoga practice, I am able to place my legs in some most unusual positions. As I was doing ‘downward dog’ the other morning I felt first a twinge and then one knee collapsed, and I was revisited by some damage incurred during an old skiing accident.

I am very happy with my general health, however in the fall, now and then, I get a twinge.  It passes within a week or so, and then I am back to tip top health, but this week I am very slow. I know you are wondering what all this has to do anything, but I felt I should confide in you, as what I am about to say might sound just a little odd.

Part of my morning fitness routine, usually following my morning swim with Sebastian – he really does enjoy giving me a morning work out – is to walk my dog, Hannibal. Now, some of you may remember Hannibal has had more than one run in with Amanda over the years. He once found a marital aid under her sofa and the resulting drama was traumatizing for myself and my poor little dachshund.

He subsequently saw Sebastian’s homeopath for PTSD for several weeks. Pet’s Traumatic Stress Disorder is not a widely recognized, at least not in the DSM, but if you were exposed to Amanda’s adult toy collection I guarantee you’d not be the same person after the experience.  A whole teamof therapists wouldn’t be enough, I assure you.

Continue reading “Be careful who you let walk your dog.”

Can you help fill my holes?

Watching the sun slowly rise over my rose bushes as I sipped my jasmine tea this morning I could almost have been in some tropical paradise. Ali, my gardener, his head bowed toward the east was in my garden on his knees, the dawn reflected by his white robe.

I glanced at the morning news, and swiftly found it depressing. Someone had been arrested for spying on a tech company and there were reports of any number of conspiracies. I really do get tired of these intrigues. I turned off the news and listened to some morning music instead. This really is the nicest part of the day, and I wasn’t going to have it ruined by scandals which I could do nothing about.

I do love my garden, but as I watched the light spread across the verdant greens and browns of fall foliage I noticed a disruption in the tranquility of the universe. My lawn, so lovingly maintained, was pock marked with the evidence of some burrowing creatures. The velvet green of my well manicured grass had evidently attracted an infestation. It was then that I realised that Ali was not praying but peering inquisitively into one of the invaders burrows.

He rose to his feet and then walked purposefully to my kitchen, where I sat enjoying my breakfast of croissants and English marmalade, dressed in a long pale green dressing gown, and creamy silk night dress, with a pink tie about the waist. I do so love the way the silk feels on my skin. It makes me shudder that once I constrained myself with horribly male cotton pyjamas with an image of spider man on blazened on the back. Still, I was eleven at the time.

“Good morning, Ali,” I said as he knocked on the kitchen door and then opened it. “Would you like some jasmine tea, it’s freshly brewed.”

Ali came in and I poured him some of the tea, and he looked at me earnestly.

“We have to act swiftly, madam,” said Ali.

“Well, I’m sure we do,” I said, wondering what on earth he was talking about.

“They’re taking over. Before long we’ll be over run,” he continued.

“Ali,” I said, still confused. “Have you been getting your news from Facebook again?”

“No madam,” he replied. “It’s the moles.”

“I heard something about it on the news,” I said.

“Really?” said Ali. “It must be worse than I thought,” he said, his gaze drawn to the garden. He then added, as an afterthought, “We need to stuff their holes.”

There was an awkward silence and then I said, “That seems a little extreme.”

Ali is a Syrian refugee and came to his new life in Canada a few years ago. Having walked halfway across Europe he and his lovely wife and two girls finally found a safe haven that welcomed them, here in Canada. I know he must have been through any number of traumas during his flight as the country fell into civil war. Still, the inhumane treatment of spies seemed a little harsh. It was then I noticed Ali looking at me rather quizzically.

“Oh, you mean the ‘moles’. In the garden…” I said, realising my mistake.

“Yes, madam. They’re getting in from Marjorie’s, next door.”

“Wine bottles,” he said as if that were all the explanation needed.

Sometimes I think Ali is just saying random words. I really should talk to his English teacher sometime.

“We push them in their holes,” he added.

“Oh, yes.” I said quite suddenly. “I think I saw a video of that once.”

“Yes, we block their holes with wine bottles, and they’ll soon leave,” said Ali.

“Then I suppose we’d better talk to Auntie Kittie.”

Auntie Kittie always has empty wine bottles about the place.  I get the distinct impression they don’t stay full for very long with her. But that’s not the main reason I’m writing to you this morning. I thought I’d make a point of dropping you a line and telling you that Auntie’s Kittie’s diary is as popular as ever and this week anyone who signs up for it (just $1.99 a month, or $12 for the year) will get free entry into our Whatsapp Group (usually $10 a month). I wouldn’t want you to miss out.

Have a lovely week, and let me know how you are doing.

😊

Fiona

You are my Valentine.

What a wonderful day to remember our lovers and our past lovers. On a lovely day like this such thoughts are top of mind.

I have always taken a keen interest in medical and biological research. For example, when in 2010 UCLA researchers announced that they had proof that Neanderthals mated with homo sapiens it came as no surprise to me. But then it wouldn’t. As anyone who has met Sylvester, my mechanic, would realise, the evidence has always been there right before our eyes. 

But that’s not the main reason I’m writing today. It’s Valentine’s Day, and the time we celebrate our relationships. Max, my neighbors son, attempted to deliver a Valentine card secretly, but was picked up on my security cameras. He has no idea I know it was from him. Poor boy is only a breath over twenty years old. I’ll probably have some fun with that.

Sadly my wife is travelling at present. However, although I may have to battle the sadness of solitude and isolation, I wouldn’t want my members to suffer. With this in mind you might be interested in checking out My Little Black Book. It’s a pretty cool system, in which you contact three people a day until you build up a network of crossdressing friends and admirers. Anyway, you can read all about it here. It’s one of the benefits in my Unicorn Tier on Patreon, though you can by it as a stand alone product for as little as $2.95 if you wish.

So, sign up for My Little Black Book today and you can be sure you’ll not die alone, as Sylvester put it. Quite a few members have formed long and meaningful relationships in My Little Black Book. If you’d like to connect with other crossdressers it’s a great way to do so.

Have a lovely Valentine’s Day.

😊

Fiona 

http://FionaDobson.com

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Do you ever feel like playing with yourself?

Hi,

Of all the busy bees in my life these days chief among them is my good friend and mechanic, Sylvester. I came into the living room just yesterday to find him on the floor with Sebastian, my personal trainer, saying “Colonel Mustard, in the library with a ten-inch dildo.”

“I beg your pardon,” I said a little shocked.

“Oh hello,” said Sylvester. “We’re playing Adult Clue (or Cludo if you are from The United Kingdom). It’s something I’ve adapted from the board game.”

Sylvester can be quite a disturbing individual, and he really can be quite coarse at times.

“Well,” I said, trying to be encouraging although I felt a little awkward, “I’m glad to see you’re not letting your God given talents go to waste, Sylvester.”

After a moment’s thought I added, “Perhaps you could think up some way to murder a new character – you could call her, oh, I don’t know… ‘Amanda’. Death by impaling, in the neighbors house, by the crossdresser.”

For those of you who don’t know, Amanda is my wife’s childhood friend, who has started a relationship with my next door neighbour, Marjory. This is a source of some annoyance, particularly as my wife is travelling at present.

I should tell you I enjoy competitive games enormously. I also play some role playing games. So many times I feel like I’m getting ahead and suddenly someone’s coming up behind me and a breathless struggle ensues. It’s all very exciting. Perhaps you know the feeling. Sometimes I get so excited, I just don’t know what comes over me! I guess it’s the cut and thrust – mostly the thrust – of putting oneself up against a fellow player.

I should also say that this week one of my friends who is a regular player got on a plane to work in New York for a couple of weeks, leaving me with no alternative but to play with myself.

That, however, is not the main reason I’m writing to you. I thought I’d write and tell you about the delightful Mollie Blake. She’s a talented writer who has recently had a piece featured on my website, and we’re expecting to see some interesting new episodes from soon. If you’ve not already read “The Dating Game“, this weekend is a great time to do so. 

I should also draw special attention to Katia Thornwood’s writing, which is mostly in my Seahorse level which has been growing into a favorite among my members. Slipping into bed, and putting Katia on to read as you fall asleep is one sure way to end the night on a high note.  Katia’s style is quite unique, and if you enjoy her rather strange view of the world.

For the many members who are asking about the Clothes Maketh The Man chapter list it can be found HERE. Well, you can see that the office here has been pretty busy bringing you the best of all things to do with Crossdressing. Have a wonderful week.

😊

Fiona

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Are you a ditz?

I do find it irritating in the extreme when Rainbow wanders in announcing that she’s ‘a complete ‘ditz’ when it comes to technology stuff’. Really, there’s no such word as ‘ditz’, and it’s not technology ‘stuff’!

“Look, you daft bat,” is what I should have said. But instead I said, “Look, if you want to get even more out of the website, all you have to do is register, and then log in. You can leave comments, connect with people, and do all sorts of things.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she said. “And I get one of those ‘Profiles’ that people can see?”

I let out a sigh and then explain “Yes, you get a profile. And of course you can put a picture up.”

I have to tell you that I love to read the comments on the posts. The one’s on My First Time are some of the best. I know that many members find that there is some very helpful content among them. If you click on the tags at the end of any of the posts you can drill down on the subject. It’s pretty clever.

I also feel that now, especially as Twitter is likely to be changing, providing my members with a place they can communicate and express their ideas seems more important than ever. If you’d like to participate be sure to:

  1. Register.
  2. Make a note of your login name and password.
  3. Log in regularly and participate by posting comments.

And now, I have to take care of Auntie Kittie, who is coming up the road clutching her latest diary entry, written in a pink notebook! God, you’d think she could learn to email it! And just to round things off, Amanda seems to be arriving next door, and heading this way.

She’s waving and saying something about having a german shepherd’s head buried in her crotch. I think she’s been walking down at the dog park. Or not.

Honestly. Is there no peace?

Back to the rain.

I am back from Mexico. If you want more details, I have three words for you; ‘Behind The Scenes’. Yes, you can learn the details if you’re a member of my ‘Behind the Scenes’ tier on Patreon.

So, with my freshly tanned shoulders wrapped up and standing beneath an umbrella held by Sylvester in one of his ham sized paws, you find me standing beside something that’s appeared in my back garden.

“But what is it,” I said to Ali, my gardener.

“Your Christmas present, and it’s beautiful,” he replied. “It’s a sundial. My people have been using sundials to tell the time for 3000 years.”

“Your people?” I said.

“Gardeners?” asked Sylvester, looking confused.

“Those of us who come from the middle east,” replied Ali. “Persians, Syrians. Us lot.”

I sometimes feel that Ali’s skills are wasted. He used to be a botany professor at Damascus University. And now he tends my garden. He seems happy though. Talking to Sylvester is a little like petting a monkey, for Ali.

“Thank you, Ali,” I said. “That’s a very kind thought.”

I looked skyward and I could see Ali was reading my mind.  I’ve just got back from a land of apparently endless sunshine, but the sky over Vancouver between the months of October to April resembles nothing so much as being inside Tupperware.

“I don’t think I’m getting rid of the kitchen clock, at least not before spring,” I said. “But it is beautiful. You’re very kind.”

“Three thousand years, you’ve been using these?” said Sylvester.

“We should probably ask Amanda how it works,” I said. “She probably remembers the product launch party.”

At this Sylvester gave me a sour look.

Ali looked at the cloud covered sky and then examined the numbers around it’s base, and then said “I think it was 2.30, in September…”

I’m sure that when the sun comes out it will be a lovely centre piece to the East garden. Ali is so thoughtful. And I’m not one to look a gift camel in the mouth.

🙂

Fiona


We now offer remote counseling and hypnotherapy for people struggling with gender issues. Learn more HERE.

Are you ready for your massage ;) ?

Are you ready for your massage 😉

Hi,

It’s the night before Christmas eve here in Huckleberry Close, and I have had the most extraordinary text message from Bernard. As you may know, Bernard’s health has not been good recently. Between being tazered and shot in the chest with a carrot, he’s had quite a year.

With this in mind he traveled to England for Christmas, where he has some family, and checked himself into a rather eccentric sounding health farm near something called ‘Newmarket’. He’s being treated at “The Devil’s Dyke Centre for Alternative Health.” This immediately had me thinking of a friend of mine who recently divorced her lesbian wife. As you might have guessed the divorce is not going well.

Bernard’s text read: “Hope all is well. Love to the crew. Just waiting for the nurse to give me my evening massage.   😉 “

Now, I don’t mean to be pedantic, but that smiley winkey face at the conclusion of the message did give me pause for thought. At the time SylvesterAli and I were enjoying a few glasses of eggnog while I modeled a new gown I recently treated myself to, and Ali showed us a traditional arab jalabiyyah. Needless to say, Sylvester wore his Carhartt pants, and frankly I think Ali and I looked considerably more presentable than our swarthy friend.

Amanda had joined us, ‘popping in’ as she does, not unlike a visit from the plague. We all sat around the log fire in my living room and enjoyed the winter evening.

Making conversation, Sylvester said, “I see Bernard’s started using emoji’s. I don’t think he’s quite got the hang of it yet.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said, showing them both the recent text. “I mean, really. What is one to make of that?”

The eggnog was fortified with substantial amounts of brandy, which neutralizes the sweetness a little, though does not reduce the calories, to Amanda’s disappointment. I’ve been making this recipe for years, and it was given to me by my grandmother.

Ali passed on the eggnog, but Amanda drank it deeply. I could tell she’d had more than is wise from her slightly slurred speech.

“Where on earth do you get this,” asked Amanda looking at her glass. “It’s so smooth!”

“Oh,” I replied modestly, “it’s just something I knocked up.”

“Rather like your first wife,” I heard her mutter under her breath.

Just then Sylvester got to his feet to refill his glass, nudged the table and Amanda’s glass toppled into her lap covering her with eggnog. She yelped like a… Well, like a startled pig, and got to her feet.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Sylvester gushed.

“Don’t worry, Amanda. I’ll find you something.” I said and trotted off upstairs to get her a skirt. Perhaps I could find a discarded garden tent upstairs. No, that’s a little unkind, I suppose. I looked among the clothes, and returned with something suitable.

I handed the skirt to Amanda and she disappeared to change, leaving us all enjoying the warmth of the fire.

I turned to find Sylvester texting Bernard. “Just covered Amanda’s pants with eggnog. 😊”

A text came back from Bernard a moment later – “Can’t chat, going in for colonic irrigation! 😉”

“Wow,” said Sylvester. “They really know how to have fun in England.”

With that Sylvester disappeared upstairs to the bathroom, leaving Ali and I to talk about how he and his family were enjoying their second Christmas in Canada. He told me how well his daughter had settled in at school, and how his wife had managed to find a good job in the bank. It wasn’t until ten minutes or so had passed that I realized both Sylvester and Amanda were still absent.

I glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece.

“How very odd,” I said to Ali. “I wonder what could have happened to Sylvester?”

Ali turned his eyes toward the heavens, or one of the bedrooms upstairs, depending on your point of view. He had an ominous look on his face as our eyes met.

“Just how much brandy is in that stuff,” asked Ali.

“Enough.” I said. Sylvester is Italian.

I hope you are enjoying the run up to Christmas. We will be here through the holiday looking after all our friends and members. I’m thrilled to say we’ve been getting a lot of new members in to My Little Black Book. If by chance you are alone this Christmas it’s a great idea to get into My Little Black Book and message some of our other members. They’re all keen to hear from others and make new connections, and we all love to connect, however distant, at this time of year.

Merry Christmas,

😊

Fiona

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There’s never a dull moment in the advertising business.

As you likely know, I work for a well known advertising agency in an active office in this delightful city. 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.

Continue reading “There’s never a dull moment in the advertising business.”

Fall is a great time to adjust your look.

As we kiss goodbye to a hot summer it’s time to start adjusting your look. Just think of all those lovely russet hues that you can lean into!

I was just saying to Sylvester this morning, “It’s a time to start adjusting into the warm colors of the fall.”

Sylvester is very touchy these days, what with Amanda travelling the competitive eating circuit with Marjory, my next door neighbor. He does get quite jealous. She’s been gone for weeks. It’s a wonder that Pig and Pig Farmer Weekly hasn’t gone into terminal decline. I understand she edits the trade publication even while on the road.

For Sylvester, putting together a fall wardrobe consists of switching the denim blues to the Carhartt browns, though I have to admit Carhartt does have some functional women’s workwear these days – https://www.carhartt.com/c/womens

It’s rather hard for Sylvester to compete with Marjory, for that beating lump of gristle that passes for a heart inside Amanda’s breast. Marjory is even more down to earth than Sylvester, and she just blunders forth. It’s quite remarkable to me that she ever gave birth to such a sensitive boy as Max, who as you likely know, looks after the technology things for me. Marjory is the kind of person that announces her pregnancy by switching to menthols. She even has a sticker on the back of her truck that says, “My other car is also a truck.”

A gold star dyed in the wool lesbian if ever you saw one! You just have to love her!

Sylvester can’t really compete, although he does turn a few heads down at the hockey rink when driving the Zamboni. Some women are just impressed by the wheels. Honestly! Men! It’s all rather infantile if you ask me. A little like the time he tried to help his friend Roland with his circus act. Roland is a talented spoon thrower. Yes, I know – it’s all to do with the terms of his parole. But you get the idea.

You can find some nice ideas for fall outfits HERE – on my Pinterest page. You may also want to check some of the offerings from Amazon below.

Fiona

What are you driving?

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.

Have you been reading ‘Clothes Maketh The Man‘? Enjoy the ongoing serial now in its third year.

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 they 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 themselves with.

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.

Have a lovely week.

Fiona

Some people should be bloody well hung!

I have been hard at work with some of my corporate clients at the advertising agency recently, and as we move toward the climax of summer some are organising their company parties and corporate retreats.

Naturally I get to be invited to many of these, both as a part of the client’s team, but also as I am generally advising the organising committees for such events. Since the Covid situation is receding I have seen many new faces on these committees, and I’ve been asked to sit on several of them.

So it was that I happened to be asked to attend a costumed event recently, and was asked to bring one or two friends to add color and vibrancy to the situation.

Continue reading “Some people should be bloody well hung!”

The pure gold of your hidden feminine self.

When you think of all the things you would like to change about yourself there is a tendency to focus on the aesthetic. Yet we know very well that this is the easy part. The greater achievement is to shift the way we think.

In accepting the female aspect of ourselves we will likely never have a completely feminine experience. We’re not going to experience the pain and joy of childbirth, for example. At least not anytime soon. We will also never experience the angst of the teenage girl developing, nor the uncertainty that many women experience in anticipation of a first date; something that could ending in a deep relationship, or possibly a shallow grave.

Continue reading “The pure gold of your hidden feminine self.”

Bigger breasts – generally a good thing.

Hi,
I always listened to my mother’s advice. She would often say things like, ‘If you have something to say about someone, make it something positive.”I’ve always thought this is very good advice. It’s kept me out of trouble, mostly, however this week I had a situation in which this seemed to backfire.As you likely know, Amanda (my wife’s appalling friend) has a habit of dropping in unannounced at the most inopportune of moments. She was with us just last weekend on one such unplanned visit. I have asked Sylvester, who is something of an inventor in his spare time (see Sylvester’s Boner), to come up with some kind of early warning device to avoid such situations.

Julie and I were helping Ali in the garden just yesterday afternoon, where he was pruning my bush. We’d polished off a bottle of Riesling, when I heard a timid squeaky voice coming from the direction of my neighbour’s garden. Ali and I walked over to look over the hedge, and there was Marjorie, Max’s mother. You’ll remember that Max is my neighbors 20 year old son. A strange boy, but very helpful.

“Oh, Fiona,” she said. “I need your advice.”

Ali, ever helpful, cast an eye over her flower beds and then chimed in, “Really madam, it’s alright. I can see your vulvodynia is blooming early this year. It just needs a little more water.” Ali’s English lessons are rather unconventional, however he does wonders in the garden.

“That’ll be all, Ali. I can take this from here.” I said, dismissing him to go back to tending to my bush.
Marjorie was gawping at me in a puzzled way trying to fathom what we were talking about. Ali’s Syrian accent is still quite strong.

“That strange woman you had in the garden this weekend. She wants Max to work on some magazine.”

“Oh, Amanda. Yes, she’s the editor at Pig and Pig Farmer Weekly. It’s the Washington Post of the agricultural sector. A bastion of the fourth estate,” and then I added doubtfully, “and one of the only media organisations to endorse Mr. Trump.”

“Oh,” she said, as though suddenly understanding. “I just wondered, what’s she really like? I mean, I don’t want my darling Max working for just anyone.”

I stifled the urge to say that that was exactly who Max should work for – anyone who would give him a job. ‘Just anyone’ seemed a perfect description, given his work ethic. He is a lovely boy, and very capable when it comes to tech tasks, but other than that his talents are best described as aesthetic.
“Hmmm, what’s she really like…” I mused. That was a tough one. I remembered my mother’s advice, and it could have been the Riesling talking, but responded “She has fine breasts. Very fulsome.”
“What,” said Marjorie, a little taken aback.

“A full bosom,” I reiterated. I really couldn’t think of anything else positive to say.

“That’s all you can tell me about her,” she stammered.

“Well,” I blundered on, “she sees things in black and white. Somewhat judgemental, some might say.” My mind slipped back to the incident with the adult toy and Hannibal, my dachshund. “It’s not surprising, I suppose,” I went on. “It’s all connected. Black and white, Friesians cattle, dairy farming and breasts…”

Marjorie stormed off, muttering and shaking her head. I have the feeling she’s never really approved of my lifestyle. I really can’t think why.

And in that very vein, I have a lovely self hypnosis file for my many friends who have recently been asking about breast enlargement. This is a lot of fun.

Self hypnosis is one tool for this, but there are a few other methods you can use. One of the most effective, though discrete is the use of soy milk.  If you choose a flavored one, like Vanilla So Good, and just be sure to drink a good size glass a day, you’ll find it gradually has a very beneficial impact. Soy contains isoflavones, a plant oestrogen that is similar to the estrogen that you humans produce. It is these isoflavones that give soy its cancer-prevention properties. Researchers have expressed concern that the estrogens in soy protein may affect the hormone levels in men – which suits us fine. Drinking more than usual quantities could result in breast growth in men. High consumption of soy protein, equivalent to over three litres of soy milk a day, could lead to hormonal shifts.

I’m not a fan of using HRT pharmacy. I find it’s not a good idea to put anything into your body that can’t at least phone you the following day and tell you how much they enjoyed it.

You can find the hypnosis file here: https://fionadobson.com/hypnosis/breast-enlargement-for-crossdressers-self-hypnosis/

There’s some food for thought. If you join the Premium Program we introduce you to a few practices that can stimulate these shifts. If you haven’t signed up yet, now is a great time to do so.

Have a wonderful weekend.
😊
FD

 

There’s no ‘f’ in trannies!

The latest episode of Clothes Maketh The Man is out. You can find it here.

Before I go any further, I should clarify something for Mildred from Colorado Springs, in response to your question of how to prevent her puppy stealing food from kitchen surfaces I had advised her to put it in the fridge. I was, of course, referring to the food, and not the dog. I understand Spot is making a full recovery, but now avoids confined spaces.

Now that things are a little less locked down I am having more guests over at my place.  Last night Sylvester and I enjoyed a nice glass of wine while we waited for Marjory and Amanda, my wife’s appalling friend, to arrive for a night of board games. Apparently Amanda was a little late getting home, her industrial welding class having over run.

There’s no ‘f’ in ‘Trannies’ said Sylvester, as I arranged the letters on the Scrabble board.

“Don’t be so silly,” I said as I placed the lettered tiles on the board. “There, ‘Transference’ and the ‘T’ is on a double word score.”

I’ve been trying to keep Sylvester amused as he’s been moping about the place recently. I think he’s a little jealous of Marjory, who’s in a lesbian relationship with Amanda. All the same he did his best to be gracious, and put some music on while we played the game.

Marjory, who is very big on the competitive eating circuit, enjoys country music and Sylvester created a selection of Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson classics.

“Sylvester,” said Marjory, “You have such good taste.  I’m a little surprised.”

Sylvester looked a little sheepish, and then Marjory added, “I’ve always liked Johnny Cash, but I’ve never really been a fan of Willie’s.”

Sylvester cast a sideways glance at Amanda, but wisely said nothing. Poor Sylvester.

But that’s not the main reason I’m writing to you tonight. I’m just letting you know that there’s a new episode of Clothes Maketh The Man out, part 52, and reminding all my members that I’ve recently added some wonderful new hypnosis files to the Seahorse ProgramMistress Meg has been particularly busy, creating some great material. There’s always plenty of hypnosis files on the site, many of which are free, and they can be found by following this link.

I have adjusted some of my pricing recently giving a discount to those booking for a one year subscription. Be sure to check out my programs here – http://FionaDobson.com/my-programs

Have a lovely week,

Fiona Dobson



How can I get my hands on some breasts this Christmas?

What a busy week it’s been. I should offer a little clarity on something before I go any further, relating to one of my valued members. As you likely know, I am always keen to help my members with helpful advice. Mildred, of Colorado Springs, recently asked me how she might stop her puppy from chasing the postman when he comes by delivering some of her online orders. I suggested she should have him neutered and things will immediately get much better. I suppose in retrospect I should have explained more clearly that I meant the dog. I should also apologise to George Reynolds of Colorado Springs, or Georgina as he’s now known.

“Where on earth am I going to get my hands on a pair of 44DD breasts in a hurry?” I asked Sylvester.

“Don’t look at me,” said the diminutive Rainbow, as she settled down on my right hand beside me at my desk and looked at some of the websites I was browsing. She had just dropped in having led a yoga class at the community centre down the road. She was quite hoarse from a surfeit of omming.

“Amanda may be able to help you there,” mused Sylvester.

“Really, Sylvester,” I said. “You can be quite course at times. You know very well what I’m talking about. My car was broken into the other day and someone got rather more than they bargained for. The backpack they took carried my magnificent pocket bra and large breasts, a gift from a friend some years ago.”

I do think fondly of those breasts. Catching sight of my reflection for the first time with the curves I should have been born with was breathtaking. It’s quite a remarkable feeling when one does first put on such a magnificent accessory, and then marches down the street like a battle ship bringing a pair of 16 inch guns to bare on passers by. At first the thought is unmistakably how magnificent they look, but soon one becomes aware that it’s so much more than that. It’s the wonderful feeling that this is how one should look, but for an accident of chromosomes. It just feels so very natural and right.

I quickly went to my friends at The Drag Queen Closet (where I know I can always find great products at sensible prices) and found just what I was looking for. Whether you’re a first time buyer or familiar with drag supplies and crossdressing products, you can rely on them to steer you right. It’s such a relief to know I’ll be stepping out to my Christmas events looking my best. If you’re looking for something special, and have an eye for quality you should check them out for that special gift for yourself.

I would like to pass on the very best of Christmas wishes from the team at The Drag Queen Closet to my members and friends who love to enjoy crossdressing, drag and gender fluidity.  They really are supportive to us and share our ideals in finding a gentler more feminine world in the year ahead. I know they send their very best to all of us at the end of a year which has tested us, but one in which we emerge still strong, still standing, and putting our best foot forward (in spectacular heels) for 2022.

Have a lovely week. Drop by the site as I will be on during the day and early evening chatting with members throughout the Christmas period. Don’t forget the Fiona Dobson Playlist to help keep your holiday season upbeat. By the way, below is a George Michael classic from the playlist. George used to be my first wife’s laundry guy. Yeah! He worked in a cleaners in Finchley, in London, when he was a teenager. True story.

Fiona.

PS. Feeling a little disconnected or alone at Christmas? There’s no need to. Join my Whatsapp Group and connect with some of my members immediately.

Marjorie’s got old man’s beard in her bush!

When Ali, my gardener, came in to my kitchen and announced that my next door neighbour, Marjorie, had old man’s beard in her bush I was most concerned.

“But Ali, you realise Marjorie is in a relationship with Amanda, don’t you?”

“It’s the same every year,” he said in frustration. “She doesn’t take care of her bush at all. And with this rain… It’s so moist. If she’s not careful it will get into our garden.”

“Well now,” I said feeling a little awkward and not quite sure where to look. “How very disturbing,” I said.

It’s so very easy to have misunderstandings when your gardener has an understanding of English that’s less than perfect. In fact, this very morning after I had pulled on some stockings and a lovely little kilt, I found myself answering one of the many emails I get to clear up a rather disturbing misunderstanding. Having advised one of my members, Mildred from Colorado Springs, on some issues she was having with training her new puppy she reached out to me feeling most distressed.

As you probably know I am a font of assistance to my members. I had, as I remember, suggested that to help her acclimatize the puppy to it’s new surroundings she should take the animal into each of the rooms in it’s new home in turn, and then put it down on some old newspaper. Well, you’d think those instructions were impossible to misinterpret. Apparently I was mistaken.

I really do make every effort to help my lovely members. And of course, that unusual group, my Seahorses, enjoy the attention of Mistress Meg, who has been busy uploading some new content to the site. If you’re a Seahorse member you may already be enjoying the excitement of The Stories Your Mother Never Told You. When one of Mistress Meg’s clients asks her to look after a journal written years ago by his mother she agrees to do so, on condition she can read the content. As she learns of his mother’s lascivious behaviour what can she possibly do, but read the content to her client, while he is bound and made to listen.

These disturbing accounts are perfect for my delightful Seahorse members. You can learn about Valerie and her friends in this 1950’s story that draws back the curtain on a decade of naughtiness. If you’re not already a Seahorse member you might want to join this special group in the run up to Christmas.

If you’re looking for ideas for a treat why not check out my Shopping list. There’s always ideas for a few fun things to get yourself there. And don’t forget, if you’re not already in one of my programs they’re a wonderful way to enjoy yourself over the holiday season.

Have a great week.

Fiona.

Leotards – a great way to keep fit and look great doing so.

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.

Now if you read my weekly emails you’ll realise the unfortunate story behind the leotards and the whole thing with Amanda – but if not, you may like to browse through these anyway. You can sign up for the free program here.

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.