“In this salad bowl!” he continued. “I think you should use the other one.”
Sylvester is quite a distraction in the kitchen. I motioned him out of the way as I brought out my best salad bowl. Now, I know you might be thinking, what brought on this bout of domesticity? It’s quite simple really, while I live in the beautiful Canadian city of Vancouver, my wife’s good friend (and the bane of my life), Amanda, has asked me to research some fun dishes she might be able to make as tariffs kick in. Like I have all the spare time in the world, so why not, right?
“What do you mean?” I asked after she asked me to come up with something creative.
“Well, I like to cook with fruits in many of my recipes, like Kiwi fruit or banana, and under these tariffs they’re going to be hugely expensive.”
“But I thought the idiot said he would bring those products to the USA and grow them there,” I countered.
“Have you tried to grow a kiwi fruit in Ohio?” said Amanda. Well, she is sort of agriculture adjacent, being the editor of Pig and Pig Farmer monthly.
“I see what you mean. I will come up with something,” I replied.
That got me thinking about cucumbers. I realise this is an under-utilised vegetable – or fruit if you prefer. Surprisingly I think it is actually both a fruit and a vegetable. You might wonder if this is possible, however, if you met Sylvester you’d understand how something can be both a fruit and vegetable simultaneously. And, yes, he is pretty under utilised, too.
So, I dug into my recipe book and found a lovely preparation I used to get ready for friends when I was a student. It’s so simple that anyone can do it. As a (then) young man, I would impress girlfriends with my prowess in the kitchen. The Anthropology department girls certainly seemed to like it. Here we go:
You’re going to need the following ingredients –
1/2 cup rice vinegar.
1/2 cup granulated sugar.
1/2 teaspoon salt.
2 large cucumbers.
2 green onions, trimmed and sliced.
Find a large salad bowl, preferably without a crack in it, and also a cup or small bowl. Into the small bowl put the vinegar, the sugar and the salt. I sometimes also squeeze some lemon juice into the cup. Using a sharp knife (hide it after use if you have any suicidal friends visiting, like Rainbow for example), peel and then slice the cucumbers and dice the onions. While you do so the sugar and salt will be dissolving into the vinegar. If it hasn’t dissolved well just give it a stir.
All you have to do now is put the cucumbers and onion in the bowl, add the vinegar solution and you’re done. If you want to be extra fancy just add some crumbled feta cheese and halved cherry tomatoes. I guarantee any anthropology students will be all over you and praise your culinary abilities. It also works on wives of 25 years. Let me know how you get along with this.
Now, all I have to do is think of a couple of other things to do with a cucumber. I mentioned this to Sylvester, and – well – he really can be quite coarse at times!
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 in preparation for spring.
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 winter I’ve barely seen them.”
“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 home cooking is getting creative with all those meals using left overs. 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 express yourself in a gently feminine manner. Sometimes the only difference between dressing straight or crossdressed is the presence of eye makeup.
It’s always important to remember though, the clothing is really only the aesthetic. How you feel and how you think will always be more important. Check out my Patreon for more ideas.
“That’s a nasty gash you’ve got there,” I said to Amanda, as she was bending over.
“Yes,” she said, turning from the flower bed she was weeding. “I caught my finger on that rose bush.”
“Perhaps you should come into the kitchen, I can put some ointment on it,” I replied. As you know, I am really quite compassionate, even with my wife’s dreadful friend, Amanda.
Amanda hesitated for a moment, her brows furrowing in consideration, but then she nodded and followed me into the house. The kitchen, with its warm, golden light filtering through the curtains, offered a comforting sanctuary from the sharp thorns and relentless sun outside.
I rummaged through the medicine cabinet and found the ointment, along with a clean bandage. Amanda sat down at the table, cradling her injured finger gingerly. I couldn’t help but notice the way her face softened in the light, revealing a vulnerability rarely seen behind her usual abrasive demeanor.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.
“It’s no trouble,” I replied, carefully applying the ointment and wrapping the bandage around her finger. “You’ll need to be more careful around those rose bushes. They’re beautiful, but they can be quite treacherous.”
Amanda gave a small, rueful smile. “I suppose that’s true of many things.”
“It’s remarkable what modern medicine can achieve,” I said. “Take that rapist soon to take up residence in the Whitehouse. They cured his bone spurs magically shortly after Vietnam war conscription ended. And soon he’ll be the commander of American forces. Isn’t it wonderful?”
Amanda looked at me skeptically. I must admit, I was thinking about attending the inauguration. When my invitation arrived in the mail I thought seriously about it, however I have a hair appointment that day. I rarely mention this, but I am also a little sensitive to odors and I had heard that Elon Musk was attending, so I should have opted out. Instead, I put my invitation on Craigslist, but no one has come forward for it.
Interestingly, Epiphany (Rainbow’s girlfriend) has managed to get herself a job in the new administration. She’ll even be working in the Whitehouse. For someone who I thought was basically unemployable I thought this a little surprising, however after seeing her credentials it turns out that if anything, she was over qualified.
Not to worry. By the way, as you may know I do have a support group running for any of my members who are concerned about the incoming rapist. It’s a nice group and they are quite talkative. If you feel in need of a little support come along and join the free service. If you feel you’d like to contribute to this support group please feel free to jump in.
If you’d like to support my efforts here feel free to join my Patreon, for as little as a dollar a month. You can join here.
Preparations for Christmas festivities are creating an air of expectation and excitement around Huckleberry Close this morning, and I couldn’t help noticing that next door people seemed to be stopping by at my neighbor, Marjory’s house looking at the rather imposing Christmas decorations in front of her house. A truly excited sense of seasonal cheer has developed in our little community.
The children have had their last day of school, and inspite of the unseasonably warm weather they are playing in the street and throwing snowballs at one another and laughing. Indeed the festivities this morning spilled over in a rather unusual incident worth recalling. It all started with Auntie Kittie rolling into my kitchen at 9 am, a little bleary eyed, looking for coffee and advice.
“Fiona,” she said a little groggily. “I think I may be experiencing hallucinations.”
I did my best to calm her down, as she sat looking worried.
“I swear that Santa Claus in Marjory’s garden just flashed me,” she groaned as she shakily took the coffee I offered her.
What a lovely time of year it is. I’ve been trying to think of the perfect present for Sylvester. Being a mechanic, and also a lover of dogs, it had crossed my mind that an adjustable spaniel might be just the thing, but I never give pets for Christmas.
As friends gather and feast their eyes on my mince pies, as I whip them out of the oven, and Sylvester dribbles cream over Amanda’s pudding, I can only conclude that I do love this time of year. I’ve just come back from Auntie Kittie’s up the road. She’s been entertaining a few of the neighbours in Huckleberry Close, and of course her lovely nephews and nieces. The young ones are all fascinated by her record player and her record collection.
“But Auntie, it’s all hardware! Where’s the app?” asked Gerald.
It’s interesting watching them try to figure it out. To them, of course, it all seems archaic.
None the less, we all enjoy it when Auntie gets out her voluminous greatest hits and lets us play them. The music of the seventies and eighties is making such a come back.
We were playing Scrabble this afternoon, and when Gerald lay down W E T H E R, Amanda (who is the esteemed editor of Pig And Pig Farmer Weekly) commented, “That’s the worst spell of weather I’ve seen in a long time.”
I thought that rather amusing.
But that’s not the only reason I am writing. I had an email from Mildred in Colorado Springs. She’s been making her own facial scrub. Two tablespoons of honey, four tables spoons of oatmeal and a table spoon of ground almonds. Then go for a drive and stick your head out of the car window as you are passing a road gritting truck. She tells me it refreshing and invigorating.
My members are very helpful, as you can see.
As we progress into the Musk Presidency and his little fat sidekick Donald prepares move his toys into the White House, I am seeing increasing numbers of people join my Support Group. It’s free and if you have concerns about the idiot recently elected you may find it of use. Certainly it’s somewhere to connect with other people who have concerns. You can find it here. https://fionadobson.com/you-can-now-join-our-online-support-group-for-us-based-trans-people-for-free/
Enjoy the weekend and get that last bit of Christmas shopping in if you can. I always buy a few random gifts to give to people in the office with a cryptic but knowing smile. It keeps people on their guard. A nice card to go with it saying something like, “I admire your courage!” confuses the hell out of them.
I am gradually moving more content over to my Patreon. Be sure to join if you’re enjoying my work. It is encouraging to me, and it really helps.
Just the place to jam the shaft of your pen in! Vice President Trump as President Musk’s pet toy poodle. A talking point for any polite dinner party! Just $17.97
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 they’re 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 2025.
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.
I was talking to Sylvester this very morning. He said to me, “How is it that anyone who was alive in the eighties and nineties- people who listened to our music – could possibly vote for that stinking pile of orange crap?”
“I assume you are talking about Mr. Trump,” I said. “And I’ll thank you not to use that language in my kitchen.”
“Really, though!” He said. “How can this election be this close? People who lived through Boy George, The Thompson Twins and David Bowie… How can they betray the things we all believed in?”
“Sylvester, calm down,” I suggested. “In any given population you are going to get a certain number of people who are either misinformed, selfish or monumentally stupid. People who don’t understand how to use Google to check facts. They’re what we call in Canada, ‘Morons’. We will see exactly how many there are in the US in a few days.”
“You can usually tell them apart from normal people,” I continued. “They refuse to consider any opinion but their own, often buy into ideas that keep them at the bottom of the social pile, and are too uneducated to realise that what they think is commitment is actually ignorance. They fear women, they fear immigrants and they fear people who don’t subscribe to their brand of idiocy. They also often think that their gun is a solution.”
As you likely know Pig And Pig Farmer was one of the first publications to endorse Donald Trump in 2016. Even Amanda, who edits this venerable publication has refused to endorse the foul pile of orange crap this year.
She just can’t bring herself to vote for a person who sexually abuses women, pushing policies that will damage so many people, and only enrich the wealthy few. While Trans healthcare is not her foremost concern, as a mother she can’t in good conscience vote for a person who is denying so many women the right to autonomy over their body. She knows that if one of her daughters needs an abortion, she doesn’t want to have to argue the point with a politician or a law enforcement officer.
“Amanda,” I said as we chatted on the phone while I organised a few things in my office, “most of the things they blame on Biden are nothing to do with him. I assure you this isn’t the first time the middle east has had a war, and while they blame Biden for the immigration situation, I guarantee you that’s something that’s been developing over decades. They’ll take these issues and try and manipulate you into thinking they’re all the fault of the person in power. As for that Afghanistan mess, Trump created the whole thing by being an inexperienced and naïve commander in chief. The truth is, neither of them are great, but Trump comes with a whole fascist agenda – and that’s what our parents fought a war to overcome.”
I then had to ring off as I told her I had to assign a few jobs to the team her and hand jobs out in the board room. I really do think her hearing is going.
“Hand jobs out in the boardroom?” she replied.
“Don’t worry, Amanda,” I said. “Things will work out if everyone keeps their heads.”
Sebastian stopped by during the morning, too. As you know, his sister is named Rainbow. What you might not know is that she’s named after the Greenpeace ship, Rainbow Warrior. As you can imagine she was raised with values around the environment that are dear to my own heart. Here in beautiful British Columbia we live by the words, leave only footprints behind. To be fair, my footprints are usually with a very pronounced four inch heel – but looking after the environment is very dear to my heart. It’s a small thing, but I don’t want my children living on a burned out cinder of a planet. And talk of ‘drill baby, drill’ turns my stomach. If you can imagine a dinosaur looking up at the sky and saying, ‘Gee, isn’t that a great looking asteroid heading our way! Let’s try and get a closer look!’, then you can imagine the way I feel about pushing carbon fuels further than absolutely necessary.
Personally, it’s the trans persecution that is the hardest of many lines that have been crossed. I know of many trans people who are feeling frightened by the possibility of losing health care. If he gets in, that’s practically guaranteed to end. Any thought that RFK has any knowledge or understanding of modern healthcare is beyond comprehension. That Trump would give that antivaxxer any say in health matters defies understanding – yet no more so than injecting bleach to overcome Covid.
Only someone who fails to understand how tariffs work could ever suggest the idea of bringing in tariffs in a country that imports so many of its consumer goods. The tariffs will come straight out of American pockets and trigger one of the worst recessions the US has ever seen.
And let’s be honest here. He’s going to be dead long before his mess gets cleaned up. He’s an old crock who is making his last play before he dies a lonely failed little man. Most people stupid enough to vote for that will have to live with the results longer than he will. Unfortunately, if he gets in, so will the rest of the US. For those of us who are trans, the consequences will be far reaching. Fortunately, Canada will always provide a home to people persecuted in their home countries.
As for making America great again, if Trump is elected the US will become the laughing stock of the world. Except that if you’re trans, it’s not going to be very funny. Anyone voting for Trump is no friend of the Transgender movement, and they’re no friend of mine.
Many of us are worried. Of course, it’s a worrying time. However, we will get through this. I’m online much of the time over the next few days. Visit the website if you need to, and look for the chat system if you need to talk. I will make m yself as available as I can. We’re going to be ok.
Have a voting plan, take a friend and bring whatever you need in case you need to wait in line. Make it count.
It’s the weekend of the company summer party. An air of excitement is permeating all of Huckleberry Close. Naturally a few of my friends have come by and will be joining me at the costumed event.
After finding the perfect ensemble, I decided to go a little retro and go as Xena Warrior Princess. I have always liked that look, and like Xena consider myself something of a problem solver. It’s just the kind of gurl I am. As Sylvester, Ali, Max and I prepared for the party and got into our costumes Max’s mother, Marjorie, came over to see what all the excitement was about.
“Hello, Marjorie,” I said as she wandered into my kitchen. “We’re almost ready.”
“So, I can see,” she replied eyeing my breast plate. “And Max is doing a wonderful job of buffing up the brass of that breast plate.”
“He’s been most helpful,” I replied.
“Wouldn’t it have been easier if you’d taken it off first?” asked Marjorie.
“Oh, no,” I replied. “What with Max so hard at work…”
At that moment Ali came in, dressed in a set of Klan robes.
“Ali,” I said. “Are you sure that’s entirely appropriate?”
My Syrian friend replied, “I thought I looked very presidential.”
I could hardly fault that, and said so.
“Perhaps we should all go out and stand on the front lawn. Marjorie could take a photograph of us from the landing upstairs? That window overlooks the garden and the picture will lovely with the roses in the background.”
Marjorie agreed and went up the stairs. A moment later she called down to say she couldn’t get the window open, and that she needed a little help. The window seemed blocked by something from the outside.
“Don’t worry,” cried Ali. “I’ll get a ladder and clear it up.” With that, and a flurry of robes, Ali disappeared to get a ladder. Now the reason I explain all this is simple enough. You can imagine the scene when I was then standing on the front lawn, along with Sylvester dressed like a warrior from Middle Earth, about to go on a quest, Max as a Viking, and all of us staring up a ladder at Ali dressed as a KKK klansman, complete with hood, trying to open the upstairs window of my house on a sunny midweek afternoon.
As the sun glinted off my breastplate, we heard the silent hum of Amanda, my wife’s appalling friend, arriving unannounced to visit my wife – who is unfortunately travelling at present.
With the unmistakable sound of tweed rustling she stepped from her car, open mouthed, and said “What on earth is going on here?”
“Ali’s taking care of a blockage,” I said helpfully, and stared up the ladder. Amanda followed my gaze.
“That’s Ali? I thought you’d finally upset the wrong people,” murmured Amanda with her usual distaste for everyone around her.
Ali’s voice drifted down, “Marjories Areolas are coming out beautifully this year. I’ve not seen her garden from this angle before.”
Sometimes I wonder about Ali’s English lessons. Being a Syrian refugee, who was welcomed to Canada in somewhat disadvantaged circumstances, one might forget that he was also a professor in Damascus University prior to the war.
“I thought something dreadful was happening, as I drove up. I could see this crazy Klansman trying to break in through the window. I thought maybe… Honestly, those people should be bloody well hung!”
Looking up Ali’s klan robe, I replied, “Amanda, from where I’m standing, I think Ali’s pretty well…”
“Oh my god,” said Amanda. “You people make me bloody sick. I just dropped by to tell Max, he’s got the job at Pig And Pig Farmer Weekly as my editorial assistant.”
“Oh,” I replied. “What a sparkling start to a career in journalism. Today Pig and Pig Farmer Weekly, tomorrow the world!”
On the whole I do not approve of large people with too much facial hair looming in my doorway. Even more so at 3 am.
That was the sight that greeted me this morning. I enjoy my beauty sleep, most of all to protect my looks, but also so I am fresh in the morning to write to my members. And last night, as my very understanding wife was once again traveling, this time at a conference in somewhere called Poughkeepsie, I was enjoying a night of calm sleep wearing a pink teddie. When I heard the chiming of the door bell, I pulled on a thick robe and went downstairs to find the henge-like form of Amanda, my wife’s appalling friend, blocking the doorway, like a couch abandoned by someone who had been trying to get it through a door that was marginally too small.
Sebastian, my personal trainer, was standing in my kitchen, looking distraught. It’s not a good look for a slim man in spandex. He’d cycled over to my place for a coffee.
“The stuff’s everywhere,” he moaned. “I can’t move in my apartment, there’s so much Jiz everywhere!”
“I’m sorry?” I said, adjusting the peach colored silk robe I was wearing. I had just waxed my legs and chest and the soft silk felt magnificent on my skin.
“It’s all over the place!” He went on.
“Sebastian,” I said, “What on earth are you talking about?”
“It’s the week of the Junior and Intermediate Zumba challenge. Everyone down at the gym enters.”
“Is that a ‘thing’?” I asked.
“I get to do the Jiz thing every year, and every year it’s a nightmare. I just get overwhelmed. And this year, honestly, I think I’ve taken as much as I can take. I’ve bitten off more than I can chew and I’m practically choking on it!”
“I believe the expression is ‘gagging’.” I added, helpfully.
“All the other personal trainers down at the gym leave it to me, and every year I just get sucked in!”
“I wonder why,” I said rhetorically.
“My whole place is covered in the stuff to arrange it, costumes, posters. I even had to design them myself.” Sebastian reached into his back pack and brought out a folded-up poster.
“Oh, Let me see it,” I said trying to sound enthusiastic.
“Yes, of course. Your friend Amanda helped me with it.”
“Amanda is my wife’s friend,” I pointed out. Because she edits a trade publication, Pig And Pig Farmer, Amanda considers herself something of a media mogul. I think you’ll agree that’s a bit of a stretch.
Sebastian unfolded the poster. An image of two young dancers, breathlessly whirling across the floor filled the page, with the headline, “It’s Jiz Time! You’ll be glad you came.”
Sebastian looked at it thoughtfully. “They wouldn’t let me put it up at Starbucks. They got quite snotty about it.”
“I wonder why,” I said.
But that’s not the main reason I’m writing to you today. It’s going to be spring soon, so it’s time to start getting ready with some new looks for Spring. I thought I’d make a couple of suggestions, to help you along.
Spring is a time to emphasise the soft pastels, using both cosmetics and clothes that lift and brighten their surroundings. This is a great time, if you don’t dress outside of the house, to bring some more feminine colors into your selection of clothes that you’d wear day to day.
If you wear glasses, think about getting a pair that are softer and more blended to your skin. Be prepared to experiment with your daily look, softening it with colors that convey gentle forms. Hard black frames may be better replaced with a softer color, for example.
As you color your life more gently, you may be surprised to find yourself feeling more gentle. You’re going to love that. You may well find that wearing pastels and muted colors contributes to a more gentle mood, and as you look the way you know you should, you start to feel the way you should, too.
I sincerely hope you are enjoying the news I share with you. You can participate and comment even more at http://FionaDobson.com
“There is no way,” I said to Amanda, my wife’s awful friend.
“Oh, please,” she begged. “Just pretend. I mean, really, you can pull it off.”
“And I’m not ‘pulling him off’, either!” I protested.
“Look,” she insisted, “all I’m asking is that you hang out with us. I promised!”
“You set him up on a date with some… some… some floozy, and she’s now dropped out. And you’re asking me to step in. And let’s face it, your brother isn’t exactly a catch. This is going to be the first time he’s visited you since he was in jail. That’s not what I think of as a good catch. Besides, I’m married,” I stammered. “You’re a friend of my wife’s. How can you even suggest this!”
I do so hope you’re getting ready for a lovely Christmas. I will likely be on the website chatting with members and friends. We will manage though, but I feel it is important to remind my lovely members we are still in the throes of a pandemic. Just be a little careful.
In the meantime some of my more organised friends are getting ready for the New Year. I think it might be a little optimistic, but Marjory (who you will remember does well on the competitive eating circuit) is already going through her schedule for next year’s competitive eating events. It’s very competitive as you probably know. The organizers stage legs in various cities throughout the South. She is diligently trying to plan out next year’s schedule.
Inevitably it’s always at a time when Amanda is also very busy. However she usually manages to slip away from her demanding schedule at Pig And Pig Farmer a few times in the season to meet up with Marjory and give her a kiss between the legs.
But that’s not the main reason I am writing to you. I was most surprised this morning to look out of my back window and see Sylvester struggling up the back lane with a trailer behind his truck. Apparently, with all these restrictions on gatherings, the local church has taken the opportunity to do some much needed maintenance. Sylvester has helped by delivering some of their things to the company that services them.
Looking from my kitchen window I saw his truck approaching in the lane behind my house pulling an enormous trailer. I opened my window and called out to Sylvester, “What on earth do you have there, dear?”
“It’s the organ,” he replied. ‘I need to park it up while I get a tarpaulin. It looks like it might rain in a little while.”
“That’s OK,” I called down the lane. “Just leave it in my back passage.”
I hope he gets a tarpaulin for it quickly. It’s much better wrapped, I think. Parked there it will be fine for a couple of hours though, I think. What a very big heart Sylvester has, helping the church out like that. Rainbow has in the past offered yoga classes at the church, and when the members of the church council organised a collection for her, knowing she’s not got much work at present, they presented her with a handy and much needed windfall.
I asked her what she was planning to do with it, and she said she was very grateful to the gentlemen of the church council and that she was planning to blow the whole lot over Christmas. It seemed a rather unusual turn of phrase, I have to admit.
For those of you alone this Christmas I really do think you’d enjoy my Whatsapp Group. It provides a level of community connection many of us are missing in our lives. There’s an active group of crossdressing friends there and we’d welcome you as well. You can find all the details HERE. It’s much better than feeling alone over Christmas. Of course I also have a couple of other ways for you to connect and feel part of the community.
I will be writing again soon, but if you find yourself with a little time on your hands over the Christmas period, be sure to check out my Patreon. For those who don’t have much in the way of community around them, I would suggest you join my Whatsapp Group and connect with the lovely group of members who are chatting so nicely on there.
I’ll be in touch soon, but now I have to go and see what Sylvester is up to. He appears to be putting some sort of lubricant on his organ.
Well, it’s been a lovely week already. Here in Canada we have just celebrated Thanksgiving.
Amanda, who hails from the Midwest and is the esteemed editor of Pig And Pig Farmer Weekly, recently asked Sylvester why we celebrate Thanksgiving at a different time to our dear friends to the south, in the US. Sylvester cryptically replied, “That’s one of those climate change things, Amanda,” which appeared to satisfy her.
I have to draw attention to a slight correction on the website, where some confusion arose among readers. As you know people ask my advice for all kinds of things. When Mildred, from Colorado Springs recently enquired about how to help her niece house train her new puppy, naturally I replied on the site with what I felt was very good advice.
“Pick the puppy up, and take it around the house, saying ‘no’ at each location, before carefully putting it down on a piece of old newspaper.”
A surprising number of readers thought I meant shoot it through the head. Well, it’s an understandable mistake.
To compensate I am offering those members who mentioned this a booklet I have prepared on how to remove animal blood stains from curtains and soft furnishings.
But that’s not the main reason I’m writing to you tonight. I thought I might mention to you a rather sweet gesture made by one of the ladies who are members of my feminization program for wives. You can find it here. What a thoughtful sweetheart she is.
Be sure to join my Patreon to show your support for my programs HERE.
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’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!
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
looming in my doorway. Even more so at 3 am.
