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.
“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.
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 Sylvester, Ali 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 Program. Mistress 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
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.
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.
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.
“I would never have believed it would get this big!” I said to Sylvester.
“Look at this huge bulge!” he replied, his eyes wide.
“I had no idea it would be this big when I started working on it,” I said, still surprised.
We were examining in detail the growth figures for Clothes Maketh The Man, the serial which started this very website. The graph showed a massive explosion – almost a volcanic emission – the huge growth spurt we got in 2016 when Clothes Maketh The Man first appeared.
Since then over 75,000 members have enjoyed the series. And of course, a lot more has happened besides. We’ve done everything from helping Mildred from Colorado Spring understand that when it says ‘Push up bottom’ on the deodorant stick she’s been using for years it means depress the base of the packaging – it’s an easy mistake to make -, to voting Ashley Baron our crossdresser of the year. We’ve not had that competition for the last couple of years, so I guess Ashley is still our reigning Queen. Don’t forget we also have some great music in The Fiona Dobson Playlist that’s always sure to give you a lift.
Today I have posted Clothes Maketh The Man part 50. If you’ve not been reading this great series you can do so here. And don’t forget, your memberships keep this iconic series running, so if you’re not already a member be sure to join one of my programs here.
Just a reminder, if you are enjoying some of the emails you can click on the hotlinks within the email to drill deeper (phrasing) and penetrate the stories in more detail. And we all like deep penetration. You can of course also find a wealth of my content on Pinterest. https://www.pinterest.ca/fionadobson22
Some of you know that I love to hang out on the site some days and use our chat functionality to chat with members. If you see a chat window come up when visiting http://FionaDobson.com you’ll know it’s me on the other end. Feel free to join me there. I usually go on in the mornings for a little (Pacific time) and the evenings.
Now, I must get back to looking after life in Huckleberry Close. Some of you will know I am very much a caring soul. I will not use the word ‘healer’, but I do feel I have a special power. Anyway, Amanda my wife’s awful friend, has been having trouble with her pussy. I’ve said I will go over and lay my hands on it to transfer positive energy from Hannibal, my dachshund. I am good with animals. Between you and I, it’s probably diet. I don’t know what she’s been feeding that thing!
Have a lovely weekend,
😊
Fiona
PS – my musical selection this week is for all my closeted members.
What a strange and disturbing week it has been. Sometimes it takes more than lipstick to keep that smile in place. And yet we do, and the world is still a wonderful place.
Some of you may be aware of my wife’s good friend Amanda, the queen of tweed. As you may remember, she stayed at our house a few weeks ago while her house was being fumigated.
Well, Amanda had left a few things at our house and I agreed to take them over to her house. It was not so far off my track as I was walking Hannibal, my pet dachshund, so it was no bother. When I arrived at her house in the early evening the other day I was surprised to find I had arrived while she was taking a shower. She appeared at her doorway looking like a giant panda, in a black and white dressing gown and after letting me in, she asked me to wait in the living room as she slipped into something more comfortable. This was a thought that was truly disturbing in it’s own way, but for my wife’s sake I waited patiently.
I waited, and Hannibal did his usual thing of nosing around the place. To my surprise he was preoccupied with something underneath her couch, and while Amanda got dressed in her bedroom. I waited patiently, listening to the snuffling sounds coming from under the couch, until I was a little disturbed to hear a particular humming sound emanating from beneath the furniture.
A moment later Hannibal appear clutching what can only be described as an adult toy between his teeth. He was chewing its silicon form and seemed very surprised that it was fighting back, vibrating away in his mouth. To be fair, his surprise was understandable, the device being almost as large as he is.
Wanting to avoid the embarrassment of Amanda finding Hannibal playing with a personal possession, I tried to grab the object, but thinking this was a game he took off, running first into the kitchen and then into Amanda’s basement. I gingerly followed, cursing his minute form and enormous curiousity.
It was only when I cornered Hannibal that I could wrestle the object from him, at which point I heard Amanda’s enormous feet descending the stairs. I slipped the toy into my pocket and found my way back to the living room as Amanda walked in.
“I’m so sorry to have kept you, it’s simply lovely of you to bring these things over…” There was an awkward pause. I realized Amanda was staring at my jeans.
“Really, it’s no trouble,” I said. I like to wear tight figure hugging jeans, and usually a pastel tee shirt. It’s a fairly androgynous look, and I find it works if I am not dressing in my femme style.
“Goodness,” said Amanda, unable to avert her eyes from my pants. I glanced at myself and saw the clear and defined outline of the toy. To Amanda I must have appeared extremely glad to see her.
“I should be going,” I said awkwardly, my mind racing, trying to sidle toward the door, and noticing Amanda seemed to be getting between me and the only exit.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I think I’m seeing a new side of you. I am beginning to understand what Maggie sees in you. Perhaps you want to stay a while. A drink perhaps?”
Amanda’s eyes were unashamedly devouring my groin, drawn to my physique by the enormous toy in my pocket.
“I really must go,” I said, trying to hide my aparently enormous embarrasment.
“Oh, no. Before you do, I have that book Maggie was asking to borrow. Let me get it for you!” Amanda rushed off and in a moment I had pushed the device under the sofa, and was turning to walk to the door when Hannibal realized the toy was once again in play. To Hannibal, this is a challenge, first to find it and then to run around with it until someone catches him. To my horror he scurried under the sofa and just as Amanda returned, Hannibal emerged from beneath the furniture with a powerful buzzing sound, moving backwards across the hardwood floor being quite literally vibrated around the room.
“Hannibal,” I said, feigning surprise. “What on earth have you got there?”
There was an awkward chase, culminating in Amanda relieving a strangely satisfied dachshund of the object, and I grabbed the book and headed straight for the door, leaving an embarrassed and confused Amanda to her own devices – literally.
I’d love to see you in my Premium Program soon. I think you know you’ll enjoy it.
There was a steady stream of water falling between Ali, my Syrian gardener’s legs.
“Ali,” I said. “Would you mind telling me what you’re doing?”
“Ah, madam. I’m watching Max’s premature ejaculation. He did it for his mother…”
I paused. I’ve learned that’s a good idea with Ali. I’m never quite sure if he’s serious, or just confused.
“His water hose… He’s got it hooked up to Google – that online house thing. It waters the flowers. Well, drowns them actually. It’s coming on prematurely and the water pressure’s too high.”
“I see,” I said. I decided I had better talk to that English teacher of his.
“I prefer to use a more natural method such as this watering can, madam,” he said as he continued to water the flowers.
It’s been a strange week. Sylvester had a couple of his Navy friends staying. Billy Bates, a Quartermaster on a missile cruiser, and his friend Simon Steyns. Simon was recently demoted back to Ordinary Seaman following a nasty shoreside incident involving another member of the crew and a very worried looking hamster.
To round everything off Amanda brought her sister over and her revolting daughter. Chelsea, Amanda’s elder sister doesn’t approve of Amanda’s relationship with Marjory. She say’s it’s against God. I have to say I told her that Amanda is against God. I mean really! What immortal hand or eye would frame that fearful symmetry… urgh.
Chelsea Chizit and her daughter Emma are cut from the same cloth. They’re the sort of uncultured slobs that know the price of everything and the value of nothing.
It’s the perfect time of year to get into Pink!
And to top it off Max is besotted with Emma. To be fair, she is not entirely unpleasant to look at as she glides around the garden half naked in the sunshine, like some sort of fae. Yet Max just stares slack jawed and drools. It’s most disturbing. He wanders around moony eyed murmuring “Emma Chizit… Emma Chizzit.”
“Ali,” I said as firmly as I could, “Do you happen to know if Amanda is next door visiting Marjory?”
“Oh yes,” he said. Not much gets passed Ali. He knows the comings and goings of most of Huckleberry Close. “She wrist deep in …”
“Ali!” I said firmly.
“… in tomatoes. They’re canning the tomatoes she grew in her greenhouse. Making sauce…”
As everyone starts to get back to something approaching normal I am delighted to say I am enjoying occasional days like this where friends visit and life seems almost as it did before this infernal pandemic.
I am pleased to say I am double vaccinated, as are most of my friends. I hope you are to, and I’d encourage you to get it done as soon as possible, for your own good and the good of all those around you.
I hope you’ve been enjoying The Dating Game by Mollie Blake. It’s been featured this last few weeks on the website, Remember there always new content on the site, and I do get on now and then to chat with my members on the web chat functionality. If I happen to be on when you are there, be sure to say hello.
What could be a nicer color to celebrate summer. Check out this spectacular swing dress for just $31.99.You going to look delightful. Check it out here – https://amzn.to/3iq4a2v Fiona
Auntie Kittie and her naughty nieces have been having an exciting spring. Get Aunties diary for just $1 a month.
I am happy to say that a few friends and I have been able to gather safely, and socially distanced, in my garden of late. Seeing Sebastian, Sylvester and Bernard all sitting there, along with Marjory and Amanda was a very special treat after such a long time when gatherings have been a bad idea. I am thrilled to say that we’ve finally all ben vaccinated.
Each of my friends brought an item they had prepared themselves. Sebastian whipped out his lovely sausage, which I am sure you know I just can’t get enough of! Just when I think I can’t take any more of it, he surprises me with more.
I was however a little disturbed as Sylvester leaned suggestively over toward Amanda and asked her if she’d like to try a cream horn. He really can be quite coarse, you know. It did remind me though, I did have to speak to Amanda confidentially, and make something of an apology.
This was a matter which by its very nature is unpleasant, however, when Amanda had asked me about a little problem she has I felt obliged to assist. Now, as you know, Amanda is not exactly my favorite person being my wife’s friend and former lover from university. Anyway, it seems Amanda has a problem with something politely described as ‘hyperhidrosis’. In plain English this translates through to ‘she sweats like a gross pig’, something not all together surprising as she is the editor of Pig and Pig Farmer Weekly.
When she approached me confidentially to ask my advice, which as you are doubtless aware I offer without judgement or any desire to embarrass, I was happy to help the poor pig… oops… woman. Pointing out the fact that it may be a sign of more serious health issues, such as diabetes, infection or a thyroid issue, I suggested that the most likely cause was that she was a little out of shape and that she might think of getting more active. Perhaps she should go out with Bernard in his sailboat, or spend more time on her bicycle than in her Prius. Or occasionally walk somewhere.
“But, Fiona,” she replied by text, during a brief exchange, “I feel so embarrassed about my sweating. If I exercise more people will see it. I have great lines of sweat on my tee shirt, and under my arms.”
I pushed the gross imagery from my mind and suggested “Perhaps an antiperspirant…”
The texts flowed to and fro with her asking for recommendations, and as it happened the advertising agency for whom I work do handle an account for a large manufacturer of healthy personal products, so I suggested their antiperspirant stick product, which I had couriered over to her directly. We’re particularly proud of our association with this company, having suggested some slight revisions to the previously ungainly shape of the product. It is now sportily shaped in an aerodynamic style.
“It’s easy to use,” I texted her. “Just remove top and push up bottom.”
Well, needless to say I did not mean her to take the instructions quite so literally. I suppose when people depend on texts it is somewhat easy to take them a little out of context. Needless to say Amanda was experiencing a degree of discomfort, and I felt I should offer my sympathy.
By the way you can read more of any character I mention by drilling down into the hotlinked references to them, if you feel so inclined. It’s a fun way to explore the strange world I navigate daily.
I’d like to suggest a very worthy charitable cause for my members today. I don’t do this often, as I know not everyone is able to help. Today however I think it important to raise awareness of many of our sisters in quite dire need in India. It’s not easy being trans at the best of times but during a pandemic things can be extremely difficult. Of course, we can’t help everyone on the planet, but helping those where the buck goes furthest is probably not a bad idea. Anyway, check out this campaign, and if it resonates I am sure your help will not be unappreciated.
As I said to Sylvester today, I’ve been so busy recently, I’ve been getting a little behind!
All I can say is that a little knowledge is a very dangerous thing. It all started so innocently.
Now, as you likely know, Amanda (my wife’s appalling friend), is something of a thorn in my side. My dear wife is currently in isolation in Dubai, or Mumbai. Somewhere.
Ever since my dog, Hannibal, had an unfortunate run in with an adult toy in her house, Amanda has been going on about getting a dog. It was therefore no great surprise when she called me to tell me she’d done so, but that she needed some help. Apparently she’d got herself a delightful little dog, a Chihuahua named Whisky.
Now, this shouldn’t be so hard to deal with. However, this particular dog was a real barker. Little Whiskey would bark whenever anyone came near the house and Amanda was extremely irritated by the incessant noise. She’d bought a shock collar to try and dissuade little Whisky from barking, but apparently there was something wrong with it. She called me to see if I could take a look at the device.
Naturally, I did what any sensible crossdressing advertising executive would do, and picked the thing up, and gave it to Sylvester – my mechanic – to see if he could fix it. I am a crossdressing advertising executive, not an engineer, after all.
Sylvester promptly strapped the device to one of his staff, and giving him a burst or two of the shock, it was evident that the batteries were flat. In no time he’d fitted new batteries and a small charge was transmitted to his workshop assistant. I thought it a rather unusual practice, but one that could be a breakthrough in personnel motivation. While a little controversial, it would doubtless result in greater productivity.
Sylvester laughed a little about this, and said he wanted to see if he could lift the output a bit, and we thought nothing more of it. As I was passing his workshop the following day, I wandered in and picked it up, even though Sylvester was out the back of the workshop polishing his chopper, as he so often is.
That night I dropped the collar off with Amanda, and she fitted it to little Whisky. I remember thinking, as I slipped into a long silk evening gown that night, that I should probably have tested the collar before giving it back to Amanda. I didn’t really give it much more thought.
So it was that, this morning I pulled into her driveway, stepped out of the car and a tiny white bundle of chihuahua hair came bounding out of the house in my direction. Little Whisky started yapping, the way he often does, and then quite suddenly he stopped. He seemed to stand bolt upright, twitch twice in silence and then he keeled over at my feet.
I stared at the catatonic form of Whiskey, my mouth open in surprise. I could barely believe my eyes. Then, from an upstairs window, Amanda leaned out and said, “That device works wonderfully well.”
Whisky was at my feet twitching. Evidently Amanda had heard the yapping, and hit the remote zapper. Unaware that the poor dog was twitching, and convulsing at my feet. As far as Amanda was concerned, the barking had stopped, and therefore the shock collar worked perfectly.
“Yes,” I said, maneuvering myself between her line of sight and the poor dog. “I think it works quite, errr, thoroughly.”
As her head disappeared into the house I picked up little Whisky. In a state of both panic and sympathy I wondered how you give mouth to mouth resuscitation to a chihuahua. As quickly as he’d been put into a seizure Whisky seemed to come back to life, and started licking my hand. I took the opportunity to remove the collar and slipped it into my pocket.
Poor Whisky, rather like Bernard, who had been tazered last year, looked quite disturbed. He was however a little quieter.
Now, I have to hurry off to Sylvester and have him reconfigure this thing before Amanda electrocutes the poor thing permanently. Doubtless, no good deed goes unpunished! However, before I finish, I’d like to remind a few of you who love to buy their clothes online that I do have a few great suggestions, and Auntie Kittie has even made some suggestions for those of a more sissy nature. When you click through on those links you help me out a lot, even when you don’t end up buying. At the foot of most of my posts I include a few suggestions. Be sure to explore them, and of course I love to hear about it if you’ve bought something particularly satisfying.
By the way if you are ever interested in learning more about the characters mentioned in the World Of Fiona Dobson you will find that the names are often hotlinked in their first mention in a post. If you click on this you will pull up all the posts in which they are mentioned, which gives you an interesting way in which to explore my community.
Be sure to support me on Patreon if you’re enjoying what I’m doing.
We had a little socially distanced gathering the other day which I feel I should tell you about. Amanda, as you likely know, is my wife’s friend and the editor of Pig And Pig Farmer Weekly, the seventh most popular pig related publication in the Midwest. As such I have found inviting her to some brainstorming sessions has helped at times. On this occasion Bernard, my photographer, and Sebastian were also present.
Poor Sebastian, he’s very worried about his sister, who you will remember made a small error and applied for the job involving a little ‘light house keeping’, and is now positioned in the far north manning a navigation outpost alone in the northern arctic. Bernard is also feeling quite disrupted. He loves to go hunting and fishing. The cold months unfortunately reduce his leisure activities substantially. So, you can see the need for a something to destress us all seemed quite pressing.
“I think we should address the elephant in the room,” said Bernard. Naturally I glanced at Amanda. He continued, “we need some direction. Something to help us see past how difficult things are at the moment. We need some goals.”
“You are so right, Bernard,” I agreed. “It’s like my friend Justin said just the other day. Spring is coming! We should remember that!”
It’s not unusual for me to have a call from the Prime Minister’s office late in the evening, with Mr. Trudeau looking for a little advice. He often asks me for a helping hand, and I am always happy to give him one.
The other night Bernard was being uncharacteristically quiet at the table in the restaurant, with my friends and I enjoying the New Year celebrations. Sylvester and Ali were laughing. I remember, particularly, as I was explaining that while in Australia last year, between photoshoots, I had been diving and had been describing the various merits of the sea cucumber. Bernard had been on the trip, though since his transplant has not been doing much diving.
We were enjoying a wonderful meal at a restaurant in the heart of Montreal which served favorite dishes from around the world. Sebastian had ordered the German Sausage, and shared some of it with Bernard. The succulent meat was exquisitely prepared, and Bernard tucked into it with gusto.
That was when I noticed Bernard changing color. “Are you alright?” I asked. When there came no reply I felt a wave of panic sweep over me. It’s only a few short weeks since Bernard’s operation.
If you’re a regular reading of my material you’ll know that Amanda is not my favorite person on the planet. It was only as a favor to my wife that I invited her to join us for dinner. My wife is on one of her trips. This is a charitable one, I believe. If I remember rightly she’s feeding the hungry in Africa, or something. Maybe it’s the Africans in Hungary. It’s so hard to keep track of her. She has such a big heart. Before leaving on her mission of mercy she had made me promise to take Amanda out with us for dinner on New Years eve.
I remember very vividly, as that night I had chosen to wear a mid blue evening dress, with a bodice that laced up behind, and matching blue heels. The blue was a very particular shade, and as I watched Bernard he gradually changed color to a matching hue.
“What on earth is the matter with Bernard,” I said and looked at Sylvester.
“Search me,” answered Sylvester.
Suddenly Amanda leapt to her enormous feet, and shouted “Heimlich manoeuvre!” For a woman of disturbing proportions she certainly can move swiftly. It reminded me of one of those National Geographic TV shows, about when hippos attack.
“Don’t worry,” she said to a terrified looking Bernard, who by now was clearly choking. “I’m a trained professional.”
I took a long sip of my wine, and said to Sylvester, “This should be interesting.”
Amanda was behind Bernard, wrapping her arms around him and began squeezing. Bernard shifted to a deeper shade of blue.
“That’s it Amanda, you need to reach around him,” said Sylvester.
“And then jerk him. You’ve got the idea,” I added helpfully. Amanda seemed to be thrusting powerfully with her hips, and Bernard looked increasingly alarmed.
A moment later his head jerked back and he coughed and his throat seemed to clear. I was most impressed by the whole thing. Amanda had indeed saved the day, and Bernard had made a new friend.
What a way to go into the New Year. So, if you feel like sharing, let me know what New Years Resolutions you plan to break this year.
I sincerely hope you are enjoying the news I share with you. You can participate and comment even more at http://FionaDobson.com
Well, what can I say. It’s not been an easy week. As many of us go into an election week, I know all of us are going to be feeling a certain degree of stress. Be assured I am here for you.
I always find it helpful to listen to the Fiona Dobson playlist on Youtube to dispel stress. It really does help put a smile on my face, even when I do read about something mind bogglingly moronic that the buffoon in the White House is up to. I believe it was Mayo Angelou, that great philosopher that said, “Mask up, asshole.” That, however, is not the main reason I’m writing to you.
Several of my members have written to me this week concerned about my good friend Rainbow, the yoga teacher, who has recently found herself out of work due to the problems we face associated with Covid. I selected one email at random, from Mildred, of Colorado Springs, that I felt I might share with you. Mildred suggested that perhaps Rainbow could make use of her talents as a vegetarian, helping others improve their diet. How very thoughtful, Mildred. I will pass the suggestion on to Rainbow. Vegetarian meals can indeed be an exquisite blend of flavors and are sure to excite the taste buds and satisfy the appetite, unless you’ve ever actually tasted meat.
Fortunately Sebastian, Sylvester, Ali and the rest of the crew are all managing ok. Amanda, my wife’s good friend, has moved in with my next door neighbor Marjory, with whom she is conducting a sordid lesbian relationship. She is working from home there, and I mentioned to Sylvester (who has designs on Amanda for some inexplicable reason), that I often saw her in the conservatory beavering away. He replied “Amanda is indeed elbow deep in,” and at this point he paused meaningfully, “…work.”
What times these are. Nonetheless, I felt I would write and tell you of a rather unusual incident that took place the other night. As you may be aware Canada is large. In fact it’s huge. Earlier this week I was driving across one of our seemingly endless prairies, late at night when I saw mysterious lights in the sky, approaching at high speed. At first I thought it might be our Prime Minister, my good friend Justin Trudeau in his private plane. He has the disturbing habit of flying very low over the prairies, smiling and waving at us as he goes by. You may have heard of him, he’s the head of state in the North America that can read.
However, it was not he. I should have remembered he’s usually tucked up in bed by 9 pm with a cup of hot milk. No, this was altogether too fast to be something of this world.
Now, I think I know what you’re thinking. “Oh, not again!” Yes, that’s right, you’ll remember I had an encounter with alien life forms a little over two years ago. And indeed once again this vessel drew level with my speeding Buick, and I felt the sensation of being lifted off the ground, as if by a giant alien hand.
Faster than you can say ‘anal probe’ I found myself in the hold of the enormous vessel. Two alien figures dressed in a silver grey fabric, some type of satin I imagine, walked out of what seemed to be a wall of light toward my car. I was a little disconcerted, as you might imagine. After all it’s not everyday that you are accosted by higher life forms. One of them tapped on the window, and as I looked at them I realised these were the very same two aliens I had met once before.
I put my mask on, and then lowered the window.
The closer of the two aliens leaned toward me and then said, “Excuse me madam, are you the owner of this vehicle?”
“You know I am. Remember, we’ve met before.”
“Just my little joke,” he said with a smile. His sense of humor had not improved in the two years since last we met.
The closer of the two aliens turned to the other and said, “I told you, we’ve seen this one before.”
They seemed to pause for a moment, consulted what looked like an Ipad, and then one shook his head in disappointment, before saying, “Well, let’s get on with it, otherwise we’ll never make the quota.”
Ever helpful I said, “Are you running out of people?”
The nearest alien nodded, and said. “It’s this Covid business. No one’s going out much these days.”
“Well, it’s not like you ask permission,” I said.
“No, but when we pick up someone off Davie Street in Vancouver, and they’ve had six pints of Alexander Keiths everyone just thinks they had a good night at The Junction. No one believes they’ve really been abducted. You know, plausible deniability and all that. But these days,” he shook his bald head, “not so many people are going out for the night. That’s why we have to hang out in the middle of nowhere.” At this point he turned to his friend and said, “I’m not even sure where we are!”
I sighed and said, “Covid.”
In agreement he nodded and sighed, “Covid.”
The senior alien, clearly impatient, then chimed in, “would you mind getting out of the car please?”
I stepped out of the car, and the two of them led me into a small examination room. Instead of the surgical table and lights that one expects in these circumstances, I was placed in a reclining chair and the first alien asked if I would be kind enough to read the letters on a lightbox directly in front of me.
“A, F, G, H,” I said and then asked, “is this it? I mean, you’re giving me an eye exam?”
“Please just read the letters,” said the one that appeared to be in charge.
“M, S, X, no, really is this it?”
The second alien cut in at this point and said, “They don’t let us use the probe any more. They said it’s not politically correct. Something about it not being ‘woke’, whatever that is.”
“Well,” I replied, “it’s not like you ask for consent, is it?”
“We didn’t get many complaints in this sector. At least not on Davie Street.”
“No,” I said. “You wouldn’t. You might get a few people disappointed that you didn’t at least leave your number after you’d finished.”
At this point the first alien smiled at me and said confidentially, “who said he didn’t,” and then winked.
Anyway, I felt I should share these events with you. Now, if you’re in the US be sure to get out and vote as soon as you can. If you don’t live in the US, let’s wish our friends’ the best for their election.
As this month draws to a close I am forced to reflect on a couple of things. The first is that as I look forward to the fall I know that all the lovely clothes I like to wear with browns and the russet colors of this time of year are ready to replace the summer clothes I’ve been wearing. A long skirt with earth tones looks so nice. I’m looking forward to putting together some new outfits along a fall theme.
I should also make a quick correction in the advice I recently gave to my member Mildred, from Colorado Springs. When I suggested a pair of sugar tongs can easily be used to pull fur balls from a cat, I should have pointed out that these are in the cat’s throat. I’m glad I’ve cleared that one up.
Sylvester appeared in my kitchen today just as the coffee was percolating. He was full of himself, freshly back from a trip out of town, with my neighbour Marjory and her girlfriend, Amanda (the queen of tweed). This unlikely trio spelled trouble, without a doubt.
Like so many other businesses, Sylvester’s workshop has seen a little bit of a slow down during this Covid period. People seem to be travelling much less, and so they need less work on their vehicles. A mechanic’s life is not an easy one in times like this. Having said that, poor Rainbow, Sebastian’s sister, is teaching no yoga classes at all, and her usual way of supplementing her income by waitressing is a total washout. I suppose we should all be as supportive to anyone in the hospitality trade as we can. I shall bake Rainbow a nice gluten-free peach cobbler, which is sure to make her feel better.
I poured an ethically sourced coffee for Sylvester and myself, pulled the grey blue satin wrap I was wearing around my body, exposing my recently shaved legs and contemplated my pink fluffy slippers as Sylvester stared at his phone. Don’t you think it so rude when people spend more time staring at their screen than the person they’re with? Sylvester can be really quite coarse at times.
“Marjory took this great photograph, have a look,” said Sylvester passing me the device.
I cast a critical eye over it.
“She’s not a bad photographer,” I said looking at the picture of Sylvester fly fishing.
“Yes,” replied Sylvester admiring the picture. “I think she really caught something there.”
“Yes. Covid, perhaps. Or Chlamydia, more likely.”
Sylvester looked a little crestfallen and said, “It’s not like that.”
“Of course it isn’t.” I replied. I’ve made no secret of my disapproval of Sylvester pursuing Amanda. The poor sap seems completely unable to control his desires.
“Though, I must admit,” he continued, “if Marjory wasn’t on the scene…” His voice trailed off and he stared into the distance lost in thought, before adding, “I can imagine making sweet music with her.”
“I’m sure you can,” I said skeptically. “Perhaps she could be the clap machine.”
But all this playful banter is not the main reason I’m writing tonight. It’s to suggest that if you haven’t already joined my Patreon it would be delightful to see you in there. You can join for as little as $1 a month. If you’re already a member, thank you for making this blog possible. I’d love to lift my Patreon membership to over 175, and try as I might I don’t seem able to crack that number. With your help I’ll get there in the end.
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.
