The recovering crossdresser?

To crossdress or not crossdress – that is the question…

A dangerous game — May 8, 2018

A dangerous game

Warm weather in the UK and for anyone really, causes one to throw off one’s clothing as the vitamin we seek from the Sun is soaked up to the ‘enth degree.

Add in the expectation of more daily ‘drudgery’ remarked upon in my last entry, and with a tidy home office and having concluded that I had some spare time on my hands, this morning, I took to the webcam wearing nothing but a g-string. Why?  Simply because I bloody well wanted to and nothing else seemed to be capable of ticking whatever box it was that I wanted to tick somewhere in the darkest, most deviant parts of my mindset.

In all honesty, I had no idea what I hoped to get out of it, I was just going along with ‘it’ whatever ‘it’ was.  I pulled out a cock pump with at least partial plans to use it, but it lay strewn on the desk top and remained unused until I put it away about an hour or so later.

A small audience gathered on the webcam and with my profile still displaying the same image associated with this blog, pictures could be painted that I am and remain a lingerie crossdresser.

My partially waxed body was evidently of some appeal to some individuals, coupled only with the extremely skimpy item being worn.  I was asked a number of questions, including whether I was a sub, and I guess I am, based on my willingness to follow certain (not all) instructions when before my cam.

I was asked to show off some of ‘my’ lingerie and, concluding that I knew my limits, took the unusual step of visiting the other half’s wardrobe and whisking out a selection of baby dolls, slips and cami-suspenders as well as the spider basque being worn in the only surviving image of my crossdressing days – now used solely as a profile pic and Avatar.

Returning before the web cam, I lifted the items off the hangers and held them before me for those that wanted to see them, and answering questions along the way – as you do, one particularly as to whether the spider basque was one and the same.

For the merest, most fleeting and arguably foolish of moments, I very nearly put an item on.  But I didn’t – even when asked – as the ‘progress’ of almost 14 months of resisting pushed me on but away from committing any act of wagon falling.

Retrospectively at least, it would seem that the demonstration was by no means for my benefit.  I barely paid any attention to the items as I showed them off – I merely displayed them, one by one until there was no more to be shown.  It seemed, at least now, that I was somehow blocking everything out and going through the motions asked of me.

This seemed to be enough for most people and the small assembled audience waned, complimentary and lustful some of it might have been.  The hangers were merely returned back to the wardrobe to hang, the items on them, unused, unworn by anyone – OK – me, as they had done for those 14 months or more

Returning before the webcam, as my mind began trying to remonstrate with myself that I ought to be getting off to the day job, a part of me stubbornly sat there before the camera – almost as a gesture of exhibitional defiance.

However, as the more rational side began to take a grip to get me moving, a contact of old ‘guested’ in and expressed their delight at seeing me ‘back’ on line.  The conversation, certainly on my part, was veiled.  I neither wanted to say that still did dress nor that I no longer dressed, instead finding the equivalent of muttering and mumbling as keyboard speak, merely said that how I was and how I am was best read in my various, albeit less frequent of late, blog entries.

Was this a cheap attempt to garner attention for my blog entry?  Not really – the contact was already aware of the existence of my blog and pledged to read up anyway.   Having already said that I really must apply myself to the day, I was set into a panic having thought I’d heard a presence at the front door, outside, inside, it mattered little.

This was an example of reasons why the crossdressing had to stop in March 2017 – sneaking around, panicked moments, frantic tidy ups, making myself late yet somehow, satisfying a deep inner craving for something exhibitionally and overtly sexual without really knowing what it was as it tends to be these days.

Things had gone on too long on this occasion.  The deep rooted concern that someone was home again was quickly confirmed as being nothing of the sort, but it had, in that split second of all out panic, made me tear the USB from the socket, sending the last camera shot into a frozen, blurry, blue-hued nonsense, whilst the chat window remained active.

With my inner acknowledgement of the need to ‘tidy up’ and indulge myself in more of the kind of intense, double checking, triple checking covering of tracks, before I coud even prepare to leave the house, I politely informed my friendly correspondent that it REALLY was time for me to go, and after the exchanging of genuine and heartfelt pleasantries with this one remaining cam viewing individual, the anti-climax of having really achieved nothing was exactly how it ended.

And so to another day of drudgery.   Yet having got through that today, I still almost desperately crave more of the overtly sexual, provocative cam time despite the largely fruitless thrill associated with it, despite it achieving very little apart from perhaps in small bursts.  Sheer bloody-mindedness!

Nothing has been anywhere near the intensity of sessions from back when I was cross dressed before a webcam – that I know – including the reasons for the same, yet still I somehow crave something from the sessions I indulge myself in, something drives me on.

Something drove me to display those items on cam on request today – something I’ve never actually done in that way before, something almost drove me to conclude ‘what the hell’ and half put something on, as if that would have been OK when my conscience told me that it would not.

That next opportunity and whatever it would likely ultimately not achieve was in clear view ahead when another day dawns.  This is a dangerous game.

Drudgery — May 6, 2018


…that is how it feels at the moment.  Drudgery.

Get up, try and get a multitude of things done in a small amount of time before work, get ready for work, go to work, work late, come home, eat food, check up on family and relatives, read a few emails, try and catch up on TV missed until all hours, go to bed and so the cycle revolves it seems.

Sure – I’m getting lots of things done that I never used to in the fit of my crossdressing peak, and I am still aiming to get some time off work to carry out a lot of stuff purely because I can to have some down time and get some other stuff done.

But otherwise, it is all seemingly so much drudgery.  There is a phrase that ‘all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’, and dull is what it seems to be at the moment.

There have been fleeting occasions where I have been faced with the temptation to both try on and look at items of lingerie.   On one recent occasion, I held one of the other half’s bras that I somehow find appealing up to my chest and stood in front of a mirror.   It wasn’t put on, although I wrestled with the thought of doing so for a while, intensely so in fact, until sighing heavily, arguably remonstrating with myself, putting it down and applying myself to the day instead.

The other day, I was making the bed – something I used to do as a pre-tense towards laying out the lingerie of choice before dressing in it – when I contemplated a little forage into unused, dark recesses of the wife’s lingerie drawer.   But I didn’t.  It seemed partially interesting, but largely pointless.

The reminder remains of the period of over 12 months since I last crossdressed and of the ‘progress’ – if that is what it is – made since.   The motivation to maintain course on the current path is far more of a draw than veering off it, but what is the seemingly daily drudgery – groundhog day if you like – does make me wonder whether there is something else that I need to light a spark to the day and life in general.

In the margins, there is that little ‘me’ time of a visit for a body wax, but growth continues to make me something akin to a ‘before’ and ‘after’ mannequin at the moment.  Bits are done, bits aren’t because they’re not ready – the drive continuing to establish an overall balance, allow everything to catch up to be suitable for an ‘all out’ at one session, but the sessions that I have are a highlight of the calendar which ticks through on my smart phone device and a break from arguable drudgery.

I really do need to find something else to be the above mentioned spark and that is very much the aim, although that treadmill of ‘groundhoggery’ is almost overpowering.

The blog has lain unattended to until now – other things prioritised above writing another entry.   But I have still been logging in to the account, I have read a few blog entries of others and I have perused the stats.  I’ve checked the e-mal account of my now dormant alter-ego, merely clearing out the masses of mail left and then logging out unless anything drew appeal, but little does these days.  They are usually entries telling me about blog entries that I have already ready anyway!

In the more positive, driven moments, thoughts have turned to clearing out the remotely stored lingerie and breast forms in acknowledging that this is probably the end of it, but that remains of little priority overall, and as stated before, is too far away to bother with.

What good would come of falling off the proverbial wagon anyway?  Ah well – time to move on – I need to go to bed, I’ve got TV to watch and there is work tomorrow…

Lost property — February 13, 2018

Lost property

In a life full of rush, hustle, bustle, priorities and a seemingly endless list of things to do and places to be that makes every day and every week fly by, something was going to go wrong at some point I suppose.

Trying to cram too much into a busy day and rushing to get from place to place with little time and too much traffic, has eventually come at a cost. As part of my working day and week, I am usually wearing a lanyard with a memory stick dangling from it.  That memory stick enables me to work on the move.  Only, in my infinite wisdom, one day recently, I decided, whilst somewhere in between the day job and the men’s salon for another body wax appointment, to take off that lanyard at some point beforehand rather than once I’d arrived which, retrospectively at least, would have been far more sensible.

Needless to say, the removal of the lanyard and the act of sub-consciously thrusting it into a pocket of some sort whilst in mid-dash – a pocket probably full of other daily clutter and winter essentials – must have been a thrust too far.  In my ignorance to the fact that it was already gone, it was only on returning home later than afternoon that I thought about putting that lanyard safely away at home ready for the next working day.

It wasn’t there.

With a memory like a proverbial sieve, I was vainly playing every moment of the day through my head, but the grey cells had failed to soak up anywhere near the critical information needed – I had, in fact, evidently been on auto-pilot – the commute had largely being a haze of nothing.  Was the missing item in or around the car?  No.  It could conceivably have been anywhere on route between point A and point Z, the day job to the salon and any point in between, only I knew it wasn’t at the salon.

I knew that, as I’d dressed and collected all of my belongings post appointment, innocently and subconsciously convinced that the bits and bobs were somewhere in a pocket.  In actuality, the missing article may well have dropped, probably whilst running, falling ghost-like out of my pocket, to the floor, or, perhaps more likely in my cynical, pessimistic mind, having sprouted wings all by itself and simply floated away.

The first few hours of the evening were spent firstly pointlessly searching then trying to drain every remaining brain cell to work out where I might have lost it, only to conceded defeat, giving up, putting it down to being ‘one of those things’ but vowing to get my life sorted and bloody well stop rushing around everywhere and trying to cram 26 hours into a 24 hour day.

I should add at this point that the contents of the memory stick were valuable for my own personal use, but nothing was going to smash the official secrets act!   However, there was one folder within which my blog entry draft was frequently stored.

Upon posting my last entry up, I would have deleted the draft once posted – wouldn’t I?   You may well suggest that I shouldn’t worry as, surely, I had password protected the contents anyway?   Of course I didn’t – that would be far too sensible a thing to do for anyone who doesn’t live their life in a rush.

However, I have since convinced myself that I had deleted the draft entry, and irrespective of whether that memory stick and lanyard is in someone’s possession or about to fall into landfill, to rear its head one day, or perhaps to be incinerated, only time will tell, but that lost property remains lost all ends up right now and there is nothing on it that might otherwise cause me too much grief that I can’t manage should it raise its ugly head now or in the future.

That brings me onto the other element of arguably lost property.  The hidden evidence of a crossdressing life now approaching a year away.  My mind set is now largely free from any smidgen of thought, regret, plan, investigation, research, or viewing etc.  I have been and remain focused on what I mostly deem to be the right path – never to return again.   It just isn’t me anymore it seems.

For the first time, I have given serious thought to a final strategy, a final act of recovery and disposal of those garments, those lacy items, suspender straps tantalisingly dangling, those breast forms, those various pairs of stockings, only, I don’t think I have the time or inclination to go and recover them.

That doesn’t mean to say that I shouldn’t, there just isn’t a need or real convenient opportunity that I can forsee.  I suppose I would have to plan it on a day when I have time to myself, or an ability to busy myself without inquiry or disturbance – perhaps a trip to the tip to get rid of some other household waste could tie in with a reconnaissance mission to collect the ‘stash’ (I hate that word!) and throw in with the rest of the stuff to be disposed of.  It wouldn’t be the first time that lingerie lovelies have resided unceremoniously in a black bin bag thrown into giant skip of general waste about to go under the giant claw.

However, the quandary that I’m in remains the quandary that has been – the mere sight of those garments would not be something I could avoid being somehow drawn to, more so through sentiment though these days but it really is a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ for me as a general rule.  In any case, the one thing that I said that I wouldn’t ever do again was purge – and I haven’t.  I just stored things away just under twelve months ago.

I said that I wouldn’t purge!   Irrespective of the progress I continue to make in arguable recovery, however rational my head is being, the same remains, I remain open to some form of temptation, or at least, something that would make me start thinking about things again – perhaps not specifically, but just the subject matter.  That would mess my head up.  I would be like the proverbial child in a sweet shop, wanting to have everything, but in actuality, getting nothing at all.

Put simply, I can’t see myself being dressed in lingerie these days, but that is exactly the point – I said ‘these days’, not necessary ever again and that in itself is ridiculous because ‘never again’ is very much my mind-set.  It is only the fact that those items that seek to tempt me, draw me in and hold me so tightly, are not available to me to hand, so I suppose that is the way things will have to stay for now.

It wouldn’t take much for me to dress – just a pair of stockings and the motivation to recover the items and get on with it.   My vivid imagination is driven by what is in front of me in eye line.  However, whilst never taking long to dress before, when I did, there was no conscience – just motivation and desire.   I am probably terrified of being in a situation even though it would be of my own doing – these are the ramblings of a madman.

I can imagine that I would be asking myself what on earth I was doing, whilst still carrying on, even having started in the first place.   No.  NO!  I remain where I somehow know that I should be – clear of conscience, clear of temptation, the last time I crossdressed getting further away with every second, minute, hour, day, driven by other things and other people, but somehow still mindful of some lost property along the way.

Labels — January 11, 2018


I don’t really know why I did it.  I think it might be something to do with a previous, recent blog entry which suggested that I might look on-line for a series of questions I could ask myself about my crossdressing life.

This, it turns out, was a not quite such a positive investigation as I might have hoped.  I know that the internet is awash with all manner of descriptors and search results on any given subject, so ‘Questions to ask a crossdresser’ was only ever likely to come up with a myriad of results, good, bad and indifferent.

Unfortunately, the browsing time led to an indication of the type of crossdresser that I was up to March 2017 – the last point of cessation.  It turns out that someone who is involved in dressing only in lingerie is, apparently, a ‘transvestic fetishist’, someone who has (it is explained) ‘an excessive sexual or erotic interest in crossdressing, often expressed in autoerotic behaviour, and is categorised as ‘paraphilia’.  This in turn describes paraphilia as being ‘the experience of intense sexual arousal to atypical objects, situations, fantasies, behaviours or individuals’

I don’t know why I should feel upset, or perhaps aggrieved about it, as I know only too well that my crossdressing sessions involved an acute amount of on-line exhibitionism, and only a small amount in actually wearing the clothes for comfort.

Long-term readers of my blog will know that I have openly talked about frequent appearances before a web cam, but equally so, periods where I have worn lingerie, off line, just for myself, for comfort, and taste, probably desire too, wearing under work attire for example.

Equally so, for the latter, I have also referred to instances where I have abruptly felt disgust at a day of wearing  ending with sexual kicks and a wish to get out of the lingerie as soon as possible – I guess that makes me a tranvestic fetishist then – but what about the times when I merely undressed having enjoyed the experience and returned to what I often called ‘civvies’?

Labels.  Just this week, I commented on a post by daniellaargento about the use of terms such as ‘T-Girl’ as something of offence, pornographic slur, suggesting that ‘we’ might need to come up with new terms seeing as though so many had been what I would describe as ‘hijacked’ for all manner of reasons, what I could suggest were some sort of gain and also of inciting hatred and ignorant misunderstanding.

Still, I have allowed myself to be labelled as a transvestic fetishist.  Well, at least that is what I currently figure that I was.  The fact that I ‘was’ should mean that I am slightly more content because, in reality, I’m not acting as a transvestic festishist anymore – well, not really.

So why then, have I been browsing the internet for crossdressers lingerie?  I have no idea.  There has been no aim to buy, or wear, so I was actually wasting my time – no more, no less.   Just the other week, I had something akin to a Eureka! moment.   There I was, ranting on in a previous blog entry how I’d denied myself the opportunity of crossdressing because I’d remotely stored my stash.

The Eureka! moment, if you like, came at the point that I realised that I did in fact have temptation within arms reach – there was still the wife’s now long unworn, last worn by me, chemises etc. hanging up in her wardrobe.   The real reason that I haven’t been drawn to temptation is that by ridding myself of the stash (not a word I favour, so I won’t use it again!) (Labels!), storing the lacy basques etc. of my own had, in fact, been a by-product of storing the real focus of everything about my currently historical crossdressing self – stockings – my very guilty pleasure.

Of course, I am not crossdressing these days for a number of other reasons.  At the risk of becoming boring, repetitive and predictable for regular readers, I will summarise the key points.

  • At the time I was proactively involved in crossdressing, barely anything else mattered – material and person – it came at the expense of a lot of things and people most closely.  Put bluntly, I didn’t know when to stop, apart from the odd occasions when I did.
  • Guilt and deceit: around a year ago, someone who I’d known for a while sadly passed away.  That allowed a whole cupboard full of their skeletons to fall out – none of them crossdressing related I should clarify – but I remonstrated with myself that I could not criticise this person for their deceit to those closest to them when I was engaging in a form of deceit myself.   Somehow, I seemed to sub-consciously beat myself up in my head when around family, reminding myself that I was hiding a secret, but carrying on as if I wasn’t – and it turned out that I wasn’t entirely content with that towards the end of March 2017 either.

There is however, a much more disturbing effect of my own supposedly fetishistic indulgences – in all honesty, I don’t think my sex life has been the same over recent years.   During the same searches I referred to at the start of this blog entry, it had been suggested to me that those indulging in such a way were often doing so as a way of getting sufficient sexual kicks and didn’t need intimacy with another as a result.  That was something that I found difficult to read and accept, as I honestly felt that had been the case, in my own period of indulgence and arguable selfishness.

I remember a time, probably when there was less care, and more kink, and before the beginning of my indulgences, when things were great intimately, frequent etc. – you know…  Perhaps. If I was to be fairer to myself, and did some more searching, I might well reassure myself that, perhaps as we get older, our urges can and do decrease in frequency and extent.

Certainly, there have been many instances of comedians joking about a lack of libido and the good old classic ‘’Not tonight Dear, I have a head-ache” get-out line.    Had I have not been secretly indulging in the way that I had been, I might accede to the effects of the passage of time as we grow older, but I can’t honestly accept that with what has been going off so covertly.

I do somehow feel that I have allowed myself to become corrupted by apparent thrills of dressing and exhibiting, the pattern of which is only broken by the few occasions where I dressed for myself in between.  I did say that crossdressing came at the expense of other things and people!

Whilst maintaining interest in crossdressing forums and websites at this time, whilst still browsing the internet for relevant subject matter, whilst going through the odd spell of rather unpleasant cold turkey so to speak, it is, in actuality, now some 10 months since I ceased being whatever it was – label it as you either will or won’t.   I’ve done enough labelling of things for myself.

Even the urges to experiment with sex toys of late, have, for now at least, eased off, box less than ticked.   Yet, given the right frame of mind, I’ll quite happily strip off, down to my everyday g-string undies and go before a webcam – only, in reality, I really don’t know why, as it is largely just a compete waste of time.  It is however, somehow, total escapism during that time, inhibitions discarded, albeit with limits applied, and in two minds too, one slightly more powerful than the other at any given time.

A lot to think on then, for me certainly if not for you.  A label of some sort, reasons and rationale not to crossdress.  Largely, a mindset to remain on course, and make amends to myself and the unknowing others, yet on occasion, desperately searching for some rhyme, reason or method to begin crossdressing in lingerie again, wrong though I seem to know that would be.  I’m not tempted enough on average – so, I guess I’m still recovering then.

Read, think and be very… — December 25, 2017

Read, think and be very…

Here we are then, another festive season is upon us, and for some if not many of us, it will probably feel like 2017 has passed in the blink of an eye.  Someone once told me that, the older you get, the quicker time goes by, and that seems to be very much the case.

Whilst some of us continue through life with secrets more than hidden, enjoying the fruits of life with the right people close at hand, I’m sure there are others that, for whatever reason, cannot be in this situation and are instead left to fight their demons much like they do any other day of the year.

It’s a rollercoaster ride alright – there are ups, there are downs and there are plateaus somewhere along the way too.

Each peak and trough, and indeed each plateau offer subject-matter for bloggers to blog about and other readers to read about, appreciators, sympathisers, empathisers, supporters, friends or merely those who express an interest in the subject matter, from the in-depth to the more trivial elements.

I have always said that I use my blog entry as the only viable way to let it all out, anonymity proving valuable, an expressive mind and not exactly trained but fairly rapid typing fingers able to lay it all down as it cascades out of my mind.

There are undoubtedly more peaks and troughs, plateaus, potholes and pitfalls along the way, but I just wanted to take this opportunity to express my thanks to you for reading, warts and all, whether it be just the one entry, a few more or every single posting.

Though the extent of feedback and comment is minimal, somehow, I feel content knowing that I am not alone, that there is a support network out there of varying sorts, and that none of us are really totally alone in our quest to simply be, however that might or in my case, might not, be.

Seasons greetings, best wishes to all, read, think and be very…and here’s to 2018, whatever it might throw at us.


Scared of my own self. — December 20, 2017

Scared of my own self.

Prepare yourself for yet more ramblings of a mad man, and yes, so soon after the last blog entry too!

When I was in the peak of my lingerie crossdressing, in the aftermath of such activity, I’d probably ‘filled my boots’, ‘had my fill’, ‘topped out’, even if that was after a few days of bingeing.

Reasoning that the use of the toys referred to in the last blog entry had recently failed to help me find what I was looking for and that more work would in fact be required to hit the proverbial and actual spot, it would appear that I have put things back on a shelf on that subject, albeit not forgotten, having ‘filled my boots’ with that sort of indulgence for the time being.

Being a little under the weather at the moment, albeit getting better day by day, is yet another demotivator towards any deviant activity, yet during those empty moments in life, when in bed at night, either waiting to drop off for the first time, or again having woken up at some point, there have been times when the general train of thought has been towards what the situation would be like if I did, somehow, start crossdressing again, but without drawing any sort of conclusion whatsoever during those thoughts.

Sure – I ventured into the storage facility of late and actually looked at the lingerie for the first time since March 2017 – so what?  It sowed a few seeds in my mind, but none of them have really started growing (analogies aplenty here it seems!).   However, my mindset about the subject matter has been without any acknowledgement of reality – merely somehow crossdressing again and with no regard to their being any consequences, or other priorities etc.  Yes – I’ve been in that situation before but largely without much of a care until life changing moments intercepted proceedings much earlier this year.

Flat out in bed, darkness and silence all around, and in fact, even during the brief pauses of the working day, I have given thought to the word and act of ‘crossdressing’, but still without actually thinking about anything specific and largely far, far away from any plans to crossdress.

I suppose the reality is that because the lingerie is so remotely stored away, the very act carried out to store it in March has put paid to any opportunity to fall off the proverbial wagon.   Knowing about my obsessive, compulsive tendencies, I remain on the borderline of being scared of relapse at this present time – something I’ve never really experienced before in the same way.

Whilst writing this blog entry, the very thought of being scared of my own actions is by itself, utterly ridiculous.  What am I?  Scared of somehow motivating myself to get everything from storage and begin wearing it again?  As if I would be unable to stop myself?   Irrationally – yes.  I think that were I to actually do such a thing in my own private time, I’d probably be visibly, physically and significantly shaking, through both fear and, conversely, nervous excitement, both as the dressing was underway and then afterwards, but I think that the fear would far outweigh the latter, questioning, probably somewhat furiously, what on earth I was doing, yet still somehow driving myself on, or perhaps stopping myself somewhere along the way, possibly sooner rather than much later.  Who knows?

The reality is that, despite recent thought processes and a mere glimpse of my lingerie collection in a dark, cold storage facility, I’m still very unlikely to take the step to recover the items including the breast forms from storage.  I suppose it really is good that I did what I did, when I did it back in March this year and whilst I had the drive and motivation to do so.

Life throws all sorts of challenges at us.  Some things send us spinning off and downwards into crisis and chaos, whilst others serve to send us in a more suitable, maybe positive direction, offering karma, peace of mind.

Would I like to crossdress in lingerie once more?  Somehow, yes, but frames of mind, an apparent desire to comply with stereotypes, and the much repeated fact that I acknowledge people and other things I should be attending to outside of the mostly irresistably cravings and draw of crossdressing, weigh more heavily.  There is a thought process – a list of as yet, unconfirmed questions, washing around in my mind right now that will probably form the basis of the next blog entry – that is when I’ve brought to the surface of my thoughts and rationalised it all some more.

Here we are though, approaching the festive season, and a point in time amounting to nine months having elapsed since I last crossdressed.  There has already been a time period during which I had stopped – but resumed again October 2016 to March 2017 – whatever the reasons were for that.

I can’t  remember how long the cessation was before October 2016 (it is probably buried somewhere in a blog entry), so that in itself, is a valid point on which to remind myself that I am no by no means free from relapse – and as I said above, right now, that makes me a little scared of my own self.

Until next time, thanks, as ever, for reading.

Oh! CD! — December 13, 2017

Oh! CD!

I won’t deny it – thoughts have been turning to crossdressing again of late – albeit nothing specific, merely that the subject matter is washing around more towards the forefront of my thoughts.  I have made no plans to begin again, but I will confess to having been on-line on my web cam site of choice, and making an acquaintance with two new sex toys – that’s four I now have – these two being the impulsive purchases of prostate massagers, one battery driven, the other being a rubberised sort of thing that you have to fit your tackle through various points once inserting the main element somewhere rather pleasant it turns out.

The fumbling around to insert the watch style batteries into the vibrating massager and the hurry to reassemble and get on with its use led to a conclusion that the batteries weren’t up to much, seemingly running out way ahead of when I thought they should have done.  It turns out that the item is able to work at varying speeds merely by turning the top as well as pressing the button on the end and I’d got this completely mixed up.  Lubed up and ready, it was replaced by the more cumbersome rubberised item which I find rather kinky with everything inserted and the item clamped on below.

Not at my best at the moment, probably caused by a failure to take one’s regular vitamin supplement and a period in which I was spending too much time walking around the house naked with and without the other half present, I made myself no better by blatantly displaying heady sexual exploration on my webcam.

This had not been the first time I’d used the manual prostate massager – somewhat of an OCD nature, I had already sneaked it into the shower, and with a house full, lubed up and tried it out for a few moments on the day of receipt,  This only led to the web cam session referred to above.

That aside, regular readers of my blog entry will know that I last crossdressed in March – life experiences and, let’s say, perhaps more rational thoughts led to the lingerie, breast forms and stockings being stored away so remotely, even I would find it difficult to get to things once stored.

All I would need is a reason to have to go to the remote storage facility and that is exactly what happened this week.  Once inside, this cold, dark location needed light from the poorest of light fittings and the torch on my smartphone.  Teetering amongst the other random items, equally randomly stored, I made a bee-line for THAT location.

It is quite ridiculous, but I knew where the items were, I knew what was in the boxes, but the obsessive compulsive in me just had to take a look.  Under torch light, the breast forms box came open.  The first one spotted was lying nipple side down, but I just had to flip it over for what was, to be fair, the merest of glances otherwise.  It wasn’t long before I’d satisfied my obsessive compulsive nature in that instance and the box was shut more or less as quickly as it had been opened.

Next, the other box – the one in which the lingerie was stored.  Having opened the flaps, there, stored just as I had left them of course, in the cold, in the dark, and with a misty haze caused by my breath in the cold air, were the red and blue basques.  The suspender straps were the most obvious draw to my eye sight but I could also see what I thought was a pink outfit.  Did I still have a pink outfit?

It mattered little – there was to be no touching of the fabric – just a look and with little more than 10-20 seconds having passed, then box was folded shut again and both boxes were stored back further away from where they had been placed before – as if that meant anything at all.

There was to be little more thought about the dalliance with life up to March of this year in the immediate aftermath as the storage facility was closed up once more.   What on earth drove me to look?  I didn’t have to.  I could have just grabbed the things I needed, walked out, closed and locked the door behind me and left.   This was the obsessive compulsive taking priority of place, but to this very moment, I do not know why I did it or what I hoped to achieve out of it but in those brief moments, in that short window of opportunity, I just had to do it.  It seemed to tick a box somehow.

However, much as I’ve said before, eye candy can prove to be a terrible draw and things continued to wash around my head.     The other morning, I had cause to visit my tried and trusted home and hardware store, which, it turned out, has had a move round.

Things are no longer where they used to be. ‘Good’ thought I.  I’ve merely got to follow the signs, find the toiletries that I need and head for the till.  However, things were to conspire, as, on the way to the till, I spotted the new location for the tights and stockings out of the corner of my eye, the crossdresser within more than supressed but still capable.  “Damn you – DAMN YOU”, I said to myself but I determinedly strode towards the till and made my way out and onwards.

As I said, by having a need to venture to the storage facility recently, I had a good reason, an almost irresistible reason to take a reminiscing glance at my past, with no idea as to why I was doing it.   I said in a previous blog that if the items were far enough away and difficult to get to, there could not be temptation of any kind.

Late to sleep last night and early to rise, not at my best and with another peak of sexual euphoria beginning to build, an awakening if you like, I didn’t really sleep well. At one point, lying there in bed in the dead of night, I found myself with no reason as to why I couldn’t start crossdressing again, almost looking forward to that first dressing opportunity with relish and a longing, then eventually finding enough rationality of mind to get some more sleep.  At another point in the night, I was trying to recall how and where I used to hide my breast forms back in the da without them being discovered – I could not, for the life of me, remember, and desperately tried to recall the facts, before remonstrating with myself that they hadn’t been discovered, wherever they had been placed and that they were now more safely stored away – admittedly, now more fresh to my mindset through the recent sneaky peak.

So to this morning – an early start, but chance to get on-line and use one of my new toys – but any plans were thwarted by a need to get to the day job, and the fact that, of all inconvenient times, the PC wanted to do one of those irritating updates – so I left it to it, concluding that it offered a reason to get about the day.   Having put on and inserted the rubberised prostate massager, I dressed and made for the day job, feeling plugged and clamped below, and looking forward to the day immensely in being this way..

The good news is that, despite insomnia-led night-time urges to resume crossdressing, the waking hours put me not on that track, but on the same one I was one – at least for now.   Oh!  CD!