The recovering crossdresser?

To crossdress or not crossdress – that is the question…

CATCH UP BLOG #3: As familiar as a pair of comfortable slippers… — August 19, 2020

CATCH UP BLOG #3: As familiar as a pair of comfortable slippers…

Over recent months, this blog has had entries like buses – none for ages then a few come along at once.  There is and was a very good reason for this, and I can sum it up in one word.  Indulgence.  That started, according to my social media timeline anyway, on November 5th 2019 when everything did indeed fire into life again with little if no explanation.

A previous blog entry, one that had sat on a memory stick for around two months, said that I’d already been in the general direction of where my lingerie was stored whilst selecting a chastity device of preference, but usually with a heavy sigh, merely left things well alone lingerie-wise and merely applied myself to partial lock up instead.

The 5th November 2019 was different.  It was to try and reflect back – I’d probably sum up a period of personal turmoil – a variety of domestic issues and a busy lifestyle were taking their toll and the resumption of lingerie crossdressing just felt right as a sort of coping mechanism – for whatever reason – and it merely happened.  I don’t remember what I wore – it was probably something easily to hand or of preference at the time.

Everything resumed.  Exhibiting on webcams, social media pics etc.  This was an outpouring of activity tantamount to catching up on where I had left off previously.

An array of other responsibilities became a distant second in the order of priority.  The focus was, much like it used to be, on planning, yearning for certain outfits, certain devices and as the order arrived for plugs, so too did the curiosity for exploring anal play, the plugs soon put to use outside the periods where I was not using a dildo.  Apart from being dressed for work almost every day, there was ample time to enjoy the peace and solitude of being home alone each morning, calmly dressing, locking, plugging and/or playing, experimenting.

There was also a natural progression towards a second go at indulging in correspondence with a Mistress.  Having already experienced the wrong side of such activity, parting with money only for nothing but abuse in return, I was left scarred, yet this new Mistress continued to speak in my language on her social media posts.

Absolutely everything she said and the way she said it, resonated with me – I related to every minutiae of detail and I told her so in open replies.

Having already had permission to DM her to report an abusive troll, I saw another post from her about taking on another sub.   I’d already made a pact in my own mind to dedicate myself to her without being owned (as I could not see any other conceivable way to give myself to her) and duly declared this on my social media page header.

When she posted something about being owned, I openly replied as to how good it would be, in theory, if I could be under her ownership, yet being closeted, said that it would be difficult to perceive a way as to how this could happen.

She invited me to DM her once more, sure in her own mind that there would be a way – again, this particular Mistress was very much speaking my language.

Mistress does not freely and simply take on any old sub.  To her, quite reasonably, they have to show signs of dedication, attention, focus and above all – trust.  I suppose, by reporting a troll (one that she knew about, had blocked and said that she was made of tough stuff to deal with what was said about her – the fact they were blocked meant she didn’t see it so it was a waste of the troll’s time anyway) I’d shown an intent to serve.  I wasn’t one of those one-way traffickers only in it for my own sexual relief and, happily, it seemed that I had said enough to demonstrate that I was not just another of those apparently many social media time-wasters only in it for themselves.

In short, she took me into ownership as her sub – and I have been ‘owned’ by her since then.

For the best part of four and a half months, I was dressed, locked and plugged in her servitude on an almost daily basis.  She decided what I wore, selecting outfits, colours etc. and chose the chastity device to be worn as well as the type and size of plug.

My intent to serve became more evident on acquisition of a Lovense Hush plug, which can be remote controlled via a smartphone app.  Mistress revelled in this seemingly previously unknown option to control her sub once I’d notified her that it was to happen, another demonstration perhaps of depth of intent and dedication to serve.

The item was purchased and soon put into use, Mistress determining when she wanted to use her sub, and therefore whether it was to be that plug or another, based on her own ability due to personal commitments or simply if she chose to.

I had no say when she took control, as I sat at my office desk, the device specially designed to be discreet and quiet, those around me unaware as the device worked inside me, patterns pre-set, wave after wave pounding away often at full power, causing me to have to control my every move and facial expression to avoid showing any kind of reaction that would seem out of place in a busy open-plan office environment.

I would spend 12 hours in outfits and devices, from early in the morning from as early as 7am to when I returned home, weekday after weekday, weekends left to vanilla time but keeping in regular touch with my Domme, providing daily photo and video evidence of my activities at home with my dildo and having disrobed in office toilets before covering up again, shots also posted on my Twitter profile @fionacder.

This was a daily routine – logistics of sitting down to wee in the communal gents toilets more regularly than any stand up to do the business, time to adjust outfits where necessary, stockings, suspenders, clasps as necessary, adjust chastity and, when worn, a cock ring too.

New chastity devices were purchased and obtained covertly for Mistress to choose from, new outfits were selected by Mistress for her sub to buy discreetly and wear, creating a once more burgeoning stash of outfits which were secretly stored at home but now, within easy reach, and for added security, under lock and key.  No more constant back and forths to storage.

This was life.  This was me.  This was the inner me, the closeted me. My inner sexuality and kinks were there to be explored, boundaries pushed, new horizons and desires found.  Encouraged to fully embrace the temptations I could barely deny, yet doing so in total and utter secrecy, a way found to lock everything up at home, hidden away, out of sight but close to hand.

If I wasn’t on my cam site of preference, I’d be taking and publishing pics of my state of dress, state of chastity and how it was instructed that I should be plugged.  I was usually either plugged with the Hush and remotely controlled, or I had the full size, larger plug, virginal, yet to be fucked-for-real ass, gradually being trained.

Frequently denied cum due to personal and home circumstances, my sexual energy remained at a peak, eagerness to serve, dress, lock, plug, demonstrate my submissiveness to my Mistress, an ever present.   But my bi-curiousness was being developed through the training to consume my own cum.  After years of baulking after the peak of the moment, now, I would happily take pre-cum for Mistress, only, in theory at least, allowed to cum if ruined, the satisfaction of hand-relief not actually likely under any real circumstances.

Spirit to serve my Mistress remained, able to tribute freely, at and of my choosing, but still on what was my own reasonable basis.

Earlier in 2020, an opportunity presented itself to be home alone for 4.5 days, nobody but me.  I vowed and detailed the intent to Mistress to serve her entirely, be dressed, locked and plugged of her choosing 24 hours a day including the delights of sleeping in that state, free time left to play, use toys and train to ruin for Mistress, although never getting over the line, undoubtedly putting myself under too much pressure.

I spent a great deal of time at night fucking my 6” suction cup dildo, often filming or taking snaps as I did, to further demonstrate my spirit to serve my Domme to the ‘enth degree for as much time as possible, into the early hours of the morning, and sleeping very little as the peak of sexual euphoria held a vice-like grip over every moment of the day.

It was an unforgettable period, wanton abandonment of many of life’s priorities, life’s pressures, stresses and strains – this was Fiona’s moment to be to the fore, the shackles of the girl within fully but temporarily lifted.

In amongst this were regular sessions being body waxed, and further exploring my bi-curious tendencies and a developing and increasingly keener urge to suck an available cock from time to time, totally submissively and for some time, each time, arguably pimping myself out, admissions and updates given to Mistress to update my training as it went on.

Things were going very well indeed.  A closeted crossdresser, turned dedicated sub to her newly found and treasured Domme, one with whom a deep and strong bond of trust had been found – so far indeed that Fiona did something she’d never done before with anyone ever before – shown her male face, albeit to Mistress only.  This was it – this was a new step in sexual exploration, exhilaration in expressing an otherwise suppressed inner submissive side.  I had, it seemed, and pleasingly so, endeared myself to my Domme and the pride of being hers, owned, and above all, valued so very deeply was something that I revelled in.

But when mid-March 2020 arrived, fate dealt the most cruellest of hands…

CATCH UP BLOG #2: Assertion of one’s authority — February 9, 2020

CATCH UP BLOG #2: Assertion of one’s authority

It’s another catch up blog. I don’t think I’ve gone so long without posting, but as said last time around, three were written – it was just that posting them up got somehow de-prioritised.

There is still much to say to bring things up to date, so I shall continue.

Just lately, with such a collection of sex toys, there has been a need to store things away, out of sight and out of mind of everyone bar me in remote storage.   As the mood takes me, I have shuttled between one toy or the other, and one chastity device or the other.

Making the move to get something of choice, I have, on occasion, set my mind on my lingerie box, untouched since early January, apart from one momentary glance at the contents within, but no touching, the contents covered anyway, by a glut of packaging from one mail order selection or another.

On more than one occasion, the thought occurred to recover that box, to dress, rediscover, relax, be me, forget the drudgery, trials and tribulations of life at least in part if not whole.  But, each time, with a heavy sigh, something motivated me not to, to attend and indulge in the sex toys, the chastity, and the lock up instead because the kink required it.

As I’ve said before, whilst my alter-ego social media profile tends to follow a variety of Mistresses, the temptation to connect more closely with them couldn’t have been further away.  Something else I’ve said before is that I’m not into being ‘rinsed’, ‘drained’ – blah, blah, blah.   Anything I did of financial investment would be under my terms and with my full consent.

Only, with such sexual euphoria raging through my system and the tendency to indulge in direct messaging, somehow, I allowed myself to respond to one particular person, profile suggesting they were a Mistress from Canada.   There was lots of attempted dominance, assertion of so-called authority, emanating from within their input, along with a curiosity to know a little bit more about me.  I had somehow allowed myself to become drawn in by their apparent willingness to give me a try out, before any kind of commitment.

There were the most ridiculous suggestions that either they or I could relocate, immediately rebuffed whilst playing along with the game by me adding the word ‘Mistress’ after every response.   Nothing was quick enough for them.   Considering that I was at work, and by rights shouldn’t have been distracting myself through indulgence in DMs, considering that there are other things in life for absolutely everyone, they were nothing short of the utmost in rudeness by getting narked if I didn’t respond quickly.

I protested the ridiculousness of their approach by stating that I was at work, and, again playing along with the ruse, said that I could hardly serve them if I was no longer working.  There were demands for this, that and the other, but also a more concessionary response, on repeated occasions, when I, playing and acting the sub, reminded the alleged Mistress/domme of how they should be acting to keep me ‘on side’.

Discussions led to the offering on their part of a trial service, me having no experience at being an actual paying sub, yet somehow driven to indulge despite my better judgement.  Various requests were made for contact via a number of smart phone apps, none of which I could partake in, in order to retain my place deep in the closet.

The alleged Mistress seemed keen to get me on board, yet all along, from my end, things didn’t add up.  ‘She’ had an account name bearing no resemblance to ‘her’ profile name, went under a variety of names, one excuse being that it was the name ‘her’ mother gave ‘her’.

Still I persisted with the communications via DM and agreed to ‘tribute’ via a method agreed of gift card.  I did a quick conversion of pounds to Canadian dollars and found myself scouring the town for a location at which these cards could be bought. Eventually, I sourced them and provided photographic proof of purchase via DM.   Inside, a voice was screaming at me that this was somehow wrong and that I should not be doing it, but the submissive side saw me going through the queue at the checkout, paying for the gift cards and returning to work.

From here, the pressure was duly applied by the alleged Mistress to bloody well get on and scratch the cards off to reveal the redeemable codes, action of which was simply just not quick enough for them.  A text tirade then followed including expletives but I told them that I was working as fast as I could, at the day job, at the desk.

Eventually, photographic evidence was sent, including a copy of the receipt.   However, alarm bells continued to ring and having dropped all the ‘Mistress’ ending to whatever I said as the frustration began to boil over, I seemed to naturally assume the role of the Domme instead.

The challenge of the account @name was met with a sudden, unannounced change to another.  I told them that I had seen this happen, but this was only met with a further change.   It mattered little to me – I still wanted to know why the original name, having no resemblance to anything else, had been used.   Eventually, it crept out via DM response that it was allegedly the name of their former sub, alluding that they had been so fond of, yet had lost them, so it was the name they had used.  Photographic evidence of this sub were also provided.

Naked photographs of a female taken in front of a mirror using a smartphone but covering their modesty, were sent in a futile attempt to try and retain me.  Evidence of them quickly giving up also became apparent, but I was not done with them as the tables seemed to have been turned.   Frankly, I was not inclined to believe that the photos that had been sent, even though they were the same person in each, were that of the person behind the account.   Similarly, the Twitter account had very little actual, if any, self-tweeted content.

This was another question that went unanswered as this person’s profile seemed to be unravelling in front of both of us.  An offer was made to change the account @name to one using mine.  I said that they may certainly not as my dominance seemed to be overpowering them at almost every turn.   “Why didn’t I want to be their sub?’ came the question.  I merely said that things didn’t add up, and expressed my utter frustration that they had changed their @name again, adding that they were not helping themselves.

Fury in the form of swear words and angry emojis then followed, and a further declaration, as if it was needed, that I was making them get mad at me.  I was not bothered in the slightest.   The conversation turned to the question of what had been done with the gift cards, suggesting that the most appropriate course of action would be to tell me whether they had ‘cashed’ them or not, when I had no intention of any form of try out or long-term on-line relationship.   I also remonstrated that I had not lowered myself to their level in swearing.     Additionally, this person didn’t seem to sleep.  They were always on the end of DMs, no matter what time of day, considering the time difference between the UK and Canada.

That was another question that remained unanswered.   They asked what I, the apparent sub, wanted them, the apparent domme, to do.  I said that the relevant amount in gift cards would be appropriate, or that they could just tell me that they hadn’t cashed them and I would have them for myself.

A flurry of evasive apologies then followed, and a declaration that they, the apparent domme, were not out to waste my (the apparent sub) time.   How could I trust them, they asked.  They confessed that they had been looking for a good sub for many years and was very sorry, again, questions not being answered.

Ultimately, attempts were made to open dialogue with me again in the following days but I was having none of it.  Eventually, a check on the DM thread identified that I had, in fact, been blocked.   I duly responded with a retaliatory block and that, was the end of that.

In the meantime, about that thing from my past that made a return…

CATCH UP BLOG #1: You cannot be serious! —

CATCH UP BLOG #1: You cannot be serious!

Prefix:  It’s been a while.  Three months or more in fact but what a three months or more.

I wrote some blogs a while back but one thing or the other stopped me from getting around to posting them.  I suppose I should explain.

Here is Catch -up blog number 1 of 3 – or 4 – this one for October 2019

Here we are then – the tenth month of the year of 2019, which has disappeared quicker than your bath water goes down the plughole!   It is, ten months since I last wore any lingerie.   I suppose you could call that an achievement in itself although quite how I’ve done it – I don’t know but clearly, the mindset has been one of merely not being inclined to indulge.

Of course, that kink, as has been fully documented before, has been swapped for chastity.  On one particular day of late, I was looking at the blog stats and one of the entries that had been viewed was one where I made a reference to a former Twitter contact – Safia – who has since blocked me for arguably ditching them without a ‘by your leave’, who, during the time that we were in contact with each other – around a year ago – said words to the effect that ‘perhaps we ought to try chastity’.

But the other week, I hit a wall with the chastity again.  I would assume that it came after a peak was achieved and having given myself the metaphorical equivalent of a slap around the face to bring me my so-called senses, everything came to a halt once more.

Well, for a few days at least.  I don’t know what gets switched on within but the changes between moods and approaches is literally one extreme or the other – on or off.

Of course, things soon switched back on again, geared up by something or other.  The proverbial spark seems to be related to my attention or otherwise to Fiona’s social media presence on Twitter.   If I tell myself not to look, I cannot be drawn to the imagery and phraseology used, I cannot read and respond to the DMs that seem to be ever more frequent.

However, every now and again, something in my mindset will coerce me to log in.  In doing so, the rationale is sort of along the lines of ‘Why not?’, ‘What harm can it do’ but also the more blunt and somewhat direct ‘Because I want to’ or ‘Because I am’.

The mere sight of men in chastity is usually something to start the cravings, the yearnings, the planning and the reignition of various trains of thoughts and, as has been the case recently, motivation to further indulge and explore.

DM exchanges also fuel the proverbial fire but of the many threads of late, assisted by a slight increase in the numbers of followers, have ranged from conversations with a (but not my) Mistress, to those wishing to ask questions about my year-long experiences with chastity to assist their start out with devices, to the more sexually explicit conversation threads which, to be fair, I have more than indulged.

Although I don’t have a Twitter Mistress, I do follow a few, but take a dislike to abuse and posts about wanting to ‘drain’ or ‘rinse’ a ‘paypig’.  I have told myself that there would be none of that where I was concerned, concluding that, if I wish to show my appreciation for someone, it will be on MY terms!    There is one, and only one to date that speaks my language and I have grown to appreciate much of what they say online and how they say it.    Imagine my horror then when one of their posts was met with the most horrific, disgusting, demeaning outburst of trolling, the type of which I felt duty bound to report to them.

Whilst I follow them, this particular Mistress does not follow me in return, and nor would I expect them to, but to open up dialogue required me to follow a few procedures and agree to limitations of contact because of the lack of a mutual ‘follow’.  Anyway, driven by the need to raise this, but mostly to express my total dissatisfaction with the content, I notified them via a DM

Retrospectively, the abusive post was in reply to one of the posts by the Mistress, so in theory, they would have seen it.  As it turned out though, they had already blocked this individual so hadn’t seen it – the abuser ultimately futile in their attempt to attack the intended recipient.

As it turned out, appreciation for the care and effort came back in reply and I reluctantly agreed to find the post by temporarily unblocking them to see the message, to cut and paste it into the DM thread and re-block.   The Mistress said that she was made of strong stuff and could take it and simply laughed off the attack from someone ultimately seen as in no way worth bothering about.

The conversation ended, having gone as far as it would need to, but by this stage, I was more than deeply immersed in a variety of conversations via DM, which took up a large part of my time on the site, comparative to the feed sitting before me.

I’ll be honest. #Locktober was soon a failure within days because of the frame of mind and cessation, but within a week or so, I was back in the proverbial saddle, visual stimulation in text and pictures capturing me, the failure to remain in partial chastity seen as no matter, instead something I could merely reapply myself to for as long as I deemed fit.

This turned out to be quite a few weeks, no sexual peak achieved, no real desire to reach that peak knowing that the come down afterwards was in no way near enjoyable, the proverbial door slammed suddenly on all related activity.   Instead, with discussions about what chastity device I might recommend having been one of the threads on Twitter DM, a need to continue my own learning led to browsing of the net for chastity devices per se.

The OCD element within could not be stopped – a rubber device called the Oxballs Tailpipe just had to be acquired.  A casual browse on line late one night also led to further sexual exploration in the form of butt plugs, a pack of three in various sizes came before me and having read through many reviews, led the sexual deviant within to order some of those too, my first real indulgence in being properly plugged.

The ‘beginner’ plug was immediately bypassed, the ‘amateur’ one easily accommodated and as the days progressed, I vowed that the try-out of the ‘professional’ plug had been done far too quickly, so days later, with time and lube, it was taken in and worn, much like the one before it, for the work day with chastity applied.

October passed, November arrived and after coming close on a couple of occasions recently, something from my past would be making a return.

One step back, two steps forward? — September 19, 2019

One step back, two steps forward?

NSFW: Adult content

As I have remarked on many a previous blog entry, I would probably make for a fascinating case for a psychiatrist or some such medical professional.

My mindset and my behaviours can range from one opposite extreme to the other, the direction of that swing firmly influenced by the achievement of sexual satisfaction for any given period.

My correspondences online including before a webcam have, on more than one occasion recently, included the acknowledgement that I am not currently crossdressing.  This, more often than not has led to evidently disappointed folk terminating the conversation.

Contrary to that, irrationally, there have been occasional thought processes towards becoming hell-bent on crossdressing, but without passing the point of no return and doing so.   As I have commented many a time, I might want to in an ideal world, but am not intending to do so because it is far from ideal.

The boundaries of the ideal and actual worlds have been allowed to be blurred over the years of lingerie crossdressing, dalliance and indulgences allowed to come to the fore with rationale and a bizarre form of reason more than liberally applied, only to eventually hit the point of total disgust, objection and cessation.

The only thing to be removed from the turmoil is the urge to purge.  The scars of far too many., at the time quite reasonable but retrospectively abhorrent purges of far too much monies worth of lingerie lovelies have proved to be scars that have stood the test of time and temptation.

When 2019 arrived, conscience arrived loud and clear once more.  A motivation to start afresh coinciding with a new year seemed a good fit.   Here we are, some eight and a half months later, only social media timeline reminders confirming that whilst I have crossdressed this year, it was only at extreme top end of January.

I’ve said before upon previous cessations that something had felt different that time, and equally, the feelings since January 2019 have felt somehow different again, more motivationally against falling off the proverbial wagon despite occasional feelings otherwise.

The recent Twitter time line offers no real visible evidence of my crossdressed state, as the retweeted posts of others and sometimes, only appreciative comments for anothers can reflect back.  You’d have to scroll back a fair old bit to find imagery of me in my lingerie, but it remains as a reminder of where I’ve been and how I’d looked.

However, over the last eight and a half months, when sexual motivation has driven me, I can be and at times am obssessed with the Twitter feed, my own timeline, and DMs, one of which, wanted followers to privately share images in a crossdressed state to stimulate and encourage theirs.  I was only too happy to temporarily download my own images and share them again in one big burst.

On the webcam site of my choice, the gallery images have been turned off more than they have been on, a momentary treat for those with whom I decided to flaunt myself in my chaste, barely clothed but increasingly hirsute state.   Even the profile elements, Q&A, social media presences, other personal details etc. have been individually turned on and off dependent on the peaks and troughs of my sexual motivation.

But when that motivation is at its peak, it’s no holds barred, unadultered, often explicit exhibitionism, the bio and avatar evidently telling one story of a crossdresser, whilst the on-line imagery broadcast via webcam tells a far different one.

Rather than state that I no longer crossdress, I have chosen to be more conservative with the truth, that I am merely not at the moment, so as to retain their piqued interest, that I’m just not on that occasion, not allowed on that occasion perhaps, sometimes inferring that I might be required to exhibit myself by another person in a sparsely dressed, chaste state, often with the use of preferred toys ongoing at the time.

The other week I carelessly sent some e-mail correspondence – wording of which was poor, ungrateful and thoughtless.  It was sent at some ungodly hour of the night (nothing sexually explicit I might add – just mundane every day hobby related stuff).  Whilst at work the following day, I checked my e-mails only to find the most terrible of responses that put a lot of things at risk.  I had to work hard to turn things about and profusely apologise.  There were days of thinking, proverbially sweating it out, suffering, lack of sleep, high blood pressure no doubt.

I severely reprimanded myself and put myself down – I told myself that I was rash, careless, stupid, incompetent – you get the idea.  So I locked myself up.  On came a holy trainer as a sort of self-punishment, lowering myself as a domme might do to a sub for the most trivial of misdemeanours compared to what I had done via the power of written word via e-mail.

It was only when I had somehow managed to dig myself out of the very deep hole that I’d put myself into that the depression lifted, but the attraction for being locked up somehow remained and I did so at every possible hour for a day or so, and even yearned for it whilst in bed with my significant other one night, unable to sleep and sexually stimulated because of it, the morning taking ages to arrive.  Just recollecting this makes me want to put on my holy trainer and lock myself up again.  Slight ridiculous isn’t it?!  Why?  As I have said before, I don’t know and that has led to recent blog entries where I seem to come to my senses, find no answer to my question as to why I do it, and stop again for a time.

Somewhere along the way though, there will be a sexual peak.  It might not be for days.  Sufficient time may be allowed to pass where imagination continues to run wild, longer periods in chastity, be encouraged by imagery and conversation on social media, but then I allow the peak – usually orgasm.

I’ve sometimes intimated that I might be seeking some form of training to do something in particular, when in fact, it was probably more a case of role play on-line, some vivid imagination and irrational potentially bi-curious fantasy allowed to play itself out.

It is amazing what I’ve learnt over the years, either through reading accounts of others to mere trial and error, and more trial and error still.   Get me in my bi-curious, sexually active state of mind and the craving for anal is almost overpowering, all consuming, all out abandonment and pursuit.

On Monday, the inner provocateur, the inner exhibitionist, the experimental bi-curious side, fuelled by enough online stimulation and frame of mind pushed me to plan an early morning, home alone indulgence in play and experimentation.

First, a holy trainer, seen as the chastity device of utter preference, worn as much as possible, all day at work, for a few hours one weekend morning until disturbed by the arrival back home of the significant other, a quick unlock in the bathroom and concealment of the evidence putting things back to ‘normal’.

Monday saw an attempt to emulate a sub and domme video I’d seen in which a vibrating wand was applied to caged cock and restrained balls, one highlight after another, so much so that orgasm was achieved considerably to the smug satisfaction of the female domme.

In my moment of experimentation, firstly with a holy trainer and then latterly to a metal cage, I applied a vibrating prostate massager to various parts of my nether regions.  I found it quite fascinating at times, others quite stimulating, others, just, well, whatever.

Eventually, a 6″ dildo was carefully inserted, the vibrating massager put away and wanton abandonment allowed to play out on cam with no-one watching bar me, the odd quick arrival but equally quick departure as my imagery repeatedly failed to float the boats of visitors.

One viewer hung around for a while and asked whether I sought any form of control and domination to which I blatantly, and arguably untruthfully said “Yes!”.   I took it upon myself to accept their arguably demeaning abrupt use of words in the chat box and followed their orders.    By the time they’d become bored, I was raging from the height of sexual excitement and motivation.

For the very first time ever, whilst following those orders, I found myself anally stimulated to begin oozing semen, having discovered, somehow, the way to milk my prostate, something I’d actually been trying for a while.  This had no doubt been helped by the motivational words of the domme and my intent to follow their requests with the dildo.    However, they had clearly had enough, through boredom or that I was not really deemed to be following their requests to the letter and therefore was not submissive enough and I was left alone in cyberspace once more.

Having recently briefly experimented with a higher placed suction cup dildo on a vertical mirror and having felt the more direct striking of dildo on prostate and the effects of the same in beginning the flow of seminal fluid, enough was in mind to take longer on this second occasion, seen only by the video camera on my smart phone from below, I began taking the dildo anally, positioned higher so as to drive in to me at an angle which would start to pound my already stimulated prostate.

Having repeatedly tried and failed to motivate myself to consume my own semen in full, yet having acquired the ability and courage to taste in small quantities, having done some searching of the net for methods to overcome the ability to renege on consuming it after orgasm when urges and motivation can subside, I had earlier decided to make a small glass of drink.

Largely to both my joy and surprise,  I began to acknowledge a slow string of semen which began to ooze, hands free, out of the end of my cage locked cock as I pounded the dildo, additional stimulation achieved as the smart phone video recorded every second.  Still the string of semen continued to ease out, not always but mostly caught in the glass, the bodily fluid that didn’t, motivationally cleaned up to mouth as my intent to finally swallow a full load, however much that was, was coming to the fore.

I wanted more, and tried for more, but it seemed that I had perhaps allowed my relaxed state of mind to be pushed the more I yearned for quantity.  Time was running out anyway and I was acutely aware of the need for a tidy up of sex toys, lube and other related bits and bobs which littered the places around where I had been so sexually active, less care to keeping only what was needed out, more so the discarding of things not wanted in favour of those that were at any given moment.

The self-enforced chaste state was eventually and perhaps somewhat abruptly brought to an end and hand relief was achieved, into the glass of squash, dilution of seminal fluid by the flavoured water.  As I came, I spoke to myself firmly, often through gritted teeth that, this time, THIS TIME, I would consume my own semen in this way.  I reasoned that the taste of my own semen was something I liked in small quantities, so why would a larger quantity be so much less acceptable?

Rather than chicken out once more, I pushed on, reasoning that tactic applied with the small glass of cordial was a great way to finally empty the contents into my stomach.  The glass was fully consumed in seconds, the empty glass edges still containing traces of my cum that were wiped out with a finger and also consumed.

I celebrated. I congratulated myself that I had finally drunk a full load of partially prostate milked semen whilst scanning for opportunities as to when I might be able to do that again, and this time, with less fast-forwarding to hand-relief first.

The video evidence was reviewed and retained for a few hours of the day (but ultimately deleted), but with orgasm achieved, motivation to lock back up again diminished and instead, with a sort of inner smug satisfaction, the clean up and tidy up began, the assorted paraphernalia returned to storage from where it had been recovered a few hours previously, and I applied myself to the day job.

Since then, it has been as if a bucket-list has been ticked.   There hasn’t been any thought towards doing it again any time soon, or anything else for that matter, no chastity, no access to the alter-ego Twitter account but instead, a motivation to heterosexually fit in with society once more for the time being.

Motivation to dabble more more is highly influenced by my quite hirsute state, as hirsute as I have been generally for some time, but with a body wax appointment getting ever closer.   I am wondering quite what fires may be reignited by that appointment and the aftermath of being smooth bodied once more, more happy with my body and more sexually stimulated as a result.

Bucket list ticked two days ago, achievements recognised and celebrated, another mundane day at work saw total application to workday and evening responsibilities – that drive only stopped by acknowledgement that everything else was done, so I could turn to the creation of a blog entry, the title for which had been thought up in a fleeting moment over the last 24-36 hours.

There were just brief moments given over to the week’s sexual activity.  Having paid another visit to the toilet at the office to reply to a call of nature, the ghosts of underdressing of the past led me to recall how I had previously and frequently used that room to adjust stockings and suspenders, take snaps in various outfits then posted on social media or to strip, take off the workday lingerie and cover back up again before returning home to the unsuspecting, knowning bosom of the family.

Despite the draw of my kink for chastity and anal, those recollections of crossdressing were not motivation to dress again though – quite the opposite it seemed, more an intent not to do so because of the inconveniences when crossdressing came to an end, the time taken, the time wasted perhaps, the behaviour and resulting guilt allowed to play out.

This, it seemed, was, and contrary to a previous blog entry title, more a case of one step back, two steps forward.  Or was it?

Two steps forward, three back. — September 8, 2019

Two steps forward, three back.

A quick cast back of memories, blog entries and Twitter posts reminds me that the last time that I crossdressed in whatever lingerie took my fancy, the turn of the year had just occurred, and all the things that New Year tends to do to the mindset, to me at least, led to the ‘pause’ or maybe ‘stop’ button being pressed on all such activities.

Somehow, I have remained, in the past eight months, free from any motivation to recommence – well almost.  The other week, I had an almighty wobble when the trials and tribulations of life were weighing heavily upon my mind and somehow, I needed something to counter the negativity.

I was back at a point that I’d been before – standing still in one room or the other, probably the bedroom, head in hands or with my arms wrapped around over the front of my head, wrangling and fighting with myself to resist when something was driving me to carelessly indulge.  Somehow, I was able to come out the other side with enough motivation to get over whatever it was that was gripping me.

There have been other momentary wobbles, but other than that, I have somehow told myself that I do not need it and have found other distractions, necessarily, or deliberately.

The dressing was of course, fine, but the sneaking around, and was ultimately the perceived waste of time, concluding that I could have been investing my time in doing other that things seemed to outweigh the reasons to dress.

But of course, since the end of last year, I have been immersed in an alternate kink which kind of goes hand in hand, or should that be cock in panties, with crossdressing, that being chastity.

Now, the one thing that I have maintained through my addiction to crossdressing is that I am no sissy.   Of course, there are some people on line who are quite content to hold titles of ‘sissy’ or ‘faggot’, but I have never considered myself to be either – and in fact, I dislike the terms quite considerably, but as I have said before, each to their own.

Anyway, seeing chastity as another kink to occupy my time, most of this year has seen me in chastity of one form or another, a cage or, as was later requested by my then symbolic keyholder with whom I only communicated on-line via DMs, a holy trainer.

My generosity coupled with my evident submissive nature, led me to equip them similarly over time, and there was even some lingerie purchased along the way.  After they blocked me following my sudden stop of all things crossdressing in the New Year, collateral damage you may call it, either they have thrown everything I ever bought them, or they have not and have a constant reminder of a comparatively short journey and voyage of discovery.   It was probably my fault that I was blocked anyway, having deleted copious amounts of explicit images from the more recent months of the DM timeline.

Anyway, I digress.  Chastity.  I love(d) it – I’ll be honest and the sexual training I have had by a male friend and confidante over the years has allowed me to describe myself as bi-curious, and whilst, at one time, I would never have considered such a thing, anal play has been the thing that has been part of the chastity journey.

But there have been moments recently when even that sent me spinning into dismay at those actions too, mostly after I brought myself to climax.   I asked myself such questions as ‘Why was I doing it?’,  ‘What did I hope to achieve from it?’,  ‘What was I achieving from it?’  and ‘Was this just another addiction?’   ‘Don’t know’, ‘don’t know’, ‘don’t know’ and ‘probably’ are the relevant answers there.

On one recent occasion, I took it upon myself to remove everything bar a cock-pump and fleshlight to remote storage where the lingerie resides.  No cage, no holy trainer, no dildo, no prostate massagers – just straightforward heterosexual toys, albeit still hidden from my significant other but arguably more justifiable if the ‘you know what’ hit the proverbial fan.

Recently though, I relapsed and merely found myself driven, hell bent in fact, to the storage facility and recovered everything bar the holy trainer, indulging in yet more lock up time, more anal time and even going so far as appearing on line on my web cam sites of preference.  However, it wasn’t long afterwards, probably after achieving orgasm, that the regular day to day me was allowed to come to the fore once, the sexually driven deviant again suppressed after reaching the point of sexual satisfaction.

Explicit images posted on Twitter were later met with a compulsion to delete them instead – because, well, just because – it seemed the right thing to do as paranoia set in.

I remarked on my Twitter feed recently of my evident surprise that, one day, my ‘kink’ had switched back on, almost as if I was not control of my own behaviour, and although it might sound borderline insane to say as such, when I’m hell bent on indulging, I can hear myself saying don’t, but more so, a no-holds barred ‘why the hell not?’ approach overpowers.

I’ve tried to stay off my Twitter account of late as viewing can often led to some degree of motivation to indulge somehow, the reasons largely unknown, yet the time spent locked up – and it was often for as long as 12 hours a day sometimes – has become very infrequent, few and far between of late too as those questions as to what I was doing and why remained largely unanswered – the ‘because it feels good’ answer, not forming part of conclusions and rationale to continue doing so.

I suppose the absolute need to attend to other, arguably more pressing, normal things, issues and commitments has been allowed to tower commandingly above as  the utmost priority, anything else seen as not necessary, not preferred, and not happening.

But I kind of find myself fighting a need to have a kink of some kind, yet reasoning with myself that I should not need it and that I should get my sexual kicks via more societally conventional methods.

Of course, body hair dissuades too, particularly from appearances on line.  I don’t like my visual appearance when unclothed at the moment and the growth patterns and time remaining until the next waxing/training sessions leaves me hating my own self in naked form – so it has been slightly annoying to feel the need to be naked due to very hot weather here in the UK.  I can plainly see the bits that need doing and the comparatively small areas that don’t.

I had a massive hang up when I first started body waxing after years of trying everything else, the ‘progress’ being something my confidante and sexual mentor has reminded me about.  They said that I was much better now, far less hirsute and had much such progress from yesterday, but whilst I lay face down, naked on the massage table, I found myself trying to make a point to disagree and did as such by making a long questioning ‘Mmmm?!’ sound before admitting that I still did have a hang up.

Despite the body dysphoria, this last few days, today even, whilst penning this end of the blog entry, I still find myself with a mind like a fruit machine yet to settle after a roll, symbols spinning, before giving an answer that will probably be ignored as being non-beneficial before the reels start spinning again – and so on.

Twitter visits continue, ‘follows’ continue, ‘followers’ go up and down at will, I like other comments, I make comments of my own, I relate to things that I see, memes and the like, and of course, yes, I still have a deep yearning somewhere deep down to be crossdressed again.

Reasons such as the last eight months, and somehow a drive to fight the demons of the draw to crossdress or engage in chastity and anal are countered by the body dysphoria and the time remaining before my next (probably almost full body) waxing session, and doing something else.  Once I am smooth bodied again, I will feel more sexy, and therefore likely to indulge and exhibit.

Even now, home alone, I have acknowledged the things I could get up, the time I might have to do it, but I was driven insted to put another rambling blog entry to bed as if it was either some sort of therapy for the soul, or just something I felt I needed to do.

I am yet to dispose of the crossdressing paraphernalia, outfits, breast forms and the like.  There was a point not-so-long ago when I gave some tthought to doing so, but I am kind of glad that I didn’t.  It isn’t time. Will it ever be ‘time’?  Who knows?  It will have to be something I am totally and utterly 500% sure of.   I have experienced the pain of purging all too many times, something I vowed that I would never do again – and I haven’t.   Things just get stored away these days, far enough out of the way.

I’m a hypocrite.  I’ll give all the reasons why I’m not doing something, only to end up doing it all over again when the mindset tells me it is OK to do so.

The all time unanswered question on this blog, one that many people would value knowing the answer for is: ‘How did you stop yourself from crossdressing?’.  I’ve long said that I would love to be able to give an answer.

Something tips me over the edge. I hate myself, I hate what I find myself doing, not before or during, but if I allow the sexual peak, definitely afterwards.  Call it disgust if you like, despair perhaps.

You might say that such a feeling is perfectly natural.  You’re probably right.  At one time, I didn’t care, but now the degree of caring matters, influenced by people most closely around me.  Nobody except anonymous on-line contacts behind psuedonyms and e-mail accounts, knows about the inner me.

I might be someone’s ‘Golden Boy’, the pride of the family perhaps, upholding the family stand with what they see me doing in my ‘normal life’, and if I wasn’t and hadn’t been indulging in what I have been, I would probably more validly accept and embrace it, but I display modesty because the inner mindset insists on it.

Here I am then, an overall quite busy, mixed up, bi-curious, currently former crossdresser, now fighting body dysphoria, the quite real but largely unexplained draw of chastity, and sexual energy ranging from non-existent to torrent and everywhere in between at any given time.

I genuinely don’t know what’s around the corner, but I still find myself looking for opportunities to indulge in the replacement kink et al.

It’s just seems to be a case of two steps forward and three back.  If you’ve got this far – thanks for reading.  It means a lot.  Until next time…

Fucked? Fact or fiction – you decide. — July 27, 2019

Fucked? Fact or fiction – you decide.

Note: NSFW / adult content / sex

I have a vivid imagination.  But the question is – is the following blog entry based on fact or fiction? You decide.

It has come close before, but more recently, it was the closest ever with the same and only man who can genuinely and justifiably get intimate with me.  I will not go into detail but let’s just say that, other than some one way foreplay in my direction, nothing close to penetrative sex had reciprocally happened or indeed anything mutual for a while now, due to their own personal commitments which I respect and understand for a multitude of reasons.

I suppose that, in the time that I have been visiting this person, this person has helped me find an inner self, one never having been averse to learning new things and even trying them anyway.   There was a point in time when I would have never considered any form of sex with any other person (nor for that matter crossdressing), but this person has become a confidante and friend.  What happens there – stays there.

In short, whilst undergoing an intimate wax, a request to get slightly excited to help with hair removal, coupled with the application of cream, and the other person’s more overtly sexual and daring frame of mind it seemed on this occasion, led to more direct and advanced foreplay and having admitted that I’d respected their previous declarations of intent to behave themselves so to speak, I allowed the situation to progress, a creamed finger, slipping down between my legs and beginning to work my hole and perineum, as well as my hardening cock as I lay flat out on the treatment table.

With wanton abandonment, and evident release, it was as if he had been somehow freed. His trousers were soon down, his cock erect before me.  I contemplated for a moment as to whether I should before thinking ‘what the hell, why not’ and outstretched an arm to bring his cock to my hand, as things began to heat up.  It wasn’t long before he said how good it felt as I worked the shaft, reminding myself of techniques I had somehow picked up.  I also contemplated bringing his cock to my mouth as I done only once before a few years ago, much to his complete surprise back then, before ruling it out on this occasion.

At that point, I gently said, revelling in and relishing the moment somewhat, as to how long it had been since we last had such intimate fun together.  I reminded him of how the last time had unfolded in front of a full length wall mirror – that being a largely unexplored, but nevertheless remaining kink.   One thing led to another and it wasn’t long before I was facing that very same mirror and he was behind me, my naked body allowed to be caressed from close up, played with, teased, used, nipples tweaked, cock and balls played with from between my legs and around my arguably vulnerable naked torso, me soaking up every shred of imagery put before me, somehow surprised yet thrilled that the image I was seeing reflected before me in the mirror was very much happening, and I was yearning for it to continue.

From behind, I felt his cock hard up against me, against my bum cheeks, and more frequently between my legs, slotting it through and stroking across my perineum.  At one point, he rested down on the corner of the treatment table – and I felt his more masculine body strongly pull my slim, slender, smooth body backwards and down, me feeling sure that his cock tip had begun finding its way to my hole and was beginning to probe, something I’d never experienced before.

I didn’t want it to go any further, yet somehow, I did.  At this point, as the energy and heat soared, I somewhat casually admitted my anal virginity but of use of sex toys, an admission which appeared to be much to both their surprise and delight.

Somehow, yet somehow not, right there, right then, I was up to be right royally virginally and at long last – finally – fucked.

But the inner mindset told me that I shouldn’t allow it to happen for a million and one reasons – it doesn’t take a fool to work those out.

One of those reasons was, in the heat of the moment, acknowledgement of an apparent lack of contraception, not that there would or should be in such an establishment and on that basis and given how things were at that exact moment, nor was it even relevant for me to take the time to somewhat blatantly and provocatively ask for it, seeing that hurdle as the right, proper and responsible way, knowing deep down that, I should not allow myself to be fucked, casually or otherwise, certainly not without protection.

Really, that was the thing that seemed to stop things from progressing in that way, coupled with their own clearly declared intention and loyalties to resist easily fucking a slim, virginal, and above all evidently potentially available and willing kinky man who was standing naked, creamed up and smooth bodied before him.

It was made clear to me, that penetration was not something that he was working towards, although I could only conclude that it was extremely close to happening with ease as the situation raced away from us as both enjoyed that intense period of mutual sexual pleasure.

They were, it seems,  just exploring boundaries, albeit very closely though, yet I also wanted more of it, whatever it was and wherever it took us.

Briefly and suddenly, a quantity of ejaculate powered out of my cock and splashed across the floor.  Eager to avoid the moment coming to an abrupt end, I reassuringly pledged, much to their delight, that it was not the end.

Hesitating for a brief moment, he soon reached across and deftly swept up some oozing semen from my cock with a finger and brought it to his mouth, tasting it before telling me how good it tasted.

With an apparent additional green light shone to continue with whatever was going off, positions changed and we stood closely, in each other’s personal space, face to face, hard cock to hard cock, his hand frotting both together for a few minutes.  I placed an appreciative, arguably encouraging hand warmly and calmly on his shoulder as the action continued.

The urge to reach a climax ultimately proved too much and I pulled away before bringing myself off, clearly in his eye-line, another load of warm cum erupting all over the floor, some having cascaded down my fingers, me reminding him that I had said that there would be more cum which was, I thought, actually quite good for me!

This overtly sexual act before him set my man-to-man partner towards his own climax, eventually unable to control his urge, shooting jets of cum across the top of the treatment table.

Once done, he soon began the clean-up, grabbing some towels before kneeling on the floor before me to sweep away my load, then whisking the cum soaked cover from the table, me feeling somewhat dominant that he was doing what he was doing, yet also embarrassed that I was not doing the job myself.

After he left the room, I realised that there was more still to be done to clean the floor and I finished the job to the satisfaction of my own conscience before dressing and leaving, looking back briefly just to remind myself of what had just happened, that it had definitely happened and wasn’t a dream and telling myself how close and how hot it had been.

The electricity of the situation we had collectively experienced left me elated and him evidently exhausted from his own shuddering climax, admitting to struggling to stand and walk as we parted company.

Body waxing continued, another appointment a week or so later, at which it was acknowledged that no bodily fluids had been exchanged on that occasion, that is to say, it not necessarily being the case on a future one…

Kink swap, shock stop —

Kink swap, shock stop

A look back to the beginning of the year identifies a period of almost eight months since the end to the most recent period of crossdressing – the turn of the new year having a bizarre impact on changing one’s mind set – AGAIN!

As we head, at pace, through the year, half way through in fact, and with Summer well and truly upon us, thoughts have only occasionally flitted towards relapse, what it would be like to pull on some stockings and a suspender belt plus an outfit or bra of some sort or another.

Only I haven’t and as before, the longer the current cessation goes on, the less inclined I am to relapse it seems.  Those who have been reading my blog entries will know that I was at a stop for around 18 months last time before a ‘What the hell’ attitude came to the fore and off I went again.

But if, for a minute, you think that I have not had something else to occupy my personal time sexually, you are quite wrong – as I have in fact, merely taken on one kink for another.  I was introduced to chastity whilst in the deepest throws of crossdressing – this was during December last year – the inner sub being allowed to accede to an online key holder who has since quite justifiably blocked me in the wake of my massive new year pang of conscience, the metaphorical door slammed, albeit unintentionally, in their face by me.

Nevertheless, chastity has been a thing of my own control from the start, able to put on a device of my choosing, and stay in it for a full working day, consecutive working days or longer, for periods of around 12 hours a day, only the closeted nature of my behaviour preventing it from being any longer than that.

Having become bi-curious through one route or another over the last few years, anal play has been hand in glove with chastity, from prostate massagers to dildos, all of which have gone down (or is that in?) very well indeed thank you very much.

As ever, the exhibitionist within has allowed web cam appearances, acceptances of any and all friend requests and the striking up of conversations with people at home and abroad.

My Twitter profile has included regular postings of me in my chaste state, with and without underwear, so far without incurring the wrath of administrators of any kind, and I have followed more and more people of interest and connection to chastity and mistressing etc. and related threads of interest.

The webcam site of preference has been used, although the contents of the profile page continue to be switched on and off at various times dependent on how my sex drive is towards things in general.   I’ve also somewhat re-acquainted myself with Skype and another webcam and chat site of preference, often flitting between the camsites when a lull arises on one or the other.  Often, Skype contacts come from references on profiles across the other sites.

There is just slight apprehension at striking up communications with some people, yet a gung-ho attitude with others – and I’m mindful of the pitfalls either way.

When my kink switches on, I am immersed in a virtually no-holds barred kind of way, and things only ever come to an abrupt end if I allow myself to reach a sexual peak.

Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t, sometimes I need it, sometimes I have to have it, sometimes, I don’t.    It’s those moments that I do need to have it, that, akin to the aftermath of previous crossdressing sessions, see that guilt monster rear its ugly head again.  I don’t know what drives my mind set to those depths of despair at my own actions at that point until the next time, but it happens and I have no rhyme or reason for it, nor am able to understand it – I am merely carried along by it, whilst sexually driven or otherwise and for however short or long it lasts.

Throughout all of this, there have been strong bi-sexual tendencies, explicit descriptions and declarations of wanting to have my anal virginity taken properly, and, as I have often said before, in the right situation, at the right time and with the right person, it could very easily happen – albeit likely to be retrospectively foolish in the extreme, having been merely to satisfy some bizarre comparatively short term sexual kink – alternatively and in actuality, I’d probably run a mile.  It is merely role play really I suppose, bluff largely impossible to be called though.

Spin forward a few days and I suddenly but completely separately found myself hit by a proverbial freight train as a friend told me that someone they knew had done something sexually on-line that set them on a course to lose absolutely everything.  I will refrain from going into detail about that, but as the details washed around in my own mind, I went into a period of panic and paranoia as I reflected on my own recent on-line sexual activity on a web cam, a Skype session involving a group of people I’d invited and other web cam activity etc.

I concluded that I didn’t want to be in the same situation as my friend’s friend by any means – losing everything was not an option as has always been the case.

I found a cardboard box and quickly threw in the dildo, chastity devices and prostate massagers, leaving behind a cock pump and Fleshlight in the same hidey hole that I deemed more acceptable to have to hand for some reason, and took the box to the same storage place that my lingerie stash still resides in.

Spin forward a few more days and a more rational state of mind came to the fore.   What on earth was I thinking in making such a knee-jerk reaction?  There was no comparison to the situations for the friend’s friend and me, none whatsoever, other than the sexual nature of the on-line activity.  But then again, I was still allowing the thoughts, albeit at a less irrational but still irrational level, to justify thought processes, that I might also fall foul of digging one hell of a hole for myself somehow, and for what?  A sexual kick and kink?

The last week has been a challenging one for a number of reasons.  Thoughts have turned back to recovering the chastity devices etc. from storage and resuming on-line activities.  There was even brief moments of contemplation given to falling off the crossdressing wagon but soon shifting my attention to the other kink I’d swapped to instead.

Other daily mundane distractions this week, many to be fair, have deterred me from going to the storage facility, and embarking in all out resumption, but those distractions plus the UK heatwave, the sunshine and temperatures have led to being naked around the house before work, home alone, , a heady reminder of a regular draping of lingerie, and more recently, the fitting of chastity devices and the enjoyment of anal play with toys still looming heavily being in the environment in which that activity had recently taken place.

What was also reluctantly deterring me was a thought process which questioned why I was imposing chastity on myself, other than for a sexual kink.   From what I had read on line regarding reasons for chastity, I had no intention of following any significantly submissive path, connecting with a domme to any extent, and nor could I ever be in prolonged chastity to see what is down below shrink to smaller sizes as some would suggest long term chastity does and forego my manhood.

It seems that I need a kink of some sort though – not having one to fall back on doesn’t seem right somehow.  Absence from indulgence in crossdressing in lingerie for seven months means that can’t be the resumed kink, but I’ve now also left myself with abstention from chastity too because I don’t really know why I was doing it or what I hoped to achieve from it, concerned about some kind of unwanted exposure perhaps as at least partial motivation for not doing so, despite my own controls about the level of disclosure on line, a femme pseudonym and various profiles, photographic or otherwise.

I am currently left yearning for enough time to be able to resume my indulgence in anal toys and chastity, yet also seeking as many distractions and reasons for not doing so, yet also needing another kink to satisfy the inner kinkster.

No thanks, I’m just browsing… — May 17, 2019

No thanks, I’m just browsing…

In short, it has been around 5 months since any lingerie touched my body.  Only in a few arguably irrational moments have there been any thoughts about doing so, yearning to do so or wishing to do so.   I’ve looked back on my alter-ego social media account on Twitter largely by way of reminiscence – looking at where I’d been, how I had looked, reminding myself that is what I have a fairly long history of doing – history being the descriptor for the time being at least.

Just this week, I had cause to visit the remote storage facility on other business, and took the opportunity to search out the box of lingerie etc.  Why?  Quite simply – because.

Again, it was opened for the shortest of moments, the old mail order packaging which was covering most of the contents but a finger was allowed to touch the breast forms which sat on top of everything else.  There was no foraging, no closer analysis of what was within and the box was soon shut again and put away in the dark confines in which it continues to reside.

It is therefore confirmed that crossdressing continues to be a thing of the past – again – for now – whatever.    I know that I have relapsed several times (‘relapsed’ –  OK, let’s go with that if you like) before, yet somehow, my mind set towards it seems to be in a place that I can’t really say I’ve really been before.   Right now, whilst I could well imagine myself dressing (and remember doing so very vividly) I can’t see myself actually doing it – it is almost seen as a bit of waste of my time, somehow unworthy, uninteresting, undesired and unlikely to take up my time and minds eye at this time.

That is all well and good you might say, but since being introduced to chastity by my now long distanced former DM contact on Twitter, the block imposed –  quite rightly by them I might say – in more than a final way, that has been my alternative vice.   There have been weeks when I have remained in chastity for around 12 hours a day, 4 or 5 days a week, images shared on social media of my chaste state – caged or in a holy trainer.

However, I am the key holder – I can put myself in and take myself out whenever but I cannot get a fix on what urges me to lock myself up, nor, when the urge takes me, what motivates me to take to anal play with a variety of toys well documented before.    Hell, I do seem to enjoy it when the lustful craving strikes.

What I can reflect back on is how the normality comes crashing in when orgasm is finally reached.  I might not get anywhere near that point for days as lock up becomes the norm, but like crossdressing before it, when that peak is reached, the urge to resume normality and dismiss and distance the kink becomes all conquering, apathy towards the subject matter more than apparent.

Just the other day, for the first time in fact, I was semi-reluctant to do anything, yet somehow knew I wanted to.   I set out the toys before me on the floor, including the chastity devices, and must have spent a good ten or fifteen minutes standing there, considering if and what I might get involved in.

The period of deliberation was the source of much amd constant frustration and it got to the point where I forced myself to make a decision just to get on with whatever the inner demon wanted to do.

That ridiculous period of deliberation continues to be the basis of serious thought towards packing the whole chastity thing in too, the true meaning of doing so largely escaping me, yet the motivation to cease and desist, does not sit at the same level that crossdressing continues to do – however, it seems to be getting there.   I suppose the more rational thoughts come after another indulgence in use of a suction cup dildo, filmed from beneath whilst caged.

It all felt so good at the time.  Things came close to a hands free orgasm never achieved before, closest ever in fact, but ultimately, it led me to cum in my cage by jiggling the cage and its contents – something that you’re not supposed to be able to do but that I’ve reported upon being able to do a few times before.

Chastity is supposed to prevent all of that, but my biology, with a particular state of mind when applied, does, it seems, allow me to reach that point.    With that having been achieved, items were soon taken off, (irrespective of the time it took to get into them) cleaned up and put away and all of that normality then resumed.

The following days after such sessions leave me nowhere near such similar inclinations, far from it, that is, until the urge randomly and almost suddenly strikes again somehow.

There are two possible sides to my latest of sexual indulgences – one, the argument of ‘whatever floats your boat’ etc. and ‘if it feels good’, but two, there is the ‘what on earth am I doing and why am I really doing it?’ side.   Have I just swapped one kink for another?  That is most definitely a rhetorical question.

When I was lingerie cross dressing, chastity seemed like a good fit (no pun intended).  I have previously argued how chastity prevented me from orgasm which made me more ‘up’ for things when it was more appropriate.  I don’t think I need say anymore given the existence of my significant other, but that is the only slightly possible, only slightly and marginally justifiable argument for being in chastity other than just for an alternative kink.

Put bluntly and in a totally ‘NSFW’ type statement, I can avoid any and all instances of urges if I merely seek relief in the first instance.   It certainly worked out that way when thoughts and imagination outweighed urges and motivation the other week as I lay in bed.  Any plan to do anything whatsoever faded away very quickly afterwards and instead I attended to other things, including preparing for the working day, getting some breakfast etc.

What about other elements of my behaviours?  Well, there have been cam appearances in my chaste state as the sexual energy level increased, a site on which the profile has been switched back on – reasons now largely unbeknown to me right now.

I have signed up to a chastity website and have entered into forum discussions about how thing started, whether and how much I might need it, the effects of, etc and to be honest, it has been interesting to discuss with those with a fellow interest.

Body waxing appointments continue, but right now, are for no other reason than I want to be that way.  As I have remarked before, previous en-femme requirements now residing in the past, being smooth is cooler, less itchy, less sweaty and above all, my personal preference and method of manscaping or ‘male grooming’ if you like and it is always a good day when I am ‘mostly’ hair free.

My metabolism means that I have been naturally hirsute as regular blog readers will be fully aware, but the years of hair removal by waxing (everything else is understood to encourage growth, not discourage), is having an effect at long last.  It is still not as I want it, but perhaps that is the way it will always be until my body finally gets the message.

That leaves me with the existence of the blog.  Don’t worry – it isn’t going anywhere – far from it, but I do enjoy logging in, monitoring stats and occasionally using a search engine to find the site and links to it, along with reading the blogs of others I follow that have the same subject matters.   There have been some rather nice reviews for my blog on certain sites too for which I am grateful, many of which say that the entries have a ‘no holds barred’ approach, that everything is honest and in the open – and that is the way I always intended it to be.

I reflect on stats, the occasional comments to a post and who is reading what of my many entries over the years.   I always used to say that my blog was a way of talking, albeit to no-one in particular, a psychological release, a way of dealing with things, getting them off my chest, but then there is also the angle that, if my blog helps others in some way, and/or shares a journey I continue to make and the various routes along the way, then that is all well and good.

For now though, far from just browsing net presences, or, as it has turned out, immensely indecisively, the collection of toys, cut down in number only by the fact I didn’t ever pick up that plug I talked about (so have received a automatic refund from the vendor), I’m back on that middle ground of contentment and drive not to indulge in anything I somehow think that I am shouldn’t be at any given time.

It is both satisfying yet somehow frustrating in equal measure.

Is doing nothing and blending in with a perceived norm enough?  Somehow  – no – it isn’t.

Part of me thinks that I need and must have a sexual a kink in my life, a counter balance to the every day, the work day, the groundhog day experiences, the fast pace of life, work/home/eat/bed and repeat ad nauseum.    My mind still tells me that indulging in crossdressing so deeply, or more recently, chastity, then enables me to either run with it whilst I get on with whatever else life throws at me, or indulge in it and then put it aside having had sufficient time.

For now though, no thanks, I’m just browsing.

Until next time…thanks as always.

A time for action — April 9, 2019

A time for action

The significant other wanted to do some work in the man cave the other week, whilst I was out, and this work entailed coming rather close to where my boxed, long out of use lingerie collection was held.  I cursed under my breath and hatched a plan to rescue that box and store it in the back of my car where it ultimately stayed for some weeks.

Similarly, the cloth bag in which a suspender belt and hold ups had been held was also put in a similar location having hidden in my man bag since I last wore the items.

In the back of my mind, I knew that I needed to do something, but remained hesitant because I didn’t want to cast the merest eye over the contents for fear of being lured like the proverbial moth to the flame, and so the box and bag sat in the boot for a little longer.

Spin on a few more days and with a plan for a family meal out somewhere, I acknowledged the need to walk a distance from the car park to the restaurant, and rather considerately threw a few golf umbrellas in the boot of the car to challenge the naff weather.    However, with the significant other within reasonable viewing distance, I realised that there was a box, the style of which she would potentially be slightly familiar with in the boot – the box having slid around a fair bit with daily driving.

I cursed at a mild volume but without question, threw the umbrellas in without the boot being fully open and slammed it shut again at speed.  It was raining, so it was perhaps reasonable for those with a more innocent mind to conclude I was merely making haste.

With the meal done, we ventured home, but concluded a need to pick up a few things from a nearby supermarket.   Again, I could see things unravelling at the other end of the shopping expedition, as the bags were, of course, loaded into the boot.   Of course, it was still raining, so that acted as suitable cover for the significant other to make similar haste inside whilst I hung around to throw the box and bag containing my lingerie underneath the boot shelf and into the tyre well.  It wasn’t a great fit but it sufficed.

At the other end of the shopping trip, the rain continued to hurtle down, so, ever the strategist when it came to things related to crossdressing, I ushered the s/o into the car to avoid getting soaked and merely put the bags into the boot myself.

Close calls.  They were close enough to conclude that I needed to bite the proverbial bullet and get the bag contents into the box and get the box put away.

So, one morning, home alone once more, I ventured out to the car, collected the bits and bobs and brought them inside.  I was instantly acutely concerned with the risk of the sight of contents in the box.  I need not have worried. Upon opening the box, the content were covered by old redundant postal packaging, with absolutely nothing in view.

Wrestling with the need to grab the black suspender belt and hold ups from the black cloth bag, I duly did so and merely thrust them into the top of the box before quickly shutting it once more and making sure that it got to remote storage.

Before or after this, I don’t remember, and having slept naked the night before, my mind wandered to those items that did not form part of the box – the sex toys which occupy another hidey hole somewhere at home, including two chastity devices, a rubber prostate massager, my vibrating prostate massager, 6” dildo and a cock pump.   The focus of the attention was, for some reason, on the holy trainer and it was soon fitted and bound in order to wear for work all day.

I wondered why I did this and could only venture to describe it as a yearned kink, the trainer covered by a white silky g-string – one of my daily items of non-femme underwear.   As part of the earlier fitting, I’d collected a key and had put it on the bunch of house keys.   It wasn’t until I was at work for the day that I realised that it was not just another key but was in fact marked ‘BDSM’ on the key head.   This amused me so much that I did something that I hadn’t done for a few weeks and posted something on my Twitter page with a shot of the key and the odd relevant emoji – you know the sort – padlocks, keys and the like.

Talking of toys, you’ll note that these haven’t been put into remote storage like the lingerie has.  Since the latest crossdressing cessation, I have enjoyed the odd hour or so time home alone in a morning to enjoy some self pleasuring..  On just one recent occasion, I decided to use the suction cup dildo against the bedroom cupboard mirror for some deep anal and have also enjoyed the vibrating prostate massager too.  I must admit the sudden burst into life of fitting my holy trainer on more than one occasion, has reignited a passion for my sex toys.

What I don’t really understand is why I have felt it necessary to put myself into chastity again – a pattern that remained for the next few days.  I even began planning when I might next use the dildo and prostate massager.  Sexually explorative tendencies have come back to the fore it seems.

I suppose it wasn’t helped by one night’s more intense, and arguably retrospective flick back through my Twitter posts in my crossdressed and chaste state.  I suppose it is one of the reasons why I’ve stayed off the account, but the scroll through certainly sowed the proverbial seed.   Whilst the sight of me in lingerie kind of made me want to be in lingerie again, the reasons for not doing so were of more importance.   The fact that I have had no actual visible cues from that box opening have helped a great deal.

Eventually, the urge to put myself into chastity subsided, either though necessity or something else, but it resumed again last week with the cage, and use of the vibrating massager and dildo.   The intensity and lust led to blood-letting.  With the suction cup dildo pinned to the corner of a bit of furniture, and with the cage well and truly fitted, it seemed like the latter was a fortress through which nothing could cause harm to the nether regions.

I elected to straddle the dildo both ways, but turning around to face the wall and straddle the corner of the unit meant that as the action commenced, the riding motions led to the end of a filled cage coming  into contact with the surface.  Eventually, I paid enough attention to realise that I had trapped myself and blood had begun to pool from the end of my caged penis.

Things came to an abrupt end as concern for what damage I had caused to myself began to mount and released myself from the cage.  My anatomy was, it seems, able to stop the bleeding very quickly, thank goodness, and with things patched up,  either continued where I had left off, or decided enough was enough and applied myself to the day.   I don’t remember now.

The coming of last weekend led to an enforced break, but plans have been hatched again to resume with anal play, but rather than the holy trainer, the cage has been the chastity device of choice for some reason, applied during the working day.

The urge today though continued to exploration of anal play – to purchase a butt plug that can be worn out and about.  Reviews were reviewed, the item of choice was selected and ordered for imminent pick up at a collection point on route to and from the day job.

That is for another day which I look forward to immensely.

Which brings me on to the last part of this update – well, almost.  I should have expected it really.  A few weeks ago, I made a completely irrational, logic-free jaunt onto Fiona’s Twitter account having not done since – well, probably January time.   Followers had dwindled some, to below 300, and the odd time waster had clicked on ‘follow’ – the type that merely seeks to promote their own sites and interests which never get a follow back – you know the type, and there have been more since.

Curiosity caused me to select the DMs.  Safia – the person I’d flirted and chatted so much with, the person who put me into chastity, the person I’d put into chastity having bought items for and sent items to and even sent them a chastity key, even going as far as having previously apologised for any upset and if I if I had misled them, unintentionally indicating that there might be a chance of anything between us – had made some attempt to correspond with me about the extent of their chaste state.

As I’d not been on the account though, the wall of silence, normally unusual for me, had, it seems, been taken with evident offence.  The DM conversation had been blocked from continuing and I’d even been blocked.   In a strange kind of way, it hurt.  But then, being an otherwise rational sort of person, I quickly concluded hat their actions were fully justified.

I had warned them at the beginning of the year that I was having an almighty wobble and was, once more, questioning what the bloody hell I was doing with my life, but to be fair, I had then just simply disappeared.

I’d not really given any indication that things had stopped once more, nor warned that I had just got to stop everything, including my regular Twitter exchanges, anything in fact that would lure me in to things that, frankly, I would rather stop myself from doing.

Perhaps they deserved more than that, but in all honesty, everyone became the victims – collateral damage –  but you could say that Safia bore the brunt of it.   Perhaps offence had been taken to my perhaps irrational deletion of a number of more recent images from the DM thread?   The comments were there – the images no longer were.  Maybe that was something that caused objection too.  Fair enough I suppose, but I was only acting as my messed up brain instructed me to at the time.

Nevertheless, blocked as I am, I can only use this blog to offer my apologies for any hurt caused anyway with the off chance that they may read this.   Considering the three figure amount of money I’d spent on sending them all manner of things out of the goodness of my heart, perhaps I owed them nothing, especially as gratitude wasn’t very forthcoming and finally arrived under total duress when their cage arrived.

Having scrolled back though the DMs we exchanged the other day, I considered that I should not have gone as far as I did – but my sexuality was going at a new pace, a pace that Safia had somehow, likely unintentionally, had a hand in driving.  It still rankles with me that I am blocked, as I am a sentimental old sod, yet I am prepared to suffer the consequences of my actions in looking after number 1.

But I remain truly sorry.

I feel that I had gone too far at times, somehow raised their expectations, even when anything else was impossible.  I’d become too involved, then whipped the proverbial rug away after feet had become well and truly placed upon it.

Lingerie returned to storage, sex toys somehow still available and seemingly back into use, inclined to wear my holy trainer or cage for several working days running, and inclined for more toy time and being chaste in the days to come, that is merely for my own sexual kick.  I don’t really understand why I want to be so – there is no logic to it.

With the inclinations to toy anally, there are no ambitions for the real thing, no inclination to venture anywhere further outside of one’s comparatively recently declared bi-curiousness.  I’ve often said that in the right situation, fantasies I have very much but as it turns out retrospectively, unfortunately involved myself with on DMs with Safia, could well be played out.

The likelihood of them actually happening in any case are/were very slim and as I’ve also said before on my now stripped back and unused cam site of choice, if the opportunity did present itself, I’d probably run a mile.  Additionally, I’d probably be wracked with guilt that would be etched all over my face in the aftermath.   That’s a reason not to want it anyway.

So in summary, what we have here is cessation, storage, guilt and reflection and kink.  There is also peace of mind at not actually using up time with crossdressing the equal measures of joy and anguish if seemed to give.  I don’t want any of that right now, but I suppose, somewhere deep down, there is still a longing to do so in another world – not this World though.

I suppose that is more than enough this time around.  Until the next time – thanks for reading.   Comments welcome below.


Somewhere, nowhere. — February 5, 2019

Somewhere, nowhere.

The decks were cleared some more the other day.  It wasn’t much but it was a further step along some pathway or another.

The Twitter profile had its profile slimmed.  I noted that the number of followers had once more taken a tumble but so what?  Other than a few people who had liked one of my historic posts or another, there were a half dozen or so supposed new followers each of whom lacked any kind of substance or, in my opinion, credibility.   They were, you know, the sort of people that have a vague Twitter profile (or in fact, several) in a probably largely futile to promote a website from which they perhaps desperately hope to make some money out of through some sex-related route or another.   None of them were worth a second glance, so I moved on.

As I’ve said before, such people are welcome to follow, but they shouldn’t expect a follow-back.  In any case, I’ve nothing to say on Twitter these days.   Whatever.

Whilst I was on though, the Twitter feed provided a chance to scan through but I was soon bored and, with ease, you’ve guessed it, logged out and did something else.   Beforehand, I had mused over the option of accessing the direct message button and deleting images from the threads and in fact, the threads themselves – but I didn’t.  I also briefly contemplated deleting the posts in which I’d posted photographs of myself crossdressed.  But I didn’t.

Overcoming another exhausting period of illness, and with a burden of personal issues that would be the envy of no-one whatsoever, the whole mindset has changed for 2019.  This is NOT a happy new year – in fact, far from it and frankly, other than just going through the motions day by day, I can’t see much to be happy about at the moment, the way many things are geared.

But crossdressing as an escape is not seen as viable or desired either.  Flicking through the daily free paper that I often see on the commute or at work, there have been the odd images of female celebrities in lingerie for what can only be the viewer’s minor titillation.   The other day, there was, in the showbiz section, two small stories/headlines and in between, but distinctly lacking a supporting caption, was a very small picture of someone wearing a black leather style basque, stockings and suspenders.   There was another much better image of a celebrity or woman in lingerie that I saw at some point or another in the last week or so that grabbed my attention too.

But in each instance, having stared and reflected for a few moments, there quickly came a point where I told myself that wasn’t where I was, and pushed myself to focus the attention elsewhere.

I have briefly browsed heterosexual porn but within a small period of time, became bored with that too and did something else that I deemed far more interesting instead – and, it’s not what you might think either!

That reminds me, flicking through another of those free newspapers the other day, I caught another story about former Baywatch babe Pamela Anderson who has reportedly said that those who watch copious amounts of porn are poor lovers.   I suppose that might have been a driving force behind getting bored with my own browsing session the other day, deciding not to be allowed be perceived, even by myself, to fall into that bracket.  Thanks Pammie – who was described in the story as a 51 year old ‘siren’!  You go girl!

The thoughts over my crossdressing side, currently consigned to the history books, have been restricted to how I might begin the process of removing things to remote storage again but also that I really ought to do it sooner rather than later, in case, driving largely by my own paranoia, those little bits and bobs might be discovered just when peace and tranquillity had been allowed to come to the fore.

No longer have I been repeatedly checking, double checking, triple checking whether I’d cleared away sufficiently, before I set about the working day.   The chastity devices have been removed from the man bag over recent weeks and stored away secretly at home with other bits and bobs, sex toys and the like.  However, the man bag contains a cloth bag in which a high waist black suspender belt and stockings reside, confined to darkness and lack of use, mind you, they have had plenty of use before anyway!

They too, need to be part of a convenient moment, probably home alone, when they can be put with the other things and stored away, critically, not purged.  Make of that intent what you will.  I don’t know whether I’ll ever go back – I can’t say ‘never’ because I’ve intimated before how things had stopped, only for them to start again, even after a significant period of time.

So who am I now and where am I?  Honestly, I don’t know.  I’m still determined to file things away in whatever way, shape or form and maintain the cessation of all things crossdressing, a dramatic and sudden end to things, very much in stark contrast to the intensity that went before.

Yes – I know.  Much of the above has been said before, blah, blah, blah, blah, whatever eh?  Indeed.  I have said before how something has changed, and it had, as has happened this time.  I’m currently inclined to conclude that something is different again this time, different in another way, but again, all said copious amounts of time before on many blog entries.

I can only tell you how things are right now, as fingers scamper across the keyboard on yet another commute – time during which I’ve concluded that tomorrow is the day for that further round of deck clearing I mused about the other day – where something will be put somewhere, and nowhere, leaving me very much in the same place.

Thanks as always for taking the time to follow and read my blogs.