The recovering crossdresser?

To crossdress or not crossdress – that is the question…

Dealing with the elephant in the room. — November 10, 2017

Dealing with the elephant in the room.

Regular readers of this here blog entry will have recognised that it has been some time since the last one was posted.

You might suggest that this is because little has changed – and you’d be right.  In fact, you are more than just right as nothing has changed.

I have spent the odd few moments, usually when the day or night is still to cast a brief train of thought over things.  The main focus has been on the fit and feel of stockings and suspenders, for so long, the focus for everything that then followed, the catalyst to dressing, the most erotic element of the eroticism of crossdressing.   I have spent a few moments imagining the art of rolling on a pair of stockings, usually hold ups, before attaching them to suspender clasps and making things just so.

For the very briefest of moments, thoughts not so much touched on, more so brushed against the benefits of returning from whence I came  These thoughts have been launched through momentary dissatisfaction with the chores of life, as if getting back into crossdressing was an escape from the bind, the norm, the daily drag, and that is quite true – it would be.   I would often step into that parallel universe before allowing myself to be somewhat unceremoniously dumped back out of it when the whole thing was over for another outing.

But these moments of thought have been fleeting, though full and evident of fact, but the overriding factor is one of contentment at where I am now.  Whilst reflective of where I’ve been, and what I’ve done, and the length of time over which it occurred., I remain reflective of the overburdening weight on my mind at the same time that I was dressing, the guilt, the recognition of the fact that I was involved in crossdressing, even when I wasn’t actually dressed – immersed in a World of deceit, only no-one knew about it – I covered it that well.

Here I am then – on the straight and narrow – merely slotting in as just another member of the public, going about his business.  Mind you, who would know about a crossdresser going about their business?  The truth is that, it probably happens more than any of us might thing – only we just can’t see to know about it.

The other thing that I remain mindful of is the elephant in the room.  No-one else talks about it, as they don’t know it is there – but I do.   Somewhere, stored in that secret remote location that I’ve not even disclosed here, lies the remnants of my life as a crossdresser – lacy cami-suspenders, stockings of various kinds, and a pair of breast forms.

Let’s just say that I decided to recover and dispose of them.   Let’s just say that I don’t bother.  Those items are stored far enough away that no-one will be going anywhere near them any time soon, nor have cause to do so.  I remain fearful that upon any such occasion that I might decide to go and recover and dispose of them, I might be tempted to look at them rather than merely shove the box under my arm, and stride away with a glimpse of any of the contents and storm through the process of disposal, whatever that might entail.

The obsessive compulsive in me may well be completely and totally unable to resist opening the box and taking a look and more besides, for reasons of nostalgia or something else.  In that very moment, the rational, positive, forward looking person that I have become, the recovered crossdresser could, I fear, be sent spinning back towards one of two paths.

One – of merely closing the box and putting it back where it is stored, being content with it being in storage, content at the extremely minimal risk of it being discovered by anyone, any time soon, and leaving the elephant in the room.

Two – being drawn in by the fabric, style, colour, shape and above all, memories of being worn.  To allow myself to fall off the proverbial wagon by even taking a look, would be more than a backward step I feel.

The very reason that I used the drive of the moment to recover the items from being close to hand, collect them together, shove them in a box and get to that remote location to complete the job, is that, after leaving that location, it would be far enough away for even me to get to that easily.   Therefore, the process for even me to get there, recover and dispose of everything would need a lot of strategic planning.

That still leaves me in very much the same position – one of paranoia that events and situations will conspire against me somehow, and lead to discovery and outage long and inconveniently after the event because I haven’t taken that final step of eradication of any evidence, and in another, contentment that there is minimal risk of discovery because of the storage location, but also that the elephant remains in residence – an indication of where I’ve been, but also to where I could return – it would be, I feel, oh so easy to do that.

For now at least, out of sight, continues to be largely out of mind, but not fully.  I can’t see it, so it can’t have its hypnotic influence on any aspect of my usually very active mind.

I suppose, somehow, full and final disposal of the stockings, suspenders, outfits and breast forms is, for now, still one step too far and, given that my last outing of crossdressing was only in March of this year, perhaps I’m not quite far enough away to be convinced that I can trust myself to avoid a relapse.

I am very able to enter a period of deeper, more prolonged thoughts about crossdressing, but equally so, periods where it really is no matter but with reminders of the elephant in the room from time to time too.  Yes – nothing has changed then.

I began as, continued as, was and remain the recovering crossdresser.

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A chance encounter. — September 13, 2017

A chance encounter.

I was doing my bit around the house the other day, helping the missus with a spot of laundry, and putting a few things away around the house as a result.  This was one of those mundane but necessary jobs that might best tackled with a clear head, empty your mind, plough through, get the job done.

I had indeed merely decided that it was relevant to get the job done, make a few trips up and down the stairs and make sure that the job was done to enable us all to settle down in comparative peace and harmony, and relax a little and to avoid any friction that would probably have enveloped the rest of the day, should I have taken the careless decision to ignore what was going off around me and crash on the settee or hide myself away somewhere else in the house.

Needless to say there are now probably things stored in places where they shouldn’t be, but that might be a little covert bit of fun for everyone else around the house over the next couple of days as they try and find things!

Anyway, there were a few things that needed to go in the other half’s wardrobe.  I was thinking nothing of it, other than asking myself whether there would be enough hangers of various kinds to make sure that I didn’t suffer the wrath of my other half for scrunching up and taking no care whatsoever with things that she had prepared from the wash to wear once more.

I was sliding the many types of hangers around that had been accrued over the years as the search went on for the most appropriate hanger for the most appropriate garment, to get the job done as quickly as possible, when progress slowed and a dim light came on somewhere in my head.

There, in front of me, were the cami-suspenders and camisoles on a number of hangers.  This was to be a trip down Memory Lane.  I acknowledged that the suspender straps remained dangling on some of them, whereas previously, they had, in actual fact, been removed and stored separately by my other half, who, as she doesn’t touch the garments, had failed to notice that they were there, nor consider perhaps that they shouldn’t be because she stored them away herself.

I lifted the hangers out and span them around, the light material swishing around in motion, me briefly touching the fabrics, admiring the designs, recalling wearing them and how it had felt to wear them, feeling the sensations at my fingertips and trying to somehow feel and sense in my mind how these garments felt on my body when I did wear them.

This meander down Memory Lane lasted no more than a couple of minutes really, but in those few minutes, I was merely looking back back at where I’d been.  There was only the very vaguest of wishes to be trying something on once more, but there was no aim, or plan to do so.  Quite the opposite in fact.

I acknowledged that the last time these items had been worn was when I had worn them.  As they are, unused and unlikely to be, they hang like a museum exhibit, marking my time as a lingerie crossdresser – nothing more and otherwise, largely pointless and useless.  At no point did I consider stockings and their part in any ensemble including these garments – it was merely the garments themselves that drew my attention.

I have commented in previous blog entries that, somehow, I remain susceptible, vulnerable perhaps, to what eye candy might offer and as a result, the potential for relapse.

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you’ll know that the garments of my own were, much earlier this year, not purged.  Previous purges and what was thrown and when, continues to rankle with me, particularly a number of items bought from a luxury high street lingerie chain a few years, although the rankling applies far less so these days.

No, those garments were merely stored remotely – far enough away to be, well, far enough away even for me.  The routine and lengths I had to go to in clearing the proverbial decks meant that once done, there would be a similar, in fact, a greater extent necessary to even see them let alone recover them.

I would dare say that in that parallel universe, I would still be very much into lingerie crossdressing, but the universe and dimension that I am in is far from parallel – it is a World away, and I continue to acknowledge that my indulgences were largely achieving nothing in retrospect.   Sure, it was satisfying for me before and during, but equally dissatisfying – usually after, in another – time wasted, jobs not done.  Blah blah, I’ve said this all before many times in multiple blog entries.

I’m still on the path that is very firmly veering away from what was, to all intents and purposes, an addiction, a fetish, but instead of seeking counselling from another individual, I continue to find the mental ability to counsel myself.

What I can’t account for along that, arguably successful road that I continue to tread, is that chance that, somehow, out of the blue, I may be confronted by a spectre of my past – whatever that might entail.  I suppose the difference is in how I tackle that confrontation.   Not expecting it most recently, with the wardrobe moment, I suppose that I ultimately confronted it.  Actually, I embraced it for a few moments and I hung it up again, like the clothes I was putting away.

Moments such as those experienced this week normally end up with something happening afterwards, and, feeling a little under the weather and unable to sleep the other night, a few minutes were spent at some ungodly hour of the night, browsing the internet.

I did some searching for my two previous alter-egos and found nothing more than I already knew, despite knowing that there wouldn’t be anything more than this, but it was an interesting way to take my mind off how I was otherwise feeling.  There was the briefest of views of my webcam site profile, seconds only, and before all of that, another quick canter through the blog log in.

As well as reading some of the latest entries from other bloggers that I follow, I checked the stats for my own blog, which continue to tail off, much to be expected I suppose.  However, I did spin through the stats for each day and see what particular blog entries had been viewed.

This was an opportunity for me to take a quick run through the chronology of my life as a lingerie crossdresser, occasionally stopping off along the time line as things peaked and troughed.   Of course, when the blog was more active and the content more, let’s say ‘risque’ and erotic perhaps, there was more interest.

Now it’s just the often repetitive ramblings of an approaching middle-age forty something no longer having a mid-life crisis perhaps.   Of course, those peaks and troughs to which I refer have happened to me, so will naturally apply for you as the reader.

Wardrobe visit and reminisce over, I’m still on that proverbial straight and narrow.

Until the next time – whenever that will be – thanks for reading.

Nothing better to do. — August 9, 2017

Nothing better to do.

I’ve been planning to write a further blog update, but with the only motivation being when I’d not got anything better to do.  That sounds rather terse and rude but that’s not my intention.  The reason for de-prioritising the blog is that such matters don’t have any great significance anymore – not enough to make me talk or even think about it in fact.

Readers to my blog will know that I had a rather sizeable wobble a short time ago but I recovered from that and I am probably more ‘on track’ than I was before that wobble.

There have only been fleeting moments thinking about where I’ve been, where I’ve come from and what I had been doing – for example, the other half’s casually laid white lacy bra caught my attention for quite literally a second the other day, tossed down after being taken off for bed one night.   Just for a second, and for no longer, everything flashed through my mind, but as quick as it had taken to make another step across the room, the moment and the thought had passed.

I now no longer see myself as ever likely to relapse and begin crossdressing again.  I see no need, no desire, I feel no urge, no craving, I don’t view any on-line imagery relating to the subject matter, and if I’m honest, I barely log in to my blog account, or take that long to view other the content of other bloggers.

Where once, that content had a deep and intriguing interest, with apologies, there is only the odd flick through the most recent feed entries, and the odd scan read.  I take a look at the much depleted, low stats of my own blog, and I dally with the stats which show who has been reading what, and sometimes click on those results to remind me what that entry was about.  It serves only to remind me once more where I’ve been and the path that has been trodden.

What about those various cam site and networking site profiles of mine?  Part of me has contemplated going in and deleting them.  They serve no purpose now, they hold little content other than perhaps a profile that arguably needs updating from present to past tense but what’s the point?.  Perhaps like the lack of motivation to even write or post a blog entry here, there’s no reason to log in to them, no reason to use the web cam account etc.

My mind has even turned to the now remotely stored items attributed to my crossdressing history – thoughts of getting rid, but as I’ve said before, the fact that they are far enough away to be, well, far enough away, offers little rhyme or reason to visit that location and do the deed – I still feel that, some way, somehow, eye candy, as you might call it, would still leave me open to thoughts of being drawn in some way, like a child in a sweet shop – hence the ‘candy’ analogy – so it’s best to leave it where it is.  It matters less, it hardly matters at all, but that doesn’t mean to say that it should all stay there.  I’m just not content enough yet to go through the lengthy process of retrieval and disposal, neither of which would be easy to carry out.

What I am pre-occupied with is my ‘before, during and after’ body image.  There’s some hair, there are parts where there aren’t, there are parts where there is some growth and the suggestions made at the men’s room I continue to frequent haven’t exactly turned out to be what I would have preferred retrospectively.

I’ll be sure to discuss it next time around, unless I’m convinced otherwise that the course I’m on will provide reward in the medium to long term.  Those waxing sessions at the men’s room continue to be some quality time for me though.

The discomfort about body image is contrasted by the contentment to walk the house naked of a morning, go to bed naked at night etc, (while it remains warm enough – ask me if I’m still doing the same when Autumn arrives) but that only makes me more aware of what I dislike about how I look, yet I persist with my birthday suit behaviour.  What’s going off there?

If you are sitting there reading this blog entry, gripped by a similar addiction to my crossdressing habit/addition (delete as applicable!) or even actually crossdressing, and if you have read my previous blog entries, you might well be somewhat frustrated at a lack of ‘how to’ in blog entries, even though I’ve alluded to trying to detail everything over a period of time without actually doing so.

It’s like this – I’ll recap.  Earlier this year, someone I’ve known for a while, died after a period of illness and as previous blog entries have detailed, after their passing, a number of (non-cross-dressing related) skeletons not so much fell, more so came crashing out of their proverbial cupboard, deceit being a major element.  Still somewhere in my own world at that time, but coming to terms with giving it all in by that point, the message was clear to me – I could not condone the deceit that had been going on, if I too was guilty of committing acts of deceit myself – it was no more than that in my mind.

Although I had become hugely dissatisfied with my cross dressing lifestyle, it seemed that I still needed a jolt to make sure that I was on the path I was evidently on the way to but not yet fully on.  Remove the external motivation for a minute and there has to be some internal motivation, a mindset, a determination to change, to rationalise everything and turn a corner.  After the many hours, weeks, months and years of indulgences, I had reached a point where none of it had any importance any more.

It wasn’t easy, but I found great satisfaction in the other things in life that I do, from the motivation to attack the day job, to hobbies and people around me, things that I knew I needed to do or could do that would be of value in some way, yet had completely disregarded, dismissed and put in the ‘to do tomorrow’ pile to crossdress instead, when in fact, tomorrow never came.

You have to see an addiction as insignificant, something that achieves nothing, is a waste of time, to be able to make a firm break, and retrospectively, it was and now is insignificant really.

Don’t get me wrong – crossdressing was nice, enjoyable, special – there are probably many more superlatives to add to that list, yet similarly, it was also going nowhere, and whilst it wasn’t a waste of time at the time, the view from distance now is that it very much was.

You have to want to change in order to change, that’s true, but whilst there may be troubles ahead on such a path, the odd step back rather than a few forward, over time, if one remains focussed on distraction for as long as necessary and prioritisation of everything else above it, it can be done and you can move on.  I am further away from crossdressing than I have ever been yet I know somehow that I am not safe, not yet fully removed.

I will continue to use this blog entry as my own form of therapy and if helps you too, then I’m pleased.  It may not help entirely, but even if it helps a little, my experiences and my sharing of those same experiences, was worth my time writing and your time reading, I hope.

Until next time…

Mind your business — July 5, 2017

Mind your business

As I said in my last blog entry, I’ve had a fairly sustained wobble over recent days, and it was most definitely the worst since March 2017 when crossdressing came to an end again.

I’d like to say that my thoughts have been clear, transparent, easy to understand, but they haven’t been in entirety.  How can it be possible to think about a subject matter but without being specific?  Why is it that the human mind can just have the subject per se swirling around?  My head has been something like a bingo or lottery machine, everything loaded in but swirling around whilst there is a long wait for something to be drawn out.

If that ‘swirling’ wasn’t bad enough, the sheer fact there was a melting pot of undefined subject matter in there meant that one’s subconscious was susceptible to being played back whilst asleep and all the utter nonsense that might normally be part of a dream of a person with an active or busy mind, is, under these circumstances, even more of a jumbled up mess.

I’ve had a few days away with the other half and as she was dressing one night, she decided that a particular bra didn’t quite sit well enough with her over garment of choice.  She reached for a rarely worn black lacy bra from her lingerie drawer, that I more than clearly remember wearing myself.   As she flung the first bra off, in picking up the black one, she spent just a few seconds doing what I think was inspecting it.  Were there some ‘tell tale’ signs she’d somehow spotted, something not quite right?

Sitting there in my apparent, evident innocence, my mind rang a muted, brief “What the hell is going off here?” alarm bell until it was concluded that things had moved on without issue.   But those few seconds of inspection seemed like an eternity, but she’d decided it was suitable and put it on.  I helped sort the odd twisted bra strap and admired the view in front of me whilst also remembering just how nice that was to wear, particularly with breast forms and how much pleasure I’d had in wearing it, albeit not recently.

Our few days away took us into department stores on an aimless wander around the city we were visiting, where, as usual, the quick reader that I am spotted signs saying ‘Lingerie’ but without setting about a desire to either be there or not – I really wasn’t bothered either way.  I reasoned that, if we passed, then there would be some covert screening from distance, but nothing more.   In another store, there were the odd racks of stockings and other hosiery, and my darting scanning eyes quickly sought to confirm, for no reason whatsoever, that what I was seeing was stockings, not tights or anything else as if there was a need to tick a box somewhere.

Whilst queuing at the checkout with the general things that had been picked up, as we snaked through those zig-zag marshalling type routes to the pay desk, my attention was drawn back to the periphery and the lingerie area of the floor.  On the top of the stockings display unit was one of those mannequin legs – the ones that are solely to display the stocking only.  One of the legs standing high in the air on top of the unit, was adorned with a black stocking with a lacy black top – as the mental box ticking continued, I concluded that it was of the hold up variety as there was no mannequin body to which a suspender belt might have been holding up the stocking.  Satisfied that I had well and truly ticked that box, the draw of imagery nearby was dismissed and I quite simply moved on.

We had already taken a quick jaunt around the lingerie department earlier in our stroll.  At one point, we were teetering on the edge of the area.  Inside, I was urging my other half to go across the threshold and get a little closer.  Something grabbed her attention and my inner euphoria – for some bizarre reason – celebrated the opportunity.  We trailed a little further in, did a quick circle and, for what was, to be fair, a brief moment, lasting around a minute before we breezed out as quickly as we’d breezed in.

Where does this leave things for me?  Here’s a recap. Other than the Avatar, there are no more pictures of me in any garment on any site under my control, there can be no peripheral geography, body shape or anything that might be seen by anyone, including me, to identify me.   A wave of horror over on-line antics led me to another type of purge in deleting images from a total of three sites as I said in the previous blog entry.

The remote location remains the home to everything that was thrust in a box and stored there back in March – a handful of outfits, a pair of black lace topped hold-ups, a pair of white stockings, a pair of blue seamed stockings and those 38c breast forms.

Those items are so remote, even I can’t really get to them easily at all, although I know I could if I wanted to.  Whatever drive it was that led to the delete button being repeatedly clicked upon to eradicate any archive images of me in various items of lingerie, was the same sort of drive that had previously carried me to that remote location, drove me to grab for those items without making eye contact with them, drove me to find the box and drove me to the extent that I went to , in order to make sure that they were far enough out of even my reach.

The mind is now clearer, more settled once more, but still able to recall, reminisce.  As I have said before, even the silence of making the bed of a morning reminds of that same bed making process that usually preceded an early morning dressing session.  Dressing time was always a deeply personal one, preparing myself was as equally fulfilling as the art of wearing, always co-ordinated, as tidy as possible, always adjusting, making right.

There are many other reminders, as I’ve remarked before, about memories of being crossdressed or crossdressing, occasions in life, places that I have been crossdressed, places where I have been whilst yearning to be crossdressed, journeys home in advance of immediately dressing when back home, stop offs on route to collect mail-ordered outfits and the same rush to get home to try that item on for the first time.

Whilst the acts may have ceased, whilst photographs can be and have been erased, memories cannot.  Although sometimes difficult to bear, the fact that those memories linger and are recalled, is no different to the time over which covert crossdressing acts were carried out.

Wobble overcome, as ever though, one thing remains ever present – I remain the recovering crossdresser.

Balance rediscovered —

Balance rediscovered

It has certainly all been happening.  I don’t think that, after such a long time from the point I quit lingerie crossdressing (again), that I could really believe that I was having the wobble that I had – I had not been expecting it at all.

I don’t really know what has been happening in my mind of late, but for a short time, I seemed to be open to thinking about it far more than I have been doing – it really was a rather significant wobble.   This has, once more, been a tumultuous battle between the angel and devil, Jekyll and Hyde, but it was an even battle.

On what I have been describing as my cam site of choice, a quick log in reveals yet more decimation of previous galleries, which leak away like an un-manned tap leaks water.  Just one or two sessions remain in view merely because of the fact that, whenever the option is switched off from public view, and those that remain are not the best.

I have logged back into my e-mail account and cleared the decks of many notifications except one – a gallery site which offers more elements under premium access for those that want to cough up around £40 for twelve months.  You might ask why I looked at such a fact.  Goodness only knows, but I baulked at the price and the principle anyway.

The site, to which I’d been introduced back in March when I was of some assistance to a fellow crossdresser, gives the user the opportunity to upload images without premium membership.  Having logged in, I immediately updated the Avatar to the one I’ve been using as commonplace, and then, for reasons even I don’t know, set about the strategic task of accessing another Crossdressers website, downloading the photos that I’d added there, to a desktop folder before re-uploading them to the site  I’d just accessed, albeit with a limit of around a dozen uploads per 24 hours.

I revelled at the range of images I’d taken the apparent sense to previously save from my site of choice and upload to a second one, this one being a third.  I updated profiles on both sites with a distinct past tense, detailing that I’d stopped dressing in March 2017 as if that mitigated everything I was doing.   This, I had evidently reasoned, was a prime opportunity to put some of those same pics on this third site, just because.

It was getting late, and I was tired but I ploughed on as the obsessive compulsive within pressed on to get a job done.   Having acknowledged the limit per 24 hours for pic upload, I vowed to continue on the following night.  Job done, I went to bed.

Up early the following morning, I did everything I had to do, but in my birthday suit, allowing my overt sexuality at the time to carry my mood.  Once the basics were done, I afforded myself a log on to the same (third) site where I discovered that the 24 hour period had elapsed somewhere on the planet and I was allowed to continue my obsessive uploading.   I glanced at the clock and told myself that I must follow the reason why I had got up so early, assured myself that there would be time later at some point, and went about the working day.

The waking hours of the night had triggered an urge to write another blog entry, the amazing title of which had petered out of mind by the time morning broke and the alarm went off.  Able to work on the move, this blog entry began to take shape.

During the recent ‘significant wobble’, my mood and mindset has, for a time, been the closest ever to yearning to crossdress once more, feel the stockings on my legs, the bouncing of the breast forms, the cosseting feel of being tightly wrapped in whatever lingerie took my mood.   I have lost count of the amount of times I viewed through the photos of me that remained, archived from site one to site two and then to site three.

I used my smart phone during the margins of the day to see who had viewed, who had commented, and took satisfaction in seeing some flattering comments.  As I said at the start of this entry, I did not expect to be feeling like that.  I was on a wave of sexual adrenaline after a day in which there were two sessions of looking through my own galleries and those of others, seeing my photos amongst the postings of the day, once more seeing my place in the world of crossdressing.

Could I begin again?  “What was I thinking?”, I remonstrated with myself.  I began reviewing in my mind various sentences from entries of this very blog to the ‘enth degree.  Of course I could begin again.  It would be so easy.  It would be so enjoyable.

So what’s stopping me?  For a start, an evidently uncontrollable urge to seek anal pleasure the other day carried me to the place that the other half used to store her broken vibrator.  Since things came to an end again for me back in March, the wardrobes, it appeared, have been tidied, organised, daily garments of all types cleared.  I had no time to sweep through everything.  Were those old negligees and chemises still around somewhere?  I didn’t check.  It mattered little, as I knew what I wanted and made a bee-line for her newer, in working order, but bigger vibrator, and enjoyed minutes upon end of on-cam anal pleasure as my mind quite literally toyed with bi-curiousness, to which I would freely admit, reminders that I know of someone who wants to have his way with me and whom I have had some minor foreplay related encounters before.

I was naked throughout, no lingerie, no underwear, riding the condom covered vibrator and revelling in the pleasure before cumming like I’d not come for a while, the anal stimulation triggering a wave of unadulterated pleasure leading to pulsating prolonged orgasm.

In the aftermath, I concluded that whilst I had quite literally ridden a storm out, it was not THE storm.  What else was stopping me?   Above all, the outfits and accessories that I stored away remotely a while back are so far away, even I will have a herculean job to recover them to then use.  The fact they are so far away is a deterrent the scale of which I have yet to realise.

Momentum continued in the days ahead. Wearing one of my (male) g-strings, I went before a webcam and busied myself with other things at the same time, looking at who stopped by, chatting with those who stopped by for longer and changing my underwear on demand.  The undercurrent for those viewing was being fed by the profile on my site of choice, the undercurrent displaying a crossdresser’s profile, and photos remaining of the galleries that hadn’t yet expired, me having omitted to switch them back off again last time around.

Momentum carried me into an invite to Skype and having reinstalled the program, hopped on over, cutting off a loyal group of web cam viewers in an instant, my mind favouring a chat one-on-one.   It was appreciative, but it was pre-loaded with the facts regarding my crossdressing.  I openly, but quietly discussed my now apparently historic crossdressing habits, the viewer having perused some blog entries, and having answered a few more intimate questions, reached a natural end to the conversation.

How things ended didn’t go well for me, and somewhat horrified, I picked up the invisible axe and wielded it without care or real forethought.  Those pics that I had loaded onto site number 3 were the first to be culled – in entirety – then came the source of those pics – site number 2 – before I returned to site number 1 and switched off the galleries for public viewing.  “No, no, no, no NO!” were the words rampaging through my head.  This was not a ‘delete all’ either – this was a necessary click on every individual photo to hit the delete button, but nothing was going to stop me.

This cull served well towards rediscovering a balance of some sort.  This, it seemed, had been a virtual slap around the face to bring me to my senses, for the time being, and at least to put me back where I was around a week ago, a mindset of having set out my new path in March, of stopping, but the thoughts go on in my mind and the lure of lingerie continues to draw my eyes as it has done over recent days.

More next time around.  As ever, thanks for reading.

In the heat of the moment… — June 19, 2017

In the heat of the moment…

I don’t know what it is about the warm weather, but being able to fling one’s clothes off when alone around the house or to wear as little as possible is quite invigorating.  Clearly, it brings out the inhibited nudist within me!

In the middle of an early UK Summer heatwave, that feeling, coupled with the fact that I have recently enjoyed an upper body wax, sleeping naked and in the open at night and that I am moisturising and maintaining my body well of late has left me feeling a little heady it has to be said.

It was about March time when I put a stop to all things crossdressing, but, probably driven by the recent body wax and a high dosage of Vitamin D from the sun, my mind has recently wandered back towards the subject matter.  Over recent days, driven by some ulterior force, I have found myself searching the net, viewing imagery, perusing sales outlets (but going no further) and most recently, accessing any old log in to any old site that I can remember having an account for.

For the first time since March, I have experienced a wobble – albeit a moderate one – and in the moment, a heady yet irrational yearning for the feeling of wearing an outfit of some sort again.  I lay in bed last night imagining the feeling of a figure hugging cami-suspender set, the suspenders running down my upper thigh – the feelings were more than tangible – and the distractive thoughts did somewhat stop me from quickly dropping off to sleep, one reason, the other being how muggy it was.

This morning, I showered, shaved, moisturised, and wandered naked around the house, tidying a few things, doing a bit of preparation for the day ahead but later found myself in front of the PC screen once more, like a moth to a flame, searching aimlessly around without any real clue as to what I was doing.  I logged back into Skype and accepted a contact request from someone – just because.  I had a quick nosy around before logging out – but there was nothing to nosy at of course.

I searched around for my old alter-ego and my most recent one in Internet-land, knowing darn well that what I’d see would be nothing more than I already knew.  This was all aimless, pointless nonsense, particularly when I really could be getting myself into the day.

I remembered one of my old site log ins I hadn’t actually accessed for quite some time after the address just pinged into my head and logged in there where, I was reminded, I’d published a number of photographs of me in various outfits taken from another cam site, repackaged and reposted of course.   It was more than just a little stimulating to see myself in this way again, particularly as I’ve previously commented that my site of choice had, seemingly, no longer got the same number of galleries, not that anyone bar me could see them having switched them off in the profile settings.

The process of scrolling through the gallery was more than enough stimulation (yes, I was getting turned on by my OWN pictures!) to reach a peak and after this, I felt like I’d come to my senses once more, telling myself in the aftermath that the decision to well and truly put a stop to things in March was the right thing.  I couldn’t fall off the wagon once more, and perhaps more crucially – I  seemed to be telling myself that I mustn’t.

Having apparently come to my senses, it wasn’t long before I was clothed and ready for work.  All of a sudden covering up the birthday suit seemed wholly appropriate, being in it, becoming inappropriate all things considered.

I suppose that, given the sudden nature of the cessation of things once more back in March and the way that it happened, i.e. dismissing things to a far flung, largely inaccessible place in my life, was a very good way of avoiding careless sudden thoughts to throw me back into a pit I’d doubtless be grateful for being in – certainly in the medium to long term and arguably sooner than that.

It was a while ago that I remarked upon acknowledging the need to go through ‘cold turkey’, so perhaps I was a tad naïve to conclude that the way things had been going over the late Winter and Autumn would continue in the same way.

One thing IS for sure.  Had my outfits been more to hand this morning, I can’t honestly say that I’d have been able to hold steady, ignore things and resist temptation.  Knowing that the garments and accessories are not in any way easily to hand is very useful and, as I continue to pledge to ‘blog’ about how I’m managing to ‘recover’ without doing writing anything so far, I suppose that is the most important, at least initial piece of advice I could give to anyone that wants it.

If, like me, you feel that a devil sits on one shoulder urging you on whilst the angel sits on the other, pulling you back, and even if that’s not how you see things, moving the things away to a place that’s not very easy to get to, is probably the single most important way of avoiding any kind of irrational temptation, no matter if or when it strikes.

You may be asking where my ‘far flung’ place is.  For the purposes of at least partial if not total anonymity, I’m not going to say where it is for me, but I’m sure that, if there’s a need for you to find a place, and if, like me, you’ve been very firmly in a closet and covertly crossdressing for a period of time, the type of strategies employed almost by the second in order to remain there, will be equally tactically applied to find your own far flung place – one that works for you.

Right – that’ll do for now – two quick blog entries in the space of a few days but then again, there was a need to catch up I suppose and whilst the thoughts and motivation are in mind, it’s only right and proper to lay them down really.

I’ll do my utmost to offer (some/more) help, guidance and tips in my next blog entry.  In the meantime, thanks for reading.

Thoughts — June 16, 2017

Thoughts

As I have remarked upon before, I have usually needed a spark to begin a blog entry, a slant on something in particular, or reflecting on some kind of feeling or emotion or another.

Hell, I can’t even come up with a working blog title so ‘Thoughts’ just had to suffice this time around.  Yes it’s been a while since the last entry, so what does that tell you?  Wonder not.  Nothing has changed, there has been no relapse, no raiding the remote location for the outfits and accessories.

What that does tell you is that everything remains in dark, distant confines and nothing has motivated me to get to it, pick it up, look at it, move or use it – in any case, it is all just too far away in more sense than one.  I felt it was time for a blog entry, yet it wasn’t anywhere high on the list of priorities.

Today though it just seemed convenient to put fingertips to keyboard (for that, read ‘pen to paper’).

There has been the odd glimmer of reflection and thought about – ah go on then – ‘crossdressing’ – there, I’ve said it now, but nothing clear, no wish to, urge to, no plan to, no clear thoughts whatsoever about it per se – just that the subject matter occasionally but generally enters my head for a few brief moments from time to time.

It is definitely reflective, recalling where I’ve been, and there are many times, as I’ve remarked upon before, where I go places where I might remember being crossdressed, or coming back from in order to crossdress.  The daily grind is littered with memories.

My reflective moments have taken me back onto my webcam site of choice this wee, logging in once more and switching on the archive of galleries for me to flick through before switching them off again.  Why?  I really have no idea – and you might say that it is because there is a part of me that wishes I was still wearing those outfits.   I would tend to disagree – note that I said ‘tend’.   I was merely looking back on where I’ve been.  “Yes”, I can hear you say You keep telling yourself that!”.

But here’s the thing – where there were previously many galleries on the profile of that cam site of choice, now there are only a few of the more recent ones – the older ones are nowhere to be seen.  The fact that I turn that element of my profile off is known, according to the Ts & Cs, to render some or even all of the archive banished into cyber space for ever.   This has rankled before and rankles with me again, although now,  not significantly.   There’s not a lot I can do about it anyway – call it ‘karma’ if you like.

Then there’s my ex-alter-ego’s Twitter profile.  There have been occasions where I’ve logged in and had a quick look, but what I have found is that nothing floated my boat in the way that it used to and certainly not for long.  I was quite happy to log back out as quickly as I’d logged in to be honest.

That brings me on to my blog entries themselves.  The stats have quite understandably dropped off the face of the earth.  There are no more webcam appearances, to the masses or 1-on-1, no postings on Twitter promoting that the same are taking place as live, the blog entries themselves are few and far between, so it is of no surprise that the stats have taken a nose dive.

I don’t really feel inclined to look in detail / at length at other blog entries right now, the whole crossdressing thing having dissipated across the board, but I do have a quick flick through the feed and should anything grab my attention, I will definitely give things my full attention.

How am I at the moment?  Fine. Content.  I’m definitely happy that nothing twangs my conscience, there is no guilt, but there is acknowledgement that there would be if I was indulging.  But I’m not – and I still cannot see myself doing so – soon, or in fact ever – although if the bits and bobs were more to hand, it would be something more of a temptation.  It’s best it all stays where it is then!

So why am I marginally reflective?  I have absolutely no idea, but I am only occasionally reflective without being specific to anything in particular nor am I regretful or have any sense of longing.

I would freely admit to being body image dysphoric.  I frequently enjoy what is now, due to growth patterns, occasional partial body waxes whereas before, everything was done in either one session or the rest of it a week later, leaving me contently smooth.  Now, I am something of a bit’before, during and after’ from top to toe.

Of course, I know deep down why I wanted to be that way – there are two previously documented reasons.  One – well you can work that out – and two, because I feel better being that way – cooler fresher, more comfortable, more content.

The sunshine and warm weather feeds one’s soul with Vitamin D and offers quite a boost – certainly to me it seems.  I am, of late at least, quite happy to be alone at home walking around the house naked, and I look after myself as well as I can.  I now moisturise regularly as a way of keeping my skin soft and allowing in growing hairs a chance to break through rather than going the other way.  I love a long shower and exfoliation and I love then taking time to give myself lots of care and attention until I am content, clean, fresh, tidy etc.  It is rather satisfying!

One of my favourite bits to be waxed is my chest – it just seems so much more sensual to be clear of the latest swarming mass of growth and although my waxing sessions are always out of kilter nowadays and I’m never fully clear of growth, I know that there is progress.  It is easier to remove hair each time and there is less of it next time around too.  I’m fine with that in the main, but I do feel better in the immediate aftermath of a waxing session than I do a few weeks after the next relentless growth pattern has edged its way through.

I am having an albeit slightly arguably body conscious contented spell, but revel in the time of day when I can be naked, alone at home or in bed at night.  Besides, it is far too hot in the UK at the moment.

There you are then.  But what, you might ask, has enabled me to be so much in control and a World away from where I was in, say January, February or even early March?   I’ve documented how a life changing experience seemed to spin me in another direction but there has to be a mindset change for that path to become well walked.  I can’t honestly say how I am able to maintain progress and avoid any kind of relapse other than being more able to do other things, enjoying life, indulging and investing in things and people that matter.

But I still feel the need to put things into words – and I will try and do that in the next blog entry.  If it helps just one person other than me, it will have been worthwhile.

Until next time, thanks for reading.