It has been a while since my last blog entry, and that might have something to do with continuing wanton abandonment of inhibitions and copious amounts of hours dressing and going on-line, buying new outfits, collecting from pick-up points rather than having them delivered for potential home interception and the resulting challenges that would undoubtedly arise.
There have been days of underdressing to work, hours of being crossdressed in lingerie from early morning to early evening – some 12 hours in fact, photos uploaded of key moments along the way, significant periods and increasing numbers of followers on social media, visitors to my webcam, and in depth conversations about my alter ego, sexuality, leanings, and where the conversation extends, erotic moments where I accede to certain requests.
Along the way, I have taken a dislike to certain words and have made my feelings known about this on social media. Words such as ‘slag’, ‘faggot’ and ‘bitch’ are, to me at least, deeply, deeply offensive. How anyone could allow themselves to be called such a thing is beyond me but it is a case of “whatever floats your boat” etc. I suppose. Each to their own!
However, perhaps conversely, I have not objected to the use (my own and those communicating with me) of the word ‘slut’. Strange is it not? I have experienced the open desires of those watching me, what they say they’d like to do with me, particularly as I continue to openly declare my virginal state – toys being the exception, something else I have revelled in and continue to explore.
One recent visitor to my web cam opened conversation with ‘Hey bich’ [sic]. That opening gambit was met with the first time in all of these years when I have actually kicked someone off, having been previously unaware of how to do so but quickly finding out. I hope I got the message across succinctly to that particular individual!
Nevertheless, counter to this, the numbers following me on my preferred cam site plus Skype and Twitter have ticked up. There will be a daily feed full of other persons, but I am grateful that I interest others enough for them to want to at least try and keep up with what I’m up to.
What have I been up to? Well, virtually every night I have gone to bed and lay there planning what outfit I’d wear in the morning. Then, having sprung out of bed the split second that opportunity allowed, have usually been dressed within minutes in the desired outfit. Equally so, I have acceded to requests to change into something else whilst on cam, openly discussing outfit options and in some cases, with followers already aware of what they had seen me in before, requesting a change somewhere along the way.
As far as outfits are concerned, I must keep a watchful eye. I have plenty of my own and plenty others to hand for me to plan, pick and pull on, from blue, red, black, white and mixes, but I continue to recall a pink basque and how much I used to enjoy wearing pink – the epitomy of femininity perhaps when it comes to colour options. That outfit went along with the last purge I said to myself that I’d ever do unless I’m forced and like the other purges, the type of which many crossdresser has experienced on repeated occasions – I regretted every single one retrospectively – some absolutely lovely, irreplaceable outfits which probably cost a small fortune when totalled up. So, shopping habits might well begin again when the finance and right items come up.
On-line, I have been and remain open to conversations at all levels, but tend to appreciate the more respectful, calm, reasoned, friendly, inquisitive, but not necessarily over-invasive conversations about my alter ego Fiona a lot more. The focus of dressing has remained on stockings and suspenders, and usually with breast forms. I have taken great delight in a new lacy white three piece including a bralette, suspender belt and skimpy g-string which allows breast forms to sit, clearly on show and bouncing due to no support of any kind. Similarly, a long since discarded, wrong sized black lacy bra is a perfect fit for me and my breast forms – so much so that I must check the size on the label next time I put it on, commit the information to file and get a better understanding of my femme sizes.
When underdressed for work on select days, naturally, residing so deeply in the closet, I have undressed before returning home, often forgetting my own replacement underwear and having to return home commando, secreting lingerie back where it needed to be, then removing work attire only to discover that the short time on the commute coupled with the long duration that lingerie had been worn, had not been enough for tell-tale marks on my skin where stocking tops and other garments have been to have cleared as skin elasticity returns to normal.
With another suspender belt from the other half’s long since discarded, merely stored (rather than thrown I suppose!) supply draw having suffered irrepairable damage from over user by me, and having become dissatisfied with having to use a cami-suspender strap from a favourite outfit from the wardrobe as a makeshift repair, I went about ordering some new belts of my own – only to misjudge the size (see above!). Although frustrated, I convinced myself to follow the returns process and take a smaller size, safe in the knowledge that I had plenty of other things to wear in the meantime. Yes, I am still to really understand sizing but to be fair, I haven’t got it that wrong before. You learn a new thing every day.
So, from June to now, utter indulgence at all levels, frank statements on social media, overtly sexual at times. The day to day me hides an alter-ego who can be very (and ever increasingly) naughty, flirtatious and provocative. All of this overtly sexual behaviour flies in the face of a string of blog entries and feelings before I yielded once more after over 12 months away from the crossdressing fold..
Of late though, I will confess that guilty feelings have begun to creep back in again. Things are good at home, in life, settled. Nice things are happening, time is nice, there is household harmony and these moments including tender ones contribute to those moments of more intense guilt.
But the levels of guilt tend to fluctuate day to day, hour to hour, night to night, week to week, between seriously thinking about stopping crossdressing yet again for what might be all the right reasons, to contemplating the consequences of a slip of my guard and being outed however well I might have done by residing in the closet for so long, and the far less caring wanton abandonment and indulgence referred to above.
Different days, different thoughts, different conclusions, different outcomes.
I have a hang up that has manifested itself in my inner psyche once more. This time around, I have had the most bizarre form of body waxing. I went for an appointment, and rather than perhaps do a top half or a bottom half of my whole body, the session had led to me being waxed on my front, armpits, and front of my legs when things came to a sudden halt.
The reason? Insurance issues. Sample cases (they are apparently well documented on line but I’ve never hunted them out) in the States apparently cited instances of full body waxes where the client had suffered ill health at the appointment. From knowledge and indeed experience, the body is reacting to having copious amounts of hairs pulled out in one go, the reactions of pain receptors and adrenaline, which can cause some rather unpleasant feelings. I have only suffered that once – the uncontrollable shakes, a drop of core body temperature irrespective of how warm it might be in the local environment – it ISN’T nice and it should be a mild warning to anyone considering having a body wax instead of shaving etc.
So, insurance means that a professional salon will not perform a full body wax in one session, more so, over two probably closely set appointments. That is how it is for me. You lie there with the waxing being done and you’re almost waiting for a quiz show style buzzer to go off signalling “that’s all we’ve got time for this week, tune in next week for more”!
When you just want to get your body smooth and tidy all in one go, when you step out of clothes or out of the bed or the shower and see yourself, when you consider that hair across the human body grows at different rates and strengths, and when you throw in that I am naturally hirsute (although not as bad as I used to be admittedly), that makes for a rather frustrating point of when time is called at an appointment. Sure, you can pleasantly say “I’m alright”, or words to that effect, and try and encourage them to press on but no-one in their right and professional mind will risk their own business or their client’s well-being. I am quite used to having my body temperature checked through touch during a waxing session and it is reassuring.
Since my front was done the other week, I will admit that I have obsessively begun tweezer plucking as the first signs of regrowth push through, much to my utter, total, 100% frustration. It’s a fruitless exercise really – I’m not even scratching the surface so to speak. Exfoliation in the shower might remove the odd hair, all of it generally weakening through repeated removal, but as I said, hair grows at different speeds and strengths, the chest being one of the areas where it remains more resistant to dying off and where it can be seen doing so of course.
It is a total hang up – I would admit and I was absolutely terrible at my first few waxing appointments which must go back several years. I’ve said this before but whilst I know I am making progress, somehow, it still rankles with me when growth seems to return so soon.
Waxing is something I indulge in for two reasons for me, and one within the inner circle of the family. One? Well, you can work that one out for yourself, but two, being smooth is cooler – it certainly has been during the UK heatwave experienced this year – and much more comfortable, allowing the skin to dry rather than retain moisture in a mat of body hair. This latter reason is the public face if you like, of my waxing experiences – quite real, quite factual, but shrouding the need to feel more en-femme too. Being more hirsute in between appointments does influence how and indeeed if I might dress and what I might dress in lingerie-wise too.
So there you are – a rather long winded snap-shot of where I am – off to work now – stockings and suspenders and a g-string, secreted underneath work attire.