The recovering crossdresser?

To crossdress or not crossdress – that is the question…

As you were… — July 7, 2018

As you were…

I frequently stop off at certain points of my blog timeline and read the odd entries.  Until recently, they offered a reflection of one of the journeys of life, providing a chance to remember, a reason to remain on the same path, to take note of the reason that I stopped crossdressing again – the deceit of another on their nearest and dearest and that I couldn’t seriously criticise them for their (non crossdressing related) deceit when I was committing an act of deceit myself, and acknowledge what might have been called ‘achievements’ or ‘successes’ in not falling off the proverbial wagon etc.

I’ll make no bones about it – the wagon is long gone.  I must be some sort of hypocrite. Time off and home alone this week has offered more or less total indulgence for extensive periods of time.  Perhaps most critically, a concerted effort was made to recover the lingerie, stockings and breast forms from the remote storage location.

I think I lost count of the amount of outfit changes but at one time, I think it numbered seven on day one.  I dressed in virtually every single available outfit in the space of around 5 hours, often dressing whilst on my webcam, those of my own were wrapped around my body for the first time in over 16 months, whilst the others that weren’t mine were also gloriously prepared and put to good use – hours and hours of undisturbed, total indulgence. I had not so much fallen, more careered off the wagon it seemed, but I cared not.

The piece de resistance came on the second day when my favourite outfit of them all was put on and appreciatingly kept on for more hours upon end.  Sure – there were peaks and troughs of viewers to my cam, and in the troughs, I kept myself busy by slowly getting through some other jobs on the PC, one eye kept on the chat boxes etc. with the intention to avoid being rude.  There were also times when I simply wanted to get up and move around the house a bit, plenty of admiring, appreciative and hugely erotic looks in any mirrors available or simply down at what my eyes could soak up.

Oddly, in the margins of both sessions of both days, when things were done, the tidy up included returning the lingerie and breast forms to the remote storage location that was clearly no longer as remote as it used to be, but still requiring much effort and determination to collect and return things each time.

Day three seemed less erotic, but more sensual – mere silk or chiffon slips with matching undies, one a tie-up at the sides skimpy thong, the other, a matching red and black lacy affair to match the silk slip.  No breast forms, no stockings, nothing more than sitting before the web cam for which I’d found a new way to position.   I did however acknowledge how damned gorgeous those slips would be with the breast forms inserted – that would be for another day, control applied to the third day when I was not entirely home alone.

Over the last few days, there have been those who wish to engage in more direct, extremtly explicit conversations and/or requests, some I have acceded to, others and in fact, many that I have not.   But for all of those types of discussions, the sheer number and nature of them was made to be of little importance due to the kind, reasonable, respectable, friendly, understanding, empathetic and maybe even sympathetic conversations with three individuals – two men and one woman, the latter who very much appreciated a crossdressed male and all that it stood for.  I won’t go into further details than that though out of respect.

I am by no means a man’s man.  I can be naturally effemininate in mannerisms, something I might try to curb at times – ‘try’ being the operative word, mannerisms I might often chastise myself for from within, as if I come across a little too camp.   That is just me though I suppose and I don’t get too hung up on it in the long run.  Take me as I am.

This week, to this one individual, I have opened up about my life and acts as a crossdresser, duration, feelings, experiences – perhaps not reasons though as even I don’t really know what they are apart from perhaps – genes.   I cannot begin to tell you how much value I attached to that rational, friendly, understanding, appreciative discussion and I made sure that I told this person how grateful I was on more than one occasion and through more than one route.  It is good to have what at least I consider to be a confidante, even if I speak as Fiona, not who I really am – it really, REALLY helped.

So what now?  Put simply, I’m crossdressing again despite everything (and I mean everything) that I’ve said and done in the last sixteen months, despite all of that time of arguably self-control, despite acknowledging deceit of my own doing, despite the fact that I acknowledged how crossdressing had previously taken over my life, how nothing else mattered, how things and people got neglected etc. etc. etc.

What is different this time Fiona you may ask?   I think I’m mindful of how I allowed it to become such a dominant force in my life up to March 2017 and the aim is for that not to be allowed to happen again and I suppose that is a good thing.

I cannot be naive, complacent, or blaze about it.  It is early days and I have remembered the feelings of almost being caught and some very close shaves when I have not.   Even this week, I have been like a cat on a hot (at the moment – a very hot!) tin roof whenever noises were heard outside that I even slightly considered could challenge my situation, me jumping up to check.

There was one occasion where a delivery was expected and when it arrived, I meticulously set up and prepared myself for a rapid cover up to answer the door – pyjama bottoms to cover the legs, socks to cover the feet, a dressing gown to cover the top of the favourite cami-suspender set I was wearing.    The knock at the door, the quick kick off of the heels, the socks being the most difficult to put on at speed, but I must have executed the whole thing in record time to dash to the door, unlock it, answer, take the item, exchange the odd pleasantry and reverse the process.   The strategist in me when it comes to crossdressing remains very much alive and well.

There was one occasion this week, when, out of sub-consciousness and an element of panic, I even thought I heard a relative coming, when in fact, in retrospect, they were nowhere near the area due to other commitments.    I said out loud to myself who it was, cursed and removed the whole outfit, stockings, cami-suspender, heels, g-string, in a matter of seconds.

It took seconds to realise that there were no such challenges of any kind. I was momentarily infuriated at having stripped so quickly but took solace in the ability to dress back up again which I did in fairly quick time – again, the practice of old having stood me in good stead having returned to the crossdressing fold.

I have experienced the same feelings of digust in the immediate aftermath of a crossdressing session, but those feelings soon waned rather than them being allowed to escalate in my mindset, which seemed to help me pyschologically.

I know that I may not be able to crossdress again easily in the coming days in the way that I have this week, and that will be a tell-tale sign of whether I can somehow keep everything in check and my general life priorities just that whilst looking forward to viable opportunities to allow my feminine side to thrive and bloom once more for a while.

New web sites have been joined, profiles have been updated, lingerie has been worn, thoughts have been and continue to be processed, the heady feelings of the effects of prolonged sunshine have been and continue to be absorbed.

I am the recovering crossdresser – but as to which way I am recovering, has never been defined.  It is certainly a case of ‘as you were’…

Comments welcome at any time.  Thank you for reading.

Oh no! Not this again! — July 3, 2018

Oh no! Not this again!

If I was to ever come before a psychiatrist, I’d probably be quite a case for any suitably qualified expert to pick apart and piece together again.

For whatever reasons, I have allowed myself back into the World of partial indulgence over the last few days, that being that I had dressed in a black bra, g-string and most recently with a black baby-doll over the top too – no sign of stockings or suspenders, these remaining resigned to the remote storage so frequently talked about in previous blog entries.

I have revelled in the numbers of cam viewers of late – knowing that it was more of a draw to be dressed that way, rather than in just an everyday g-string, striking up quite reasonably, if necessarily subject based conversation, explicit at times, friendly at others.

Having also logged in to Skype, I allowed myself to engage in more private conversations (only) there as well as on the webcam site of choice, and knowing that I had time limits, and with dwindling numbers watching, the exhibitionist within decided to engage fully, on cam, with one particular individual on Skype.

Of the two individuals who expressed an interest in such a connection, I elected to go with the first person who I had invited in the interests of fairness, and I really do wish that I hadn’t.   Whereby, the second correspondent had seemed very friendly and chatty, retrospectively at least, the person I elected to have a one-to-one with turned out to be quite – well, filthy, disrespecting and very demeaning as if I was somehow cheap.   Is that the way I had come across perhaps?   Still, despite part of my psyche having objected to the terminology being used, I allowed myself to push on, the stimuli of being spoken, being able to talk back as well, and being watched did enough to make my emotions peak fairly quickly.

In this extremely compromising and, as it turned out, retrospectively explosive and, latterly embarrassing position, all I wanted to do was finish the session and pack everything in very quickly, whilst the other person just wished to push on.   For me though, the rapidly arriving feelings of disgust and objection were as I had experienced before.  Whilst I can quite easily sustain urges, desires and situations however explicit, when a moment reaches its peak, there is one hell of come down and things really can’t end quick enough for me in those situations.

During my conversations with those on line, I revealed that, at least from what I was experiencing, that I had returned – at least partially – to crossdressing and said that, now that I was here, in this position, I could see very little reason why the old remotely stored outfits etc. couldn’t come out, stockings included, the sexual stimuli pushing the mood on.

The aftermath of things though is very different, yet almost not so.  Having remonstrated with myself from within for the remainder of the day, and having found solace and calm in the social, relaxing activities of the rest of the day, the severity of my mood to the subject mellowed, back to a more rational, ‘why not?’ approach to what I had started again.

However, in retrospect, notably in the aftermath of the on-line session, there was the acknowledgement that I was doing what I used to do of old, and that it was a reason why I had to stop it – that being double checking, triple checking, quadruple checking that everything was where it should be again, tantamount to paranoia.  I chastised and swore at myself in the moments that I was easing myself into the day.  I actually called myself a ‘dumb f***’ a few times in apparent fury with myself.

The new (arguably improved) sex toy, by now, ready for collection from a pick up point, the source of a major urge to acquire and then use, seemed relevant to completely dismiss.

With the item dispatched to a nearby collection point, I have also contemplated allowing the two weeks of time to elapse which would no doubt lead to the item being returned to sender. reasoning that a new set of batteries had actually been all that I had needed to use a similar toy already in ownership.   Even today, having felt a little under the weather and tired this last 48 hours or so, I saw no reason to collect the new toy,  but I probably will at some point when I have the slightest motivation to do so in the coming days.

In truth, my own personal peak that I spoke about above seemed to be the key moment that satisfied me, whatever it was I was needing in the run up to the cam sessions which remain such a focus and draw for me.  I remain in some sort of warped state of mind that, because I had not donned stockings and suspenders, none of it mattered anywhere near as much – only somehow, it actually does, not that I’m inclined to fully recognise it in the way that I did in March 2017 – the point at which I had stopped crossdressing before.

Can I really allow myself to succumb to all of THAT temptation again, dismissing everything  and everyone else once more?  For what?  It’s a fetish, but somehow, it has its grip on me and I’m struggling to understand how it started again after I had been so good for so long.

This morning in fact, home alone once more, and with time to spare, I did – for no reason whatsoever, contemplate donning the bra and g-string again before merely going about my own personal business, no web cam session, yet I am sitting here trying not to allow myself to be lured – like the proverbial moth to a flame.

I don’t know what the next few days will bring, but whatever it is, oh no, not this again!

Horror, harmony. — June 30, 2018

Horror, harmony.

One blog finished on the commute, and ready to commit to the net, I came home and exchanged pleasantries and went upstairs to get rid of the daytime work clothing.

To my horror, there, hanging on a hook in the bedroom was the exact g-string I’d been wearing that morning.  The atmosphere in the house was harmonious, calm, nothing signalled a need for panic but all along, I was trying to work out a strategy for the remainder of the evening.

We had some food, watched some TV for a few hours and whilst the other half went upstairs, I busied myself with a minor tidy up downstairs before turning in for the night myself, all the time trying to work out whether I’d somehow inadvertently NOT tucked that g-string back in the drawer when I was actually almost 100% sure that I did do.

When I arrived into the bedroom having made a bed-time drink when, there before me, was the wife, wearing one of her bed slips and, it turned out, as she flashed, THAT g-string which she wore as we nestled in bed – I caught a glimpse of her occasionally playing about down there.

So there you are – horror and harmony in one evening.  So to the weekend and this morning and home alone and on has come that bra and g-string again – for now.



For them, for me. — June 29, 2018

For them, for me.

It’s been a while since I’ve put words to blog.  It’s been a while since I was actively crossdressing – a year and almost four months to be honest.

Whilst the crossdressing has remained off the body but perhaps on the mind from time to time with some viewing of the subject matter on line, there has been a constant – appearances before a webcam, and on frequent occasions wearing little more than one of my usual daily g-strings, and sometimes with a toy inserted – the exhibitionist very much alive and well and with the inclination to try things.

The source of frustration continues to be the vibrating prostate massager.  It wasn’t one of the most expensive and that becomes apparent with the lack of running time with the batteries inserted.  It just doesn’t seem to last very long, so today there has been a rather in-depth search and purchase of something more upmarket and responsive and delivered to a pick-up location..

I suppose that I consider myself as bi-curious but likely to be very apprehensive should an actual opportunity come along.

The need to feel penetration and find the P-spot has led me to use a dildo recently – quite a sizeable one to be honest and over the time that I have been inserting anally, I have gone through a bottle of lube and where the dildo is used, the whole supply of back-up condoms stored away to be used sometime never otherwise.

When the mood hits me to use the dildo, I tend to become quite ‘into it’, changing positions on cam and – to be honest – quite enjoying myself as the wanton abandonment continues.   On discovery that one condom was cherry flavour, needless to say, the bi curious side in me was quite happy to suck the dildo for a few minutes before moving on.

Welcome back to the blog eh?  It’s all coming out now – so to speak!

One day recently, whilst on camera on my site of preference or perhaps necessity – I got into conversation with one visitor who was taking a liking to the avatar and was asking about the outfit. I said that it was and is a spider basque but the picture is quite old now.

The correspondent expressed a wish to see it and I acceded to this request, fishing it out of the drawer it has resided within since well before March 2017 before returning before the camera and waving it around in front if it, somewhat apprehensive of where things were heading.   Of course, the correspondent said that they would quite like to see it on.

In a moment of extreme denial for me and a wish to satisfy the viewer’s curiosity, I simply put the item on for just a few moments.  From within, I analysed the moment, showing the item front to back, the suspender straps hanging and protruding as the boned element had nothing to connect to stockings-wise.

It wasn’t long before the basque was back off again – the moment of wearing being no longer than a minute – and was returned from where it came, me dismissive of the moment, seeing it not as having fallen off the wagon but of merely doing something that I was asked for the other person’s benefit, and being quite glad that I had undressed again so quickly.

That takes me to the last 24 hours or so..  Going about my business in the house, you know the sort of thing, getting sorted for the day, making the bed etc. – the other half’s ‘spare’ white bra has frequently been hanging on a door in the bedroom.  There have been moments when I contemplated trying it on, but didn’t.

Today was a very different matter.  With the house empty, and yet another breeze past a hanging white bra with padded cups that I had been seeing for a few days, and having not got dressed yet, the mood took me to pick up the bra and put it on before standing in front of a full length mirror.  It didn’t seem to sit well with me, the size didn’t seem right.

Off it came, and instead, I decided that I would peruse the largely untouched lingerie drawer.  There within, discarded, unused and as far as I am aware, surplus to the other half’s requirements, lay a black, lacy bra of which I have worn before, much smaller and, as it turned out, quite my size.   After a few moments of spinning and admiring, the thought occurred to match it up with a suitable g-string – again, one never worn since I last wore it well over twelve months ago.

This act of what was, to all intents and purposes, falling off the wagon, did not steer me towards a quick undress – quite the opposite.  With time on my side, I decided that I would pull on a dressing gown over the top, and go downstairs to make lunch for later and have some breakfast.

With blinds and curtains within sight still closed from the evening before, I soon shed the dressing gown and went about my business in the bra and g-string.   Every now and again, I’d walk to a full length mirror and ‘admire’ the sight before me.   However, somehow, none of this pinged a conscience for as long as it happened.

When it was time to get off for another busy day at work, items were returned from whence they came and I merely applied myself to the day.  What actually happened occasionally flitted back into my mind set later that day and there have been thoughts of all types.  Could I do this again?  Should I do this again?   Would I be back on a path towards total relapse before I knew it if I hadn’t already?

Once again, the rationale to crossdress seems reasonable, yet somehow not.   As my focus has always been on stockings and suspenders, but I had not been wearing such attire this morning, it almost seemed borderline acceptable again, but also because no-one was being hurt and no-one knew.   Anyhow, I reasoned, the stockings and suspenders and what might be called more boudoir style lingerie that I used to wear, remain in remote storage along with the breast forms that would have fitted nicely in the bra.

This was only the wearing of a bra and g-string today after all?!  For a fleeting moment, I pulled on a shirt over the top of the bra before quite reasonably deciding not to go out underdressed.  THAT would be a step TOO far.

What is behind this return of such sexual deviancy?   Too much sunshine?  Dissatisfaction with the daily bind once more?

What I can be sure of is that doing something for them, ended up leading to doing something for me, and I’m not sure where I am with that right now.

A dangerous game — May 8, 2018

A dangerous game

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Drudgery — May 6, 2018


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lost property — February 13, 2018

Lost property

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

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

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

It wasn’t there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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