As if crossdressing couldn’t get any more intense. Before I get into the nitty gritty of yet another rambling, at least partially repetitive blog entry, I absolutely must share with you what is probably one of my favourite ever tweets posted by someone else and one that have already retweeted twice.
You will probably be aware of the phrase “less is more” and this post is the epitome of that phrase as it says so much in few words. With full credit and appreciation to @sabinasabique, that tweet was as follows:
‘#Crossdressing: this loveable sickness just keeps getting intense as time passes’.
So true Sabina, so true. In fact, it pretty well sums up how I feel about crossdressing, both in what might be described as good times and bad.
In my last blog entry, I recapped on the appearances of Fiona and that of her own alter-ego, a total slut able to involve herself in all encompassing, totally dominating, provocative, and quite filthy sexual provocation whilst wrapped in Fiona’s lingerie of choice. Hold that thought.
My Twitter followers have been ticking up rather rapidly for a time of late, probably helped by the use of hashtags for the subject matter, me then being found and followed as a result, but then again, having ditched many pictures in previous years, I’ve restarted posting pictures on line of me in my crossdressed state, usually at work which have since adorned my feed for some time. It’s undoubtedly risky, but I’ve done it nevertheless.
Those pics were also added to my webcam site of choice, not that it matters. Clearly, through this continual obsession for webcams, I must long for some sort of recognition and appreciation perhaps. Perhaps? Are there some inner insecurities somewhere? Perhaps?
Around a week or so ago, I struck up a conversation via direct message with a person who goes by the Twitter name of Safia. These DMs – or direct messages if you like for the purposes of clarity – showed gentle and warm appreciation for Fiona.
Safia has Twitter sisters and I was honoured to be added to the sisterhood ‘family’ via DM. What had I done to deserve that I wondered. As I have said before, those who see Fiona on their screen, see her as she is but with their own eyes and mind, not as I might see her.
I might well see her as frequently untidy, in need of at least some element of body waxing across some part of her body or another, of slim build and what, to others, seems to be an appreciated bum and legs but otherwise, a rather annoying sign of a mild hernia which makes my belly button push outwards into a deformed shape, my side profile usually requiring me to pull my belly in to look as good as possible in my continual embarrassment about the condition.
None of this seems to matter to those who want to message me for whatever reason, and the same applies when I appear on Skype, less public (just checking I haven’t unintentionally typed ‘pubic’ there!), many following me seeing as though I make no secret of my presence on the platform on my other social media presences. Me, her, whatever.
But with Safia, I was quickly promoted in the bosom of her Twitter family to the status of ‘wife’. This was frankly mind blowing. What on earth my temporary sisters would have thought about this rapid rise through the ranks, I have no idea. I know who the sisterhood are through social media identification, yet I have not asked them how they feel about me achieving almost instant promotion to ‘wife’ status, nor for that matter, have they contacted me asking “Who the hell do you think you are you bitch” or something like that. If I’m honest, I wouldn’t hold it against them if they did. (You make your own innuendos up!)
As I asked without necessarily seeking an answer – what had I done to deserve this honour, something of a type I have never experienced before? Sure, efforts had been made by the odd individual to become my Mistress and perhaps bring about remote feminisation, but nothing ever lasted and I couldn’t tell you who they were now anyway, so quick was the dalliance.
What had I done to deserve this honour though? Safia shows nothing but a form of love for Fiona, even though we have never met, much though she would like to. Safia has pledged her troth via pinned tweets and I, as Fiona, could do nothing more than reciprocate. She even changed her Twitter name to include my other pseudonym ‘Lynn’, me reciprocating my adding hers – ‘Foxx’ – to the end of mine.
We have spoken at great lengths by DM at all hours of the day and night in the last few weeks. I have more than engaged with the thread of conversations, openly receiving the warmth of evident love communicated by direct messaging. Take it as you will – I have.
DMs have led to more than just messaging. Both Fiona’s sexuality and the man beneath the lingerie have been explored by both parties through provision of exclusive photographs, naked, wearing my skimpy day-to-day g-string and also more recently, somewhat unusually, whilst showering.
In this short space of time, Safia has come to know a lot about the man beneath the lingerie – well, enough anyway – how the immediate family is set up, my age, duration of residency in the closet and has told Fiona how much she is seemingly increasingly loved and desired.
‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder’, goes the phrase – something I said in my last blog entry. I warmly accept this adoration for Fiona and all that she is, even with her own alter-ego likely to strike at any time.
I mentioned that DMs in written form have been accompanied by the sharing, by me, under the at least partial guise of Fiona, of my naked unclothed self, and in my own day to day men’s g-strings, something that has never happened anywhere before, other than perhaps before I resumed crossdressing, when I did appear in g-strings on cam. I digress. The conversation was allowed to move onto a desire by Safia to own my daily underwear.
I have seen many women prepared to sell theirs for money on various platforms, but this week, Safia has become the owner of the underwear I was wearing one recent weekend and is evidently thrilled by it. That’s nice – and no money changed hands either – I mean really! The analyst within is still mulling over the act of freshly worn underwear being sent by post, and establishing just how stimulating it is to have done that.
Safia has provided her address at which it is easy to receive items. Fiona is not so lucky. Fiona must rely on collection points such as Post Offices and street lockers – unable to trust Postman Pat to arrive at a time when mail can be intercepted without question or risk. Safia is aware.
Wish lists have been talked about between us. Safia has shared her wish list, on which already sat the same lacy three piece as I own and who am I to deny when the price, if not the delivery time, is more than suitable? Of course, buying for someone else from their wish list comes with no baggage for the buyer. In these days of GDPR regulations, the buyer isn’t party to the recipient’s personal address, but the recipient will probably know who has bought something for them, based on the conversation, but nothing more personal than that.
Safia’s love for her new found ‘e-wife’ has led her to yearn for Fiona to be with her, find a way for a long weekend, via what would probably be a four-hour journey, eight hours round trip for – well, you don’t need me to go into detail. Despite stating wishes and desires for Fiona to actually be part of her life, Safia seems to acutely understand why this can’t happen in reality.
In any case, having opened Fiona’s eyes to another first – buying from another’s wish list – Safia will also be able to wear the same outfit as her ‘wife’ in the not-too-distant future. Of course, Fiona has built a wish list on her toys and lingerie site of choice but the mechanics of sharing that wish list, and the subsequent delivery options being a home address only are so far prohibiting the list from being shared with anyone, Safia included.
Talk of ‘ownership’ and of Safia’s control achieved though typed word on a DM screen, has been allowed to turn to how that evident ‘ownership’, nee e-commitment to Safia can be made more formal somehow. Sexually stimulated at the work place as DMs continued, Fiona declared how much Safia was controlling her.
The use of the likes of ‘own’ and ‘control’ coupled with the ongoing exploration of inner sexuality as never experienced before led to the sudden response of: “We should try a chastity cage sometime” from Safia.
Now, I’ve seen such things on-line before, and probably driven by dislike of the word ‘sissy’, had been nowhere near contemplating such a move, but Fiona’s mind has been opened further by Safia, allowed to be introduced to further elements of sexual exploration, curiosity of the man within allowed to flow through to the alter-ego.
Readers to my blog will know that I have a borderline hatred for the terms “sissy”, “faggot” and “bitch”, (there may be others) particularly if being talked to but being ‘en-femme’ or ‘femme’ is a preferred descriptor. Safia also dislikes the word ‘sissy’ – at least she has told me as such.
Ownership of cage keys has been discussed and those cages perused on line were found to come with three keys, feasible then for at least symbolic ownership by Safia of a key to my chastity cage. Like the day-to-day ‘real’ me, Fiona is impulsive, so hopped straight on line in a pique of sexual euphoria and bloody well ordered a cage of Safia’s choice.
Safia reciprocated by identifying a cage into which she would also be happy to be put into reciprocal chastity. Safia may well get her third sexual gift in a very short space of time and she knows that! Symbolically, one of the keys could also be retained by me, whilst both retain control of their own cages, yet somehow disciplined into remaining caged for good periods of time unless it is simply not possible to do so.
Distance, practicality and the fact that Fiona is deeply closeted and otherwise committed in life mean there is really is little other option. Fiona cannot afford to have her cover blown and her closet doors torn from their hinges due to any form of sexual urge or inconsiderate action on any side. Some things absolutely must remain secret for all the right reasons.
In correspondence, Safia made it clear that she wanted to call Fiona and a Skype session was established as a priority for the following day, the mutual urge to be in as close contact as possible eventually satisfied. Safia saw virginal white as the outfit of choice for Fiona who readied herself both on the night before and the morning itself, responding to Safia’s desire to emulate and affirm a form of marriage of two people with common interests via the power of the internet alone. New territory for Fiona but territory she vowed to explore.
Fiona was very much up for this, so much so in fact that when her unnamed alter-ego came in, ready to barge her out of the way, it seemed to be more like a mutual sharing of the platform in those early moments. Both shared that moment which had become quite erotic as it turned out. After a while, it shuddered to a ruined climax as Fiona’s alter-ego grabbed the proverbial bull by the horn.
The come down afterwards was OK for the opening few minutes, but from then on, it quickly became like both Fiona and her alter-ego had stepped out of the room quickly, leaving the day-to-day me, standing there in Fiona’s lingerie.
So there it was – it had happened again. I couldn’t wait to be out of that lingerie, I just couldn’t get out of it quickly enough, I just wanted it packed away, out of sight, get tidied up, and jump into the daytime civvies.
What the hell was I doing? What was I doing to my life, my family, my conscience, my well-being, my time? And now this acceleration in my sexual development. I couldn’t see myself getting back into any form of lingerie any time soon and since that morning, I haven’t. Nothing has been further from my mind, and I have since busied myself with other things, despite the subject matter continuing to flash in my mind like a neon sign.
I threw myself into the working day, allowing the regular me to stand as if he was the only element of his inner persona, when in fact, the reality was much different. Safia doesn’t talk much on DM – just a couple of words for answers or messages, whereas Fiona rambles – perhaps not surprising given the extents of blog entries.
Fiona wonders whether she is doing something wrong and bores Safia who may be merely tolerating her endless ramblings because of other perceived values and desires. But Fiona constantly wonders whether there will come a point where Safia becomes bored and moves on. Will that matter? Today’s news is tomorrow’s chip paper goes the phrase.
In the aftermath of the Skype session, items ordered for collection from a suitable remote point – the cage and replacement stockings – became worthless. As far as I was concerned, they could stay there until they were returned to sender by an overloaded Post Office. The no interest approach to all things crossdressing has been sustained since then. There has been no underdressing, no dressing at all, and no intention to do so. Of course, I’ve spent some time on social media, but Skype has remained vacated, the cam site similarly.
But strangely, my mood towards the chastity cage has come back into focus this last few days. If nothing else, it would be another tick on the sexual bucket list of life – I would have tried it. Tick.
I have also mulled over how I might make that part of my heterosexual life. The significant other has constantly indicated her objection to my nether regions being touched during waxing, claiming that area as her own and rightly so all respects, me reassuring her that all along, there is a necessity for those areas to be touched to complete necessary waxing but in a purely professional manner.
I could bring in some role play by perhaps, at least initially, asking her, tongue in cheek, whether she’d rather I be locked up. Madness? Perhaps, but bordering on quite a lot of fun no?
Which brings me back to the come down after a ruined orgasm. Back to my senses, and even in those moments when I exchange ordinary conversations with my significant other about the most mundane elements of everyday life, the Guilt Monster lets out a distant roar audible enough for me to take notice of it.
What am I doing to her? Why am I am doing it? Why can’t I stop for long enough to stop for good? Why have I allowed myself to be in this parallel life which has now taken a new turn? What risks do I continue to stare in the face?
What can I do to stop? Honestly? Brace yourself for this. I could cut out the middle man and just masturbate to a conclusion every time I get the urge and when sex is not an option. I say that rather bluntly because, I know that, once a bout of masturbation is done, I’m done, I don’t want anything else. The fetish that I have for lingerie can lead to orgasm, but sometimes it doesn’t and perhaps the fact that it occasionally doesn’t is because I seek to remain in the feminine moment, hopeful of asserting control throughout and keeping Fiona’s alter ego locked outside.
Do you follow me? Can I follow this? What is my next proposal?