I found myself abroad a few weeks ago on a family holiday and one which prevented any ability to don some lingerie so feelings had to be suppressed.  But lying awake at night left me planning the next opportunity I could slip into something more comfortable.

Black stockings, black suspenders, black panties, black heels and a black baby doll.  Back at the day job, having stopped by a store to buy some new black hold up stockings on the way, my eyes were also caught by the pair alongside in natural.

What could I wear with those?  To hell with it and I picked those up too.  But hold on, I’d just had a lovely week away with the wife – was this right?  Should I resist?  Those stockings were not so much calling out to me but more screaming though.

The irresistable nervous excitement was swirling around in my stomach for home time and I managed to get away early too meaning more CD time at home without the wife.   Now was that chance.  Nobody was to know – this was my time.  Surely it was OK.  Surely.

The emotions and urges overflowed.  The planning of almost a week was unavoidable despite inner feelings.

I just had to feel femme – slip into those stockings and suspenders, cavort, chat, feel…still battling those feelings from within.  Right?  Wrong?  I’d been secret for so long, what was the difference now?  My wife was at work but home late and I’d be sure to love her like I’d always done, but I just needed my ‘me’ time.  And so I did.  And it was lovely but when it was time, gerrylynn slipped into civvies.

A recovering crossdresser?  I’m still searching for an answer to that one.

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