OK, so I’ve rationalised. Again. I’ve reminded myself that if I know I have boundaries that take me to abject disgust and self-hate, and that I must read the signs and assert some control before I get somewhere far beyond where I wanted to be.

Put bluntly, I feel like a split personality, Jekyll & Hyde if you like, the devil on one shoulder, an angel on the other – thoughts rarely off lingerie crossdressing, but also never off finding some recovering path.  So, I’m torn then.

I was off to work one day earlier this week when, all alone was I, getting into civvies for the working day, I speculated as to how those natural coloured hold-ups would look on my newly moisturised legs.  So with the clock ticking – I didn’t actually have that long to catch the public transport route to work, on they went.  Nice.  OK, I dismissively shrugged.  Perhaps I could wear them to work.  Perhaps so.  What no suspenders?  This was new – this was, I thought, perhaps, a sign of weaning myself off my fetish, or perhaps it was a case of a little meaning a lot right there and then.

All day, those natural hold ups adorned my legs in a hot stuffy office, well hidden under my trousers.  I knew they were there, but so careful was I, no one else could or did.   Earlier on in the day, I’d dabbled with my disgust again.  It was hot and I was sweaty and those hold ups had slid a little – there was a need to adjust.

I needed to pay a visit anyway and having entered a cubicle instead of a urinal, the occasional on-line flirt, the curious voyeur, I admired the subtle, unfamiliar hue to my legs and the glossy sheen to my clean, practically hair free legs.   I had the urge to seek relief despite how largely un-necessary it probably was if I asserted some control, and kept reminding myself of my very recent, fresh in the memory disgust over such peaks, but the moment progressed to that peak..

I’d expected myself to be hit by a wave of disgust and a need to ‘disrobe’ as I call it – where those stockings would go other than my trouser pockets, I would have had no idea, but instead, I tidied myself up, left the stockings where they should be and were, covered up and returned to the stereotypical office bloke, meetings and business passing by until I necessarily ‘disrobed’ for the journey home.  No harm done?  No harm done.

So here I am, another day done, another week done and, as it happens, an opportunity at home by myself and having spent the day planning something cross dressing wise when I got home, I slipped into the wife’s spider basque, g-string and my recently purchased black hold up stockings (fuming that I’d already made a hole in the lacy top of one leg!), but somehow satisfied in being covered up in a pair of jeans, t-shirt and fleece.

However an empty house offers a chance for the devil on one shoulder to whisper his wicked words in my ear and there is an urge to strip off to undies and strut the house for an hour or two.   Who would it harm?  I’d enjoy it, but this time, I was setting myself barriers of control.  Yes – I was.  So, the evening lies ahead and with the wife working late, some time to see how the devil and angel battle each other.  Seconds out, round one, but distracted by writing this very blog.

Here I am in a middle ground mind-set right now.  I love lingerie. I love wearing it. I love the way it feels, and there are no urges to add anything on top other than men’s attire.  And so the test begins, boundaries there to be viewed but from how far away or how close for GerryLynn – the recovering crossdresser?

I’m still searching for an answer for that one, and right now, that cold turkey doesn’t appear to tempt me.

Away went the day-time me, off went the men’s attire and out blossomed GerryLynn for a while.