The weekend was an interesting mix of emotions I have since found myself analysing. On Saturday morning I had a chance to slip into some lingerie once more but didn’t. It didn’t seem right under the circumstances much though I wanted to dress.

I did however titillate myself by indulging in some on line ‘research’, searching for anything and everything on – specifically – lingerie crossdressing and exploring what may well be a bi-curious side – dare I admit it – but recent experiences tell me that if it is in the room and the circumstances are right, I may explore a few more boundaries – and I’ve already done some exploration.

What is well documented on line is crossdressing per se. What is not so evident is of persons like me whose fetish is solely for crossdressing in lingerie only.  And to be honest – I find that somewhat frustrating. As I have said before,  I have no interest in the full crossdress, make up, hair and clothes. My masculinity is very dominant and clear in that. That isn’t for me.  Anyway, I digress.

Sunday was run of the mill family time – which was nice but the thoughts of lingerie and specifically cross dressing and even how I ccould discreetly buy some new stuff were running through my mind.  Shops? Mail order? Via a PO Box perhaps. I have no answers here yet or whether it is right to do so or not.

And so to Monday and a morning opportunity to slip into one of my favourite cami-suspender sets from the wife’s never worn lovelies before work.

I appeared on line before the early risers and, with definite control applied, duly made myself late for work – again – and in doing so put myself under the type of pressure I didn’t want to put myself under. All of this for a fetish but one I was still locked into.

In any case, I had concluded that I was not done with crossdressing at that stage and changed into office civvies under which the same black stockings and black lacy g-string remained but with the cami suspender set now restored to its original hiding place, surrounded my lower torso with a black lacy suspender belt I know only too well and connected up the stockings.

The fact that a select group of individuals had witnessed the whole thing – including covering up with work attire – added an extra frisson to the working day and having pulled on a baggy pair of boxers to hide the evidence, strode off to face the day.

Today it has felt so wrong, yet so right, so naughty yet so ordinary. In some sort of parallel universe at least – I felt that I would be quite happy wearing lingerie under my masculine civvies all the time.

Wandering around the town centre enjoying the sunshine there was and is a very tiny part of me wanting someone to just know I am lingerie cross dressed but a massive part of me knows why I cannot.  The sunshine coupled with my overflowing emotions of sexuality, masculinity and feminity were and remain, at least until home time – heady stuff for the psyche to experience. I’m shattered today as a result.

Perusing websites selling male lingerie, I took offence. Wearing lingerie designed for male crossdressers seems to me to fly in the face of why I crossdress but I can see that they may be cut and shaped to fit yet still so femme perhaps. Never say never – my exploration continues. The way I’m thinking at the moment,  I want to buy and I want to wear but I want to keep control.

Truth be told, in a society yet to become fully accepting of some things – this included – I’m discreet, careful so that no one could know (or so I conclude) and I’m loving it.  So what’s the harm?

I was asked on line this morning whether one particular voyeur had missed something. No – I told them – they had not.

My control was assured, my lesson learned at least for now.  And so here I sit – to the innocent bystander – little old me at the day job.  But you and I know what lies beneath and I don’t just mean wrapping and holding my body.

There is just that little matter of returning to full masculinity at home time and stashing things away – until tomorrow?

Right now,  I am on the way home.  Ordinarily, I’d have nipped into the loo at work and removed my lingerie before arriving home.  Yet here I am at the railway station, having told myself that I wish to remain crossdressed for as long as possible and having fathomed out that my only remaining place to ‘disrobe’ as I call it – is a seedy car park toilet at the other end of the line or some kind of new contortionist trick in my car. Is this REALLY what it has come to? This isn’t my ideal level of control.  But it is control. It is just the geography that may well resonate and indicate whether there is more control to find.

And yes – I did have to stop off and pick up a new pair of black lace top hold up stockings on the way. That hole I very quickly made in the lace top of my newest pair has been bugging me for days.  Not right at all,  not very femme at all.

The recovering crossdresser? Not today it seems. Not today.