I am weak. I can never remember which was the good one out of Jekyll & Hyde but the good one is back in the room. The last few days have been bordering on debauchery it has to be said. That’s perhaps a little over the top but there is a need to get some perspective however irrational part of that maybe.
On line presences have been ramped up and the urge to crossdress has been in the vice like grip of the devil sitting on one shoulder with a hand around the mouth of the angel on the other.
Monday and Tuesday, there was all day excitement with black stockings and suspenders under work attire albeit secreted below baggy boxers has still given me tactile sensation of what lies beneath and the odd pinging suspender and the absolute necessity to sort it out in the loo immediately led to blatant reminders that I was crossdressed as if I needed any.
This morning I leapt out of bed early doors to dress again, awake and feeling sick with excitement as much as an hour before I was going to get up only this time there was even extra spice as I found myself experiencing water balloon fun in the bathroom with pale pink balloons. This seed was sown after an online chat in which the notion was raised. Having not picked up too many Scout badges for tieing knots – well you can imagine. There was a bit of water flying all over the spider basque and the stockings and see thru g-string I was already wearing and everywhere else too.
I know. But the sensation of the fake breasts in the cami suspender top (which was more able to accommodate them and a lot drier) was, I found, perhaps perversely fascinating. That was until postie came and I had to cover up to answer the door.
I’d admit having felt a little naughty but at least I wasn’t blatantly standing there crossdressed and yes – the balloons had been removed!
Anyway, the long and short of it was that the whole thing shuddered to a climax and the need to tidy up and hide the proverbial evidence was even more significant. However, with satisfaction having coursed through my system, the urge to don stockings and suspenders for a third straight (!) day ebbed away.
Luckily I remembered to remove the suspender belt from where I’d hid it under my pillow (having previously planned a third straight day in such lovelies) that is even though there was no one there to find it – but the wife would almost have certainly found them later – but I was ready to get off out to the day job and this was a last minute thing as I repeatedly ran through the checklist in my head as to where everything was and or should be.
You know what? Civvies are good. Normality is good. You can – at least in this case I feel- have too much of a good thing.
How else can you value it if it is the norm? Perhaps because that’s how you want to be permanently – and truth be told I don’t want to be permanently crossdressed. Perhaps I put myself under too much pressure when I’m crossdressed in lingerie.
Gerrylynn comes out, Gerrylynn goes into hiding.
Right now, on whatever day it is – perhaps I should stop counting – the regular me is quite ok with what went off this morning – I did not hate myself in the way I frequently have of late.
But I still wonder just how much and who I might be neglecting and to what extent when the devil wins over the angel. I’m acutely aware of what needs doing other than crossdressing. Sometimes pending work stacks up and I blitz it but what about people? I don’t exactly crossdress, cover up and do other stuff because Gerrylynn seems to be somewhat of a naughty exhibitionist and has to appeal to folk and garner a reaction of some sort. What is that all about?
What about tomorrow morning and the next day?
There is a huge part of me that wants Day 1 of Cold Turkey to be followed by Day 2 and so on. It happened before and for all the right reasons. Yet here I am again despite everything that went off and there I’ve been since. What draws me to it? What deep seated trauma from my childhood made me this way? I’m not a bad person – I’m just a little different and probably always have been but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
The recovering crossdresser? Online folk tell me that you are who you are and there is no changing that yet I know from other blogs that there are folk out there just like me who aim to be somehow a better person than they sometimes think they are. I haven’t always been like this but I have been for a while. Why? I’m still trying to fathom that out.
I’ll no doubt come back to you on that one but for now, tomorrow is just another day.