I’d done so well, but come the next day, that pendulum which so often swings from one extreme to the other, swung the other way again. I crossdressed.
However, what I did do for a while whilst I was wearing it, was busy myself as I knew I should do, prepare for work, eat my breakfast in the kitchen, make the bed, prepare my lunch, briefly peruse some social networking, do a few things around the house, albeit dressed in my pink lacy number and black stockings and heels. My aim was to get off to work in good time.
I felt in control, then I played a little – putting on a shirt and tie, suit jacket and tie and contemplated a day in the office with that glorious little pink lacy number tightly hugging me underneath. Then I got wise. When do I EVER wear a suit jacket to the office? When did I ever wear a suit jacket to the office? Never. I’d be too hot, there’s no way I could risk taking the jacket off as there may well be some tell-tale signs of that lacy outfit through my shirt and across my back. I got wise. However, I did stand there at home for a few minutes, suited but still wearing those heels out of my trouser legs. I smirked to myself, took everything off, tidied the lingerie back to its secret hiding place, donned the conventional work attire and headed off for the daily grind.
I disappointed myself though before that final tidy up though. What was I doing? I think I was trying to discipline myself that I could crossdress AND get other things done, much as I’ve blogged about before, and whilst I did get things done, I pushed it getting to work on time and I did let things run away with me before I began the tidy up and return to civvies. It didn’t bode well for the day ahead which wasn’t that great either as the anguish flooded my mind. Besides, it was a bloody nuisance making sure that everything was tidied away – I even had to come back in the house to double, triple and quadruple check that I’d put the wife’s heels back where they were, and that a little accessory that came with the pink lacy outfit (but which I won’t be using) was not likely to fall from where it had been stuffed and into view near my hiding place. This was tantamount to paranoia and obssession, OCD if you like – and that was something else which rankled with me.
The problems of the working day were of more significance as the day unfolded, but the discontent I’d concluded I’d got regarding what went before didn’t outweigh it, but merely added to the negative feelings and mood of the day. I continued feeling flat all day and it showed. That was yesterday. Today, other things distracted me on a ‘needs must’ basis upon rising for the day, but even if I had have had the time to crossdress, it was actually the further thing from my mind – I wouldn’t even if I could’ve done.
What was interesting was the journey to work. Having got off the day’s hustle bustle public transport journey, there was another round of the ‘stockings or tights’ guessing game laying before me. ‘Hello!‘ I said to myself, these could be stockings I see before me. But it would appear that what I was seeing were those kind of tights that look like you have stockings on, but they are a thicker layer rising above the skirt line to the waistline and are actually tights. A black strapped slip lay just visible beneath the black slightly transparent top of the girl walking in front but my mind raced with an image of ‘a finished’ outfit underneath, when actually, there was probably nothing like. Nonsense. What was I thinking?
Then, a white blouse for a summers day was seen further on, a white bra underneath, its clasp and straps doing what they do, simply entwining the wearer’s body. I continued my walk to the office and merely thought: “I’ve worn one of them and I know how it feels”, with some sort of satisfied, almost smug feeling, that bucket list, ticked again. I pondered over the thought a few seconds longer and whether and when I might don something similar again, before quickly dispensing with it and that was probably the extent of my thoughts of crossdressing for the day.
Thoughts are always there, it has to be said, on a daily basis, but frequently suppressed (more so just lately), sometimes rationalising, other times falling headlong into something in due course, but right now with a somehow satisfied feeling of having some kind of control over my urges.
One element of control is that I’m not physically ready to crossdress right now anyway, In my opinion, I don’t look right to be in lingerie as my scruffy ‘returning to being hirsute’ self tells me and anyway pending another session to remove it in quite a few weeks time. I’m not focussed on crossdressing anytime soon, or establishing when the next opportunity to do so will be. It doesn’t feel right to do so for a multitude of reasons right now, probably too many to mention. So when will I again? Will I again?
The weekend beckons, and that’ll be two more days when I won’t be, so perhaps that’s another (re)start. The other day when I decided to crossdress but do other things. What was I telling myself? That it’s OK to be crossdressed so long as I enjoy the moment, but discipline myself and don’t neglect other things? Who was I fooling? Was I fooling anyone?
I pottered around the house, I was sat in the kitchen eating breakfast, happy at the view, as if it were merely more conventional attire for such a moment. It felt good to be a little more disciplined than I had been. But I think I’m still trying to establish what I was trying to get out of that moment.
What I do know about that moment is, after my period of control, I then span out of control, albeit briefly before bringing myself back into line – and that needs some analysis – which I think I’m still doing. The recovering crossdresser? The search for answers continues.