Followers of my blog will be very much aware that it has been some time since I last crossdressed, instead managing out the urges, but I can’t say that it’s been an easy week as a number of stress factors have remained evident.

I recall coming home earlier this week and feeling the most intense ‘what the hell’ kind of urge to just bloody well pull on some lingerie as I knew somewhere in the depths of my conscience that it would make me feel better.

Having removed my work attire standing only in my birthday suit I paced momentarily around the bedroom like a caged lion before tucking my chin to my chest and covering my head with my arms gripping my hair with my hands in a tumultuous wrestle with the various feelings spinning through my head.

The battle was won, the lingerie remained out of sight as it has done since it was last put away, the PJs came on in a ‘slob out after work’ type moment, the evening meal was prepared and I threw on a DVD movie and threw myself into that, feeling quite pleased with myself that I’d battled through.

That doesn’t mean to say that I’ve conquered my crossdressing urges.  I’ve previously blogged about tinkering with on-line profiles and even registering a new one. The other day, having visited the relevant e-mail account for these presences, I visited a few links to blogs etc which led me to the new site on which I’d recently registered, largely for research purposes.

Whilst there, I added a profile but with an opportunity to add a picture, I duly collected an image from my Cam4 account as seen earlier in this blog and added it in.  But to be able to do so, I had to download it to my desktop then upload it.

With the profile updated, I merely logged out and attended to some other bits and bobs outside of the crossdressing scene.

Then later this week, I switched on the monitor for another bit of work and general net tinkering and to my horror, on what was a desktop featuring a complicated and somewhat cluttered default desktop wallpaper image I got with the machine, spotted a very little icon of THAT picture I’d downloaded to then upload.  As clear as day, there it was, a thumbnail of me, stocking clad legs, one leg raised, waxed body, suspender straps from the spider basque running down my legs to the stocking tops.

With the wife out that evening, I agonised as to whether she’d seen this or not but rationalised that she rarely goes on the PC anyway, using her smart phone instead, and hadn’t seen it, then deleted the thumb nail from the desktop and shredded it as part of the hard delete from the recycle bin.  In short, she hadn’t seen it.

Despite having made so much progress in handling what has evidently been and still is an addiction to crossdressing in lingerie, there’s still a chance of being retrospectively but possibly well and truly outed just by being reckless and careless.  And there’s still a matter of where my small stash of lingerie (stockings and pink lacy outfit) are still stashed.  I still can’t bring myself to see and touch them to throw them away as I really don’t know whether I could do that … yet.

The recovering crossdresser…still very much on a path of some sort.

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