Well, what can I say? What might be described as more rational thought went out of the metaphorical window early last week.

The stresses and strains of a number of weeks combined to tip me over the proverbial edge of the rationality I’d had in mind for the last couple of weeks, and do you know what?  I bloody well cross dressed.  And it felt good all ends up. (I perhaps ought to use a different descriptor to that one but, hell, the words are on screen now.)

On the one night, on came the pink outfit, on came the black stockings from where they’d been stashed many weeks ago, on came the wife’s black heels from the depths of her wardrobe, and there I stood, the next wave of hair growth beginning to protrude through but that didn’t bother me.  I just knew it felt good but it wasn’t good enough.

My mind turned to the black spider basque, so out it came, the pink outfit hardly staying on for long as the motivation for something else took me.  Having got dressed in both outfits in the usual quick time, having admired the view in the full length mirror, my mind turned to the web cam presence.

But this was not a question of whether I should or shouldn’t go on cam, whether I should carry on off-line doing some other non-CD’ing stuff whilst being dressed – this was a full blown no holds barred determination to go on line and see what happened.

Retrospectively, it wasn’t all that, and it didn’t draw much of an audience truth be told.  Besides, for some reason, every time I move my webcam now, it tends to freeze – somewhat frustratingly.  There is perhaps a loose wire in there somewhere.  Time for a new one perhaps.  Winding that wire around the cam every time I put it away has perhaps not been the wisest move technically.

Still, some things are meant to be.  But not to be deterred, I apologised to those watching, advised of my intention to restart, did so on numerous occasions and waited for anyone to come back on or to pay a first visit each time.  Well, things progressed to an extent before hunger appeared, rather unusually, to lure me away.  Off went the outfit, on came the PJs and on went a DVD as I munched.   As I terminated the on-line session, I didn’t give too much thought to apologising that I had to go, although I usually do – which again, was odd.

The following morning, the opportunity was there for the taking again and I took it, but this time, on came a black cover up style cami-suspender, one with pink bows and pink ribbon finishing.  But I also noticed that one of the stockings had developed a small ladder up the back.  Darn it I thought.

Not to be deterred, I finished dressing, again in record time, and with an empty house, the conscience within analysing how much time I’d got before I really had to be on the way to or at work, the truant side planning how I might excuse myself a late arrival at work.

I find myself analysing those who pay a visit to my show on cam – I’ve spoken of this sort of thing before.  I have previously spoken of the added frisson caused when a real life lady comes on line rather than an appreciative male, profiles explored to verify if the avatar doesn’t.  A lady that likes a crossdresser.  There she was.  A new spark had been lit within.

I was very quickly asked if I was a sub.  Now there IS an ignorant side to my usually quite knowledgeable brain when it comes to certain things in the world of sexuality and you could say that I’m continually learning about some aspects of the whole crosssdressing scene.   Anyway, in answer to the question, I replied that I didn’t know – and that’s because I didn’t – but I was open to learning as ever.

But as I immersed myself in another fantasy world, one in which I felt safe, comfortable, mothered but able to indulge in role play as far as I felt comfortable, I went along with being a potential sub (having created my own understanding of it) and allowing myself to picture a reality where I could be appreciated by a woman whilst I was crossdressed.  Let me put this clearly – I don’t want to feel humiliated or in any pain, but I would, instead, want to be made to feel sexily naughty – if that makes any sense whatsoever.

With that premise, I enabled myself to open up and have some fun with a lady who will remain nameless here but with whom, at least at the time, I looked forward to reconnecting with on-line for real, and another dimension, in that fantasy word – for real.

Truth be told, if the moment was ever right for that sort of thing, I’d probably not even be cross dressed, although I did go into another day dream state where I was travelling a great distance in secret for a meet up, already dressed underneath civvy clothes – something I have said I would never actually do, especially for men watching who’d asked about the possibility of meets.  The other part of my brain wrestled with the reality in which I’d not be able to do it nor would enter into such deceit.  But role play and imagination and fantasy are powerful tools by themselves.

I’ll let you piece this next bit together, but I was asked in a manner of speaking whether the stockings could be ‘spoiled’ when things got to a head – which they ultimately did as the frisson boiled to overflowing.  Contemplating that the ladder had shown itself on one leg, I decided that I could do something that I’d been asked to do before but said I wouldn’t – the rationale in this instance being that it was a person of the opposite sex – again, it seems, a powerful tool and because the strategic planner within decided that I could quite easily buy a new pair of stockings from my tried and tested homeware store and these were at the end of their use anyway.

Having put on what appeared to be an entertaining show, I thanked my new on-line female friend, hoped for another tete-a-tete at some point and once she had terminated the connection, I did the same for those still assembled – I think you’d call it ‘whipping the rug away’ metaphorically speaking.  However, with my conscience clear that there were other cams for these folk to see, and they’d not think the worst of me for jettisoning them in such a carefree way, I began the tidy up.

It wasn’t easy, and the thoughts returned to those associated with guilt and being closeted, making sure things were as they should be, things tidied away, evidence hidden.  Only this time, things were better for my conscience, because the stockings were only good for one thing – putting in a bag and binning on the way to work – so there were no stockings to hide. One less thing to worry about!

The angel on one shoulder smiled smugly.  No stockings meant that for a stockings and suspenders crossdressing addict, there could be no more crossdressing as this crossdresser simply does not just wear bra and knickers – that will just never happen nor ever do.

So that was that.  One evening, one morning, exciting times, a new female acquaintance – one of encouragement to cross dress again and get on line, but the one fly in the ointment – no stockings.  Although I had previously said that I could get another pair of stockings, it didn’t occur and hasn’t occurred to me since that I either could, should or would, more that this was, in some strange convoluted way one of those things that were meant to be.

Some things are meant to be.  At least that’s the way it has been since that evening and the following morning last week.  No inclinations, no urges to cross dress nor shop for new replacement stockings – almost as if that short period of indulgence was enough to satisfy my cravings and conscience and get me [back] on what might be called ‘the straight and narrow’ that I had been for a while before.

Only there was still a battle raging between Jekyll & Hyde or the angel on one shoulder and the devil sitting on another as there was a lightbulb moment the other day.  I was almost disappointed at being reminded by own self that, some time ago, I purchased a set of flesh coloured hold ups that were also subsequently hidden away – this, the devil told me, meant that I could crossdress.

I toyed with the anguish for a while before realising that, as far as looks went, flesh coloured stockings didn’t quite fire me up in the same way as black stockings did and/or do.  However, having practically celebrated the fact that I was stockings-less, the fact that the ‘other’ part of me had been so apparently disappointed at remembering those flesh coloured stockings were still stored aware was a bizarre moment – albeit one that has, at least for a while now, passed.

One final thing this time around – triggers.  I have often referred to triggers, those which appear when I least expect and sometimes least need them.  Tonight, there was one of those moments.

Having stopped by a convenience store to grab a bite for tea, there I was innocently queuing at the check-out when a woman hot footed it from the forecourt outside loudly excusing herself for leaving her car keys on the counter.  I was unable to work out whether this was a customer or a colleague clocking off, but either way, as she turned away, keys in hand, my heterosexual mindset and eyes focussed on a pencil skirt she was wearing as she tottered off.

Through that tight pencil skirt were what I feel sure were the clear and evident lines of a suspender belt.  Wow, How exciting.  I wanted to savour the moment, but there was no opportunity visually – it was what you might call ‘a fleeting glance’. Women DO still wear those kind of things then?   The mind continues to race this very evening.  Such a turn on.  To see – and, as I know only too well, to wear.

Now about those stockings…ah..perhaps some things are meant to be.