For those of you that want a ‘all the details’ account of a crossdresser, I’m afraid you’re not going to find it in this posting.
I’ll be honest. Health-wise, I’m not at my best – infact, disconcertingly so and although I’m doing what I’m told, taking the tablets etc and going for all relevant appointments, I’ve not liked the way I’ve been feeling health and well being-wise without necessarily being able to put my finger on it.
That aside, one of my own acknowledgements of late has been one of less frequent bouts of crossdressing and even thinking about the act. All out raging, selfish and arguably thoughtless binges of late from time to time – yes, but the frequency at which I might want to or actually do crossdress is on the downward slide of late.
Now, that’s either a sign of a fetish waning (and it wouldn’t be the first time) or it is part of that recovery process I seemed to suggest I was entering into when I first started blogging.
Yes, frequently, there are times when I am at home, remembering those periods when I’d been dressing in the same room, sitting in my home office, normal heterosexual attire, merely going about the ordinary stuff but there are no pressing urges or desires to create another to add to the stockpile of memories. Perhaps that’s managing some sort of guilt or coping mechanism. Who knows?
I know that I like cross dressing in lingerie, I know that I have cross dressed in lingerie, that I like the way it feels and I know that I’ve been doing it about as secretly, and discreetly as might be conceivably possible for a considerable amount of time, yet it is of no real interest right now, and hasn’t been for a fair amount of time comparatively speaking.
With the festive season approaching, I recall a shopping trip last year to a high street lingerie retailer in a town near me and spent £70 on lingerie for both me and the wife (wrapped and packaged separately of course). The stuff I bought for the wife matched the stuff I bought for me, that I knew there was no point buying for her as she doesn’t wear stockings and suspenders. Anyway, the gift was warmly received on the big day whilst my stuff remained hidden away.
However, my stuff was later purged within a matter of some 2-3 months when I took yet another vein of disgust about myself. Do I miss those red and white suspender/stockings/g-string combos? Yes and no! So many memories of times I’ve crossdressed, the lengths of time, the places I’ve crossdressed, the circumstances under which I’ve been secretly crossdressed under my masculine civvies. There are many memories.
They either serve to wean me out of it or to spur me on at some point. The trouble is, it could be one or the other and I’ve not really worked that out yet.
There are moments when, health-wise, I’m feeling more like my old self again, but that’s not one that is planning any covert cross dressing any time soon – completely the opposite infact. That, in itself, is something that, as an analytical type, I’m trying to reach a conclusion on. I am however, also analysing my own life and very being from a number of very deep and meaningful angles right now. Ill health has, it seems, a way of doing that.
However, for those who might like to see me on line and have a chat, for those who might want a more detailed, perhaps sexy story or two about experiences – I’m sorry – I’m not in the mood…again.