Well, I’d hazard a guess that it’s been around a week since my last hell bent crossdressing outing.  And if I’m honest, it was a bloody good one.  The outfit was a favourite, the dressing was swift, the on-line appearance electric.

It was one hell of a raging sex-fest.  If someone had have been in the room, whoever they were, I’d have probably let them have me.  I just needed it, in the way I needed it at least, not how someone might have wanted to give it to me.

Scores of requests to go private were accepted, invites to become ‘friends’ were merely accepted as I sought recognition and appreciation of my crossdressing ways.  On went the session, the compliments, the naughty talk, the questions and the all important answers.  God I was horny and needed something more than just on-line cavorting.  I yearned some penetration even though I wasn’t that into it.

I’d never taken anything real in there but the wife’s old broken vibrator once more made a willing and well fitting dildo which I moistened then slipped in.  Positions changed, camera position changed, I worked, I rode, I oozed, I watched as my sexual energy poured out of every pixel of my screen – almost watching as if it wasn’t me, yet I kept reminding myself that it was me as I continued.  Requests for position were immediately executed, sluttily, teasingly – I really was so incredibly horny in one of my favourite outfits.   Just writing this fact-fest now has made me so excited and hard recounting the moment.

However, as the clock ticked away that morning, I was ever more so acutely aware that I really did have to go to work.  I was ever more so acutely aware that I’d made myself late for work so many times before and was doing so yet again, so much so, it was affecting and has affected my core hours.  I can work flexibly but my time was in negative not positive and a fair old chunk of this has been, to be fair, down to my crossdressing and otherwise, failing to get my priorities right.

With a waning web cam audience (who’d probably seen just about everything they needed for their own kicks in the many minutes I’d been on cam), I slipped off in more ways than one, hurriedly tidied up once more although to be fair, that hurry still took ages and then more or less immediately began beating myself up with guilt and disgust, not just at my act, but the way in which I’d done it.  It had just been wanton indulgence and hell bent with it.

I’ve remarked on being prone to all out binges then sudden stops, and to all intents and purposes, the occasion as detailed above was, retrospectively, almost akin to ‘one last time’.   Acutely aware of the added imagery I’d posted on line from one site to another, I set about deciding it was no longer acceptable to have those pictures on show.

On one site, they were deleted yet the profile remained, on another, they were turned off and the profile deleted.   The recovering crossdresser was going into hiding once more, consigning everything that had gone before, particularly the most recent cam appearance, to the history books.

My thoughts have turned from indulgence on occasion to a recovery path.  I’ve focussed on other things – things I both want and need to do and am motivated to do.  It has been nothing but heterosexuality, quality time with my wife in more ways than one, and even thoughts of when I might purge once more (but I’ve not done so yet).  I know how those moments have gone before and retrospectively, they haven’t gone well at all.

The things I’ve done in the past week have been tinged with reminders of when I crossdressed last, but I have no intent to do so again.  Reminders of lingerie shopping last Christmas resonate almost a year on, the office toilet reminds me of how I’d flitted in and out on occasion to adjust stockings and pinging suspenders in front of the full length mirror before returning to my desk.

But what also resonates is my lack of focus on my crossdressing side.  No planning to crossdress, more so one of putting right the wrongs my crossdressing had created although in some respects, that will take some time.  I wouldn’t say I’d distracted myself with other things over this past week, but I’ve done other things that have ultimately been distractions.

Sure, I know that I’ve very recently been crossdressed, but for every day that goes by, that’s another day when I’ve not crossdressed, a day further away from the last indulgence, another day when I’d not focussed on my on-line profiles, put it to one side, forgotten about it, done the things I’ve needed to do, wanted to do, must do.

Having not posted a blog for a fair old few days, even writing this blog (which was set up to try and tackle my demons and talk myself around and about my fetish) has been the first time I’ve really considered anything remotely to do with crossdressing and that almost seems inappropriate right now as if writing this blog has refocussed my mind on the subject matter.  The blogs of the people I follow are perhaps also the closest I’ve got to reading about and thinking about crossdressing of late but I’ve only done that tonight whilst blogging once more, rechecking those stats, catching up on – well, catching up on whatever.

So many things seem so much more important, so much more valuable, so much more fun and fulfiling – although I have to admit, I love a good bit of literature, sexy stories, ‘Fifty Shades’ style literotica (I really must finish that first book at some point!) hence me finding my own recollections of that last crossdressing appearance such a turn on as I wrote the earlier descriptive paragraphs.  (I’m OK now by the way – I’ve calmed down again!)

Even my returning hair growth after the last full body wax appears for now to have been more so for personal choice rather than to appease my alter ego.  This last week, I’ve been focussed on the really important things in my life, and since that ‘Eureka’ moment experienced after my last crossdressing session had ended, that’s all that matters right now.

As I’ve said before on previous blog entries, the reason I have frequently decided that I had to stop crossdressing was because it took over everything, got in the way of everything, affected everything, those around me ignorant of my deceit, me being acutely aware of it, and still, largely unhappy with it too, conscience more than pricked.  Not thinking of, browsing for, planning for and actually crossdressing or anything remotely associated with it has proved to be quite a healer and as I look down on my computer keyboard, the descriptor for the recovering crossdresser shouts back at me at what I’m now going through – it’s a reboot.  Control – Alt – Delete.

And so to tomorrow.

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