Well, it’s all going very well, I must say, and truth be told, I’m actually quite happy with myself, proud if you like.
I previously stated that every day that I haven’t crossdressed is a day further away from when I last did. I also wrote about a ‘healing’ process – or as I might prefer to call it, ‘recovery’.
Have I been thinking about crossdressing? Subject-wise, very briefly I suppose, from time to time, but not in depth or at length. It being Winter, there is also less visual stimuli about anyway, and nor have I been shopping much at all.
Sight of lingerie a few months ago would see me picturing in my head how I might look in it, how I might get it or something like it and what it might go with. It might also set about a craving just to be crossdressed per se.
But the trips to vast supermarkets on shops with the other half saw me with what has ultimately turned out to be a nod to the past, an appreciation of the goods, a reminder that I have worn such material and another that, for some time, I have not. I am also reminded that there is no trigger (stockings) at home to be crossdressed, or hide away cavorting on camera, no extensive browsing of crossdressing on-line, no arguable debauchery to which I had become objectionable, and I have also refrained from logging into the cam site on which I have switched off the archived images from previous cam sessions taken by the site behind the scenes and having ‘another’ look for no apparent reason.
I would guess that I last crossdressed at the beginning of November (I could go back through my blog to work it out but why bother?) so quite a lot of time has passed since with a distinct veering away from and a clear focus on anything else but crossdressing. My thoughts are instead on a vast list of other things I can do, need to do, will do or am doing. Sure – I’m writing this blog on the subject, but that has proved to be exactly the therapy I needed in the absence of having confided in anyone but the aforementioned anonymous, psuedonymed appreciators and conversationalists on my own anonymised web chat presences.
Of course, the canvas on which I previously draped lingerie is a swarming mass of hair in virtually every place, but it will be removed – including the stuff that used to grow through so soon after the last removal session – pretty soon.
That has ordinarily, historically, been a catalyst – a trigger if you like – to crossdressing – as lingerie looks, at least in my opinion, far better on a smooth body and besides, I really cannot stand being hirsute to any extent – but I’m tolerating it at the moment.
If my memory serves me correctly, I feel sure that I have had my body hair removed since I stopped or eased off crossdressing – at least to such frequent extents – so the hair-free look is less of a motivator to indulge than it was.
I’m still on that recovery path as I await my own observations of my own self once I am hair free once more – when I hope I will remain hair free for longer because of the amount I’ve allowed to grow through this time around, all of which will be ready to be removed when it is time but all in one go.
I mentioned the word ‘trigger’ and I’ve mentioned it before too. Casually removing the work attire to slip into my comfy PJs and dressing gown this evening, my eyes caught sight of one of the wife’s white lacy bras, equally casually just hanging from one strap on a hook in the bedroom. For a brief moment, my inner vision dwelled on and appreciated the pattern and shape of the lacy and what it feels like to wear. For that brief moment, I’d acknowledged that the crossdresser within was trying to fight out of the shackles – but only for the briefest of moments. In what was practically a blink of an eye, a briefest of glances, fire blazed once more.
Then the focus quickly returned to busying myself otherwise, as I’d planned. Well, as it happens, not immediately as I’d planned. I determined that I would instead, seize on that momentary observation of the qualities of a brassiere and put it in writing here.
So that’s that done. And I’ll now log out and move on – but to quote the song lyric: ‘I saw the sign’.