I could say that thoughts about lingerie crossdressing have been permanently on my mind – but I’d be telling a lie.
I could say that thoughts about lingerie crossdressing have never been on my mind – but I’d be telling a lie.
That means that my mind has wanderered. My fingers have enabled some browsing across fellow bloggers, I’ve studied the search results that have led people to find my blog and yes – I’ve done it again. I logged onto one of my alter-ego web presences, switched on the archive snapshots taken covertly by the site in question to add to the ‘picture galleries’, taken a look through, switched them off and logged out again.
Why? There’s no real reason – other than, as I’ve said before, because I know I can.
With my entire body apart from my head being smooth and virtually hair-free once more after a long time since the last time it was removed (the way my testosterone surges, there’s always some poking its way through somewhere), I have reflected once more on how the blank canvas suits – or should I say ‘suited’ – a draping of lingerie.
There has been yet more acknowledgement of what might, at least in some circles, be described as ‘progress’. I’ve not crossdressed. I’ve not had the urge to crossdress. I’ve not got any stockings either – the spark that has historically led to a session, and I’ve used my previous blog posts as a reference as to my progress.
That means going back to the point when I last did and how I blogged about it. That particular post details what I think I described as a ‘raging sex-fest’ or something, and a revealing statement about wanting penetration, and that, in a parallel universe, and probably not in my own home but in some neutral environment, wherever that might have been, I would have probably let someone take me. Whether that was a male or female, I can’t honestly say, but the fantasy of it all outweighed what would probably be an absolute no-no in reality anyway – it was just how charged I was at the time I suppose.
I’ve ventured back and forth from that post, reading the posts other have dropped upon to analyse what is capturing people’s interest. That review work has also offered clear reminders of the ‘progress’ I’d made in having not crossdressed since what was probably early November 2015. Here we are in mid February 2016. I’ve also acknowledged the longer gaps between blog posts – another sign that my mind has largely not been on crossdressing, but also that I’ve not had anything to say about it either.
I’ve recently acknowledged my peace of mind, the diminishing levels of guilt, particularly when with family and friends. Sure – they know and knew nothing anyway, but there goes the argument of ‘well, if no one is getting hurt’, because as I’ve remarked upon before – someone was getting hurt. Me.
The peace of mind is, frankly, tangible. I can sit easy in my arm chair, lie comfortable in my bed, go about my daily business and personal interests safe in the knowledge that for every day that goes by, that’s another day further away from the last time I crossdressed – conscience clearer if not totally clear.
There are reminders. Just today during another mundane office meeting, my attention wandered for a moment as I was reminded of the odd few times of being apparently in the usual shirt, tie, trousers, socks and shoes to everyone, yet underneath, I was encased in silky black lacy top stockings, a suspender belt and g-string but to cover any tell-tale signs of the suspender belt straps, a pair of baggy boxers.
Did anyone ever suspect, see a tell-tale sign etc, were they too busy to notice, focused on the daily grind instead or was it just that I was careful enough? There were no knowing glances or looks that I noted about and I never got the impression of talking in corners – certainly not.
Being out and about, sitting on public transport, places I’ve been or regularly go, I can frequently be reminded of times when I’d been crossdressed there or of times when I’d looked forward or planned to crossdress. Getting up in the morning and quite simply getting ready for work and going out early to face the day has been tinged with reminders on how I’d delayed all of that for a ‘quick’ (but usually much longer, time pushing) dress up session and web cam appearance.
Why do I keep arguably torturing myself you might ask? I don’t think that I’m torturing myself – more so just reminiscing – I think.
However, reminiscing is a dangerous dalliance with being drawn to crossdress again – that I know, yet the reasons not to far outweigh the reasons why I might. In moments of irrationality, I’ve contemplated the bizarre, largely unreal and unlikely scenarios and circumstances that might trigger a relapse.
I’ve also contemplated whether life is now too boring and I whether I need a little bit of CDing in my life to cling on to. I’ve wondered (perhaps worried) whether there might be a time in the future when I might start crossdressing yet again.
However, I have then simply shrugged off those thoughts with the realities of life, the important things in my life, the important people in my life and the many days that have passed since I last crossdressed.
I won’t deny that there are flickers. Just now, whilst drafting this blog, the PC decided to install an update and just by typing letters, I must have hit something which told the PC to shut down and reboot. Thank heavens for automatic draft saving!
But in that time, there was what I might describe as a momentary shout from the long quietened devil to go and have a rifle through cupboards and drawers in the bedroom at what the wife has stashed away gathering proverbial dust. Just to have a look – that’s all. Nonsense. Then it occurred to me that I really ought to go and complete a pending chore downstairs and duly did so. Mission accomplished you might say.
I won’t deny that having a smooth, hair-free body is hugely satisfying. I was long overdue, and I enjoyed the ‘me-time’ at getting ‘done’. Having seen the search results that led folk to my blog yesterday, I ended up typing the same search results into a search engine – I think it was something to do with ‘preparing to cross dress’.
This led me to a quite old forum thread asking whether fellow crossdressers ever felt guilt, dirty and disgusted with themselves after or during crossdressing and how purges might have played their part. Some folk wondered what all the fuss was about, others said they did but the feelings soon passed once they got undressed again, some said that they felt perfectly content with being crossdressed to any extent, some said that the disgust and guilt came due to masturbation due to the sexual euphoria, and some said that they did masturbate, but felt no disgust, merely contentment. I dallied with a few more pages then simply X’d out of the entire browsing session and returned to the normalities of the evening.
I mentioned the word ‘triggers’ in a previous blog or two, but I’ve also mentioned the word ‘flickers’ in this one. Walking to work this morning, I passed a large department store which was promoting Valentine’s Day. Across the street, I could see a mannequin with a black bra, hip covering suspender belt, black panties and stockings, with everything but the stockings tinged with a subtle red.
Part of me felt frustrated at being confronted with this sight, whilst part of me was transfixed as I passed by, eyes lingering on the entire scene, appreciating the view and eyes focusing more so on my favourite element – the stockings and suspenders.
A necessary trip out at lunchtime took me back in the direction of the department store to pick up some food. I decided I’d eat the snack alfresco and lingered in the vicinity of that same department store window – casually stepping about, looking around as the world around busied itself and people came and went.
I watched how both men and women’s gazes were caught briefly on the lingerie window scene and tried to fathom what, if anything, might have resonated in their mind. I have long wondered whether any/many women actually wear stockings and suspenders anyway so asked myself what the point was of this window display.
Time and again I glanced back casually at the window scene, analysing the price structure, adding it up, bra was this much, suspender belt was that much, panties were so much – total – X. Mmm. Quite reasonable I thought.
Then I recalled another lingerie retailer nearby, but out of sight, fathoming that they too would have a tempting window display but being somewhat relieved that it was far enough away not to set my legs wandering for a completely pointless viewing out of nothing but irrational curiosity. I was also recalling how much I’d spent in there a few Christmases ago on stuff for both me and the wife, my stuff, fairly quickly purged a few purges ago.
Pulling myself together, I realised that I’d finished my lunchtime snack and made my way back to the office, deterring myself from one final glance at the scene. Too late though – the scene remains burnt onto my retina!
Home time after the daily grind took me once more past that department store window but as I walked past it, I knew that the scene would be behind me and to my left and that I would have to intentionally turn my head to glance at lingerie on display once more.
The devil inside seemed to urge me to ‘go on, take a look’. I ignored the devil and accepted the calming tones of the angel on the other shoulder and determinedly strode on to jump aboard the public transport and wind my weary way home.
Sure. The window display will change shortly. Of that I have no doubt, but as I’ve said before on previous blogs, I do seem to be somewhat confronted by signs – signs that have, at least previously, turned into triggers – heart-racing, butterfly-creating urges, that have led to me rushing home, making a b-line for the stockings and lingerie stashed away in either my long since empty hidey hole and/or the wife’s never used selection, then being locked away, dressed up for as long as possible, sometimes covered up in PJs but still crossdressed.
Sure. In a parallel universe – it’d be nice on its own and I’d like it with no baggage, no guilt, no reasons not to. No. I’ve concluded in the last 24 hours that this is that ‘cold turkey’ I’d mentioned long ago in a previous blog. I just didn’t realise that I was going through it – or even STILL going through it.
But I am. Still, it’s good to talk about it. Until next time – thanks for reading.