Another day done at the daily grind, I merely meandered my way home, heading for the usual public transport when it occurred to me that I needed a few things from the home and hardware store on the way – blokey stuff, shampoo, shower gel etc – you know the stuff.
It was not until I was justoutside the entrance that I was suddenly struck with a fear of relapse. *BANG*. This, I reminded myself, was the place where the black lace top stockings are that I have so often bought previously.
What if I was tempted to pick up a pair? What then? What if I can’t stop myself? I just wasn’t expecting to be confronted by such sudden realisation, such a sudden reminder about my crossdressing habits. It wasn’t on my mind to do anything other than get the basics that I wanted so, all of a sudden, in that split second, I was agonising, in borderline panic.
This, I told myself, was ridiculous – of course I could avoid it, of course I could ignore those stockings, of course I could emerge as rapidly as I had entered the store with the things I needed, and not the things I didn’t.
Attempting to focus, I made my way to the aisle for the first item, but having deposited it in a basket, I realised that I was just a little further down the same aisle from the stockings. Damn it. I marched onwards, but cast a very clear and sharp eye across to the stockings as I walked by – head panning for as long as as the few seconds took to walk up to and past that part of the store – the colour and design of the box – yes, they were definitely black, lacy top hold up stockings and there they were.
I continued around the corner of the end of the aisle, still with the imagery in my mind, turning before realising that what I then needed was actually the other way. I doubled back but was still reminded as to where those stockings were and what I’d just seen.
Around the back of the aisle were the bottles of shower gel that I needed. I mused and picked up the ones that I knew I wanted, put them in the basket and set off at pace (I did have a connection to catch and I was already late) for the third and final item.
With these also deposited in the basket, I set off for the checkout. At this point, I felt content that I had swerved the proverbial bullet, proceeded through, paid, threw the items in to the man bag (with no need or desire to pay the 5p charge!) and left the store.
“Well done” I told myself – “…you did it”. But I was then left questioning what I’d actually done, before concluding that I’d stayed on track, avoided a relapse etc.
Such conclusions were founded on a pre-existing thought process – one that, somewhere in my subconscious, had quite recently been trying to fathom out how it might be possible to start crossdressing again without losing control, without going too far.
Blogs that I have read recently included one which explained how, for that crossdresser, it was not a sexual thing, it was just something that felt nice to do. I remembered the extent of debauchery I had involved myself in and the amount of time I’d spent on line on web cam and asked myself whether this was something I was prepared to be comfortable with.
I told myself that I was not. I reminded myself that too much time, infact, virtually all of my time had been given up to crossdressing. As I have blogged before, quite regularly, it took up and took over my life. I could think of nothing else. Nothing else got done and nothing else mattered – including those closest to me.
I also questioned, reasoned if you like, whether crossdressing could resume if I merely did it covertly, i.e. dressed under men’s attire from time to time, avoided it becoming diretly sexual, but whilst this would be nice and in an ideal world, I would do it in an instant, I told myself that I had been too much of an addict before.
I also told myself, somehow reminded of another person’s blog content, that even if nobody knows, it is still a level of deceit – a level of deceit that I had previously become uncomfortable with and remain not comfortable with.
Somehow, the achievement of going this long – since early November in fact – without crossdressing was not something I was not prepared to spoil.
Doing the daily chore upon rising of making the bed of a morning, in a quiet house, this week, I have mused how this was the exact circumstance in which I’d previously, and so often, quietly begun crossdressing of a morning or evening.
I recalled how much I’d enjoyed the actual act of crossdressing – from breaking open a new pair of stockings, to selecting the outfit I was going to wear – rolling up the stockings on my slender feminine legs, connecting the suspenders, slipping on a cami-suspender set or spider basque and gleaning SO much satisfaction at the finished look. Curtains drawn, full length mirror allowing time to appreciate and admire. I was also reminded of what usually happened after I’d dressed – I was usually then going on-line, popping away from time to time to change outfits, sometimes on request but sometimes due to need and/or desire. Clearly, I was an exhibitionist in those circumstances, clearly I had craved attention when crossdressed.
As I continued making the bed, I was reminded where certain items are kept in a nearby bed-side drawer, yet there was just no possibility, urge or desire to do so – besides, I still had no stockings – and that has always been the spark to crossdress.
I’ve blogged before on how I’d once spoiled a black pair, then comforted myself at not being able to crossdress as a result, only then to be reminded that I’d still got a (now long since purged) pair of flesh coloured hold ups stored away in the hidey hole which then led to more crossdressing – in my long since purged but thoroughly enjoyable tight fitting pink outfit with the wide suspender straps, and off I went again.
Oh how, in an ideal world, I’d like to have and feel some stockings on with suspenders connected and carry out the process of selecting and putting on a matching bra before deciding the belly needed hiding with a cami-suspender set or something! But it just isn’t to be – for all of the right reasons – I continue to be reminded of the raft of things at all levels that I still need to do in my life anyway, little tasks to complete and that none of these things got done when I was 200% hell bent on allowing crossdressing to take up my life. And then there are all the people that matter to me – and in my mind, I’d neglected them too much too when indulging so frequently.
I know what this is – it is yet more cold turkey. And I don’t like it.