Don’t you just hate technology?

Historically, I’ve blogged about those occasions when I’d logged into my webcam site of preference and into ‘My Account’, switched on previous gallery snap shots from live feeds, covertly taken by the site, perused through, then switched them off and logged out again.

Recently, I did such a thing again only to find that those frequently seen, occasionally switched off images were no longer there – erased – off into cyberspace – never to be seen again.

These were a rather (let’s say) raunchy array of images of what were my last crossdressing sessions and curiosity lured me to have a quick look through from time to time, concluding that I might do so again one time.  Alas no longer.

Determinedly, and perhaps bordering on desperately, I e-mailed the admin of the site who assured me that once I’d turned them off, that was it – they vanished.  I countered that I’d done this repeatedly before and those images had still been there.  Again, the admin countered that I could switch certain things on and off but snapshots from previous webcam sessions would disappear if I switched them off.

Some time ago, I had a photographic presence on Literotica forums and whilst text-wise I still do, the many photos in a variety of outfits, many long since purged, were removed during a previous fiercesome purge.  No amount of looking would find them and electronically, they were on a CD-ROM which has long been smashed to smithereens and taken down the local refuse facility.

So, what is done is done and what is gone is gone – to all extents.  There are however, some snapshots from those galleries that I saved and subsequently reuploaded as profile pics, so I have those – let’s say – to reflect on.

So, what does this apparently unfortunate on-line event tell me?  Well, I am one of those people who believes in destiny, i.e. these things are meant to happen and do so for a reason.  There is a part of me that has simply shrugged my shoulders and concluded that it was merely another part of my crossdressing ways set to be confined to cyberspace on my route towards the ‘me’ I seemingly set out to be after last dressing in early November 2015.

The now infrequent blog updates paint a similar story. Truth be told, my mind IS now largely elsewhere and is practically 100% content with it.  I barely have time to think (or for that matter, have motivation to think) about crossdressing (says he, logging in to write a blog entry!).

Generally, it’s not on my mind, I am less interested in browing on-line on the subject matter (although it has happened) and mostly, I’m throwing myself into a multitude of things – well, I say throwing – more like merely finding myself busy with many other things.

However, I know that my taste for crossdressing per se has not gone completely.  Somewhere in the back of my mind, especially stimulated by on-line imagery and having watched my wife put on and attach her bras of a morning, there’s still a taste there for lingerie and wanting to feel it wrapped around my body.

Making the bed of a morning, I have very occasionally glanced across at the wife’s lingerie drawer, but nothing more – no sneaky peaks, no merely opening the drawers, no touching the material, no sight whatsoever.  That, it itself, is a triumph.  But it’s not over – even now.

Showering, I have frequently glanced down at my legs and told myself many a time that I am merely keeping them ‘ready’, exfoliated, smooth and slender, my intimate area still and ever increasingly more so, hair free and smooth.  But although this might indicate a relapse is imminent, it is in fact, quite the opposite.  Another month passing by tells me that, this month, a week away or so from now infact, it will be the sixth month anniversary since I last pulled on some lingerie.

That, coupled with the acknowledgement of the peace of mind that I have, and the wish not to (even secretly decieve others or let myself down) are the biggest motivators to not crossdressing.

Would I like to? Sure – in an ideal world or parallel universe.  I would be very pleased to roll up a nice pair of lacy topped black hold ups, connect a suspender belt, pull up a nice lacy g-string and slip on a cami-suspender top – all in the quiet in which I have historically carried out such acts.  But one of the other motivators not to crossdress is the reminder that I know the depths of arguable depravity and debauchery I’d concluded that I’d plunged to before something made me change my mindset, approach and ways.

I remain in the groove of regular full body waxes, however, the fact that bits have been done on one appointment and not another has put me out of kilter.  This, I have told myself, is fine.  I seek to be smooth more often than I’m not and I know that the hair growth is, in the main, on the way out, but it has taken years to get to this stage and will take a few more before I’m how I want to be – going only rarely for hair removal appointments rather than every 6-8 weeks or so and being content with things in between.  When I next go, I will be ‘done’ from head to toe because I believe it is ready but these days, there are more instances of the person carrying out the waxing telling me that bits aren’t ready.  Inside, I wrangle with the disappointment coursing through my mind and body on hearing such statements.  Can’t they just take out what little is there?

Waxing bottles skidding across your skin and not dragging, even over those few hangers on means there’s just not enough to remove, in length or thickness and to persist in doing so would probably leave me quite sore.  I don’t think I want that!

I’m currently monitoring myself as to how hair is growing on certain parts of my body.  Generally, my intimate areas, my underarms and my legs contain far less hair and growth in between appointments but the upper part is less well behaved – my chest the biggest bugbear – mind you, that is the a bit seen more often than others I guess.

Should arms be waxed?  Apparently not – as it stimulates growth, but in this era of man-scaping or whatever you call it, I don’t seek to be clippered on, say, my chest, because it might be more socially acceptable. I know what I want and will continue to pursue it in the same way I have done for some time.  I can see progress – slowly – but I can see it.

Crossdressing blogs interest me.  Crossdressing pictures interest me.  Crossdressing still interests me – but all of that is not enough to make me actually indulge.  This is still part of what may be called ‘recovery’ – or quite simply – moving on – either for good, or just for now – however long ‘now’ is or will be.

What’s gone – is gone.

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