I know what this is – it is cold turkey isn’t it?  I’ve been here before.

Part of me thinks how nice, how harmless it would be to pull on some lingerie and to hell with it.  Perhaps it is the warmer weather we’re having over here in the UK that is giving me all the things that sunshine gives anyone – Vitamin B or D something or other?

Today, on my walk back past the home and hardware store, it occurred to me that, on display in side, there for the taking, was the spark that would more quickly than instantly put me in a tail spin into crossdressing.

Making a b-line for the public transport connection anyway, I made no move for that store, even for something else I might need from within – an instance when I might daringly or perhaps necessarily go down the same aisle in which those black lace topped stockings sit tantalisingly for depositing into a basket or clenched hand.

Today, a quick look at my cam-site of preference showed me the photos I’ve chosen to put on display, the Avatar in the black spider basque, one leg lifted and the foot placed on my office desk – a shot from a long since passed web cam session.

After that, a rear and frontal view of my favourite black hearted deep red and black cami-suspender, black lacy g-string underneath and those stockings, the rear view leaving little to the imagination.  Then there’s the shot taken in my work attire, with a crisp white shirt flung to one side – trousers and baggy boxers dropped – showing a lacy suspender belt with ribbon bow, lacy black g-string that left little to the imagination and my now trusty and much purchased home and hardware store lacy topped stockings.

Gone are the much seen (by me), much switched on and off (by me) photos blogged about before in my old, now long since purged (but only bought by mail order last April) pink lacy cami-suspender with the thick pink suspender straps.  I’ve blogged about how the ability to switch them on and off at will has more recently resulted in a site functionality which (now) (apparently) auto deletes the gallery when the gallery is disabled from public/member view.

You may be wondering quite why I bothered turning things on and off.  Why, you might ask, did I not just leave them switched on?  The truth is, it was an all too stark reminder of that final on-line webcam crossdressing session from November last year – one in which I descended, I later concluded, into a level of debauchery I found abhorrent.

That didn’t stop me from going back and looking at them from time to time, switching them on then off again – my own personal viewing being accepted but, it wasn’t something I felt needed to be for public consumption – apart from a recent (and arguably rare) g-string only session when I rather naughtily, but, now all of a sudden, ultimately with futility , tried to switch them back on to ‘show and tell’.

I’ve often blogged about how a moment of careless-ness might ‘out’ me despite having not crossdressed since early November last year.  (I checked, double checked and triple checked this morning whilst on the way to work – that it had been six months.  Yey me?)

I suppose a reason why I turned stuff off was for the one in a million chance that, not so much I would be spotted, more so, someone would correlate the immediately peripheral surroundings as being in my house, my office, the right colour wallpaper, style and shape of a door, colour of a carpet.  Besides all of that, that’s clearly one of the wife’s outfits and the other half would probably recognise me from a number of angles and distinguishing marks only she’d notice.   It’s therefore risky that the profile pics and photos remain.

However, whilst I’ve turned off the snapshots collected covertly by the site, I have not turned off the images I’ve posted up myself, largely those from the site’s collection all bar one.   Right now, I’m not inclined to, but that’s not to say that I won’t at some point.

I seem to be looking for impossible parallels just lately – a scenario whereby I could crossdress and still keep the ‘six months’ etc running total.  But I know that I can’t do that – the merest thought is frankly ridiculous.   The old addage of ‘if I’m doing no harm to anyone’ might well be something you’re thinking, but this is something I’ve said is/was an addiction.  An addict can’t get their mind of something and is highly motivated to do it – and I was, and so it seems, still am – it’s just that I’m not going to – but that is not something part of me is happy with and I’m fighting that part right now.

Yet crossdressing rears its head at the most inopportune moments, usually just when I’m having a wobble – in fact, they’re all inopportune whenever they occur just lately.

At work today, a colleague was recalling (more to others than me) a recent night out when they’d spotted and had been somewhat transfixed by someone of transgender in the same venue.  I listened intently and with interest how this transphobic ‘is it, isn’t it’ conversation played out in front of me, whether they were wearing a certain style of make up as if that would clarify once and for all.  Then those (females) before me had conversations about when they’d seen someone of transgender before, one speaking on how this had occurred whilst with a child and what they’d told them.

It was rather nicely and rationally along the lines of them being born one way, but always feeling that they should be the other.  That conclusion to the conversation was a somewhat more reasonable way to end the very brief discussion and allowed me to accept that views are not only phobic but more accepting of people who are perceived to cross stereotypical gender boundaries.   Nevertheless, inside, I was relating as the crossdresser within stirred – and with the fact that I’d already been more deeply thinking about the subject of late, only stirred me on to contemplating (albeit without any real conclusion) some more.

So, you might ask, why don’t I just stop whinging and bloody well go and crossdress again if I’m so apparently miserable?  One word.  Conscience.  I wobble, my head goes all over the place about the wrangling going on within at this time and then my unknowing wife tells me she loves me for who I’ve been to her all these years.

That moment has a habit of at least briefly pulling me to my senses.  In the midst of my crossdressing up to November last year, she’d tell me that she loves me – I’d naturally reciprocate – and there’d be mass anxiety in my brain about what I’d been doing on the quiet.  But the fact that I’d not been doing so – for six months now – was and is of huge satisfaction.

So, I’m still the recovering crossdresser.  Sure – there will be wobbles – and clearly, I’m having another one now.  As I’ve said before, I’ve passed the level of consciousness where I’d crossdress because no-one else was getting hurt.

Then I realised that they were getting hurt – unknowingly – and I was hurting myself because I was unsuccessfully fighting urges, the addiction and hurting myself because I just could not do anything else.  Nothing mattered.

Since November last year, lots of things, major, minor and inbetween, have mattered.  Things have been attended to, the ability to work flexible hours is still however in recovery, largely because I had been using every last millisecond of spare time to crossdress – before work, after work, during work.   How could I buy, when could I buy, should I buy?  Where would I keep it? What if it was found?  What if something happened to me and THEN it was found?

Yes, I might be suffering within, but this is a trough and there have been many more peaks – so I take to blogging to deal with it.  Tonight,  I contemplated saying ‘sod it’ and going on line – on a web-cam, wearing little – as I did recently.

But what would that achieve?  Perhaps it would have been good to find out, but then again, perhaps I knew what it would achieve – very little infact – apart from vast amounts of time wasted when I could be doing something else.

I’m also, I’d admit, a little dysphoric about my body at the moment – I’m a mish-mash of waxed, not waxed, smooth, not smooth and that belly of mine needs to be sorted out too.

I’ve done what I told myself I’d do – stayed off cam, stayed covered up in my dressing gown and let the fingers do the talking.  You know what?  I think that might have done the trick.   If only I could?  Well I would if I could, but I can’t, so I won’t.

I take a keen interest in the site stats, who reads what, from where and how they find it, and although I know my ramblings are usually just that – long and rambling –  I appreciate you stopping by.

Thanks for reading.  I am the recovering crossdresser.