Reflecting on the ongoing nature of one’s very being recently, I acknowledged that I was quite contented.  My crossdressing days are now sliding away to what, early next month, will be an eighth month away – early November 2015.  Why I keep count, I don’t really know.

I suppose it is to do with keeping up the momentum, another day further away, is another day done.  The other week, I had a holiday away with the family which was nice.  Somewhere, in the far reaches of my mind, my ‘manscaping’ in front of a sizeable mirror, showering and shaving triggered an element of frustration.

Recently waxed, I didn’t take with me my exfoliating thingy, so every shower was exactly that – a shower, a wash down and rubbing on some tea-tree oil to push back the spots that come out following that recent wax.  However, the smooth body – which, frustratingly only really tends to last around 2 weeks before the next tranche of hair begins to push through – satisfied me by itself.

Having had a great holiday, I have recently contented myself with the ‘I don’t need crossdressing anyway’ line, that I’d moved on, it had been so long since that I was OK now.

Only I’m not.

It has been some time since I logged into my blog account so, somewhat off the cuff, did so and had a read around the lists in the saved tags.  I’ve often commented how frustrating it has been to not find someone like me who appreciates lingerie, but not the full crossdress.

And that led me to the blog by Crush…fizz…pop! – the author exuding satisfaction and contentment through their blog of wearing a bra and panties under work attire, and linking to their very entertaining Twitter feed.

Leaving them an appreciative blog comment of finding someone who, it seemed, shares my love of lingerie – viewing and wearing – I realised that my long since diminished but not altogether invisible alter ego does not have and has never had a Twitter feed.  The mechanics of setting one up, the how’s etc and whether I should raced through my mind for a few moments before being casually flung aside, dismisssed – it seems – as a bad idea – otherwise, I’d have bloody well gone and set one up.

But the Twitter feed offered an array of stunning pics, shared tweets and tweets of their own.  These included a pic of a girl in a black outfit draped up the first few steps of a flight with the caption ‘Why does society tell us only women should be pretty?’, another shot of a woman from behind carrying out the act of putting on a bra with a caption asking ‘Are you enough of a sissy gurl to hook your bra from behind’ (I never was (or at least never tried) able to do that I don’t think?!) and another cartoon image of a lingerie clad person (bra, panties and stockings) in a box stating that ‘a crossdresser isn’t a man who wants to be a woman. A crossdresser is a man who wants to be happy’.

‘Yes’, I thought. YES! YES!  Quite right.  This was a moment akin to me thumping a clenched fist onto a flat surface – only I didn’t actually do that.  I just kept browsing.

Imagine a match, cigarette lighter or gas hob burner than will spark but is reluctant to burst into flames.  Right there, at that moment – that was me.  I craved the feeling of stockings on legs, bra or larger piece of lingerie being wrapped around my body, straps around my back and shoulders, manhood being packaged up in some cute g-string or panties – why the hell not!

I’d set myself a range of tasks to do on WordPress whilst I was logged in – to catch up on blog entries in my tag lists, pick up a notification of the number of folk now following (thanks by the way!) amongst other messages, run through the stats over the last few weeks and then, well, I don’t know – that was probably it I suppose.

However (and I don’t criticise them for it – I’m actually very grateful for them being there), those links, that blog, that very enjoyable and entertaining Twitter feed have ever so slightly triggered an element of frustration within.

Again, I look into a parallel universe where I could crossdress in some delightfully sensual lingerie, just enjoy it, have my ‘me’ time and then stop.  But, on an ever more increasing number of occasions, I am recognising the ever decreasing number of opportunities where I could crossdress even if I was regularly and willingly doing so.  Family members are around more, times when I’m in the house alone are now going to be far less because – well, just because.  So this is quite clearly – fate.

This isn’t a parallel universe, this is here and now, eight months on (early November to early July) (can I add up OK?).  I can’t just choose to begin crossdressing again because of the overall circumstances of life.  I was (and am clearly, still) an addict – still suffering cold turkey because it is the lesser of two evils – not crossdressing means I’m attending to and enjoying lots of other things which, in the greater scheme of things, is a job well done it seems.

It is still however, in my ever changing swirling mindset, an element of frustation.

But the blog is done. I’m logging out, moving on, but the last hour or so has, in the main, been nice I must say.  It IS nice to write a blog – it’s particularly therapeutic if nothing else.

The recovering crossdresser?  Or am I now the appreciating ex-crossdresser?  That’s a rhetorical question.  I remain the former, and perhaps that’s also the lesser of two evils.

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