It has to be said – I’ve been on the proverbial ‘straight and narrow’ for some time now – content – OK – happy with my lot – and with the sexual activitimeter pretty well at zero.

However, with my tried and trusty web cam seemingly neither willing nor able to display anything other than a black screen which doesn’t make for good web-camming, once more in my tried and tested home and hardware store, in for a wide range of bits and bobs (but going nowhere near the stockings aisle), I grabbed one of the first webcams, probably THE only webcam on sale and threw it into the basket with everything else.

The following morning gave me what was ultimately a wholly futile opportunity to get on line wearing one of my many g-strings, the body more or less fully waxed all bar the shouting and just immersed myself in exhibitionism.  The odd viewer came and went and that was about it.  I used the caption window to ask whether I should use my new toy for the first time on-line – hoping to encourage someone to come and play – whoever it was.

Eventually, someone asked what the toy was.  I said that it was a Fleshlight but this, unsurprisingly, appeared to be of little interest.  After about an hour of sitting there, little or no activity throughout (what was I expecting early in the morning or at all anyway?!), I had had my own play on-line but was switching off when someone came on line – too late I thought.  But anyway, I was just another of a group of people on cam, wearing next to nothing, amongst a sea of images that someone might just want to click on to see more than just a thumbnail.  Along with many, I was no oil-painting, no Adonis, I was not crossdressed, but I was adhering to my exhibitionistic side which I clearly have in certain scenarios, namely on-line but also when home alone – especially in the current warmer weather.  I absolutely love (it seems) being naked and wandering around the house, a distance away from open blinds but I enjoy that carefree wafting around the place – begrudgingly donning the workday attire when time.  All in all, nothing much to get excited about though.

So, to bring things up to date, where exactly am I with my love of crossdressing?  In truth, it’s still very much where it was – nowhere.  As repeatedly said before, there’s no ideal world in which to do it without causing my own anguish so I’m not crossdressing – and I haven’t since November 2015 – still!

A stressful day and evening sent me to my bed the other night with a considerable headache but having popped a few pills to get rid, settled down to a moderately early night.  But the crossdresser’s mind switched on and for some reason, as I drifted off, unbeknown to even me, my mind played me extreme close ups of outfits I’ve worn.

I suppose there was a trigger – on the way to work the other day, I was walking behind a woman who was going the same way as me across a crossing – in the heat and height of summer, she was wearing a light, loose, thin, strappy summer top under and around which there was a nice looking black lacy bra – evident because the clasp and rear strap were there for all to see, the lacy design elements carried through to the strap at the back and the shoulder straps in clear view.  Lovely – I thought – clearly, inside, it lit a spark of some sort – and I’ve talked about visual stimuli before – and before, they were the kinds of visual stimuli that would trigger crossdressing when back home.

Anyway, back to what was clearly, the inspired dream.  We’ve all seen those shows where folk are put on a little rotating platform to see all around them, and it was this image that I had, close ups of fasteners of a lovely black spider basque I used to wear, the suspender straps and stocking tops – in short, I was sending myself to sleep in a haze of lingerie.  I couldn’t tell you whether the person in the images I was dreaming up was either me or someone else – it mattered little – it was the lingerie I was thinking about, one or two outfits.

But all of a sudden, it WAS me – how the lingerie and outfits enveloped my body, the snug feeling, the silkiness, the sensualness – all of the things I love and loved about lingerie.  I suppose, having had that morning visual stimuli, as I did when I was crossdressing, I sought indulgement as a way of escapism, something just for me, something personal, something that somehow helped.

What was I hoping to get out of the self-inflicted dream-fest?  Consolation I suppose.  Tangible feelings, sensations, recollections, reminscing, reflecting, enjoyment.

It hasn’t triggered any urges – only yet more reflection – although I did acknowledge the proximity of the stockings aisle as I wandered by the home and hardware store on the way home.  The only thing it has done, I suppose, is turned up that sexual activitimeter a little.

Perhaps that’s no bad thing.  I will probably go on cam once more at some point – just because – knowing it will be largely a waste of time, but that’s my time.  Expecting little out of it means whatever does happen of note is an added bonus.

Who knows?  I may have allow myself some more sweet dreams.

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