In my previous blog entries from the period when I was last crossdressing but somewhat unhappy with the way I was doing it, I wrote about ‘Jekyll & Hyde’ tendencies – an angel on one shoulder whispering words of encouragement, the devil on the other, urging me to go the other way.
More recently, I’ve commented on not being able to get on-line via my webcam in the wake of the Windows 10 update which has led to so many people being unable to use their webcam either, and the programmers being more than a little slow in coming forward with a solution.
I like to consider myself as something of a determined character when it comes to some things, particularly IT related, concluding that the internet will usually always offer an alternative to doing something. Sure – there were hacks of the registry suggested as a workaround around until the webcam patch is finally applied, but these didn’t work for me – something I reflected was ‘karma’ in preventing me from getting on-line in ‘my’ lingerie.
Earlier this week, despite everything I’d said in my last blog about applying control and moderation particularly because I could not get on-line, like a dog possesses and defends a bone, I determinedly set about another browse for workarounds, trying again to get my cam working against the odds in my preferred non-Microsoft browser. Suddenly, after yet another blue screen and reboot, another browsing session link suggested trying another browser. ‘Eureka’ I thought for the second time this week. ‘Why didn’t I think about that?’ I mused.
‘Hang on’ – I thought. What was I doing? I needed to apply control and moderation to my crossdressing. The last thing I needed to do was find a way to get on-line contrary to this and do some kind of psychological damage I’d concluded had tipped me over the edge in November 2015.
Like the visit to the home and hardware store the other day, there was to be no stopping me. The quick fix had been discovered. I launched Internet Explorer through a Windows search on my machine, selected my webcam site of preference, logged in, loaded up my webcam and ‘voila’ – at the ‘test’ stage, before going live, there was the image seen by my webcam where previously, either a black window or a blue screen had been.
With the test done, and as it was late at night, I hatched a unshakeable plan to turn in and arise nice and early to dress. Having crossdressed for the first time this week since November 2015, going against everything a fellow blogger had suggested, there was, to be frank, again, no stopping me.
With the house empty, I was awake before dawn in an empty house, pulled out and pulled on my stockings, a black suspender belt, a black but totally transparent g-string, black lacy bra and a black see through baby doll and went on-line. What was I thinking in being so blasé and exhibitive with the extremely see through g-string? This was to be a test of my inner strength and my pledge to be in moderated control.
Could I apply moderation and control? Yes – retrospectively, it seemed I could. As I had found before during previous web cam sessions from last year, being crossdressed in this way drew an audience fairly swiftly whereas sitting there in just a men’s g-string as I had done on occasion more recently, was of little or no interest whatsoever. But with no care as to whether those viewing were male or female, a mix of inquisitive, general and sexy chat began.
Applying control, I was very provocatively dressed but did now allow myself to become overly aroused. Eventually, I decided that I would increase the proverbial temperature by changing into a black spider basque which leaves little to the imagination and shows off much more. The skimpy outfit was complimented by the same g-string and stockings and put a lot more (albeit for the time being, more hirsute) flesh on offer, much to the thrill of some of the small assembled audience it seemed. I pushed the man cave chair to one side, repositioned the cam for a full frontal/rear view and, on black heels, put on a good old fashioned show.
I love it when people get turned on by what I am doing, however great or slight, and this only serves to push me on. I will admit, I did eventually get fully aroused, edging, cavorting, and started wandering towards a place that I had previously vowed that I would never get near again.
However, with some viewers telling me what it had done for them, I got to a point where I decided I really ought to get off to work and numbers on the stream were dwindling a little, much as happens for everyone. Rejecting a thought process (and suggestion) to go out crossdressed in the suspender belt, panties and stockings, I said to the remaining audience that I had to go and switched off the cam and browsing session, deleting the history in the process of course! Security at all times!
However, still headily aroused, I could only make a bee-line for the bathroom and within a very short time, came like I’ve never come before or at least in a long time, into a cupped and ultimately full hand with a heavy stream of clear ejaculate in which swam strands of creamy semen and I moaned with pleasure as the flow continued for some reasonable time. Clearly, something about crossdressing does something else to me that pushes a completely different button that I don’t usually get to otherwise.
Almost immediately afterwards, I cursed several times in quick succession as I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. Here I was – still crossdressed, the sexual euphoria quickly diminishing, the clock ticking, the transport connections of favour, looking ever less possible.
But here’s the thing. I had somehow contented myself with the control and moderation I had applied. I had done, more or less, what I had wanted to do. That time, and that sexual euphoria experienced, had, by and large, been solely my special time. I quickly reasoned that because I had applied such control, I did not have to and nor should I be overwhelmed with guilt. I had, after a very long time away, started once more to indulge in my own quality time – something that I inwardly relished and valued.
I merely went about my working day, confined the morning’s events to the past and contented myself with the knowledge that the following day would be a busy one, one which would not and should not offer time to crossdress, even though,before, I’d have found the time to my own personal detriment.
I was – now – content to wait for the next crossdressing opportunity – whenever that would be. The guilt I spoke earlier about had been awash with thoughts of whether I’d stupidly blown it (whatever ‘it’ was), made me question who it was I was deceiving, who I would be betraying, but these were quickly put aside on the basis that these people did not know – I was being discreet and conducting myself appropriately and privately.
Over the course of the day, I have been on-line to buy what I hope will be the first of a number of new outfits that I equally hope won’t find the wrath of the dratted purge. Still disappointed at the purging of my old tight fitting hot pink lacy basque and skimpy g-string, and having seen an image of that outfit on Twitter, I began a search for a replacement only to be thwarted by an inability for the vendor to mail to a nearby ‘Rainforest’ locker.
However, you know what search engines are like and the word ‘pink’ still took me to a white bridal outfit with basque, white stockings and simple white g-string, which, I guess, must have had ‘pink’ in there somewhere. Fondly remembering but still agonsing over white bridal lingerie I’d purged long since, this new outfit was to be my returning treat. Where I will store it once I have picked it up locally, well that’s for another day. But I had to own it…like a dog with a bone.
And so to dressing before first light once more…bring it on. I want more…
UPDATE:Blog posted, on-line browsing done, decision to have a shower, self-relief sought, guilt strikes again immediately afterwards. I don’t like the feeling of guilt. I don’t like it at all. The way it suddenly hits you and makes you feel. It puts a whole different spin on everything, certainly before bed. However, then somehow, you’re over it.