Firstly, can I just say a massive thank you to everyone who visits my blog anyway but particularly on November 3rd? On that very day, fom around the World, there were 165 views from 73 visitors. I am thrilled. Thank you again to you for reading and following. My blog is now featuring prominently on a site which promotes crossdressing blogs which is undoubtedly a huge help but that day certainly was record breaking.
And so to the here and now. The last few days have been merely normal – I am content, have been contented with how I am at the moment since my return to crossdressing after almost a year out.
I say ‘content’, but somewhere within, there is a constant albeit distant view that my antics are something of deceit for everyone who knows me, particularly those closest to me. I am however stopped from being enveloped by such thoughts by the contrast that, in all honesty, I have been a closeted crossdresser for quite some time.
Whilst I have remain closeted for so long, I have also remained very careful and acutely aware of virtually all dangers. That’s not to say that I’m not capable of making careless errors which put me at the very edge of being outed, yet somehow, I manage to do what is necessary, even though some moments may be frantic, to settle things down.
Sure – as I’ve recently blogged, I have stepped a little too close to the edge in recent weeks, yet recognised the signs timeously and reined things back. Good for me!
As I said recently on another entry, I had reached a point of taking crossdressing or leaving it – that’s not being dismissive of my urges and desires, merely that I didn’t think I needed or wanted to indulge.
The two pairs of white stockings I ordered the other day finally came out of the boot of the car this evening. After another busy day at the proverbial coal face, I merely set off for the public transport, busied myself on my smartphone on the journey with some mundane stuff and merely vowed to return the jiffy bag to the man bag which, on return home to an empty house, I’d be able to do what I needed to do with things.
I said to myself that I would view the new stockings and I would also pull a pair on with my new bridal white outfit over which I would wear a pair of socks (it’s getting cold here now!), a pair of long-legged pyjamas and pyjama top and a dressing gown and merely apply myself to an evening of wearing for myself to enjoy and appreciate whilst attending to some chores around the house. The packaging was opened, the stockings, one pair to wear, one pair to store, laid out to sort in front of me.
The stockings are those which are ‘one size’ but don’t actually really tell you what size they are. I found them to be a little small to be honest, despite my slim, slender legs. These were not hold ups, so needed attaching to my cami-suspender. How many times did the left rear ping off, particularly as I moved around the house and as I covered myself up? That was despite the adjustments I made to the outfit as I wore it. At least half a dozen times did it ping before I finally got it all to settle – darned things. Once I’d dressed, there was a little bit of my own housekeeping to do.
Strategically, much as I often am with these sorts of things, I opened the packaging flat from both pairs, folded the card over on itself revealing just the plain card inside, posted it through my office shredder, delivered a few scrap pieces of paper over the top along with some other things that needed confidentially destroying, and reasoning that the receptacle was infact due for emptying, gathered up a black bag and, newest stuff first, upturned it into the dark cavernous bottom before tieing the bag up and taking it out to the bin.
And so to the chores that needed doing. That was all. I vowed that I could do some other things for me once these little jobs had been done. Here, there was no flirting on-line, no web cam sessions – this was a hugely controlled dressing session for me and for me only. I revelled in the sensation as the material and straps wrapped around and tightly caressed my body. This was SO nice – women are so lucky to be able to wear these sorts of things daily whilst men are, societally, merely obliged to wear generic and comparatively bland men’s undergarments.
Well, no, they are not obiged in my world and I fail to see why I should comply.
The night was not sexual – but it was sensual, stimulating too, invigorating even. Calmly, I signed into the same website from which I’d made recent purchases to merely review what I had bought to date but ended up finding something else for my ever building collection. Note to self – these outfits are all soon going to have to go somewhere other than my current hidey hole!
This time, it would be a red outfit. I spotted a red version of my old lacy pink outfit and promptly added it to the basket, added some red stockings to complement it and was about to complete the purchase for pick up at a collection point on the journey home from work in a day or two. I’ll worry about where to store things at some other point.
I reasoned that recent purchases had been a little ‘one size fits all’ and acknowledged that things are a little – let’s say ‘snug’ without being overly tight – equally, the outfits are not uncomfortable.
(I have long pondered how I might get ‘my size’ en-femme but it’s not an exact science from research carried out so far. Work in progress! I’m going to need a tape measure and some on-line guidance at some point!)
In ensuring I am not ‘outed’, I am always mindful that any tell-tale strap marks on my skin need time to fade as my skin elasticity settles back into shape so set some time aside or just stay covered up for as long as is necessary.
However, having spotted something in a larger size which tempted me more, I removed one item, added the other and completed the purchase. Still browsing, I then stumbled across the most divine, gorgeous blue version on a model who was wearing black stockings.
I allowed the mouse to roll over the images for a closer look and savoured wearing something so delightful AND in a colour I’d never worn before, my crossdressing history littered with blacks, a few less whites and only the occasional red. “Enough” – I told myself – that was to be a shopping treat for another day.
So, with that done – here I am. Still covered up, still dressed just for me. The chores done, I took some time out to view some fellow blog entries and catch up on the stats for my own page. With everything done, the fingers then began typing this very entry. Watching the time, I am mindful that I must undress, remove my lingerie and hide it away before I am no longer home alone, and cover back up in my manly nightwear.
I am hugely contented with the control applied and that I have not been like a child in a proverbial sweet shop since my all-out indulgence the other week. It would appear then that returning to crossdressing has made me an all round ever so slightly more contented, happier person. I wouldn’t say I was miserable during the last year or so but I don’t think I was being fair to myself, not at least retrospectively.
As I might have said before – it’s good to be back dressing – doing it just for me is enthralling and hugely special. That’s not to say that one day, I won’t return to my deviant side but that part of me seems somewhat quietened for the time being as the thrill of self-appreciating takes precedence.