It has been some time since my last blog entry, but I have been keeping myself busy and occupied with my return to crossdressing.

I will freely admit that some of the time, it has been on-line, other times it has not but I am currently content either way. My new lacy red basque and red stockings have become my new favourite outfit, worn most of the time. An opportunity home alone over a recent weekend allowed me time to be dressed in that outfit practically all of the time except when I had to take it all off except the g-string, whilst attending to some family commitments.  Naughty!

However, once back home, it was covers off, lingerie back on again.   One night, I remained dressed all night and slept in nothing but the outfit.

I say ‘slept’, but more dozed, inebriated with the heady feelings of sexual euphoria.  Having got into bed alone, flat out, I revelled in the feeling of being so provocatively dressed under the sheets and caressed my body over the top of the lovely lace more than a few times.   I have revelled, both on-line and off-line in the way the basque feels running down my back, the boning touching virtually every bit of my back.

It being a basque, there is nothing from the waist down, allowing the matching g-string to take pride of place, the suspender straps and gold clasps running down my thigh to the red non-hold up stockings.

In short, right now, I need my crossdressing time – more than I think I have ever done before and I have yearned for it at every opportunity.   My plans were changed last week when I could not pull on my black suspenders, hold-ups and lacy g-string to go to work in under the office attire.

The black g-string was to hand.  Taken from the wife’s never worn collection, and worn to work, there was a need to launder it the other day and the only viable opportunity was whilst I showered, before finding a hidey hole for it to dry.  Frustrated at being unable to dress in exactly the way I planned, I remembered the g-string hanging up and available to me – so pulled it on to end the week.

And what a week. I have previously heavily baulked at buying breast forms – largely because I wasn’t really sure where I’d hide them – and I still don’t really have the answer for that, or where I might hide my building lingerie collection. Purging is not something I want to contemplate or do again anyway!

Sure – I’ve browsed at breast forms a few times, yet always baulked. The problem has long been to work out a size however, on-line cam time has proved valuable in being able to gain access to help and advice from those following my feed.   In another departure in my developing sexual exploration, there was, to be frank, no stopping me this time.

Reasoning that I can usually find a solution to many crossdressing related problems (as in where to store stuff), and knowing that I can order for delivery to another place is a carte blanc for me to indulge.   Lingerie to a post office, breast forms to a local locker facility nearby.   So the order was put in.

I was like a cat on a hot tin roof, a child in a sweet shop if you like. I was like a coiled spring, I couldn’t wait for the opportunity to try them on.

I did nothing but track that package last week and it eventually arrived ready for me to collect on the journey home. My advice had been to go for a 38B size and the silicone breast forms arrived for me to collect and I duly did so – having to open and view the minute I’d extracted the package from the locker.

Before I’d even left the car park in which the locker facility was based, I had used any implement possible to split the tape holding the box down.  Already, the weight of the box was sending signals as to what was within. In the murk of the evening, back in the car, I opened the box like a pirate might open a long searched for treasure chest. (No pun intended).

There they were. I instantly yearned for the hours to whittle away to the actual moment in which I’d try them on for the very first time, the very first time I’d ever worn breast forms.

That opportunity arose the following day, but again, I was unable to sleep, sleeping naked and regularly getting aroused at the thought of what was to come, even though I didn’t really know what to expect – I just knew to expect something.   The following morning, with the house empty once more, I pulled out the same red lacy basque of choice, pulled on the entire outfit and inserted the forms.

They didn’t sit right, the outfit was loose and things just didn’t look in the right place at all.   Reasoning that I’d over-adjusted the over-the-shoulder straps to minimise strap marks on getting undressed, I soon fathomed that those straps needed adjusting back up again and duly did so before reinserting the forms.

Once content, the wave of emotions of that very first time took over and I was driven to find instant relief, without a forethought of the moments after, the feeling of having breasts was amazing.   I erupted into a cupped hand before realising that there was little if nothing to clear up with available.   The strategist within, as ever, found a solution, and I reached for a clean hankerchief.

Not exactly overcome with guilt, I did however feel the need to clean up, undress, dress in the expected male attire and attend to a multitude of things that you usually find yourself doing at weekends. That was no bad thing.   But in those short few moments, I almost felt a little let down.   “Was that it?” I wondered. No matter.   There would be other more suitable opportunities that I would plan to exploit in the days ahead, crossdressing time minimal anyway usually over the weekend unless I am home alone for all of it, which is very rare indeed.

So about that hidey hole. I have an idea as to where to hide my forms and my building set of lingerie items in a place in the house that only I would ever venture – somewhere a little more remote than my man cave may ordinarily be.

Otherwise, regular readers will know how deeply, deeply closeted I have always been, and I have long tried to fathom why I am the way I am, when I started crossdressing – why etc.

But hiding away, coupled with some never disclosed facts about my background, something is now very apparent, and I feel that need to talk to someone about it as it might very well answer why I am a crossdresser – on face value, it goes a long way to doing so, but the closet door must remain closed.

I just need to find a way to talk about it.  Soon.