You’ll have to excuse me on this occasion.  They are usually long blog entries, but this one is probably more of epic proportions.

For some reason, It seems like agony at the moment.

It’s the festive season, ‘tis the season to be jolly’ and all of that, and whilst to others, I appear to be simply plain old me, as busy as ever, tired, but otherwise fine overall, inside there’s a bit of a struggle going on right now if I’m honest.

When the opportunity arises, much as a closeted crossdresser might do, opportunities are acknowledged, planned and seized.  When might I next have an opportunity?  When will I be home alone?  Opportunities are sometimes thwarted – parts of the week when, habitually, it might be a regular occurrence, can be knocked out due to changes elsewhere.

But, the consolation is that there will be another opportunity, and, much as I’ve acknowledged before, and particularly more recently, there’s nothing wrong with applying a little self-control from time to time.

Last week, whilst there was probably just a day of underdressing, equally, there was another where it just didn’t feel right to do so.  There was also another where it just wasn’t right and there wasn’t an opportunity to dress before work anyway.  After the day of underdressing, items were removed before returning home, stored in the man-bag and sneaked away on arrival at home whilst things were busy downstairs.

One morning over the last week, somewhat unusually, I wore a black lacy bra, deep set suspender belt and those new stockings I bought the other day in the supermarket – one pair of them at least.  A sheer pair, probably 10 denier, but I was quickly reminded about what the denier grade meant as even the gentlest of handling led to a ladder before I’d even put them on.  Prepared for the bin at the earliest opportunity, the second pair from the pack was pulled out as back up as the investigative side of me just had to see what they were like on this occasion.

Compared to my trusty home and hardware store pair, these had less of a hold up stocking top, probably half the depth, and despite the returning hair growth (albeit admittedly less this time around I’m pleased to say), the bra (rather than a more covering cami-suspender outfit) made for a welcome fit and helped me realise that, in my refusal to buy some tape (I don’t think I could ever put them in exactly the right place anyway!), a bra was a more welcoming, suitable item to hold my breast forms in the right place.

The webcam site of preference had its profile tweaked – elements were updated, switched on (in the case of previously captured galleries) and a day or so later, a quick check noted the appearance of some photos of the most recent session which had been auto-captured, which I found to be oddly quite satisfying.  The glare of the desk lamp diffused the evidence of hair growth in the images and made for a more en-femme look to my slim body and long legs.

But there is one of the problems.  I really can’t stay off cam (much as before) and, although it’s a slim chance, my current train of thought allows publication of those photos within the profile (as I’ve said before) and for sight of the geography immediately around my body image to be spotted by people who might recognise it and subsequently ‘out’ me from my closet.  Those captured images are not available for cropping and editing – they’re either switched on or off.

As well as the colour of the carpet and wallpaper, position of light switches, shape of walls etc, things like body scars (damn ingrowing hairs!) , body shape, jewellery and rings are a giveaway to the right person, and I continue to dabble with the ‘on/off’ tick box in the profile settings.  However, one might ask why someone I know who might ‘out’ me, might be looking at such a site anyway!

The other day saw me toy with which outfit to wear that weekend morning and on this occasion, as soon as I was home alone, I hatched my plan and on came the recently acquired red lacy bustier and matching stockings.   Visitors to my webcam are, in the main – men – straight men – as well as fellow crossdressers with whom I’ve struck up a rapport.   There is also the odd female, their visit of which I find somewhat intriguing and fascinating – those who appreciate a man in lingerie.

Equally so, and perhaps this is one of the most interesting disclosures of this blog, the other day, I was mistaken for a woman – so I must have done something right.  The viewer had obviously been drawn by visual stimuli, not the facts behind the profile – there being obvious markers that I am male on it.  The conversation continued with a remark that my husband was a lucky man.  The equivalent of the computer screen egg timer went around in my head for a few seconds until I concluded that this person was mistaken.

I was far too busy concluding how well I had done first and foremost before replying by echoing the words of the correspondent.  “Hubby?” I said.  After about a minute or two (the viewer was probably double checking my profile) came, not a sudden disappearance from the list of viewers, but more interaction.  After the use of the initials “OMG!”, there was an exclamation of the fact that they realised I was actually a crossdressing male, but the question was asked as to why they found it intriguing and a turn on.   Clearly, I had lit a spark somewhere in the back of their mind.  The conversation continued for a while before it came to a natural end somehow and they signed out.

Anyway, back to the red outfit session.  Throughout the hour or two that I was on-line, I was constantly on very high alert for every car that drew up outside for someone returning home.   I need not have worried as I reached my own comfort zone and closed the session with the intent to undress in good time before the house returned to hustle and bustle elsewhere.

With my Skype log in active, and having confirmed I still had some time in the bank, I embarked on a 1-2-1 session on it with a certain individual as the teaser within set about their business.  Hearing the audible thrill of the male viewer as they talked to me and although my mic was on, I corresponded only via the keyboard.  Their thrill at seeing me in my lingerie moving around the room was enough for them to find their peak as my provocative nature set their excitement alight.

With some sort of smug satisfaction that seems to be held by my en-femme persona, that being of having excited yet another guy to orgasm through a heady mix of chat and provocative imagery, this was more than enough to conclude I’d had and done enough for the day and, having ended the session, was back in what I call ‘civvies’ in good time and slipped back into normality with everything tidied and cleared away, web sessions closed, log ins emptied, web browsing history deleted.

But here’s the thing that is causing me so much anguish in my head at the moment.  I seemingly have no intent to ease off on my webcam sessions to a significant extent and though I have no intention of purging any outfits, I remain mindful of my ever building collection of owned lingerie – and that I’m somehow playing a dangerous game overall.   But the hidey holes of the man cave and its annexes are far better than a box in the damp cold loft I have reasoned.

Equally so, the daily pleasantries of life and a loving wife plus all the bonuses of a busy job, hustle and bustle of life, family time, hobbies and just the home environment trigger a mush of thoughts, tainted significantly by what might well be described as guilt.

I know what you’re going to say – it affects all crossdressers and whilst I’ve talked about purges before, I have absolutely no intent on going there again as I’ve just said.  This is a battle of the mind of which I can’t say I’ve felt before in exactly the same way.  Whether you or I like it or not, this is a form of deceit, living a secret life for so long, doing it in secret, hiding away in corners, year after year on average and somehow, it just doesn’t seem right.

I’d admit there are periods when I just don’t care – a conclusion has already been stated on a previous blog that this is who I am and whilst I would continue to subscribe to that, i.e. that I still love crossdressing in lingerie, there are times when it might seem that I come to my senses a little.

Yesterday, I underdressed for work in the wake of an on-line session that admittedly made me late to get going as the exhibitionism had a vice like grip over any other form of motivation.   I remained in the outfit in which I’d dressed earlier – black bra, breast forms worn on the car journey to work,  deep set suspender belt, hardware store stockings (which have seen better days) and a semi-transparent g-string.

Every now and again, it being a plastic hook, plastic clasp configuration on the belt, and wearing hold up stockings for more sensation of wear and through choice, one of those clasps would ping and the OCD in me would just have to go and sort it out at the earliest opportunity.  I didn’t do too bad over the course of the day but as home time approached, more pings made for evidence that it was time to get back into ‘civvies’ anyway.

Heading for an office toilet at some late hour of the day, I undressed from the covering male attire, and stood near a full length mirror to ‘admire’ the appearance one last time for the day.  I say admire but the paunch and body hair awaiting another waxing session didn’t exactly satisfy me.  Conversely though, the lingerie did and I felt compelled to seek relief before I dressed for the car journey home, hiding the lingerie in the man bag as part of the process.

Immediately afterwards, I had one of those ‘coming to my senses’ moments.  Was THIS what my life had come to?  Seedily and secretly changing in an office toilet? Hiding lingerie to sneak back away or prepare for washing when I got home?

Wracked by several weeks of a lack of sleep caused by an active mind, busy job, a focus on crossdressing, general issues of the family on my mind, other commitments and of course, the pressures of the approach of the festive season, I was in a form of shut-down on the way home, flat, quiet, exhausted and reflecting on where I was in life right now.

I returned home but left the man bag in the car, the lingerie hidden within as if it had been flung into some dark distant corner, as if I was somehow ignoring, semi-discarding that side of my life at that point.  That man bag was NOT coming in the house – not until the morning at least.

The wife read the signs on my face when I walked through the door – I was genuinely exhausted but I had already ridden a wave of emotions over the weekend, watching emotive TV programming that set a few tears rolling in the dark, Christmas light-lit karma of our living room, the glare of the TV further hiding my emotions as I sat.

Last night, I decided that I could do without crossdressing for the time being. Normality was needed – at least for a while.  As I recall, in the period approaching my return to crossdressing in late October, I said that I needed to assert some control yet in all honesty, I have been somewhat back on the same hell-bent, all indulgent path which has probably more than edged towards the debauchery I referred to in previous blogs.

Yet, like the crossdressing itself, I am heavily drawn to going on line – whether that be the web cam site of choice or on Skype – flirting and being an exhibitionist to anyone and everyone on line. What IS that all about?!

Whilst not really on a path to putting a stop towards my crossdressing, neither am I that contented to indulge right now.  Maybe that is the control I need, however, the ability to assert that control is about as regular as a motorway service stop on the M25 – few and far between.

A few days ‘off’ might do me some good and I may well feel better about it in a few days.  Maybe I just need a rest.

I’ve not yet sent that e-mail to the on-line counsellor for an initial consultation and whilst I don’t know what might come of that, equally, I can’t say that such an opportunity wouldn’t do me any good.

Untiil next time – thanks for reading and seasons greetings!