‘A funny thing happened to me on the way to…’ is an often used opening line for a classic comedian telling an old-fashioned joke.
I suppose it was kind of ever so slightly amusing along the same lines the other day, albeit in retrospect when I was on-line – again – it has to be said, dressed in my lingerie. A casual browsing session had previously reminded me of one of the webcam sites that I have, on occasion frequented, but more recently, had forgotten.
Sometimes, my site of choice can be a little on the quiet side and contacts amongst contacts over the years often pointed to use of other sites over time, so these have provided alternative options from time to time. One of them, I had been reminded about the other day via some method or another, and having recalled the log-in ID and password, duly logged in and did a bit of a tidy up and update of an account that told me I had been logged in around 2months ago. It can’t have been for long as I can’t really remember it but still!
Anyway, the strategist in me decided to update the gallery of pics and, having temporarily saved a few recent pics from my main site of choice to my PC and having cropped and fettled and re-sized them to fit, I duly uploaded them as part of the refresh process, remembering to well and truly delete from my machine once I knew I’d done. At the same time as I was also adding them, rather flagrantly and naughtily to my Twitter account.
The existence of these on my main site of preference, which does NOT allow editing, merely a switch on or off for public viewing is by itself a risk as it shows surrounding elements of the man cave identifiable to the right person. Being able to crop and change for other sites is more of a bonus! Risky stuff though for a closeted crossdresser.
Up went the photos to this particular but less frequented site, all of which were ultimately approved for posting and that was it. The webcam session (yes, I’m still totally addicted to dressing and going on cam despite everything I’ve said and continue to say to the contrary!) was very invigorating and busy. As far as I remember, it was the very next day when I was once again embarking on a session on the same site when, all of a sudden, with things going rather well, the ‘Account Suspended’ message came up with the preceding session terminated and access denied.
These things are usually a little more detailed though and sure enough, there was some sub-text which, put simply, suggested that I may have breached their age policy and wanted me to follow a process whereby I could confirm who I was.. Rather than embark on the whole lengthy process there and then (one I’ve been through on my site of choice before – providing photographs of me, full face, holding photo ID and a more close up but edited scan of the same ID), I shrugged, double checked that I really could not go back in and merely went to another site.
However, the seed was sown and I intend to fully stand up to my right to prove who I am but it got me thinking – what exactly did the person deciding to hit the proverbial big red STOP button use as a reason for doing so? I was very quickly reviewing my slim, slender, arguably youthful body and in my mindset at least, flicking through the images I’d uploaded. Clearly, from those images, I had been adjudged to be underage despite being middle-aged.
I toyed some more with the idea that they may think I am not actually who I purport to be but read again the rationale for the suspension of my account. I suppose it is nice to be considered to be more youthful than I am, that my physique belies my years, and I should clearly be and am very grateful, even though I expect that old Father Time will catch up with me eventually. I pondered over whether I had ‘passed’ somehow, but also quickly reached the conclusion that this was nothing to do with gender, merely age – the rationale of the ‘Account Suspended’ message really pointed clearly to that.
Still, I will indeed find some time to tinker with technology, take some photos and complete the process to reactivate my account. But there’s still a niggling part of me that wants to confront them. However, in retrospect, the process that has put the skids on my account is in place for very good reason – to protect those more vulnerable and to set a precedent and for that I must be grateful.
Questions! Questions! Remaining as I have, for around 12 years now, very firmly in the closet, I have more than one reason to be hair free. Officially, but also quite genuinely, I get too hot and too uncomfortable with a swirling mass of hair over my body and a clearly fast acting metabolism which makes it grow at quite a rate akin to a Yeti or gorilla, but the years of full body waxing are starting, finally, to make some inroads on decreasing growth it seems and I now find myself in the position where I can have less done more often at my salon of choice in a nearby town.
However, this has recently led to my other half, clearly having looked me up and down a bit whilst I undressed or dressed, found a quiet moment the other day to enquire about when I was next due at the salon, this with the fact that I had been recently and only had part of my body waxed, the other parts, determined by the expert to be ‘not ready’ but would be in another few weeks.
The questions, starting with one as to when I was next going, became more inquisitive. Why might I need to go more often? She didn’t understand. I reasoned that this was because hair is different on different parts of the body (I am told), some more thicker and determined than others, but also that the years of going every other month or so had begun training the hair to stop growing so much and that the right thing to do was to avoid encouraging growth if I was to be how I wanted to be, i.e. more hair free either for longer for permanently. I also threw in how very infrequently someone else I knew now goes for their waxing sessions because of the years they had been going.
My other half said that she thought I looked OK as I was. I had already apologised about being a little ‘before and after’ a day or so before and ahead of a (rare but planned) trip to a swimming pool, and said I might be a little uncomfortable in being that way in a public facility dependent on which way onlookers viewed me!
During that previous discussion, the other half had said that she thought I looked OK and that it wouldn’t matter, potentially in order to deter me from being a bit of a party pooper so to speak. I mentioned in my last blog that I would concede to being more than a tad body conscious and that I always feel better when I have had a full body wax, then less happy as the growth starts to come through again.
Of course, with only rare trips to swimming pools, the only people who ever see most of my body with little or no clothes on is the other half and the person who carries out my body waxing. The other half does have the habit of going into one of those shy girly voices sometimes around the time I have my body waxed, semi-objecting to someone else touching her man’s body. I usually respond by saying that it is a necessary ‘evil’ if I want the job doing (which she now actually loves when done) and, even though she has herself visited the salon on a rare occasion when mutually convenient to do so, i.e. meeting me for a wander around town afterwards, that everything was highly professional.
So, what of all of the above you may ask? I suppose for the former, as I said, I should be grateful and content to have to go through a process which is there for my own good as well as that of others but for the latter, it is probably a case of being aware of the rumblings and take appropriate caution being such a long-term resident of the crossdressing closet.
Questions by themselves, when uttered, state one element of what is going on in a person’s mind, but they can often be loaded and seek to establish other material facts not so clearly answered or evident from the question actually asked and the answer given. Caution will therefore continue to be exercised from deep within the closet.
I’ll leave you with another ‘…funny thing happened to me’ anecdote from a long since passed appointment at the waxing salon. Noting some grey hairs on my chest ahead of them being whipped out, seeking some reassurance as to my path towards being hair free, I asked the person doing the job whether they were merely weakening hairs.
“No” …came the response – “it’s just a sign of your age”. Now about that website account suspension!