It has certainly all been happening.  I don’t think that, after such a long time from the point I quit lingerie crossdressing (again), that I could really believe that I was having the wobble that I had – I had not been expecting it at all.

I don’t really know what has been happening in my mind of late, but for a short time, I seemed to be open to thinking about it far more than I have been doing – it really was a rather significant wobble.   This has, once more, been a tumultuous battle between the angel and devil, Jekyll and Hyde, but it was an even battle.

On what I have been describing as my cam site of choice, a quick log in reveals yet more decimation of previous galleries, which leak away like an un-manned tap leaks water.  Just one or two sessions remain in view merely because of the fact that, whenever the option is switched off from public view, and those that remain are not the best.

I have logged back into my e-mail account and cleared the decks of many notifications except one – a gallery site which offers more elements under premium access for those that want to cough up around £40 for twelve months.  You might ask why I looked at such a fact.  Goodness only knows, but I baulked at the price and the principle anyway.

The site, to which I’d been introduced back in March when I was of some assistance to a fellow crossdresser, gives the user the opportunity to upload images without premium membership.  Having logged in, I immediately updated the Avatar to the one I’ve been using as commonplace, and then, for reasons even I don’t know, set about the strategic task of accessing another Crossdressers website, downloading the photos that I’d added there, to a desktop folder before re-uploading them to the site  I’d just accessed, albeit with a limit of around a dozen uploads per 24 hours.

I revelled at the range of images I’d taken the apparent sense to previously save from my site of choice and upload to a second one, this one being a third.  I updated profiles on both sites with a distinct past tense, detailing that I’d stopped dressing in March 2017 as if that mitigated everything I was doing.   This, I had evidently reasoned, was a prime opportunity to put some of those same pics on this third site, just because.

It was getting late, and I was tired but I ploughed on as the obsessive compulsive within pressed on to get a job done.   Having acknowledged the limit per 24 hours for pic upload, I vowed to continue on the following night.  Job done, I went to bed.

Up early the following morning, I did everything I had to do, but in my birthday suit, allowing my overt sexuality at the time to carry my mood.  Once the basics were done, I afforded myself a log on to the same (third) site where I discovered that the 24 hour period had elapsed somewhere on the planet and I was allowed to continue my obsessive uploading.   I glanced at the clock and told myself that I must follow the reason why I had got up so early, assured myself that there would be time later at some point, and went about the working day.

The waking hours of the night had triggered an urge to write another blog entry, the amazing title of which had petered out of mind by the time morning broke and the alarm went off.  Able to work on the move, this blog entry began to take shape.

During the recent ‘significant wobble’, my mood and mindset has, for a time, been the closest ever to yearning to crossdress once more, feel the stockings on my legs, the bouncing of the breast forms, the cosseting feel of being tightly wrapped in whatever lingerie took my mood.   I have lost count of the amount of times I viewed through the photos of me that remained, archived from site one to site two and then to site three.

I used my smart phone during the margins of the day to see who had viewed, who had commented, and took satisfaction in seeing some flattering comments.  As I said at the start of this entry, I did not expect to be feeling like that.  I was on a wave of sexual adrenaline after a day in which there were two sessions of looking through my own galleries and those of others, seeing my photos amongst the postings of the day, once more seeing my place in the world of crossdressing.

Could I begin again?  “What was I thinking?”, I remonstrated with myself.  I began reviewing in my mind various sentences from entries of this very blog to the ‘enth degree.  Of course I could begin again.  It would be so easy.  It would be so enjoyable.

So what’s stopping me?  For a start, an evidently uncontrollable urge to seek anal pleasure the other day carried me to the place that the other half used to store her broken vibrator.  Since things came to an end again for me back in March, the wardrobes, it appeared, have been tidied, organised, daily garments of all types cleared.  I had no time to sweep through everything.  Were those old negligees and chemises still around somewhere?  I didn’t check.  It mattered little, as I knew what I wanted and made a bee-line for her newer, in working order, but bigger vibrator, and enjoyed minutes upon end of on-cam anal pleasure as my mind quite literally toyed with bi-curiousness, to which I would freely admit, reminders that I know of someone who wants to have his way with me and whom I have had some minor foreplay related encounters before.

I was naked throughout, no lingerie, no underwear, riding the condom covered vibrator and revelling in the pleasure before cumming like I’d not come for a while, the anal stimulation triggering a wave of unadulterated pleasure leading to pulsating prolonged orgasm.

In the aftermath, I concluded that whilst I had quite literally ridden a storm out, it was not THE storm.  What else was stopping me?   Above all, the outfits and accessories that I stored away remotely a while back are so far away, even I will have a herculean job to recover them to then use.  The fact they are so far away is a deterrent the scale of which I have yet to realise.

Momentum continued in the days ahead. Wearing one of my (male) g-strings, I went before a webcam and busied myself with other things at the same time, looking at who stopped by, chatting with those who stopped by for longer and changing my underwear on demand.  The undercurrent for those viewing was being fed by the profile on my site of choice, the undercurrent displaying a crossdresser’s profile, and photos remaining of the galleries that hadn’t yet expired, me having omitted to switch them back off again last time around.

Momentum carried me into an invite to Skype and having reinstalled the program, hopped on over, cutting off a loyal group of web cam viewers in an instant, my mind favouring a chat one-on-one.   It was appreciative, but it was pre-loaded with the facts regarding my crossdressing.  I openly, but quietly discussed my now apparently historic crossdressing habits, the viewer having perused some blog entries, and having answered a few more intimate questions, reached a natural end to the conversation.

How things ended didn’t go well for me, and somewhat horrified, I picked up the invisible axe and wielded it without care or real forethought.  Those pics that I had loaded onto site number 3 were the first to be culled – in entirety – then came the source of those pics – site number 2 – before I returned to site number 1 and switched off the galleries for public viewing.  “No, no, no, no NO!” were the words rampaging through my head.  This was not a ‘delete all’ either – this was a necessary click on every individual photo to hit the delete button, but nothing was going to stop me.

This cull served well towards rediscovering a balance of some sort.  This, it seemed, had been a virtual slap around the face to bring me to my senses, for the time being, and at least to put me back where I was around a week ago, a mindset of having set out my new path in March, of stopping, but the thoughts go on in my mind and the lure of lingerie continues to draw my eyes as it has done over recent days.

More next time around.  As ever, thanks for reading.

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