Warm weather in the UK and for anyone really, causes one to throw off one’s clothing as the vitamin we seek from the Sun is soaked up to the ‘enth degree.

Add in the expectation of more daily ‘drudgery’ remarked upon in my last entry, and with a tidy home office and having concluded that I had some spare time on my hands, this morning, I took to the webcam wearing nothing but a g-string. Why?  Simply because I bloody well wanted to and nothing else seemed to be capable of ticking whatever box it was that I wanted to tick somewhere in the darkest, most deviant parts of my mindset.

In all honesty, I had no idea what I hoped to get out of it, I was just going along with ‘it’ whatever ‘it’ was.  I pulled out a cock pump with at least partial plans to use it, but it lay strewn on the desk top and remained unused until I put it away about an hour or so later.

A small audience gathered on the webcam and with my profile still displaying the same image associated with this blog, pictures could be painted that I am and remain a lingerie crossdresser.

My partially waxed body was evidently of some appeal to some individuals, coupled only with the extremely skimpy item being worn.  I was asked a number of questions, including whether I was a sub, and I guess I am, based on my willingness to follow certain (not all) instructions when before my cam.

I was asked to show off some of ‘my’ lingerie and, concluding that I knew my limits, took the unusual step of visiting the other half’s wardrobe and whisking out a selection of baby dolls, slips and cami-suspenders as well as the spider basque being worn in the only surviving image of my crossdressing days – now used solely as a profile pic and Avatar.

Returning before the web cam, I lifted the items off the hangers and held them before me for those that wanted to see them, and answering questions along the way – as you do, one particularly as to whether the spider basque was one and the same.

For the merest, most fleeting and arguably foolish of moments, I very nearly put an item on.  But I didn’t – even when asked – as the ‘progress’ of almost 14 months of resisting pushed me on but away from committing any act of wagon falling.

Retrospectively at least, it would seem that the demonstration was by no means for my benefit.  I barely paid any attention to the items as I showed them off – I merely displayed them, one by one until there was no more to be shown.  It seemed, at least now, that I was somehow blocking everything out and going through the motions asked of me.

This seemed to be enough for most people and the small assembled audience waned, complimentary and lustful some of it might have been.  The hangers were merely returned back to the wardrobe to hang, the items on them, unused, unworn by anyone – OK – me, as they had done for those 14 months or more

Returning before the webcam, as my mind began trying to remonstrate with myself that I ought to be getting off to the day job, a part of me stubbornly sat there before the camera – almost as a gesture of exhibitional defiance.

However, as the more rational side began to take a grip to get me moving, a contact of old ‘guested’ in and expressed their delight at seeing me ‘back’ on line.  The conversation, certainly on my part, was veiled.  I neither wanted to say that still did dress nor that I no longer dressed, instead finding the equivalent of muttering and mumbling as keyboard speak, merely said that how I was and how I am was best read in my various, albeit less frequent of late, blog entries.

Was this a cheap attempt to garner attention for my blog entry?  Not really – the contact was already aware of the existence of my blog and pledged to read up anyway.   Having already said that I really must apply myself to the day, I was set into a panic having thought I’d heard a presence at the front door, outside, inside, it mattered little.

This was an example of reasons why the crossdressing had to stop in March 2017 – sneaking around, panicked moments, frantic tidy ups, making myself late yet somehow, satisfying a deep inner craving for something exhibitionally and overtly sexual without really knowing what it was as it tends to be these days.

Things had gone on too long on this occasion.  The deep rooted concern that someone was home again was quickly confirmed as being nothing of the sort, but it had, in that split second of all out panic, made me tear the USB from the socket, sending the last camera shot into a frozen, blurry, blue-hued nonsense, whilst the chat window remained active.

With my inner acknowledgement of the need to ‘tidy up’ and indulge myself in more of the kind of intense, double checking, triple checking covering of tracks, before I coud even prepare to leave the house, I politely informed my friendly correspondent that it REALLY was time for me to go, and after the exchanging of genuine and heartfelt pleasantries with this one remaining cam viewing individual, the anti-climax of having really achieved nothing was exactly how it ended.

And so to another day of drudgery.   Yet having got through that today, I still almost desperately crave more of the overtly sexual, provocative cam time despite the largely fruitless thrill associated with it, despite it achieving very little apart from perhaps in small bursts.  Sheer bloody-mindedness!

Nothing has been anywhere near the intensity of sessions from back when I was cross dressed before a webcam – that I know – including the reasons for the same, yet still I somehow crave something from the sessions I indulge myself in, something drives me on.

Something drove me to display those items on cam on request today – something I’ve never actually done in that way before, something almost drove me to conclude ‘what the hell’ and half put something on, as if that would have been OK when my conscience told me that it would not.

That next opportunity and whatever it would likely ultimately not achieve was in clear view ahead when another day dawns.  This is a dangerous game.