I frequently stop off at certain points of my blog timeline and read the odd entries.  Until recently, they offered a reflection of one of the journeys of life, providing a chance to remember, a reason to remain on the same path, to take note of the reason that I stopped crossdressing again – the deceit of another on their nearest and dearest and that I couldn’t seriously criticise them for their (non crossdressing related) deceit when I was committing an act of deceit myself, and acknowledge what might have been called ‘achievements’ or ‘successes’ in not falling off the proverbial wagon etc.

I’ll make no bones about it – the wagon is long gone.  I must be some sort of hypocrite. Time off and home alone this week has offered more or less total indulgence for extensive periods of time.  Perhaps most critically, a concerted effort was made to recover the lingerie, stockings and breast forms from the remote storage location.

I think I lost count of the amount of outfit changes but at one time, I think it numbered seven on day one.  I dressed in virtually every single available outfit in the space of around 5 hours, often dressing whilst on my webcam, those of my own were wrapped around my body for the first time in over 16 months, whilst the others that weren’t mine were also gloriously prepared and put to good use – hours and hours of undisturbed, total indulgence. I had not so much fallen, more careered off the wagon it seemed, but I cared not.

The piece de resistance came on the second day when my favourite outfit of them all was put on and appreciatingly kept on for more hours upon end.  Sure – there were peaks and troughs of viewers to my cam, and in the troughs, I kept myself busy by slowly getting through some other jobs on the PC, one eye kept on the chat boxes etc. with the intention to avoid being rude.  There were also times when I simply wanted to get up and move around the house a bit, plenty of admiring, appreciative and hugely erotic looks in any mirrors available or simply down at what my eyes could soak up.

Oddly, in the margins of both sessions of both days, when things were done, the tidy up included returning the lingerie and breast forms to the remote storage location that was clearly no longer as remote as it used to be, but still requiring much effort and determination to collect and return things each time.

Day three seemed less erotic, but more sensual – mere silk or chiffon slips with matching undies, one a tie-up at the sides skimpy thong, the other, a matching red and black lacy affair to match the silk slip.  No breast forms, no stockings, nothing more than sitting before the web cam for which I’d found a new way to position.   I did however acknowledge how damned gorgeous those slips would be with the breast forms inserted – that would be for another day, control applied to the third day when I was not entirely home alone.

Over the last few days, there have been those who wish to engage in more direct, extremtly explicit conversations and/or requests, some I have acceded to, others and in fact, many that I have not.   But for all of those types of discussions, the sheer number and nature of them was made to be of little importance due to the kind, reasonable, respectable, friendly, understanding, empathetic and maybe even sympathetic conversations with three individuals – two men and one woman, the latter who very much appreciated a crossdressed male and all that it stood for.  I won’t go into further details than that though out of respect.

I am by no means a man’s man.  I can be naturally effemininate in mannerisms, something I might try to curb at times – ‘try’ being the operative word, mannerisms I might often chastise myself for from within, as if I come across a little too camp.   That is just me though I suppose and I don’t get too hung up on it in the long run.  Take me as I am.

This week, to this one individual, I have opened up about my life and acts as a crossdresser, duration, feelings, experiences – perhaps not reasons though as even I don’t really know what they are apart from perhaps – genes.   I cannot begin to tell you how much value I attached to that rational, friendly, understanding, appreciative discussion and I made sure that I told this person how grateful I was on more than one occasion and through more than one route.  It is good to have what at least I consider to be a confidante, even if I speak as Fiona, not who I really am – it really, REALLY helped.

So what now?  Put simply, I’m crossdressing again despite everything (and I mean everything) that I’ve said and done in the last sixteen months, despite all of that time of arguably self-control, despite acknowledging deceit of my own doing, despite the fact that I acknowledged how crossdressing had previously taken over my life, how nothing else mattered, how things and people got neglected etc. etc. etc.

What is different this time Fiona you may ask?   I think I’m mindful of how I allowed it to become such a dominant force in my life up to March 2017 and the aim is for that not to be allowed to happen again and I suppose that is a good thing.

I cannot be naive, complacent, or blaze about it.  It is early days and I have remembered the feelings of almost being caught and some very close shaves when I have not.   Even this week, I have been like a cat on a hot (at the moment – a very hot!) tin roof whenever noises were heard outside that I even slightly considered could challenge my situation, me jumping up to check.

There was one occasion where a delivery was expected and when it arrived, I meticulously set up and prepared myself for a rapid cover up to answer the door – pyjama bottoms to cover the legs, socks to cover the feet, a dressing gown to cover the top of the favourite cami-suspender set I was wearing.    The knock at the door, the quick kick off of the heels, the socks being the most difficult to put on at speed, but I must have executed the whole thing in record time to dash to the door, unlock it, answer, take the item, exchange the odd pleasantry and reverse the process.   The strategist in me when it comes to crossdressing remains very much alive and well.

There was one occasion this week, when, out of sub-consciousness and an element of panic, I even thought I heard a relative coming, when in fact, in retrospect, they were nowhere near the area due to other commitments.    I said out loud to myself who it was, cursed and removed the whole outfit, stockings, cami-suspender, heels, g-string, in a matter of seconds.

It took seconds to realise that there were no such challenges of any kind. I was momentarily infuriated at having stripped so quickly but took solace in the ability to dress back up again which I did in fairly quick time – again, the practice of old having stood me in good stead having returned to the crossdressing fold.

I have experienced the same feelings of digust in the immediate aftermath of a crossdressing session, but those feelings soon waned rather than them being allowed to escalate in my mindset, which seemed to help me pyschologically.

I know that I may not be able to crossdress again easily in the coming days in the way that I have this week, and that will be a tell-tale sign of whether I can somehow keep everything in check and my general life priorities just that whilst looking forward to viable opportunities to allow my feminine side to thrive and bloom once more for a while.

New web sites have been joined, profiles have been updated, lingerie has been worn, thoughts have been and continue to be processed, the heady feelings of the effects of prolonged sunshine have been and continue to be absorbed.

I am the recovering crossdresser – but as to which way I am recovering, has never been defined.  It is certainly a case of ‘as you were’…

Comments welcome at any time.  Thank you for reading.

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