The decks were cleared some more the other day.  It wasn’t much but it was a further step along some pathway or another.

The Twitter profile had its profile slimmed.  I noted that the number of followers had once more taken a tumble but so what?  Other than a few people who had liked one of my historic posts or another, there were a half dozen or so supposed new followers each of whom lacked any kind of substance or, in my opinion, credibility.   They were, you know, the sort of people that have a vague Twitter profile (or in fact, several) in a probably largely futile to promote a website from which they perhaps desperately hope to make some money out of through some sex-related route or another.   None of them were worth a second glance, so I moved on.

As I’ve said before, such people are welcome to follow, but they shouldn’t expect a follow-back.  In any case, I’ve nothing to say on Twitter these days.   Whatever.

Whilst I was on though, the Twitter feed provided a chance to scan through but I was soon bored and, with ease, you’ve guessed it, logged out and did something else.   Beforehand, I had mused over the option of accessing the direct message button and deleting images from the threads and in fact, the threads themselves – but I didn’t.  I also briefly contemplated deleting the posts in which I’d posted photographs of myself crossdressed.  But I didn’t.

Overcoming another exhausting period of illness, and with a burden of personal issues that would be the envy of no-one whatsoever, the whole mindset has changed for 2019.  This is NOT a happy new year – in fact, far from it and frankly, other than just going through the motions day by day, I can’t see much to be happy about at the moment, the way many things are geared.

But crossdressing as an escape is not seen as viable or desired either.  Flicking through the daily free paper that I often see on the commute or at work, there have been the odd images of female celebrities in lingerie for what can only be the viewer’s minor titillation.   The other day, there was, in the showbiz section, two small stories/headlines and in between, but distinctly lacking a supporting caption, was a very small picture of someone wearing a black leather style basque, stockings and suspenders.   There was another much better image of a celebrity or woman in lingerie that I saw at some point or another in the last week or so that grabbed my attention too.

But in each instance, having stared and reflected for a few moments, there quickly came a point where I told myself that wasn’t where I was, and pushed myself to focus the attention elsewhere.

I have briefly browsed heterosexual porn but within a small period of time, became bored with that too and did something else that I deemed far more interesting instead – and, it’s not what you might think either!

That reminds me, flicking through another of those free newspapers the other day, I caught another story about former Baywatch babe Pamela Anderson who has reportedly said that those who watch copious amounts of porn are poor lovers.   I suppose that might have been a driving force behind getting bored with my own browsing session the other day, deciding not to be allowed be perceived, even by myself, to fall into that bracket.  Thanks Pammie – who was described in the story as a 51 year old ‘siren’!  You go girl!

The thoughts over my crossdressing side, currently consigned to the history books, have been restricted to how I might begin the process of removing things to remote storage again but also that I really ought to do it sooner rather than later, in case, driving largely by my own paranoia, those little bits and bobs might be discovered just when peace and tranquillity had been allowed to come to the fore.

No longer have I been repeatedly checking, double checking, triple checking whether I’d cleared away sufficiently, before I set about the working day.   The chastity devices have been removed from the man bag over recent weeks and stored away secretly at home with other bits and bobs, sex toys and the like.  However, the man bag contains a cloth bag in which a high waist black suspender belt and stockings reside, confined to darkness and lack of use, mind you, they have had plenty of use before anyway!

They too, need to be part of a convenient moment, probably home alone, when they can be put with the other things and stored away, critically, not purged.  Make of that intent what you will.  I don’t know whether I’ll ever go back – I can’t say ‘never’ because I’ve intimated before how things had stopped, only for them to start again, even after a significant period of time.

So who am I now and where am I?  Honestly, I don’t know.  I’m still determined to file things away in whatever way, shape or form and maintain the cessation of all things crossdressing, a dramatic and sudden end to things, very much in stark contrast to the intensity that went before.

Yes – I know.  Much of the above has been said before, blah, blah, blah, blah, whatever eh?  Indeed.  I have said before how something has changed, and it had, as has happened this time.  I’m currently inclined to conclude that something is different again this time, different in another way, but again, all said copious amounts of time before on many blog entries.

I can only tell you how things are right now, as fingers scamper across the keyboard on yet another commute – time during which I’ve concluded that tomorrow is the day for that further round of deck clearing I mused about the other day – where something will be put somewhere, and nowhere, leaving me very much in the same place.

Thanks as always for taking the time to follow and read my blogs.

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