At the beginning of 2020, we were just carrying on with our lives, as was I – going to the office, usually underdressed in whatever lingerie, chastity device and plug was decided upon by Mistress, time allowed home alone before work to dress and play before making my way to the office desk.

What we knew was that something unpleasant was on the horizon but we didn’t really know exactly how and perhaps if it might impact upon us. It was, to all intents and purposes, blissful ignorance.

By March, personal circumstances of others in the household, that had unfolded over the early part of the year had already put a stop to any home alone time to dress and play before work.

Ever the strategist, I had already devised alternative plans to ensure I could dress and continue to serve Mistress as per her wishes. Getting up early when no one else in the household was up, and unlikely to be, had enabled the opportunity to dabble albeit with acute, clear and present danger.

This was initially shutting myself away in the man cave, blocking the door from being opened, quietly accessing a lockbox of every element of kink I held dear, preparing chastity device, plug and outfit for the day, heart racing as I worked as quickly and quietly as possible to change the contents of the man-bag from the previous work-day outfits etc. and then swiftly getting off to work before anything could delay me, elements such as breakfast.

Sometimes, the urge to dress and be prepared to serve was so powerful, the risk level was ramped up even further by taking the time to dress, lock and plug in the bathroom, covering up with pre-prepared work clothing taken with me, then, with a daring approach to the bed-side to kiss the other half ‘goodbye’ as she would have expected whilst she snoozed and slept, and hoping she didn’t stir and want a hug, I made for the exit to get off to work.

Some days, there was either no opportunity to prep, it wasn’t worth the risk due to the activity in the household, or I merely didn’t feel like it.

There was a day at some point early to mid-March when I got a call from the office asking if I’d left home yet. I responded that I hadn’t and was firmly told not to leave, to stay at home and await further instructions towards starting to work from home.

In short, that was that. I too, was home all day with a house-full of persons in predicaments of their own, and I became instantly resigned to the sudden stop that had come before me. As if not being able to indulge was bad enough, the restrictions of lockdown meant the closing of salons, so any manscaping was off the agenda too, the testosterone allowed to run riot, growth allowed to return and there was nothing I could do about it, determined to follow the advice from the salon to leave well alone, the long-term advice being that shaving encouraged growth.

When some of the lockdown restrictions were lifted, I was able to resume a level of waxing, usually face down only, so back and bum getting done, then things lifted again and I was finally able to have an albeit masked full body wax once more. These waxing sessions finally resulted in a very evident slow down of growth, bare batches of flesh apparent, and even some appointments where things were only on the cusp of being able to be waxed.

The fact that I was unable to indulge was staring me in the face every day with signs of my burgeoning selection of lingerie, outfits, stockings and toys.

At home, the stalemate meandered as the pandemic continued, the closeted crossdresser silenced in a way never experienced before, resigned to the situation and trying to silence any urges because they could not be satisfied to any tangible extent. Any indulgence has been restricted to social media posts of old dressing sessions but in accessing those secret archives, uncovering a vast amount of things secretly saved, ranging from comparatively soft to hardcore, some to my surprise.

Then, one night in the Summer, I took a cuppa into the bedroom for me and the other half, only to find the bedside drawers out and up-ended onto the bed. The boredom of being stuck at home, not working and with time to twiddle thumbs had led to the exploration of jobs that otherwise would have been left.

She was having a clear out of every drawer, from general clutter to long since unused items of underwear and lingerie I probably bought for her, but were worn far more by me over the years. Amongst them, was a black lace bra and a spider basque, frequently, strategically and meticulously hidden back by me after being worn on various occasions.

The strategist was awoken with a jolt, as the cogs turned to forge a method to acquire possession of my long-treasured items that could not directly be in my possession. In short, both items ended up in a bag of rubbish destined for the black bin. I offered to take the things to the bin under cover of darkness as part of my strategy, accepting that the process to reach the bin had to be allowed to play out.

Some way, some how, under the same level of secrecy applied to dressing at the start of the year, the items were worked out of the bin, into my permanent possession. Mission accomplished, albeit with no chance in sight to wear things, even though they were hidden away in the man bag.

The other half’s clear out sent me into a blind panic that she might have consigned a number of cami-suspender outfits hanging in the wardrobe, able, were it possible, to gather dust. A moment in the bedroom alone offered clear and calming reassurance.

The days continued to both fly and crawl by, comms via DM on Twitter with Mistress and others with whom conversations were struck up but that was it. No end in sight, inability to serve one’s Mistress fully to my own satisfaction making me feel useless and unworthy. Mistress has since provided regular assurances that she is not letting me go, fully understanding of the unprecedented situation before us all and prepared to wait it out and wait for me. That hasn’t stopped me feeling guilty, and mindful of my need, spirit and wish to serve. The only way I am able to do that is to occasionally tribute my Mistress and it gives me great joy in doing so, seemingly, just when it is needed.

Then in September, a viable but very short opportunity to dress one morning came about, quite soon after a body wax. It was not an opportunity to lock and plug, the logistics of the acts not conducive to the risk that I might need to undress very quickly and throw on a dressing gown. The spider-basque, stored quickly in the man bag hidden in the man cave as the most convenient place back in the Summer, was pulled out along with a long-since stored thong and stockings and put on with much excitement, yet I felt somehow incomplete with no chastity device nor plug.

But I relished every single moment of being dressed, even able to spend some time parading the house or sitting in front of my screen working, covered only by a dressing gown. The time was short, but it was enjoyed for what it was and I relished sharing the opportunity on social media. I knew when it was time to undress and tidy up and it was done in good time before I was at risk of anything untoward happening.

Other than one rare opportunity to momentarily wear the bra within a day or so of recovering it from the bin back in the Summer, no lingerie, no chastity device, no plug has touched my body.

I won’t deny that there have been odd days, and the odd few days when kink has been totally suppressed, but with some personal issues and the impact of lockdown causing mental health issues too with days where there have been any chance of sexual urges overpowered by mental and physical exhaustion and extreme lethargy.

You only have to look at the very few blog entries to have an idea of how everything else has suppressed kink to a bare minimum. There has been, and still remains, almost no end to this, even though we are on the cusp of vaccines being made available to hopefully knock the pandemic and virus to the further possible parts of everyone’s mindsets as society struggles to get back to what will undoubtedly be a new kind of ‘normal’.

The crux of this blog entry approaches. It has occurred to me as to whether the impacts of the pandemic are, in fact, by default, weaning me off my kinks. The lockbox has already been removed and put into storage, along with the man bag that isn’t being used to attend the day job.

Other than a cock pump secreted away, which has had some use in very rare moments, nothing is to hand.

With no one else working in the household and without work for the foreseeable future, so restricted to domestic and leisure time, the very best that could happen is that I might, at some point be able, all things considered, to return to the office on a regular basis, which might allow the same level of secrecy in prep time, to dress etc. at work but that would also open me up to the most acute danger and risk that I would probably not be quite in the right frame of mind and speed to logistically manage any risks effectively.

Equally so, I can’t imagine getting straight back into anything quickly, as I feel it is going to take some time to readjust back to the new ‘normal’ whenever it happens – it won’t just happen straightaway from ‘Day 1’ and there lies the uncertainty.

Of course, the plus point to the cessation is that I’m not experiencing regular spells of very tangible guilt as to what impact my indulgences are having on my hetero relationship. It is all supposition for the time being and indefinitely.

My sex drive has, generally, been at an all time low for a while, through a multitude of reasons you can probably guess at, at least, but, not being able to have a full body wax any time soon due to pandemic restrictions for salons (requiring face down treatment only) does NOTHING for my already minimal body confidence!

What I will say, in order to end on a positive, is that, during lockdown, I have continued to embrace opportunities presented to me to develop my bi-curious tendencies with a male friend and confidante who tells me I give the best blow jobs, even though I have never done it with anyone else nor could I have imagined doing anything of the sort a few years back.

Having previously, some time ago, confided in them as to a fantasy about group sex, having my anal virginity taken, (and dare I say a little carelessly and without full consideration of the potential dangers), being taken bareback and spit-roasted, when I last spoke with them after a mutual play session, said, unsolicited, that they must help me achieve my fantasy in 2021 – I assume they meant when all of this pandemic crap is over and done with.

“Maybe” I said briefly in reply, as the post playtime clear up continued. It sounds like a bluff call in a way but, aside from the practicalities of how I might explain it away and take time out to get involved in any such session, outside of my time at the salon for body waxes, it is definitely food for thought. I know – it kept me awake last night as my very vivid imagination ran away with me.

Until next time, thanks for reading and following. Hopefully, it won’t be so long until the next blog entry.

F. x