This blog entry has been in the planning for some time. In that time, the entire context has changed.

It has also been written for some time, and has taken perhaps the same amount of time and more besides to press the ‘publish’ button.

I was going to start detailing how my lack of ability to crossdress caused by the impact of the pandemic had been sustained but in the meantime, how my bi-curious tendencies, development of the same, and playtime with a male confidante had progressed so such an extent that more intense intimacy was in even greater existence between us.

I was going to explain that this level of intimacy had seen me regularly sucking his cock whilst he creamed and fingered by tight bum and much foreplay and orgasm had taken place. I was going to explain that, in one, rather brazen, instance, as the sexual nature of the conversation over-took and dominated the pleasantries that had gone before, I said that that I had often used a dildo during my own private time, before casually admitting that it was, in fact, ‘over there’ in the bag I had brought with me to the session.

I was going to explain that, with a generous dose of body cream as lube, I had a session where, probably after some more cock sucking and various aspects of foreplay , he had watched as I gently inserted the dildo for the first time in a long time into what had become a very tight hole once more. I would have explained that I was apprehensive as to whether I could take it all, not having done so since pre-pandemic months of early 2020.

I would have explained, in more detail, that I’d actually taken it in fully fairly quickly and that this soon followed by him fucking me with it at speed causing me to erupt with cum all over him as he lay, roles reversed in front of me, him using the cum both to taste and as lube to bring himself off whilst he continued to fuck me rapidly with the dildo, me in a standing position beside him.

I would have explained, in more detail, how our sexually explicit conversations had previously skimmed over making it possible to and him arranging (at some point post pandemic) a bringing about of a self-declared sexual fantasy – me being fucked and spit-roasted in a men’s group sex session, my evident status as a what I had been told was a ‘power bottom’ being advanced considerably.

I would have explained, because of the advanced nature of my sexual development, as to how this man, who had previously said that he would never suck or (arguably finally) virginally fuck me, said that he would now do so, and that he had always wanted to and I would have spoken in more detail about how that revelation had made me feel in that shock moment.

But, as I said, the context has changed – and dramatically so within the last few weeks. I have been left reeling in a way I had not felt for a long time since when I was caught in a semi-cross-dressed state many, many years ago, yet having lived to tell the tale of that somehow.

Before I explain further about the latest living nightmare, I should say that in the aftermath of it, I used another appointment to seek a great deal of solace in more of the same sort of man-on-man, submissive sex play detailed above. I almost told him of the drama that had unfolded – but held back on the grounds of ‘least said, soonest mended’ – or so I thought.

About that new context then. I have had an on-line Mistress for getting on for two years now. but when the pandemic struck in early 2020, the 500% investment in and service to my Mistress, under-dressing for her in outfits of her choice, taking photos of it to share, plugging and locking up as required had been an up to 12-hrs a day, 5 days a workday week thing since being brought into ownership. However, From the start of lockdown, the impact on those dynamics meant that absolutely none of this was now possible. ordered to stay at home and ultimately working from home too, as remains today, but never home alone because of the predicament of others.

Apart from one day last September, when it was for no more than around 60-90 minutes, no lingerie or chastity device has been worn, no plug inserted since early-mid March 2020. Instead, I’ve been posting flashback pics on my Twitter feed and indulging in as much kink as possible in extreme margins from spinning through other posts and following those of interest, to lengthy spells of cock pump play when home alone on a rare occasion, the only tangible real indulgence in actual physical kink.

Since being taken into ownership as her sub, I’d been covertly buying items for Mistress from a list of items she wanted and getting them delivered directly – this was something I have been lucky enough to be able to do as and when I wanted and to whatever extent, great or slight, very much on my terms, but that on-line activity had to be comprehensively hidden, no browsers left logged on to websites, no e-mail accounts notifying orders being processed. and order history hidden.

Going off at a tangent for a few moments, I have previously referred to the military-precision level of my covert activities, thorough tidy ups, dressing/undressing at work, the sheer extent of hiding things, secret folders for photos, use of incognito browsers, attention to detail with e-mail accounts where notifications could be received, remaining logged out at this, that and the other at all times, yet remaining acutely alert to the dangers of a careless slip in any of those areas.

As I alluded to above, some years ago, there had been just one terrifyingly memorable instance of being caught in a state of partial cross-dress. On that ‘memorable for all the wrong reasons’ day, I’d sprung into action as soon as I was home alone, beginning to dress in my lingerie of choice, only for someone to return home unexpectedly. After the terror of the drama that had subsequently unfolded, as suggested above and before, I somehow lived to tell the tale – rationale allowed to stand validly and dominantly – somehow.

A while back however, came the most dreadful of slips though. I was immediately plunged into total and utter personal turmoil whilst keeping the world’s best ever poker face. For the best part of what is a recollected as a staggering fifteen years, ‘careful’ has been the watch word – to the minutiae of detail – far too in-depth to go into – but enough to stay firmly closeted.

Recently though, having allowed myself to be too busy with virtually everything going off in my life, and a little complacently, I had somehow in the greater scheme of things, carelessly omitted to hide an order of an item for Mistress and I had omitted to pay enough attention to a web browser which, I recall, I had unusually logged into, cookies etc. keeping me logged in.

I now acknowledge that, in the days before, it had been one of those occasions where you can see what you’re doing but you are blind to the dangers despite something somewhere ringing at a million decibels in your head and simply plough on regardless. Stupid, STUPID man.

The other half had something to do on the home office PC. You can work out the rest – but delete from your mind set, the unimaginable reason of my cross dressing – it wasn’t that – she was thinking a whole different dimension of betrayal. Anyway, I don’t need to explain what numbers had been added up and what (wrong) conclusion had been reached, but it matters little. The next minute – a suitcase was being unceremoniously dumped before me and I was almost unavoidably heading for the exit. This was it – the deck of cards, the line of dominoes – finally – were about to fall once and for all.

In these moments of sheer inner terror, I played the ‘totally calm’, ‘totally aghast’ and ‘totally dumbfounded’ cards on the outside, whilst all hell broke loose around me and in my mindset. Before me, a new kind of hell was unfolding in a similar way I’d seen happen before in that moment referred to above, i.e. when I was caught in a state of partial cross-dress.

In this latest moment of hell fire though, I must have played just about every conceivable card that could be played – and I’m still quietly playing them in the same ‘military-esque’ way to ‘negotiate’ my way out of the ‘minefield/battle stations’ situation that still lies before me.

For obvious reasons, I’m not going to say what I’ve done or how I did it (it would be a) too long and b) too ridiculous anyway) only, as I’ve said before, I live to tell the tale. As I see it in the aftermath, I’ve not so much been living, more just about keeping my head above water.

Fingers crossed, I’ve just about seen my crisis-management – my covert strategy – out to the finish. Maybe, THE finish.

Here lies the crux of the matter. Given the wide ranging impact of the pandemic, i.e. the enforced cessation of crossdressing, anal and chastity and most things kink, and the changes to domestic lifestyle for me and everyone else closest to me, and after my recent blog entry on the subject of conditioning, I wonder now whether this is a very clear green light that signals the necessary end of it all.

My conclusion right now is that I have sailed rather too uncomfortably close to the wind. I have recalled moments when I have sailed monstrously close to the wind – I’ve more or less forgotten what they are now, but may well recall them for a future blog entry.

In any case, I can’t see a way of my kinks working in the same way they once did anyway. Can there be any going back when some semblance of normality finally reaches us all? It will be a new kind of normal and not one that accommodates kink much if at all.

Kink aside, life will never be the same again post pandemic – the impact has been too great on too many people’s lives and careers, mentally, physically, financially, emotionally and more besides.

This is very much a turning point and of a type that was NOT as intended.