The way I’ve seen it, the way I’ve thought about it and the way I’ve written about it, the last two years and three months have, by and large, been seen as the bringing about of a full stop to the ability to cross dress. Domestic circumstances have quite simply, not permitted it to any degree whatsoever.

“That was it”, I mused. It was good while it lasted. I’d had a good run going back an estimated sixteen years. I shouldn’t be disappointed and I’m not.

However, being resigned to the fact led to provisional thoughts of something I said that I would never do again – purge – but this time, for good, irrespective of the consequences because there was no perceived way back.

The method and timing of that purge had not been formulated in my head. I didn’t really give it much thought at all though.

Ever the analyst, ever the strategist, I had long been working out ways to indulge in cross dressing and my other kinks but the sheer impact of the pandemic on just about everything in life meant that there was absolutely no opportunity whatsoever to find a way back, or perhaps that should be ‘forward’. You get what I’m saying.

Even hybrid working, having the very occasional days in the work place didn’t seem to offer any opportunity as a basis to any strategy.

The majority of my kinks were silenced – but there have been three constants throughout since that fateful day when we were all told so clearly that we “must stay at home” – Twitter, my blog and the salon.

Twitter has seen in excess of 200 flashback posts of old, previously posted pics but I had then run out of them and felt that I had no excuse to post old pics under another header without looking a bit naff and a bit desperate perhaps.

I naively asked my followers to answer a poll – something I don’t normally do. The silence was deafening. The votes were low in number and indecisive so with the poll deleted having not really given enough time for responses anyway, the new series of old pics started – my own personal favourites from the hundreds of pics stored secretly.

Twitter has been the mainstay – the only real direct link to kinks since the pandemic struck in March 2020. Without it, all of those decisions on a final clear out might have been made far sooner and far more decisively.

My blog hasn’t been that active until late. I had to resort to catch up blog entries at one point because even talking about my kinks was difficult as nothing was really happening but it has, and continues to be a crutch on which to lean with absolutely no one else to confide in.

I haven’t even confided fully on all aspects of my kinks whilst at the salon where the ability to even go there for body waxing was stopped for a time anyway because of how the pandemic affected those doing business.

But, time there did resume and frequency of visits increased again, and then more so because of need. But aspects and development of my kinks have been nurtured there, inner sexuality brought to the fore, boundaries broken, new ones found and broken again, learning new things about who I am, what I would be prepared to do, submissiveness allowing myself to be taken forward and to be led.

I suppose it is this aspect of kink that has kept a very dimly lit flame alive within and then allowed it to be fuelled. Bear me with. This is a deep analogy.

I have recently been sexually reignited – the extent of which has even been to my surprise. Whilst I had once accepted my crossdressing time was up and that it wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing, a more settled society and life, combined with being sexually but consentually developed at the salon has, somehow reignited the flame to burn ever more fiercely, strongly and brightly without really fully understanding why and how. I’ve just been going with it – whatever ‘it’ is.

Somehow, fuelled, undoubtedly, by visual stimuli and my many sexual experiences, there has been the largely uncontrollable urge carrying me towards a partial resumption of cross dressing, anal play and chastity.

I reasoned that I would have to wait for the ‘right time’, to get to and open up my lock box in marginal time home alone. The strategist within returned to paying close attention to dynamics and domestics. Where would everyone be? When? For how long? Could I do what needed to be done and was it worth the risk?

There have already been instances where things haven’t worked out and there will be many more – the circumstances that allow opening that box up can be, much to my inner frustration, fluid and influenced and affected by a myriad of situations beyond my control.

I have not been deterred though and I have simply played the waiting game for the next opportunity to come around, fraught by the risk of failure nevertheless.

One opportunity allowed the ‘try on’ of all but one of my chastity devices for a few minutes at a time, by way of a ‘tester’ but having taken a few pics, things were quickly returned to the lock box which had clearly shown its other, burgeoning contents to me.

Another opportunity arose, home alone. I had planned a black four piece outfit I would recover, as well as the chastity device and with the aim to bring out my three sizes of plugs that I had previously dabbled with a few weeks before, to give myself options.

I was home alone for two hours and dressed, locked and plugged, taking pics and taking around 8 minutes of video before sitting at my office desk and doing something mundane, but I was like a coiled spring throughout.

Every noise from a passing car was checked in case there was a need for emergency procedures to be invoked, the plan already hatched. A check confirmed that the ‘others‘ were in fact, in a cafe in town so would not be home anytime soon. I relaxed to better enjoy the opportunity that had been presented to me, and reflected on how contented I felt – a very intimate and deeply rooted feeling not experienced since March 2020.

I had clearly set the boundaries and reluctantly acknowledged when it was time to unlock, unplug and undress, feeling better about things because that very process was part of preparation to dress, lock and plug again for the office days ahead and with a plan hatched to await the next opportunity to swap things around in the lock box, to change outfit and chastity device for future instances.

My timing was perfect. Within a fairly short space of time after I had done what had to be done with the lingerie and sex toys, and having resumed the same mundane home office tasks, the ‘others’ returned. As they arrived I verbally praised myself for having timed things to perfection.

Today, as I write, (during a break) I am dressed in that very outfit again for work, plugged and locked very tightly in a white holy trainer chastity device acutely aware of my servitude to Mistress who is aware of and evidently approves of my return from the post on Fiona’s social media account.

My spirit to submit and serve is very strong right now and the motivation is high but being owned does not come for free and, although it has not been requested by Mistress, I am now proactively looking at ways to covertly tribute my Domme on the same terms that were necessarily left behind in March 2020 and since.

To conclude, right now, I am at what is probably the highest and most motivated and submissive state that I have ever been in.

At the moment, practically nothing is stopping me from pushing on with resumed crossdressing plans. Additionally, I am anticipating my next salon appointment more for the purposes of offering my naked body for sex and how I might be used rather than having my body waxed even though the latter is important for compliance and presentation as a sub and for my own well-being.

But there is an overarching tinge to all of this. Guilt. I’ve not missed that one bit in the last two years because, to all intents and purposes, everything had stopped. In the life that everyone closest to me sees me in, I play the proverbial poker face, the average bloke, the (genuinely) loving partner, blending in with the societal norms etc.

I have long since suffered with elements of guilt over my kinks, especially from the confines of the closet but whilst I do not let them affect things, it is the psychological effect that concerns me and how I could, unintentionally, let that poker face drop somehow and that would lead to a multitude of awkward questions and bucket loads of denial that anything was “wrong” when, in fact, everything is somehow right in my mind.

I know that you might say “As long as no one is getting hurt” it is OK. It is an age old issue for me though because my crossdressing in lingerie goes back some 16 years now. Nothing has therefore changed in that respect then.

Fiona is, very suddenly, back – needs must.

Thanks for reading. I’d very much like to read your thoughts and comments below.