The recovering crossdresser?

To crossdress or not crossdress – that is the question…

Lost property — February 13, 2018

Lost property

In a life full of rush, hustle, bustle, priorities and a seemingly endless list of things to do and places to be that makes every day and every week fly by, something was going to go wrong at some point I suppose.

Trying to cram too much into a busy day and rushing to get from place to place with little time and too much traffic, has eventually come at a cost. As part of my working day and week, I am usually wearing a lanyard with a memory stick dangling from it.  That memory stick enables me to work on the move.  Only, in my infinite wisdom, one day recently, I decided, whilst somewhere in between the day job and the men’s salon for another body wax appointment, to take off that lanyard at some point beforehand rather than once I’d arrived which, retrospectively at least, would have been far more sensible.

Needless to say, the removal of the lanyard and the act of sub-consciously thrusting it into a pocket of some sort whilst in mid-dash – a pocket probably full of other daily clutter and winter essentials – must have been a thrust too far.  In my ignorance to the fact that it was already gone, it was only on returning home later than afternoon that I thought about putting that lanyard safely away at home ready for the next working day.

It wasn’t there.

With a memory like a proverbial sieve, I was vainly playing every moment of the day through my head, but the grey cells had failed to soak up anywhere near the critical information needed – I had, in fact, evidently been on auto-pilot – the commute had largely being a haze of nothing.  Was the missing item in or around the car?  No.  It could conceivably have been anywhere on route between point A and point Z, the day job to the salon and any point in between, only I knew it wasn’t at the salon.

I knew that, as I’d dressed and collected all of my belongings post appointment, innocently and subconsciously convinced that the bits and bobs were somewhere in a pocket.  In actuality, the missing article may well have dropped, probably whilst running, falling ghost-like out of my pocket, to the floor, or, perhaps more likely in my cynical, pessimistic mind, having sprouted wings all by itself and simply floated away.

The first few hours of the evening were spent firstly pointlessly searching then trying to drain every remaining brain cell to work out where I might have lost it, only to conceded defeat, giving up, putting it down to being ‘one of those things’ but vowing to get my life sorted and bloody well stop rushing around everywhere and trying to cram 26 hours into a 24 hour day.

I should add at this point that the contents of the memory stick were valuable for my own personal use, but nothing was going to smash the official secrets act!   However, there was one folder within which my blog entry draft was frequently stored.

Upon posting my last entry up, I would have deleted the draft once posted – wouldn’t I?   You may well suggest that I shouldn’t worry as, surely, I had password protected the contents anyway?   Of course I didn’t – that would be far too sensible a thing to do for anyone who doesn’t live their life in a rush.

However, I have since convinced myself that I had deleted the draft entry, and irrespective of whether that memory stick and lanyard is in someone’s possession or about to fall into landfill, to rear its head one day, or perhaps to be incinerated, only time will tell, but that lost property remains lost all ends up right now and there is nothing on it that might otherwise cause me too much grief that I can’t manage should it raise its ugly head now or in the future.

That brings me onto the other element of arguably lost property.  The hidden evidence of a crossdressing life now approaching a year away.  My mind set is now largely free from any smidgen of thought, regret, plan, investigation, research, or viewing etc.  I have been and remain focused on what I mostly deem to be the right path – never to return again.   It just isn’t me anymore it seems.

For the first time, I have given serious thought to a final strategy, a final act of recovery and disposal of those garments, those lacy items, suspender straps tantalisingly dangling, those breast forms, those various pairs of stockings, only, I don’t think I have the time or inclination to go and recover them.

That doesn’t mean to say that I shouldn’t, there just isn’t a need or real convenient opportunity that I can forsee.  I suppose I would have to plan it on a day when I have time to myself, or an ability to busy myself without inquiry or disturbance – perhaps a trip to the tip to get rid of some other household waste could tie in with a reconnaissance mission to collect the ‘stash’ (I hate that word!) and throw in with the rest of the stuff to be disposed of.  It wouldn’t be the first time that lingerie lovelies have resided unceremoniously in a black bin bag thrown into giant skip of general waste about to go under the giant claw.

However, the quandary that I’m in remains the quandary that has been – the mere sight of those garments would not be something I could avoid being somehow drawn to, more so through sentiment though these days but it really is a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ for me as a general rule.  In any case, the one thing that I said that I wouldn’t ever do again was purge – and I haven’t.  I just stored things away just under twelve months ago.

I said that I wouldn’t purge!   Irrespective of the progress I continue to make in arguable recovery, however rational my head is being, the same remains, I remain open to some form of temptation, or at least, something that would make me start thinking about things again – perhaps not specifically, but just the subject matter.  That would mess my head up.  I would be like the proverbial child in a sweet shop, wanting to have everything, but in actuality, getting nothing at all.

Put simply, I can’t see myself being dressed in lingerie these days, but that is exactly the point – I said ‘these days’, not necessary ever again and that in itself is ridiculous because ‘never again’ is very much my mind-set.  It is only the fact that those items that seek to tempt me, draw me in and hold me so tightly, are not available to me to hand, so I suppose that is the way things will have to stay for now.

It wouldn’t take much for me to dress – just a pair of stockings and the motivation to recover the items and get on with it.   My vivid imagination is driven by what is in front of me in eye line.  However, whilst never taking long to dress before, when I did, there was no conscience – just motivation and desire.   I am probably terrified of being in a situation even though it would be of my own doing – these are the ramblings of a madman.

I can imagine that I would be asking myself what on earth I was doing, whilst still carrying on, even having started in the first place.   No.  NO!  I remain where I somehow know that I should be – clear of conscience, clear of temptation, the last time I crossdressed getting further away with every second, minute, hour, day, driven by other things and other people, but somehow still mindful of some lost property along the way.

Labels — January 11, 2018


I don’t really know why I did it.  I think it might be something to do with a previous, recent blog entry which suggested that I might look on-line for a series of questions I could ask myself about my crossdressing life.

This, it turns out, was a not quite such a positive investigation as I might have hoped.  I know that the internet is awash with all manner of descriptors and search results on any given subject, so ‘Questions to ask a crossdresser’ was only ever likely to come up with a myriad of results, good, bad and indifferent.

Unfortunately, the browsing time led to an indication of the type of crossdresser that I was up to March 2017 – the last point of cessation.  It turns out that someone who is involved in dressing only in lingerie is, apparently, a ‘transvestic fetishist’, someone who has (it is explained) ‘an excessive sexual or erotic interest in crossdressing, often expressed in autoerotic behaviour, and is categorised as ‘paraphilia’.  This in turn describes paraphilia as being ‘the experience of intense sexual arousal to atypical objects, situations, fantasies, behaviours or individuals’

I don’t know why I should feel upset, or perhaps aggrieved about it, as I know only too well that my crossdressing sessions involved an acute amount of on-line exhibitionism, and only a small amount in actually wearing the clothes for comfort.

Long-term readers of my blog will know that I have openly talked about frequent appearances before a web cam, but equally so, periods where I have worn lingerie, off line, just for myself, for comfort, and taste, probably desire too, wearing under work attire for example.

Equally so, for the latter, I have also referred to instances where I have abruptly felt disgust at a day of wearing  ending with sexual kicks and a wish to get out of the lingerie as soon as possible – I guess that makes me a tranvestic fetishist then – but what about the times when I merely undressed having enjoyed the experience and returned to what I often called ‘civvies’?

Labels.  Just this week, I commented on a post by daniellaargento about the use of terms such as ‘T-Girl’ as something of offence, pornographic slur, suggesting that ‘we’ might need to come up with new terms seeing as though so many had been what I would describe as ‘hijacked’ for all manner of reasons, what I could suggest were some sort of gain and also of inciting hatred and ignorant misunderstanding.

Still, I have allowed myself to be labelled as a transvestic fetishist.  Well, at least that is what I currently figure that I was.  The fact that I ‘was’ should mean that I am slightly more content because, in reality, I’m not acting as a transvestic festishist anymore – well, not really.

So why then, have I been browsing the internet for crossdressers lingerie?  I have no idea.  There has been no aim to buy, or wear, so I was actually wasting my time – no more, no less.   Just the other week, I had something akin to a Eureka! moment.   There I was, ranting on in a previous blog entry how I’d denied myself the opportunity of crossdressing because I’d remotely stored my stash.

The Eureka! moment, if you like, came at the point that I realised that I did in fact have temptation within arms reach – there was still the wife’s now long unworn, last worn by me, chemises etc. hanging up in her wardrobe.   The real reason that I haven’t been drawn to temptation is that by ridding myself of the stash (not a word I favour, so I won’t use it again!) (Labels!), storing the lacy basques etc. of my own had, in fact, been a by-product of storing the real focus of everything about my currently historical crossdressing self – stockings – my very guilty pleasure.

Of course, I am not crossdressing these days for a number of other reasons.  At the risk of becoming boring, repetitive and predictable for regular readers, I will summarise the key points.

  • At the time I was proactively involved in crossdressing, barely anything else mattered – material and person – it came at the expense of a lot of things and people most closely.  Put bluntly, I didn’t know when to stop, apart from the odd occasions when I did.
  • Guilt and deceit: around a year ago, someone who I’d known for a while sadly passed away.  That allowed a whole cupboard full of their skeletons to fall out – none of them crossdressing related I should clarify – but I remonstrated with myself that I could not criticise this person for their deceit to those closest to them when I was engaging in a form of deceit myself.   Somehow, I seemed to sub-consciously beat myself up in my head when around family, reminding myself that I was hiding a secret, but carrying on as if I wasn’t – and it turned out that I wasn’t entirely content with that towards the end of March 2017 either.

There is however, a much more disturbing effect of my own supposedly fetishistic indulgences – in all honesty, I don’t think my sex life has been the same over recent years.   During the same searches I referred to at the start of this blog entry, it had been suggested to me that those indulging in such a way were often doing so as a way of getting sufficient sexual kicks and didn’t need intimacy with another as a result.  That was something that I found difficult to read and accept, as I honestly felt that had been the case, in my own period of indulgence and arguable selfishness.

I remember a time, probably when there was less care, and more kink, and before the beginning of my indulgences, when things were great intimately, frequent etc. – you know…  Perhaps. If I was to be fairer to myself, and did some more searching, I might well reassure myself that, perhaps as we get older, our urges can and do decrease in frequency and extent.

Certainly, there have been many instances of comedians joking about a lack of libido and the good old classic ‘’Not tonight Dear, I have a head-ache” get-out line.    Had I have not been secretly indulging in the way that I had been, I might accede to the effects of the passage of time as we grow older, but I can’t honestly accept that with what has been going off so covertly.

I do somehow feel that I have allowed myself to become corrupted by apparent thrills of dressing and exhibiting, the pattern of which is only broken by the few occasions where I dressed for myself in between.  I did say that crossdressing came at the expense of other things and people!

Whilst maintaining interest in crossdressing forums and websites at this time, whilst still browsing the internet for relevant subject matter, whilst going through the odd spell of rather unpleasant cold turkey so to speak, it is, in actuality, now some 10 months since I ceased being whatever it was – label it as you either will or won’t.   I’ve done enough labelling of things for myself.

Even the urges to experiment with sex toys of late, have, for now at least, eased off, box less than ticked.   Yet, given the right frame of mind, I’ll quite happily strip off, down to my everyday g-string undies and go before a webcam – only, in reality, I really don’t know why, as it is largely just a compete waste of time.  It is however, somehow, total escapism during that time, inhibitions discarded, albeit with limits applied, and in two minds too, one slightly more powerful than the other at any given time.

A lot to think on then, for me certainly if not for you.  A label of some sort, reasons and rationale not to crossdress.  Largely, a mindset to remain on course, and make amends to myself and the unknowing others, yet on occasion, desperately searching for some rhyme, reason or method to begin crossdressing in lingerie again, wrong though I seem to know that would be.  I’m not tempted enough on average – so, I guess I’m still recovering then.

Scared of my own self. — December 20, 2017

Scared of my own self.

Prepare yourself for yet more ramblings of a mad man, and yes, so soon after the last blog entry too!

When I was in the peak of my lingerie crossdressing, in the aftermath of such activity, I’d probably ‘filled my boots’, ‘had my fill’, ‘topped out’, even if that was after a few days of bingeing.

Reasoning that the use of the toys referred to in the last blog entry had recently failed to help me find what I was looking for and that more work would in fact be required to hit the proverbial and actual spot, it would appear that I have put things back on a shelf on that subject, albeit not forgotten, having ‘filled my boots’ with that sort of indulgence for the time being.

Being a little under the weather at the moment, albeit getting better day by day, is yet another demotivator towards any deviant activity, yet during those empty moments in life, when in bed at night, either waiting to drop off for the first time, or again having woken up at some point, there have been times when the general train of thought has been towards what the situation would be like if I did, somehow, start crossdressing again, but without drawing any sort of conclusion whatsoever during those thoughts.

Sure – I ventured into the storage facility of late and actually looked at the lingerie for the first time since March 2017 – so what?  It sowed a few seeds in my mind, but none of them have really started growing (analogies aplenty here it seems!).   However, my mindset about the subject matter has been without any acknowledgement of reality – merely somehow crossdressing again and with no regard to their being any consequences, or other priorities etc.  Yes – I’ve been in that situation before but largely without much of a care until life changing moments intercepted proceedings much earlier this year.

Flat out in bed, darkness and silence all around, and in fact, even during the brief pauses of the working day, I have given thought to the word and act of ‘crossdressing’, but still without actually thinking about anything specific and largely far, far away from any plans to crossdress.

I suppose the reality is that because the lingerie is so remotely stored away, the very act carried out to store it in March has put paid to any opportunity to fall off the proverbial wagon.   Knowing about my obsessive, compulsive tendencies, I remain on the borderline of being scared of relapse at this present time – something I’ve never really experienced before in the same way.

Whilst writing this blog entry, the very thought of being scared of my own actions is by itself, utterly ridiculous.  What am I?  Scared of somehow motivating myself to get everything from storage and begin wearing it again?  As if I would be unable to stop myself?   Irrationally – yes.  I think that were I to actually do such a thing in my own private time, I’d probably be visibly, physically and significantly shaking, through both fear and, conversely, nervous excitement, both as the dressing was underway and then afterwards, but I think that the fear would far outweigh the latter, questioning, probably somewhat furiously, what on earth I was doing, yet still somehow driving myself on, or perhaps stopping myself somewhere along the way, possibly sooner rather than much later.  Who knows?

The reality is that, despite recent thought processes and a mere glimpse of my lingerie collection in a dark, cold storage facility, I’m still very unlikely to take the step to recover the items including the breast forms from storage.  I suppose it really is good that I did what I did, when I did it back in March this year and whilst I had the drive and motivation to do so.

Life throws all sorts of challenges at us.  Some things send us spinning off and downwards into crisis and chaos, whilst others serve to send us in a more suitable, maybe positive direction, offering karma, peace of mind.

Would I like to crossdress in lingerie once more?  Somehow, yes, but frames of mind, an apparent desire to comply with stereotypes, and the much repeated fact that I acknowledge people and other things I should be attending to outside of the mostly irresistably cravings and draw of crossdressing, weigh more heavily.  There is a thought process – a list of as yet, unconfirmed questions, washing around in my mind right now that will probably form the basis of the next blog entry – that is when I’ve brought to the surface of my thoughts and rationalised it all some more.

Here we are though, approaching the festive season, and a point in time amounting to nine months having elapsed since I last crossdressed.  There has already been a time period during which I had stopped – but resumed again October 2016 to March 2017 – whatever the reasons were for that.

I can’t  remember how long the cessation was before October 2016 (it is probably buried somewhere in a blog entry), so that in itself, is a valid point on which to remind myself that I am no by no means free from relapse – and as I said above, right now, that makes me a little scared of my own self.

Until next time, thanks, as ever, for reading.

Oh! CD! — December 13, 2017

Oh! CD!

I won’t deny it – thoughts have been turning to crossdressing again of late – albeit nothing specific, merely that the subject matter is washing around more towards the forefront of my thoughts.  I have made no plans to begin again, but I will confess to having been on-line on my web cam site of choice, and making an acquaintance with two new sex toys – that’s four I now have – these two being the impulsive purchases of prostate massagers, one battery driven, the other being a rubberised sort of thing that you have to fit your tackle through various points once inserting the main element somewhere rather pleasant it turns out.

The fumbling around to insert the watch style batteries into the vibrating massager and the hurry to reassemble and get on with its use led to a conclusion that the batteries weren’t up to much, seemingly running out way ahead of when I thought they should have done.  It turns out that the item is able to work at varying speeds merely by turning the top as well as pressing the button on the end and I’d got this completely mixed up.  Lubed up and ready, it was replaced by the more cumbersome rubberised item which I find rather kinky with everything inserted and the item clamped on below.

Not at my best at the moment, probably caused by a failure to take one’s regular vitamin supplement and a period in which I was spending too much time walking around the house naked with and without the other half present, I made myself no better by blatantly displaying heady sexual exploration on my webcam.

This had not been the first time I’d used the manual prostate massager – somewhat of an OCD nature, I had already sneaked it into the shower, and with a house full, lubed up and tried it out for a few moments on the day of receipt,  This only led to the web cam session referred to above.

That aside, regular readers of my blog entry will know that I last crossdressed in March – life experiences and, let’s say, perhaps more rational thoughts led to the lingerie, breast forms and stockings being stored away so remotely, even I would find it difficult to get to things once stored.

All I would need is a reason to have to go to the remote storage facility and that is exactly what happened this week.  Once inside, this cold, dark location needed light from the poorest of light fittings and the torch on my smartphone.  Teetering amongst the other random items, equally randomly stored, I made a bee-line for THAT location.

It is quite ridiculous, but I knew where the items were, I knew what was in the boxes, but the obsessive compulsive in me just had to take a look.  Under torch light, the breast forms box came open.  The first one spotted was lying nipple side down, but I just had to flip it over for what was, to be fair, the merest of glances otherwise.  It wasn’t long before I’d satisfied my obsessive compulsive nature in that instance and the box was shut more or less as quickly as it had been opened.

Next, the other box – the one in which the lingerie was stored.  Having opened the flaps, there, stored just as I had left them of course, in the cold, in the dark, and with a misty haze caused by my breath in the cold air, were the red and blue basques.  The suspender straps were the most obvious draw to my eye sight but I could also see what I thought was a pink outfit.  Did I still have a pink outfit?

It mattered little – there was to be no touching of the fabric – just a look and with little more than 10-20 seconds having passed, then box was folded shut again and both boxes were stored back further away from where they had been placed before – as if that meant anything at all.

There was to be little more thought about the dalliance with life up to March of this year in the immediate aftermath as the storage facility was closed up once more.   What on earth drove me to look?  I didn’t have to.  I could have just grabbed the things I needed, walked out, closed and locked the door behind me and left.   This was the obsessive compulsive taking priority of place, but to this very moment, I do not know why I did it or what I hoped to achieve out of it but in those brief moments, in that short window of opportunity, I just had to do it.  It seemed to tick a box somehow.

However, much as I’ve said before, eye candy can prove to be a terrible draw and things continued to wash around my head.     The other morning, I had cause to visit my tried and trusted home and hardware store, which, it turned out, has had a move round.

Things are no longer where they used to be. ‘Good’ thought I.  I’ve merely got to follow the signs, find the toiletries that I need and head for the till.  However, things were to conspire, as, on the way to the till, I spotted the new location for the tights and stockings out of the corner of my eye, the crossdresser within more than supressed but still capable.  “Damn you – DAMN YOU”, I said to myself but I determinedly strode towards the till and made my way out and onwards.

As I said, by having a need to venture to the storage facility recently, I had a good reason, an almost irresistible reason to take a reminiscing glance at my past, with no idea as to why I was doing it.   I said in a previous blog that if the items were far enough away and difficult to get to, there could not be temptation of any kind.

Late to sleep last night and early to rise, not at my best and with another peak of sexual euphoria beginning to build, an awakening if you like, I didn’t really sleep well. At one point, lying there in bed in the dead of night, I found myself with no reason as to why I couldn’t start crossdressing again, almost looking forward to that first dressing opportunity with relish and a longing, then eventually finding enough rationality of mind to get some more sleep.  At another point in the night, I was trying to recall how and where I used to hide my breast forms back in the da without them being discovered – I could not, for the life of me, remember, and desperately tried to recall the facts, before remonstrating with myself that they hadn’t been discovered, wherever they had been placed and that they were now more safely stored away – admittedly, now more fresh to my mindset through the recent sneaky peak.

So to this morning – an early start, but chance to get on-line and use one of my new toys – but any plans were thwarted by a need to get to the day job, and the fact that, of all inconvenient times, the PC wanted to do one of those irritating updates – so I left it to it, concluding that it offered a reason to get about the day.   Having put on and inserted the rubberised prostate massager, I dressed and made for the day job, feeling plugged and clamped below, and looking forward to the day immensely in being this way..

The good news is that, despite insomnia-led night-time urges to resume crossdressing, the waking hours put me not on that track, but on the same one I was one – at least for now.   Oh!  CD!

Dealing with the elephant in the room. — November 10, 2017

Dealing with the elephant in the room.

Regular readers of this here blog entry will have recognised that it has been some time since the last one was posted.

You might suggest that this is because little has changed – and you’d be right.  In fact, you are more than just right as nothing has changed.

I have spent the odd few moments, usually when the day or night is still to cast a brief train of thought over things.  The main focus has been on the fit and feel of stockings and suspenders, for so long, the focus for everything that then followed, the catalyst to dressing, the most erotic element of the eroticism of crossdressing.   I have spent a few moments imagining the art of rolling on a pair of stockings, usually hold ups, before attaching them to suspender clasps and making things just so.

For the very briefest of moments, thoughts not so much touched on, more so brushed against the benefits of returning from whence I came  These thoughts have been launched through momentary dissatisfaction with the chores of life, as if getting back into crossdressing was an escape from the bind, the norm, the daily drag, and that is quite true – it would be.   I would often step into that parallel universe before allowing myself to be somewhat unceremoniously dumped back out of it when the whole thing was over for another outing.

But these moments of thought have been fleeting, though full and evident of fact, but the overriding factor is one of contentment at where I am now.  Whilst reflective of where I’ve been, and what I’ve done, and the length of time over which it occurred., I remain reflective of the overburdening weight on my mind at the same time that I was dressing, the guilt, the recognition of the fact that I was involved in crossdressing, even when I wasn’t actually dressed – immersed in a World of deceit, only no-one knew about it – I covered it that well.

Here I am then – on the straight and narrow – merely slotting in as just another member of the public, going about his business.  Mind you, who would know about a crossdresser going about their business?  The truth is that, it probably happens more than any of us might thing – only we just can’t see to know about it.

The other thing that I remain mindful of is the elephant in the room.  No-one else talks about it, as they don’t know it is there – but I do.   Somewhere, stored in that secret remote location that I’ve not even disclosed here, lies the remnants of my life as a crossdresser – lacy cami-suspenders, stockings of various kinds, and a pair of breast forms.

Let’s just say that I decided to recover and dispose of them.   Let’s just say that I don’t bother.  Those items are stored far enough away that no-one will be going anywhere near them any time soon, nor have cause to do so.  I remain fearful that upon any such occasion that I might decide to go and recover and dispose of them, I might be tempted to look at them rather than merely shove the box under my arm, and stride away with a glimpse of any of the contents and storm through the process of disposal, whatever that might entail.

The obsessive compulsive in me may well be completely and totally unable to resist opening the box and taking a look and more besides, for reasons of nostalgia or something else.  In that very moment, the rational, positive, forward looking person that I have become, the recovered crossdresser could, I fear, be sent spinning back towards one of two paths.

One – of merely closing the box and putting it back where it is stored, being content with it being in storage, content at the extremely minimal risk of it being discovered by anyone, any time soon, and leaving the elephant in the room.

Two – being drawn in by the fabric, style, colour, shape and above all, memories of being worn.  To allow myself to fall off the proverbial wagon by even taking a look, would be more than a backward step I feel.

The very reason that I used the drive of the moment to recover the items from being close to hand, collect them together, shove them in a box and get to that remote location to complete the job, is that, after leaving that location, it would be far enough away for even me to get to that easily.   Therefore, the process for even me to get there, recover and dispose of everything would need a lot of strategic planning.

That still leaves me in very much the same position – one of paranoia that events and situations will conspire against me somehow, and lead to discovery and outage long and inconveniently after the event because I haven’t taken that final step of eradication of any evidence, and in another, contentment that there is minimal risk of discovery because of the storage location, but also that the elephant remains in residence – an indication of where I’ve been, but also to where I could return – it would be, I feel, oh so easy to do that.

For now at least, out of sight, continues to be largely out of mind, but not fully.  I can’t see it, so it can’t have its hypnotic influence on any aspect of my usually very active mind.

I suppose, somehow, full and final disposal of the stockings, suspenders, outfits and breast forms is, for now, still one step too far and, given that my last outing of crossdressing was only in March of this year, perhaps I’m not quite far enough away to be convinced that I can trust myself to avoid a relapse.

I am very able to enter a period of deeper, more prolonged thoughts about crossdressing, but equally so, periods where it really is no matter but with reminders of the elephant in the room from time to time too.  Yes – nothing has changed then.

I began as, continued as, was and remain the recovering crossdresser.

A chance encounter. — September 13, 2017

A chance encounter.

I was doing my bit around the house the other day, helping the missus with a spot of laundry, and putting a few things away around the house as a result.  This was one of those mundane but necessary jobs that might best tackled with a clear head, empty your mind, plough through, get the job done.

I had indeed merely decided that it was relevant to get the job done, make a few trips up and down the stairs and make sure that the job was done to enable us all to settle down in comparative peace and harmony, and relax a little and to avoid any friction that would probably have enveloped the rest of the day, should I have taken the careless decision to ignore what was going off around me and crash on the settee or hide myself away somewhere else in the house.

Needless to say there are now probably things stored in places where they shouldn’t be, but that might be a little covert bit of fun for everyone else around the house over the next couple of days as they try and find things!

Anyway, there were a few things that needed to go in the other half’s wardrobe.  I was thinking nothing of it, other than asking myself whether there would be enough hangers of various kinds to make sure that I didn’t suffer the wrath of my other half for scrunching up and taking no care whatsoever with things that she had prepared from the wash to wear once more.

I was sliding the many types of hangers around that had been accrued over the years as the search went on for the most appropriate hanger for the most appropriate garment, to get the job done as quickly as possible, when progress slowed and a dim light came on somewhere in my head.

There, in front of me, were the cami-suspenders and camisoles on a number of hangers.  This was to be a trip down Memory Lane.  I acknowledged that the suspender straps remained dangling on some of them, whereas previously, they had, in actual fact, been removed and stored separately by my other half, who, as she doesn’t touch the garments, had failed to notice that they were there, nor consider perhaps that they shouldn’t be because she stored them away herself.

I lifted the hangers out and span them around, the light material swishing around in motion, me briefly touching the fabrics, admiring the designs, recalling wearing them and how it had felt to wear them, feeling the sensations at my fingertips and trying to somehow feel and sense in my mind how these garments felt on my body when I did wear them.

This meander down Memory Lane lasted no more than a couple of minutes really, but in those few minutes, I was merely looking back back at where I’d been.  There was only the very vaguest of wishes to be trying something on once more, but there was no aim, or plan to do so.  Quite the opposite in fact.

I acknowledged that the last time these items had been worn was when I had worn them.  As they are, unused and unlikely to be, they hang like a museum exhibit, marking my time as a lingerie crossdresser – nothing more and otherwise, largely pointless and useless.  At no point did I consider stockings and their part in any ensemble including these garments – it was merely the garments themselves that drew my attention.

I have commented in previous blog entries that, somehow, I remain susceptible, vulnerable perhaps, to what eye candy might offer and as a result, the potential for relapse.

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you’ll know that the garments of my own were, much earlier this year, not purged.  Previous purges and what was thrown and when, continues to rankle with me, particularly a number of items bought from a luxury high street lingerie chain a few years, although the rankling applies far less so these days.

No, those garments were merely stored remotely – far enough away to be, well, far enough away even for me.  The routine and lengths I had to go to in clearing the proverbial decks meant that once done, there would be a similar, in fact, a greater extent necessary to even see them let alone recover them.

I would dare say that in that parallel universe, I would still be very much into lingerie crossdressing, but the universe and dimension that I am in is far from parallel – it is a World away, and I continue to acknowledge that my indulgences were largely achieving nothing in retrospect.   Sure, it was satisfying for me before and during, but equally dissatisfying – usually after, in another – time wasted, jobs not done.  Blah blah, I’ve said this all before many times in multiple blog entries.

I’m still on the path that is very firmly veering away from what was, to all intents and purposes, an addiction, a fetish, but instead of seeking counselling from another individual, I continue to find the mental ability to counsel myself.

What I can’t account for along that, arguably successful road that I continue to tread, is that chance that, somehow, out of the blue, I may be confronted by a spectre of my past – whatever that might entail.  I suppose the difference is in how I tackle that confrontation.   Not expecting it most recently, with the wardrobe moment, I suppose that I ultimately confronted it.  Actually, I embraced it for a few moments and I hung it up again, like the clothes I was putting away.

Moments such as those experienced this week normally end up with something happening afterwards, and, feeling a little under the weather and unable to sleep the other night, a few minutes were spent at some ungodly hour of the night, browsing the internet.

I did some searching for my two previous alter-egos and found nothing more than I already knew, despite knowing that there wouldn’t be anything more than this, but it was an interesting way to take my mind off how I was otherwise feeling.  There was the briefest of views of my webcam site profile, seconds only, and before all of that, another quick canter through the blog log in.

As well as reading some of the latest entries from other bloggers that I follow, I checked the stats for my own blog, which continue to tail off, much to be expected I suppose.  However, I did spin through the stats for each day and see what particular blog entries had been viewed.

This was an opportunity for me to take a quick run through the chronology of my life as a lingerie crossdresser, occasionally stopping off along the time line as things peaked and troughed.   Of course, when the blog was more active and the content more, let’s say ‘risque’ and erotic perhaps, there was more interest.

Now it’s just the often repetitive ramblings of an approaching middle-age forty something no longer having a mid-life crisis perhaps.   Of course, those peaks and troughs to which I refer have happened to me, so will naturally apply for you as the reader.

Wardrobe visit and reminisce over, I’m still on that proverbial straight and narrow.

Until the next time – whenever that will be – thanks for reading.

Nothing better to do. — August 9, 2017

Nothing better to do.

I’ve been planning to write a further blog update, but with the only motivation being when I’d not got anything better to do.  That sounds rather terse and rude but that’s not my intention.  The reason for de-prioritising the blog is that such matters don’t have any great significance anymore – not enough to make me talk or even think about it in fact.

Readers to my blog will know that I had a rather sizeable wobble a short time ago but I recovered from that and I am probably more ‘on track’ than I was before that wobble.

There have only been fleeting moments thinking about where I’ve been, where I’ve come from and what I had been doing – for example, the other half’s casually laid white lacy bra caught my attention for quite literally a second the other day, tossed down after being taken off for bed one night.   Just for a second, and for no longer, everything flashed through my mind, but as quick as it had taken to make another step across the room, the moment and the thought had passed.

I now no longer see myself as ever likely to relapse and begin crossdressing again.  I see no need, no desire, I feel no urge, no craving, I don’t view any on-line imagery relating to the subject matter, and if I’m honest, I barely log in to my blog account, or take that long to view other the content of other bloggers.

Where once, that content had a deep and intriguing interest, with apologies, there is only the odd flick through the most recent feed entries, and the odd scan read.  I take a look at the much depleted, low stats of my own blog, and I dally with the stats which show who has been reading what, and sometimes click on those results to remind me what that entry was about.  It serves only to remind me once more where I’ve been and the path that has been trodden.

What about those various cam site and networking site profiles of mine?  Part of me has contemplated going in and deleting them.  They serve no purpose now, they hold little content other than perhaps a profile that arguably needs updating from present to past tense but what’s the point?.  Perhaps like the lack of motivation to even write or post a blog entry here, there’s no reason to log in to them, no reason to use the web cam account etc.

My mind has even turned to the now remotely stored items attributed to my crossdressing history – thoughts of getting rid, but as I’ve said before, the fact that they are far enough away to be, well, far enough away, offers little rhyme or reason to visit that location and do the deed – I still feel that, some way, somehow, eye candy, as you might call it, would still leave me open to thoughts of being drawn in some way, like a child in a sweet shop – hence the ‘candy’ analogy – so it’s best to leave it where it is.  It matters less, it hardly matters at all, but that doesn’t mean to say that it should all stay there.  I’m just not content enough yet to go through the lengthy process of retrieval and disposal, neither of which would be easy to carry out.

What I am pre-occupied with is my ‘before, during and after’ body image.  There’s some hair, there are parts where there aren’t, there are parts where there is some growth and the suggestions made at the men’s room I continue to frequent haven’t exactly turned out to be what I would have preferred retrospectively.

I’ll be sure to discuss it next time around, unless I’m convinced otherwise that the course I’m on will provide reward in the medium to long term.  Those waxing sessions at the men’s room continue to be some quality time for me though.

The discomfort about body image is contrasted by the contentment to walk the house naked of a morning, go to bed naked at night etc, (while it remains warm enough – ask me if I’m still doing the same when Autumn arrives) but that only makes me more aware of what I dislike about how I look, yet I persist with my birthday suit behaviour.  What’s going off there?

If you are sitting there reading this blog entry, gripped by a similar addiction to my crossdressing habit/addition (delete as applicable!) or even actually crossdressing, and if you have read my previous blog entries, you might well be somewhat frustrated at a lack of ‘how to’ in blog entries, even though I’ve alluded to trying to detail everything over a period of time without actually doing so.

It’s like this – I’ll recap.  Earlier this year, someone I’ve known for a while, died after a period of illness and as previous blog entries have detailed, after their passing, a number of (non-cross-dressing related) skeletons not so much fell, more so came crashing out of their proverbial cupboard, deceit being a major element.  Still somewhere in my own world at that time, but coming to terms with giving it all in by that point, the message was clear to me – I could not condone the deceit that had been going on, if I too was guilty of committing acts of deceit myself – it was no more than that in my mind.

Although I had become hugely dissatisfied with my cross dressing lifestyle, it seemed that I still needed a jolt to make sure that I was on the path I was evidently on the way to but not yet fully on.  Remove the external motivation for a minute and there has to be some internal motivation, a mindset, a determination to change, to rationalise everything and turn a corner.  After the many hours, weeks, months and years of indulgences, I had reached a point where none of it had any importance any more.

It wasn’t easy, but I found great satisfaction in the other things in life that I do, from the motivation to attack the day job, to hobbies and people around me, things that I knew I needed to do or could do that would be of value in some way, yet had completely disregarded, dismissed and put in the ‘to do tomorrow’ pile to crossdress instead, when in fact, tomorrow never came.

You have to see an addiction as insignificant, something that achieves nothing, is a waste of time, to be able to make a firm break, and retrospectively, it was and now is insignificant really.

Don’t get me wrong – crossdressing was nice, enjoyable, special – there are probably many more superlatives to add to that list, yet similarly, it was also going nowhere, and whilst it wasn’t a waste of time at the time, the view from distance now is that it very much was.

You have to want to change in order to change, that’s true, but whilst there may be troubles ahead on such a path, the odd step back rather than a few forward, over time, if one remains focussed on distraction for as long as necessary and prioritisation of everything else above it, it can be done and you can move on.  I am further away from crossdressing than I have ever been yet I know somehow that I am not safe, not yet fully removed.

I will continue to use this blog entry as my own form of therapy and if helps you too, then I’m pleased.  It may not help entirely, but even if it helps a little, my experiences and my sharing of those same experiences, was worth my time writing and your time reading, I hope.

Until next time…