The recovering crossdresser?

To crossdress or not crossdress – that is the question…

Talking about it… — February 13, 2017

Talking about it…

It’s always nice to have someone comment on your blog entry, however great or slight, but equally, it’s also nice to simply check the stats and know that people are reading it.

For that, I thank you – whoever you are.

Now, internet etiquette might, or definitely does suggest that if you’re going to talk about someone else’s blog, you link to it, giving the casual reader, a chance to put two and two together about why you’re talking about something and take their own view.

Whilst it’s nice to receive comments, it is quite something else to be the subject of someone else’s blog entry.  I’m usually quite good at reading something and getting the gist of things fairly quickly, but this particular link made me wonder whether I was being singled out and criticised somehow for my actions and behaviour towards crossdressing and I read the entry quite a few times before concluding that there was not really any offence to take – particularly as Claire Flourish had actually linked to my blog entries on not one, not two, but actually three occasions, rather than remained hidden and unlinked.

I am therefore grateful.

After taking some time to consider and re-read the entry, I exercised the right to reply, and assuming the author maintains the blog entry itself and approves my reply, it will be on-line, there for you to read – me exercising a right to reply etc.

Moving on, this subsequent entry from Claire includes a couple of paragraphs which resonate very clearly with me.

‘Some object to the term transvestite, coined by psychologists and formerly used as a diagnosis of a disorder.  “Cross-dresser” was coined by the community.  Cross-dressing is a harmless way of reducing stress.  If it arouses you sexually, that is nothing to be ashamed of: the clothes are lovely, and humans get horny at all sorts of things.  Yet that is not all you are.  You are not a failed man with a disgusting habit, and the habit does not define you.  It is a harmless habit, though. It need not be all your life.

My other theory is that you are a “beta male”.  You don’t fit “alpha” models of masculinity, but beta is the upgrade!  You have ways of being which are a blessing to a community.  You are soft, gentle, peaceful. You are empathetic and conciliatory, and like to fit in- this is a blessing, but has been distorted, to cause you to try to be a Real Man.’

I dislike the term ‘transvestite’.  I feel that the word is derogatory and has been allowed, by society to be skewed to be nothing but unsavoury yet the abbreviation of ‘trans’ can have other bits added on instead and be more acceptable I feel.   I have blogged that crossdressing does reduce stress for me.  I accept that it does arouse me sexually at times, the clothes are indeed lovely yet I have difficulty in rationalising and dealing with the shame – again, at times.   It is therefore nice to read the statement, which I hear as if it is being said solely to me, that it is not all that I am.  Harmless?  Whilst closeted, yes yet at other times, no..  Otherwise, no – not for me.  It need not be all of my life, but it is a major part that can often take up too much of it for my liking at times.

I do not think that I fit “alpha” models of masculinity.  I do not consider that I am a ‘man’s man’, I am indeed, soft, gentle, peaceful, emphathetic, conciliatory and do like to fit in.  I do not seek to be a real man – I am quite happy as I am, but this whole crossdressing thing can be both a joy and pain to deal with.   That’s why blogging helps.

Finally, for now, a word on where I am right now, further to previous blog entries.  It has been a week since I last crossdressed and with it being holiday time where I am, opportunities are just not there to crossdress even if I could.  But right now, I am not really motivated to do so anyway, yet the thought of doing so is intensely stimulating at times.

For example, watching TV tonight, I saw a dancer wearing a bra.  I studied how the straps passed over the shoulder and back and relished at knowing how nice that feels.

And so to bed.  That’s quite enough for one night!

The beginning of the end? — February 11, 2017

The beginning of the end?

After my last blog post, the week has been largely something of an abstention.  Earlier in the week, I pulled on a white bra and panties over one of my white g-strings (just because!), popped in my breast forms, put on my dressing gown over the top and got on with some work.  There was to be no webcam but I did log into Skype.  One individual opened up a chat window only conversation that went no further than me telling them what I was wearing and them expressing an interest in seeing but with total futility.

I won’t deny that there aren’t other things on my mind at the moment, and, in life, I suppose that all of us have affairs of the mind that tend to conspire to direct overall thoughts and how one might react day-to-day, experience to experience.  The day job has been busy, and ordinarily, I might well resort to underdressing to soften the stresses and strains of the day job a little, that’s if I don’t dress for a while solely before work.

Only this week, generally, I didn’t – either way.  The morning after I wore the white three item combo, it came back on again.  Latterly in the session, I also changed into a black outfit, bra, g-string, including stockings and suspenders, akin to getting back into my comfort zone yet having previously enjoyed the bra and panties only experience.   I did indeed go back on cam but signed myself up to another site (that came up on the top of a search engine) for no other reason other than I was a tad bored with the one I was on.

Although I was welcomed and told that I would go down well on the particular site in question, things petered out to a natural end but feeling quite intoxicated with the way I was dressed and particularly well stimulated by the sexuality surrounding the use of the breast forms, once more flying in the face of everything that had gone before in the past week, I sought relief in private.

Having planned a work day underdressing experience in the very same outfit, instead, the massive come down afterwards only served to make me undress, tidy up and put away the lingerie, pull on the everyday work day attire and, shrugging off what had gone before, merely went about the working day.

It felt like I’d had enough.  I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I don’t want to crossdress ever again, but I am far, far less motivated or even interested in doing so at the moment.  I could really do with accepting that if I DO need and/or would like to crossdress, that I quite simply do it for myself, having my own time, dressing in private, much as I have alluded to before, because web cam sessions aren’t all that.  Who really benefits?  Me or the viewer?

Yet, there I am, drawn to put myself before a cam like a moth to a flame, like a magnet to metal from time to time.   I must have some inner insecurities and/or are looking for the kind of interaction and appreciation I seem to get on a fairly frequent basis.

There have been enough opportunities this week to crossdress, but I really haven’t – certianly nowhere near as often as I ordinarily have been of late.  Over recent weeks, I’ve largely been avoiding logging into my Twitter site, or any of the other sites to which I am signed up, and I’ve not been that bothered about checking the e-mail account either.  Even this blog page has also been less of a focus and I have taken less glances through the stats and other blog entries.

That’s not the say that I’m not interested in anything and on the spur of the moment, I can be quite likely to merely take a look at one site or another, but I am trying to rationalise what has made me go the other way, i.e. in one week, quite hell bent on anything and everything crosdressing wise at any time, but this week and of ate, very much less inclined and instead, far more likely to invest my time in other things – something that has been quite fulfilling in all honesty.

This is either one thing or the other – it is either than I have plateaued, realising that what I do isn’t all that and I must now find another path, or that this is merely a break from things awaiting sudden reactivation of it all, and perhaps more besides.

I won’t deny that my disinterest in crossdressing is, at least partially, down to that long standing element of guilt, the importance of which becomes more apparent at some points, whilst at others, diminishes – time spent with family, people who deserve and or need some of my attention etc.

We all have times when things are not just run of the mill but are actually overall, quite OK, quite pleasant, quite nice, running along nicely, and I suppose that’s where I am right now.

I have already admitted that crossdressing is, for me, sexual at times as well as at others, calming, relaxing, intimate, personal – a little bit of me time, but it is the former scenario, when it gets overtly sexual that I hit a peak and a massive come down afterwards.

The reaction is and has almost certainly been one of ‘is that all there is?’ and ‘is that what it has come to?’.  It’s not nice and although I might enjoy the during, the immediately after is not pleasant right now.   Will that change?  Will I feel different about it in a few days, weeks or months?  Either way, it’s certainly putting me off at the moment.

A while ago, I penned an introductory e-mail to an on-line counsellor which I haven’t yet sent.  I am yet to decide whether that would be of any benefit now or at all – that hasn’t changed since it was first written.

I am Fiona – the recovering crossdresser.  Recovering from what and by when, I am yet to fully understand.

Oh – that feeling again! — February 5, 2017

Oh – that feeling again!

Through necessity, there have been a few days recently where there was merely no reason, need or desire to crossdress.

This week though, there was, and I did the usual – you know – donned an outfit of choice and put myself before my webcam once more.  Compliments came my way but this only served to drive the inner exhibitionist onwards some more.  I was asked if I had any other outfits and having been dressed in blue, changed to an identical outfit but in red.

However, watching the clock, I was aware of a need to get off to the day job in good time and duly did so – a little nod towards a need to apply some control – something I’ve mentioned on more than one occasion before.

The need to get off to work in good time was though, encapsulated in a plan hatched to underdress once more.  Having been mourning the loss of a tried and trusted, and clearly well-worn suspender belt after a plastic hook sheared off and left the whole belt fit for one thing – returning to the same place it came from in the wife’s lingerie drawer – but otherwise, nothing.   Still, there was another deep-set lacy suspender belt which is not exactly suitable for attaching to the only stockings I had – lacy hold ups, and determined that I would wear the belt, hold-ups, g-string and black bra.

A need to return to civvies in time for the journey home led me to appreciate the at least partially waxed body and draping of lingerie in a full-length mirror to such a point that I sought relief.   That was a big mistake.   If only I’d have merely undressed, got dressed in the outer wear again and gone home, that would have been fine.

Instead though, I reached the same point at which I’d been before, somewhat perplexed, feeling flat and on one heck of a come down (no pun intended!).   I was almost on auto pilot on the journey home, in a negatively reflective trance almost and on arrival at home later, did what I did before – kept the man bag firmly in the car, not to see the light of day until the following morning.

That following morning the bag was recovered from the car, but only to return items from whence they came, mindful of a need to launder when a convenient opportunity arises.   I know that I’m not alone to suffer having sought relief but still, crossdressing is, for me, not solely or always a sexual thing.  It also makes me feel far more calm, reflective and comfortable but yes, it IS a sexual thing at times too, evidenced by the exhibitionism of putting myself before a web cam.

After that flat spot, for that day, I became disinterested in crossdressing and did not plan nor had a clue as to when I might do it again.  I was even thinking that it’s really not worth it at all – always on high alert, meticulously planning and being careful about my decade plus long time in the closet but personally affected by a myriad of problems on my mind, not many of them within my control.  Honestly, what’s another six or twelve months if it’s been that long in the closet eh?   Right now – that’s not something I’m considering.

I really don’t like the negativity I end up feeling about the whole thing at the moment.

Still, having had a day away from things, the following day saw me achieving a first – donning a bra and matching panties (only) from the wife’s collection – I’d never worn them before – but apart from inserting the breast forms, that was the only thing I was wearing.  It was nice, stimulating, exciting and once again, I went on-line – like a moth to a flame, almost as if something was controlling me to do it – an unstoppable act.

One of my regular cam visitors arrived late to the session but quite genuinely asked me how I was.  I replied that I was quite up and down and really ought to get moving for the day yet there I was – still.  I was encouraged not to be late and on that note, closed the session.  However, I still somehow found myself quite stimulated from certain elements of the cam experience that time around and yet again, despite everything I’d felt over the preceding 48 hours, I sought relief.

Why?  Did I not learn anything from the preceding 48-hour period?  Bang. Almost immediately, the wave of negativity crashed over me.  I quickly undressed, pulled on my work clothes and got myself off to work for what was, in all honesty, one of those days.  Everything irritated me, work pressures, a mind beset by other non-crossdressing related concerns and it was not until the afternoon that I was somewhere near feeling better again.

But not about crossdressing.  What is it all for really?  Why does it control me so?  Why do I let it control me so?  Despite everything I’ve said before, apart from underdressing to work, crossdressing merely bogs me down in irresistible webcam sessions – apart from the very rare occasion when I do underdress at home.  Do I seek some sort of escapism from the trappings and stresses and strains of life?  Undoubtedly.

If nothing else, at this point, (and perhaps it is the ‘other’ things on my mind) after those two experiences this week, I have become even more detached from crossdressing, even less aware of when I might do so again and even if I might ever again.  I am now contemplating raiding the hidey holes but for no other reason than to pull out my own garments, shove them in a box and throw them into a more inaccessible point in the house where they are not easily at hand and, for me at least, more out of mind.   As stockings are such a draw, if I can’t access them, despite the bra and panties combo worn the other day and however nice that was, perhaps I won’t be so tempted.

There are so many other things that I could be doing frankly, places I could be etc.  After all, why do something if it ultimately takes you to a point at which you’re unhappy?   Perhaps this is a blip?    I know I’ve been here before, but it would appear that I’ve made little progress since stopping crossdressing for the best part of a year from November 2015 to October 2016.  I don’t really think I’m any further forward right now.

It’s time for a long hard look at things – myself included and that starts now.

What’s in a name? — January 20, 2017

What’s in a name?

I really can’t remember whether one of my many blog entries has touched on this before, but in any case, it’s relevant to go over it again.

This year, it is 12 years since I found myself transported into the closet somehow and started crossdressing.  I don’t know how I started, exactly when I started or, more to the point, why I started but it’s largely irrelevant as it’s twelve years on and here I jolly well am!

Somewhere along the line, way back it has to be said, I came up with an en-femme name but there was clearly nothing in my head at the time any better than the one I’ve been using until this week.  In something akin to a dawn-breaking realisation, and having come across a blog link to the evidently fantastic ‘Boys Will Be Girls’ salon in London, it occurred to me that my en-femme name used for all these years was, to be fair, slightly ridiculous and almost tantamount to a parody – as if I wasn’t taking crossdressing seriously.  For that, although unintended, I apologise for any offence that may have been caused.

You may like the name ‘Gerry-Lynn’, and see it as somehow perhaps appropriate, some how feminine, girly and cute, but somehow, despite the absence of any clear thoughts of an alternative until now, I have gradually started to take a dislike to it, hence the branding of it as, for want of a better term, an unintended parody of my feminine side.   It is by no means a parodied, comedic or tongue in cheek side – it is, genuine, heartfelt, and sincere.   It took something of a ‘Eureka’ moment and a few minutes of thoughts to myself to come up with something better that just ticked the proverbial box

So about that name, Gerry-Lynn.  How on earth did I come up with that?  Is Gerry short for Geraldine?  No.  The ridicularity of the name – well that’s how I’ve suddenly seen it this week – is that it was concocted – (I really can’t come up with a better word than that) – from the word ‘Lingerie’, such is my love for the undergarments.   Yes – you’ve guessed it – swap the ‘gerie’ and the ‘Lin’ around and play around with the spelling a bit and that’s what you get – ‘Gerry-Lynn’.  Ridiculous?

Sure, people have addressed me on-line that way without any adverse reaction – only respect for me as a person. I’ve had an e-mail address built with the moniker in it, I’ve appeared on Literotica forums and crossdressing websites over the years as that name, and of course there’s (been) my Twitter feed – @gerrylynncder.

But there lies the problem.  I am something of an obsessive compulsive, evidenced from the drive to crossdress I suppose, but it is also evidenced by the many situations in my life where I’ve just got to do a particular thing right away once my mind gets fixed on it

Having realised that ‘Gerry-Lynn’ was no longer acceptable, having seen the much nicer en-femme names of others on line this week, that, I suppose was the trigger to make me think of something more suitable.  It didn’t take long.

It transpires that had I have been born a girl, I would have been called Fiona, so there you have it.  From here on in, I am Fiona and with that, I am more than content.  Having reached this conclusion yesterday, today I felt it completely appropriate to get things sorted.

So I am now well into the process of closing email accounts and opening new ones.  As for the Twitter account, well, although I changed the profile name as of yesterday, today somehow, that didn’t quite cut it, i.e. for it to be ‘Fiona’ @gerrylynncder.  I need and needed to remove it as much as possible.

So, having set up a new ‘Fiona’ email account, I set up a new Twitter account @fionacder and am now working to move over then close down relevant accounts and profiles, leaving Fiona to take precedence.  It is something of a cleansing exercise, but I have felt somewhat euphoric over it today it has to be said.  If you followed me @gerrylynncder, please do now follow me @fionacder in advance of me closing the former down – thanks!

The only problem is mulling over was that of my WordPress account of my old alter-ego name.  Having sorted e-mail and Twitter, and being content with my webcam presences, this led me to take a look through the settings.  I need not have worried as it was perfectly OK to change things over, add a new e-mail address, change the user name etc.  All done.

So, with some euphoria it has to be said, (and I said last time out that I wanted to introduce you to someone), I am Fiona – and I have probably been for a while, I just didn’t know it until now!

Finally, this time around, changing the subject, this week has seen me spend two working days underdressed. On the one day, black bra, stockings, suspenders and lacy g-string, on the other, for the first time, my bridal white cami-suspender set – the one that fits somewhat snug and tight to my slim body but purchased before I took a better grip an understanding of sizes.  Trial and error and all that.  Although, don’t mention those bloody pinging suspenders with those plastic clasps!  Infuriating!

In each instance, as research has found, going underdressed in public needs some careful planning.  Wearing thicker winter trousers, there has been no need for baggy boxers to hide strap marks and I find that experience somewhat more satisfactory.  It was nice to be able to casually reach in as part of an innocent looking ‘tucking my shirt’ in moment, and feel the lacy material of the lower cami-suspender as I sat, and how the suspender straps arched across the angle between stomach and top of the legs whilst sitting at the desk.

The opportunity to reach in allows a quick check that the shirt underneath the jumper remains baggy and pulled out, not tight to show cami-suspender lines, particularly when standing and moving around the office – another tip for those that don’t already know and to date, have not yet tried underdressing.

Nevertheless, something about being underdressed seems to make an internal radar, operating out of the corner of my eye, crank itself up and carry out scans for people looking my way, particularly as I sat in one of the comfy chairs in the works staff room this week.  I felt sure that there were people passing me by, who, as I sat there, minding my own business, casually reading, were, I felt, taking a slightly longer look in my direction slightly longer than might be naturally expected.

Maybe it was just me, in a partial state of paranoia, but then again maybe it wasn’t.  Had my strategic planning on work clothes still left a few hints as to what lies beneath?   If not that day, perhaps it was another day.

Working in a large office with more than a few people, many of which I don’t know nor perhaps will ever really know, I wonder, somewhat without regard it seems, whether there are whisperings in corners.

I care little to be honest, and I don’t do anything different, but merely process what I believe I am seeing out of the corner of my eye.  So long as I am content with my cover work.  It is not as if I was sitting there solely in my lingerie for goodness’ sake.  As I said in a previous blog entry, being covered up and not entirely giving the game away means that people may hesitate in saying something in case they are wrong, although that doesn’t stop rumours and speculation in corners I suppose.   On this occasion, they aren’t wrong, but this is 2017.  We are nowhere near where we need to be in becoming a tolerant society, but people should be allowed to be who they want to be – me included.

I – Fiona – will continue to be as meticulously careful as I have been since 2005, the closet about as private a place as a private place can be.

Until next time, thanks for reading.

Experimenting… — January 18, 2017

Experimenting…

Firstly, a little bit of an update and a little pointer towards me asserting a little more control than I have done of late.   I have occasionally anguished over spending too much time getting in front of my PC and webcam which is not entirely a case of crossdressing for me, more so perhaps pointing to inner insecurities of which I have yet to understand.  Either that or I have extreme exhibitionistic tendencies I have yet to rationalise and accept.

More recently, I have had the mindset to dress in an underwear outfit of my choosing and then get on with some other things covered up in long legged pyjamas and a dressing gown.   The other night I did just that.   Home early, I elected for a recently forgotten but remembered silky blank cami-suspender with gold clasps.  I remembered about it via some rather bizarre route and hunted it down in the wife’s wardrobe.

Because the wife doesn’t have any kind of affinity with suspenders, the detachable straps had been long since removed and put in a little soft bag in her lingerie drawer, never to see the light of day unless I was sorting through it in private, hunting out the other straps for the other outfits for which the same had applied.   I think I’d previously concluded that a rough hand (not by me) had snapped one of the hooks to which the suspender strap had been removed from this particularly recently recalled black silky cami-suspender.

The investigative side of me one day not so long back ventured to verify.  Infact, no, the loops at the bottom of the cami-suspender were intact.  The other beautiful thing about this particular outfit is that there is some padding in the breast area, but not entirely stitched in – it is almost as if it was designed for breast forms to be inserted.  Cold breast forms inserted therefore don’t have any impact other than enhance cleavage and feel gorgeous.

Anyway, back to the other night.  The mundane journey home had led me to plan a dress up session in that outfit, but my mind is becoming transfixed with my breast forms, which sit so nicely in one of the wife’s unused bras.  My breast forms are 38c and so is the black lacy bra which fits me like a dream.   It is SO nice to be happy in knowing one’s size having pondered over it for some time.

On came a suspender belt, lacy g-string, and having sifted through three pairs of stockings, one a 10 denier, the other two being from the trusty home and hardware store, I pulled on the 10 denier somewhat sheer supermarket purchased stockings only to find a ladder.  They had to go.  Still, on with one of the other pair – only to find that they’d seen better days.   On came the third and final pair to complete the dress up.

Only that wasn’t it.  The other day, I had in fact opened the wife’s wardrobe and decided, much against anything I’d ever done before, to pull on one of her party dresses.  Over a bra and breast forms giving me a prominent, eye catching shape, and feeling the swish of the material around my legs, this was something of an experiment.  I also lifted the skirt of the dress to reveal the lingerie beneath in front of a full length mirror which was more than intoxicating.

I had previously only claimed to be a lingerie crossdresser but in a process which appears to be self-feminising over a period of time, and having seen visual stimuli, this was something I had time to do again the other night.  A total of three or four outfits were pulled on over the top, appreciated and taken off fairly swiftly afterwards   I am now, it seems, open to further crossdressing, whilst still so focussed on lingerie only.

I considered that I might, one day home alone, spend a little more time in such an outfit under which lingerie hides.  I also reasoned that, in a hurry, being in an outfit may well be very difficult to get out of that alone, before the lingerie has even been reached.  Further levels of crossdressing is one for the box labelled ‘experimentation’ and at a very safe convenient point.

Anyway, having pulled on PJ bottoms, socks to hide the stockings and a dressing gown, I vowed that I would go on line, switch on my webcam, and having inserted my forms into the bra as part of the dressing process, opened my dressing gown to expose the bra and breasts, positioned the camera, pointed the glare of the desk lamp to diffuse the evident hair growth and merely got to work, chatting with folk occasionally but getting some other desk work done.  I say ‘some’ as, although I was sitting there just showing my bra and breast forms, there were the odd few requests to flash a little more, which I duly did of course!

However, when it was time, I said my goodbyes, covered up and spent the rest of the evening dressed but covered up until it was time to de-femme (if that’s the word) ahead of no longer being home alone.

And so to today.   Today, I vowed that I would be dressing for work in the same bra, suspenders, stockings and g-string combo, minus the breast forms, for a day underdressed at work.  An invigorating day of being dressed and feeling the bra wrap around my upper chest and back, the occasional necessity to reconnect a stubborn, arguably ill attached in the first place suspender strap, but otherwise, merely enjoying the cossetting feel of lingerie under my male office attire.

Women do not know how lucky they are to be able to wear such things every single day!

Anyway, there’s another blog along shortly…there’s someone I want you to meet…

Questions! Questions! — January 11, 2017

Questions! Questions!

‘A funny thing happened to me on the way to…’ is an often used opening line for a classic comedian telling an old-fashioned joke.

I suppose it was kind of ever so slightly amusing along the same lines the other day, albeit in retrospect when I was on-line – again – it has to be said, dressed in my lingerie.  A casual browsing session had previously reminded me of one of the webcam sites that I have, on occasion frequented, but more recently, had forgotten.

Sometimes, my site of choice can be a little on the quiet side and contacts amongst contacts over the years often pointed to use of other sites over time, so these have provided alternative options from time to time.  One of them, I had been reminded about the other day via some method or another, and having recalled the log-in ID and password, duly logged in and did a bit of a tidy up and update of an account that told me I had been logged in around 2months ago.   It can’t have been for long as I can’t really remember it but still!

Anyway, the strategist in me decided to update the gallery of pics and, having temporarily saved a few recent pics from my main site of choice to my PC and having cropped and fettled and re-sized them to fit, I duly uploaded them as part of the refresh process, remembering to well and truly delete from my machine once I knew I’d done.  At the same time as I was also adding them, rather flagrantly and naughtily to my Twitter account.

The existence of these on my main site of preference, which does NOT allow editing, merely a switch on or off for public viewing is by itself a risk as it shows surrounding elements of the man cave identifiable to the right person.  Being able to crop and change for other sites is more of a bonus!  Risky stuff though for a closeted crossdresser.

Up went the photos to this particular but less frequented site, all of which were ultimately approved for posting and that was it.  The webcam session (yes, I’m still totally addicted to dressing and going on cam despite everything I’ve said and continue to say to the contrary!) was very invigorating and busy.   As far as I remember, it was the very next day when I was once again embarking on a session on the same site when, all of a sudden, with things going rather well, the ‘Account Suspended’ message came up with the preceding session terminated and access denied.

These things are usually a little more detailed though and sure enough, there was some sub-text which, put simply, suggested that I may have breached their age policy and wanted me to follow a process whereby I could confirm who I was..  Rather than embark on the whole lengthy process there and then (one I’ve been through on my site of choice before – providing photographs of me, full face, holding photo ID and a more close up but edited scan of the same ID), I shrugged, double checked that I really could not go back in and merely went to another site.

However, the seed was sown and I intend to fully stand up to my right to prove who I am but it got me thinking – what exactly did the person deciding to hit the proverbial big red STOP button use as a reason for doing so?   I was very quickly reviewing my slim, slender, arguably youthful body and in my mindset at least, flicking through the images I’d uploaded.  Clearly, from those images, I had been adjudged to be underage despite being middle-aged.

I toyed some more with the idea that they may think I am not actually who I purport to be but read again the rationale for the suspension of my account.   I suppose it is nice to be considered to be more youthful than I am, that my physique belies my years, and I should clearly be and am very grateful, even though I expect that old Father Time will catch up with me eventually.   I pondered over whether I had ‘passed’ somehow, but also quickly reached the conclusion that this was nothing to do with gender, merely age – the rationale of the ‘Account Suspended’ message really pointed clearly to that.

Still, I will indeed find some time to tinker with technology, take some photos and complete the process to reactivate my account.  But there’s still a niggling part of me that wants to confront them.   However, in retrospect, the process that has put the skids on my account is in place for very good reason – to protect those more vulnerable and to set a precedent and for that I must be grateful.

Questions! Questions!    Remaining as I have, for around 12 years now, very firmly in the closet, I have more than one reason to be hair free. Officially, but also quite genuinely, I get too hot and too uncomfortable with a swirling mass of hair over my body and a clearly fast acting metabolism which makes it grow at quite a rate akin to a Yeti or gorilla, but the years of full body waxing are starting, finally, to make some inroads on decreasing growth it seems and I now find myself in the position where I can have less done more often at my salon of choice in a nearby town.

However, this has recently led to my other half, clearly having looked me up and down a bit whilst I undressed or dressed, found a quiet moment the other day to enquire about when I was next due at the salon, this with the fact that I had been recently and only had part of my body waxed, the other parts, determined by the expert to be ‘not ready’ but would be in another few weeks.

The questions, starting with one as to when I was next going, became more inquisitive.  Why might I need to go more often?  She didn’t understand.  I reasoned that this was because hair is different on different parts of the body (I am told), some more thicker and determined than others, but also that the years of going every other month or so had begun training the hair to stop growing so much and that the right thing to do was to avoid encouraging growth if I was to be how I wanted to be, i.e. more hair free either for longer for permanently.   I also threw in how very infrequently someone else I knew now goes for their waxing sessions because of the years they had been going.

My other half said that she thought I looked OK as I was.  I had already apologised about being a little ‘before and after’ a day or so before and ahead of a (rare but planned) trip to a swimming pool, and said I might be a little uncomfortable in being that way in a public facility dependent on which way onlookers viewed me!

During that previous discussion, the other half had said that she thought I looked OK and that it wouldn’t matter, potentially in order to deter me from being a bit of a party pooper so to speak.  I mentioned in my last blog that I would concede to being more than a tad body conscious and that I always feel better when I have had a full body wax, then less happy as the growth starts to come through again.

Of course, with only rare trips to swimming pools, the only people who ever see most of my body with little or no clothes on is the other half and the person who carries out my body waxing.  The other half does have the habit of going into one of those shy girly voices sometimes around the time I have my body waxed, semi-objecting to someone else touching her man’s body.  I usually respond by saying that it is a necessary ‘evil’ if I want the job doing (which she now actually loves when done) and, even though she has herself visited the salon on a rare occasion when mutually convenient to do so, i.e. meeting me for a wander around town afterwards, that everything was highly professional.

So, what of all of the above you may ask?  I suppose for the former, as I said, I should be grateful and content to have to go through a process which is there for my own good as well as that of others but for the latter, it is probably a case of being aware of the rumblings and take appropriate caution being such a long-term resident of the crossdressing closet.

Questions by themselves, when uttered, state one element of what is going on in a person’s mind, but they can often be loaded and seek to establish other material facts not so clearly answered or evident from the question actually asked and the answer given.   Caution will therefore continue to be exercised from deep within the closet.

I’ll leave you with another ‘…funny thing happened to me’ anecdote from a long since passed appointment at the waxing salon.  Noting some grey hairs on my chest ahead of them being whipped out, seeking some reassurance as to my path towards being hair free, I asked the person doing the job whether they were merely weakening hairs.

“No” …came the response – “it’s just a sign of your age”.   Now about that website account suspension!

Crappy New Year — January 5, 2017

Crappy New Year

Well, the warning signs were there.  Hell bent on indulgence, either indulging or planning to indulge, probably looking for some sort of comfort and sucker from all the troubles in life, I have turned (back) to crossdressing but with virtual reality blinkers fitted it now seems.

As I said, the warning signs were there.  Somewhere deep down, I knew that what I was doing was more or less exactly the same as the period leading up to November 2015 when I called a halt to my crossdressing activity – going along at the expense of other things and people, whether that be with or without control and moderation applied.

Looking back, I now more clearly acknowledge having seen signs of slipping out of control yet largely ignored them then.  There have been all too frequent occasions where I drove to work rather than take the public transport – this was because I’d been up early indulging and missed a public transport connection.  I have gone into work later and whilst I have the option to work flexibly, this has still come at a cost as a negative now applies which will need to be worked back.

Regardless, I have continued to indulge in crossdressing leading up to and even during the festive season and if I’m honest, it has all been whilst on view of a web cam – i.e. not dressing solely for me but for the entertainment (if you want to call it that) of others.

But for some time, and once again, I have been neglecting the people and the things that I should not be neglecting.  I have not been as attentive and whilst there have been other things on my mind, you know the things, family troubles, a busy job etc, this has still been with a determined stride forward, acknowledging but mostly ignoring the signs.

I will not go into detail but suffice to say that it has not exactly been a Happy New Year as, all around me, the consequences of my actions have been building up to New Year fireworks of a not very bright, colourful kind.  However, outed I have not been and that is about the only plus point to it all.

As the alarm bells continue to ring, there has been yet more irrational panic going off in my mind.  As questions are asked by others about what might be on my mind, and although there have been plenty of things on my mind, crossdressing has been one of those things.  In the chaos and the aftermath of a major crisis, I have been left reviewing where things are stored ready for use.

Although my outfits are well hidden, there has been a nagging thought process that for some bizarre reason, they might somehow be found just when I least need them to be.  Sure – the latest crisis that makes it more of a crappy New Year than a happy one most definitely means that I must reassess my approach to my love of lingerie crossdressing, but it has also made me wonder whether an adjournment of things to a more remote hiding place may not be such a bad idea after all.

Out of sight, out of mind?  Not exactly, but more difficult to get to might just mean, more difficult to indulge in, but whether that be true or not, somehow, the irrational strategist in me is merely concluding that I should do it because of the very slim chance that there might be a frenetic search for answers or even just a more innocent New Year tidy up carried out by the other half to be helpful to me and to while away the hours but this would lead to at least the discovery of one hidey hole.

Whether I do move the items or not remains to be seen – it has been a few days now since everything blew up – somehow, irrationally, it seems the right thing to do and as it currently feels right to slide my affection for and indulgence in crossdressing to one side for a while, finding a more secure, remote location may just be the part of the process I need to refocus and go again.

I am sure that there are those of you who regularly read my blog entries (as diverse as those entries are) who are sitting there, even some of you who view my web cam, thinking ‘I knew this was going to happen’.  There are a few regular visitors to my web cam who have urged me to be careful and avoid being caught whilst dressed but I guess that means ‘being caught’ per se too.  As I said – caught – I have not been.

More level-headed thoughts over the last few days have been met with a recognition that I continue to be fairly body conscious generally – dysphoric to an extent perhaps.  I have received some nice comments from some individuals visiting my webcam that I have a nice body and bum.  I am slim, skinny if you like – always have been – but would they say the same if I wasn’t wearing a draping of sensual lingerie?

The clothing alone is enough to set my imagination going let alone wearing it so one can only imagine how others see it in their minds.  My hirsute body is, I’ll be fair, becoming less so as regular waxing sessions over a number of years continue to ‘train’ it out, hair growth getting finer and less, and more so, none in certain places on my body.

It is likely that I will now have less done, more often, but I still take a dislike to the parts of my body that continue to swarm with hair when it really comes through and even when it starts, I take immense disatisfaction.   This though, is a race, not a sprint and I know deep down that I AM making progress in my quest to be more regularly hair free and that I am becoming more content – just not totally content – with how I look.

It may be that my body conscious negativity – despite compliments – has something to do with my mood and right now, and as has often been the case, I am less inclined to crossdress when I am more hirsute and more so when I am less hairy.   Being more en-femme when wearing lingerie is by far, the most preferable.

I have, today, read some absolutely fantastic blogs about how some parts of the LBGT community treat others with some playing the ‘you’re not as trans as I am’ card, about those who want to transition but can’t, about those who consider themselves transgender but don’t want to transition, about the various segments of the spectrum and suggesting that there are some who dismiss crossdressers as being somewhat low on the scale and that their feelings are worthless when in fact, no-one, irrespective of how they feel should be lambasted, criticised, demeaned etc. and that if the LBGT community wants widespread acceptance, it must seek to accept those from within without question no matter how they choose to be – particularly as the reasons for how they choose to be or must be are sometimes not within their control and must be that way for all the most applicable if not wholly suitable reasons.  Everyone has a right to feel they way they feel.

Dysphoric I may be, body conscious I may be, but as seen on blogs, I do not wish to transition, nothing could be further from my mind, but I do seek to accept the part of me that seeks to be in touch with and embrace a feminine side.  I suppose I have always had that – I’m not a man’s man and never have been (whatever a ‘man’s man is!) and I do have quite a few effeminate tendencies and mannerisms I suppose, but I am happy being who I am, not necessarily the way I am.

Perhaps conveniently after the upheaval of the last few days, the fact that I am not content with how I look at the moment – particularly trying to manage my body and any outbreaks of ingrowing hairs and the most awful scar inflicting spots – is good timing which allows me to refocus at a time that I must.

I’ll be blunt.  Do I intend purging?  No.  Must I continue to reside in the closet?  Without a shadow of doubt – yes.   Will I crossdress again?   Highly likely.  But this is yet more of the learning and coping processes that I guess closeted crossdressers have to go through.

Although if I’m honest, I have once again given a brief moment of time to wondering whether it was time to fight the demons once more and put a stop to it, irrespective of how it would not sit well with me.  I don’t intend to call a half again but it’s a dangerous game.

It might hurt me to stop, (and I haven’t dressed at all so far this year) but indirectly, as it stands, the level of indulgence and focus is and has been clearly hurting others – people as well as things and those people, whilst aware of some of the things going on in my life, don’t know it all of course.

I don’t really see stopping as an option right now, but there has been more than a shot across my bow.  A new year wake up call – a crappy New Year.