The recovering crossdresser?

To crossdress or not crossdress – that is the question…

One step back, two steps forward? — September 19, 2019

One step back, two steps forward?

NSFW: Adult content

As I have remarked on many a previous blog entry, I would probably make for a fascinating case for a psychiatrist or some such medical professional.

My mindset and my behaviours can range from one opposite extreme to the other, the direction of that swing firmly influenced by the achievement of sexual satisfaction for any given period.

My correspondences online including before a webcam have, on more than one occasion recently, included the acknowledgement that I am not currently crossdressing.  This, more often than not has led to evidently disappointed folk terminating the conversation.

Contrary to that, irrationally, there have been occasional thought processes towards becoming hell-bent on crossdressing, but without passing the point of no return and doing so.   As I have commented many a time, I might want to in an ideal world, but am not intending to do so because it is far from ideal.

The boundaries of the ideal and actual worlds have been allowed to be blurred over the years of lingerie crossdressing, dalliance and indulgences allowed to come to the fore with rationale and a bizarre form of reason more than liberally applied, only to eventually hit the point of total disgust, objection and cessation.

The only thing to be removed from the turmoil is the urge to purge.  The scars of far too many., at the time quite reasonable but retrospectively abhorrent purges of far too much monies worth of lingerie lovelies have proved to be scars that have stood the test of time and temptation.

When 2019 arrived, conscience arrived loud and clear once more.  A motivation to start afresh coinciding with a new year seemed a good fit.   Here we are, some eight and a half months later, only social media timeline reminders confirming that whilst I have crossdressed this year, it was only at extreme top end of January.

I’ve said before upon previous cessations that something had felt different that time, and equally, the feelings since January 2019 have felt somehow different again, more motivationally against falling off the proverbial wagon despite occasional feelings otherwise.

The recent Twitter time line offers no real visible evidence of my crossdressed state, as the retweeted posts of others and sometimes, only appreciative comments for anothers can reflect back.  You’d have to scroll back a fair old bit to find imagery of me in my lingerie, but it remains as a reminder of where I’ve been and how I’d looked.

However, over the last eight and a half months, when sexual motivation has driven me, I can be and at times am obssessed with the Twitter feed, my own timeline, and DMs, one of which, wanted followers to privately share images in a crossdressed state to stimulate and encourage theirs.  I was only too happy to temporarily download my own images and share them again in one big burst.

On the webcam site of my choice, the gallery images have been turned off more than they have been on, a momentary treat for those with whom I decided to flaunt myself in my chaste, barely clothed but increasingly hirsute state.   Even the profile elements, Q&A, social media presences, other personal details etc. have been individually turned on and off dependent on the peaks and troughs of my sexual motivation.

But when that motivation is at its peak, it’s no holds barred, unadultered, often explicit exhibitionism, the bio and avatar evidently telling one story of a crossdresser, whilst the on-line imagery broadcast via webcam tells a far different one.

Rather than state that I no longer crossdress, I have chosen to be more conservative with the truth, that I am merely not at the moment, so as to retain their piqued interest, that I’m just not on that occasion, not allowed on that occasion perhaps, sometimes inferring that I might be required to exhibit myself by another person in a sparsely dressed, chaste state, often with the use of preferred toys ongoing at the time.

The other week I carelessly sent some e-mail correspondence – wording of which was poor, ungrateful and thoughtless.  It was sent at some ungodly hour of the night (nothing sexually explicit I might add – just mundane every day hobby related stuff).  Whilst at work the following day, I checked my e-mails only to find the most terrible of responses that put a lot of things at risk.  I had to work hard to turn things about and profusely apologise.  There were days of thinking, proverbially sweating it out, suffering, lack of sleep, high blood pressure no doubt.

I severely reprimanded myself and put myself down – I told myself that I was rash, careless, stupid, incompetent – you get the idea.  So I locked myself up.  On came a holy trainer as a sort of self-punishment, lowering myself as a domme might do to a sub for the most trivial of misdemeanours compared to what I had done via the power of written word via e-mail.

It was only when I had somehow managed to dig myself out of the very deep hole that I’d put myself into that the depression lifted, but the attraction for being locked up somehow remained and I did so at every possible hour for a day or so, and even yearned for it whilst in bed with my significant other one night, unable to sleep and sexually stimulated because of it, the morning taking ages to arrive.  Just recollecting this makes me want to put on my holy trainer and lock myself up again.  Slight ridiculous isn’t it?!  Why?  As I have said before, I don’t know and that has led to recent blog entries where I seem to come to my senses, find no answer to my question as to why I do it, and stop again for a time.

Somewhere along the way though, there will be a sexual peak.  It might not be for days.  Sufficient time may be allowed to pass where imagination continues to run wild, longer periods in chastity, be encouraged by imagery and conversation on social media, but then I allow the peak – usually orgasm.

I’ve sometimes intimated that I might be seeking some form of training to do something in particular, when in fact, it was probably more a case of role play on-line, some vivid imagination and irrational potentially bi-curious fantasy allowed to play itself out.

It is amazing what I’ve learnt over the years, either through reading accounts of others to mere trial and error, and more trial and error still.   Get me in my bi-curious, sexually active state of mind and the craving for anal is almost overpowering, all consuming, all out abandonment and pursuit.

On Monday, the inner provocateur, the inner exhibitionist, the experimental bi-curious side, fuelled by enough online stimulation and frame of mind pushed me to plan an early morning, home alone indulgence in play and experimentation.

First, a holy trainer, seen as the chastity device of utter preference, worn as much as possible, all day at work, for a few hours one weekend morning until disturbed by the arrival back home of the significant other, a quick unlock in the bathroom and concealment of the evidence putting things back to ‘normal’.

Monday saw an attempt to emulate a sub and domme video I’d seen in which a vibrating wand was applied to caged cock and restrained balls, one highlight after another, so much so that orgasm was achieved considerably to the smug satisfaction of the female domme.

In my moment of experimentation, firstly with a holy trainer and then latterly to a metal cage, I applied a vibrating prostate massager to various parts of my nether regions.  I found it quite fascinating at times, others quite stimulating, others, just, well, whatever.

Eventually, a 6″ dildo was carefully inserted, the vibrating massager put away and wanton abandonment allowed to play out on cam with no-one watching bar me, the odd quick arrival but equally quick departure as my imagery repeatedly failed to float the boats of visitors.

One viewer hung around for a while and asked whether I sought any form of control and domination to which I blatantly, and arguably untruthfully said “Yes!”.   I took it upon myself to accept their arguably demeaning abrupt use of words in the chat box and followed their orders.    By the time they’d become bored, I was raging from the height of sexual excitement and motivation.

For the very first time ever, whilst following those orders, I found myself anally stimulated to begin oozing semen, having discovered, somehow, the way to milk my prostate, something I’d actually been trying for a while.  This had no doubt been helped by the motivational words of the domme and my intent to follow their requests with the dildo.    However, they had clearly had enough, through boredom or that I was not really deemed to be following their requests to the letter and therefore was not submissive enough and I was left alone in cyberspace once more.

Having recently briefly experimented with a higher placed suction cup dildo on a vertical mirror and having felt the more direct striking of dildo on prostate and the effects of the same in beginning the flow of seminal fluid, enough was in mind to take longer on this second occasion, seen only by the video camera on my smart phone from below, I began taking the dildo anally, positioned higher so as to drive in to me at an angle which would start to pound my already stimulated prostate.

Having repeatedly tried and failed to motivate myself to consume my own semen in full, yet having acquired the ability and courage to taste in small quantities, having done some searching of the net for methods to overcome the ability to renege on consuming it after orgasm when urges and motivation can subside, I had earlier decided to make a small glass of drink.

Largely to both my joy and surprise,  I began to acknowledge a slow string of semen which began to ooze, hands free, out of the end of my cage locked cock as I pounded the dildo, additional stimulation achieved as the smart phone video recorded every second.  Still the string of semen continued to ease out, not always but mostly caught in the glass, the bodily fluid that didn’t, motivationally cleaned up to mouth as my intent to finally swallow a full load, however much that was, was coming to the fore.

I wanted more, and tried for more, but it seemed that I had perhaps allowed my relaxed state of mind to be pushed the more I yearned for quantity.  Time was running out anyway and I was acutely aware of the need for a tidy up of sex toys, lube and other related bits and bobs which littered the places around where I had been so sexually active, less care to keeping only what was needed out, more so the discarding of things not wanted in favour of those that were at any given moment.

The self-enforced chaste state was eventually and perhaps somewhat abruptly brought to an end and hand relief was achieved, into the glass of squash, dilution of seminal fluid by the flavoured water.  As I came, I spoke to myself firmly, often through gritted teeth that, this time, THIS TIME, I would consume my own semen in this way.  I reasoned that the taste of my own semen was something I liked in small quantities, so why would a larger quantity be so much less acceptable?

Rather than chicken out once more, I pushed on, reasoning that tactic applied with the small glass of cordial was a great way to finally empty the contents into my stomach.  The glass was fully consumed in seconds, the empty glass edges still containing traces of my cum that were wiped out with a finger and also consumed.

I celebrated. I congratulated myself that I had finally drunk a full load of partially prostate milked semen whilst scanning for opportunities as to when I might be able to do that again, and this time, with less fast-forwarding to hand-relief first.

The video evidence was reviewed and retained for a few hours of the day (but ultimately deleted), but with orgasm achieved, motivation to lock back up again diminished and instead, with a sort of inner smug satisfaction, the clean up and tidy up began, the assorted paraphernalia returned to storage from where it had been recovered a few hours previously, and I applied myself to the day job.

Since then, it has been as if a bucket-list has been ticked.   There hasn’t been any thought towards doing it again any time soon, or anything else for that matter, no chastity, no access to the alter-ego Twitter account but instead, a motivation to heterosexually fit in with society once more for the time being.

Motivation to dabble more more is highly influenced by my quite hirsute state, as hirsute as I have been generally for some time, but with a body wax appointment getting ever closer.   I am wondering quite what fires may be reignited by that appointment and the aftermath of being smooth bodied once more, more happy with my body and more sexually stimulated as a result.

Bucket list ticked two days ago, achievements recognised and celebrated, another mundane day at work saw total application to workday and evening responsibilities – that drive only stopped by acknowledgement that everything else was done, so I could turn to the creation of a blog entry, the title for which had been thought up in a fleeting moment over the last 24-36 hours.

There were just brief moments given over to the week’s sexual activity.  Having paid another visit to the toilet at the office to reply to a call of nature, the ghosts of underdressing of the past led me to recall how I had previously and frequently used that room to adjust stockings and suspenders, take snaps in various outfits then posted on social media or to strip, take off the workday lingerie and cover back up again before returning home to the unsuspecting, knowning bosom of the family.

Despite the draw of my kink for chastity and anal, those recollections of crossdressing were not motivation to dress again though – quite the opposite it seemed, more an intent not to do so because of the inconveniences when crossdressing came to an end, the time taken, the time wasted perhaps, the behaviour and resulting guilt allowed to play out.

This, it seemed, was, and contrary to a previous blog entry title, more a case of one step back, two steps forward.  Or was it?

Two steps forward, three back. — September 8, 2019

Two steps forward, three back.

A quick cast back of memories, blog entries and Twitter posts reminds me that the last time that I crossdressed in whatever lingerie took my fancy, the turn of the year had just occurred, and all the things that New Year tends to do to the mindset, to me at least, led to the ‘pause’ or maybe ‘stop’ button being pressed on all such activities.

Somehow, I have remained, in the past eight months, free from any motivation to recommence – well almost.  The other week, I had an almighty wobble when the trials and tribulations of life were weighing heavily upon my mind and somehow, I needed something to counter the negativity.

I was back at a point that I’d been before – standing still in one room or the other, probably the bedroom, head in hands or with my arms wrapped around over the front of my head, wrangling and fighting with myself to resist when something was driving me to carelessly indulge.  Somehow, I was able to come out the other side with enough motivation to get over whatever it was that was gripping me.

There have been other momentary wobbles, but other than that, I have somehow told myself that I do not need it and have found other distractions, necessarily, or deliberately.

The dressing was of course, fine, but the sneaking around, and was ultimately the perceived waste of time, concluding that I could have been investing my time in doing other that things seemed to outweigh the reasons to dress.

But of course, since the end of last year, I have been immersed in an alternate kink which kind of goes hand in hand, or should that be cock in panties, with crossdressing, that being chastity.

Now, the one thing that I have maintained through my addiction to crossdressing is that I am no sissy.   Of course, there are some people on line who are quite content to hold titles of ‘sissy’ or ‘faggot’, but I have never considered myself to be either – and in fact, I dislike the terms quite considerably, but as I have said before, each to their own.

Anyway, seeing chastity as another kink to occupy my time, most of this year has seen me in chastity of one form or another, a cage or, as was later requested by my then symbolic keyholder with whom I only communicated on-line via DMs, a holy trainer.

My generosity coupled with my evident submissive nature, led me to equip them similarly over time, and there was even some lingerie purchased along the way.  After they blocked me following my sudden stop of all things crossdressing in the New Year, collateral damage you may call it, either they have thrown everything I ever bought them, or they have not and have a constant reminder of a comparatively short journey and voyage of discovery.   It was probably my fault that I was blocked anyway, having deleted copious amounts of explicit images from the more recent months of the DM timeline.

Anyway, I digress.  Chastity.  I love(d) it – I’ll be honest and the sexual training I have had by a male friend and confidante over the years has allowed me to describe myself as bi-curious, and whilst, at one time, I would never have considered such a thing, anal play has been the thing that has been part of the chastity journey.

But there have been moments recently when even that sent me spinning into dismay at those actions too, mostly after I brought myself to climax.   I asked myself such questions as ‘Why was I doing it?’,  ‘What did I hope to achieve from it?’,  ‘What was I achieving from it?’  and ‘Was this just another addiction?’   ‘Don’t know’, ‘don’t know’, ‘don’t know’ and ‘probably’ are the relevant answers there.

On one recent occasion, I took it upon myself to remove everything bar a cock-pump and fleshlight to remote storage where the lingerie resides.  No cage, no holy trainer, no dildo, no prostate massagers – just straightforward heterosexual toys, albeit still hidden from my significant other but arguably more justifiable if the ‘you know what’ hit the proverbial fan.

Recently though, I relapsed and merely found myself driven, hell bent in fact, to the storage facility and recovered everything bar the holy trainer, indulging in yet more lock up time, more anal time and even going so far as appearing on line on my web cam sites of preference.  However, it wasn’t long afterwards, probably after achieving orgasm, that the regular day to day me was allowed to come to the fore once, the sexually driven deviant again suppressed after reaching the point of sexual satisfaction.

Explicit images posted on Twitter were later met with a compulsion to delete them instead – because, well, just because – it seemed the right thing to do as paranoia set in.

I remarked on my Twitter feed recently of my evident surprise that, one day, my ‘kink’ had switched back on, almost as if I was not control of my own behaviour, and although it might sound borderline insane to say as such, when I’m hell bent on indulging, I can hear myself saying don’t, but more so, a no-holds barred ‘why the hell not?’ approach overpowers.

I’ve tried to stay off my Twitter account of late as viewing can often led to some degree of motivation to indulge somehow, the reasons largely unknown, yet the time spent locked up – and it was often for as long as 12 hours a day sometimes – has become very infrequent, few and far between of late too as those questions as to what I was doing and why remained largely unanswered – the ‘because it feels good’ answer, not forming part of conclusions and rationale to continue doing so.

I suppose the absolute need to attend to other, arguably more pressing, normal things, issues and commitments has been allowed to tower commandingly above as  the utmost priority, anything else seen as not necessary, not preferred, and not happening.

But I kind of find myself fighting a need to have a kink of some kind, yet reasoning with myself that I should not need it and that I should get my sexual kicks via more societally conventional methods.

Of course, body hair dissuades too, particularly from appearances on line.  I don’t like my visual appearance when unclothed at the moment and the growth patterns and time remaining until the next waxing/training sessions leaves me hating my own self in naked form – so it has been slightly annoying to feel the need to be naked due to very hot weather here in the UK.  I can plainly see the bits that need doing and the comparatively small areas that don’t.

I had a massive hang up when I first started body waxing after years of trying everything else, the ‘progress’ being something my confidante and sexual mentor has reminded me about.  They said that I was much better now, far less hirsute and had much such progress from yesterday, but whilst I lay face down, naked on the massage table, I found myself trying to make a point to disagree and did as such by making a long questioning ‘Mmmm?!’ sound before admitting that I still did have a hang up.

Despite the body dysphoria, this last few days, today even, whilst penning this end of the blog entry, I still find myself with a mind like a fruit machine yet to settle after a roll, symbols spinning, before giving an answer that will probably be ignored as being non-beneficial before the reels start spinning again – and so on.

Twitter visits continue, ‘follows’ continue, ‘followers’ go up and down at will, I like other comments, I make comments of my own, I relate to things that I see, memes and the like, and of course, yes, I still have a deep yearning somewhere deep down to be crossdressed again.

Reasons such as the last eight months, and somehow a drive to fight the demons of the draw to crossdress or engage in chastity and anal are countered by the body dysphoria and the time remaining before my next (probably almost full body) waxing session, and doing something else.  Once I am smooth bodied again, I will feel more sexy, and therefore likely to indulge and exhibit.

Even now, home alone, I have acknowledged the things I could get up, the time I might have to do it, but I was driven insted to put another rambling blog entry to bed as if it was either some sort of therapy for the soul, or just something I felt I needed to do.

I am yet to dispose of the crossdressing paraphernalia, outfits, breast forms and the like.  There was a point not-so-long ago when I gave some tthought to doing so, but I am kind of glad that I didn’t.  It isn’t time. Will it ever be ‘time’?  Who knows?  It will have to be something I am totally and utterly 500% sure of.   I have experienced the pain of purging all too many times, something I vowed that I would never do again – and I haven’t.   Things just get stored away these days, far enough out of the way.

I’m a hypocrite.  I’ll give all the reasons why I’m not doing something, only to end up doing it all over again when the mindset tells me it is OK to do so.

The all time unanswered question on this blog, one that many people would value knowing the answer for is: ‘How did you stop yourself from crossdressing?’.  I’ve long said that I would love to be able to give an answer.

Something tips me over the edge. I hate myself, I hate what I find myself doing, not before or during, but if I allow the sexual peak, definitely afterwards.  Call it disgust if you like, despair perhaps.

You might say that such a feeling is perfectly natural.  You’re probably right.  At one time, I didn’t care, but now the degree of caring matters, influenced by people most closely around me.  Nobody except anonymous on-line contacts behind psuedonyms and e-mail accounts, knows about the inner me.

I might be someone’s ‘Golden Boy’, the pride of the family perhaps, upholding the family stand with what they see me doing in my ‘normal life’, and if I wasn’t and hadn’t been indulging in what I have been, I would probably more validly accept and embrace it, but I display modesty because the inner mindset insists on it.

Here I am then, an overall quite busy, mixed up, bi-curious, currently former crossdresser, now fighting body dysphoria, the quite real but largely unexplained draw of chastity, and sexual energy ranging from non-existent to torrent and everywhere in between at any given time.

I genuinely don’t know what’s around the corner, but I still find myself looking for opportunities to indulge in the replacement kink et al.

It’s just seems to be a case of two steps forward and three back.  If you’ve got this far – thanks for reading.  It means a lot.  Until next time…

Kink swap, shock stop — July 27, 2019

Kink swap, shock stop

A look back to the beginning of the year identifies a period of almost eight months since the end to the most recent period of crossdressing – the turn of the new year having a bizarre impact on changing one’s mind set – AGAIN!

As we head, at pace, through the year, half way through in fact, and with Summer well and truly upon us, thoughts have only occasionally flitted towards relapse, what it would be like to pull on some stockings and a suspender belt plus an outfit or bra of some sort or another.

Only I haven’t and as before, the longer the current cessation goes on, the less inclined I am to relapse it seems.  Those who have been reading my blog entries will know that I was at a stop for around 18 months last time before a ‘What the hell’ attitude came to the fore and off I went again.

But if, for a minute, you think that I have not had something else to occupy my personal time sexually, you are quite wrong – as I have in fact, merely taken on one kink for another.  I was introduced to chastity whilst in the deepest throws of crossdressing – this was during December last year – the inner sub being allowed to accede to an online key holder who has since quite justifiably blocked me in the wake of my massive new year pang of conscience, the metaphorical door slammed, albeit unintentionally, in their face by me.

Nevertheless, chastity has been a thing of my own control from the start, able to put on a device of my choosing, and stay in it for a full working day, consecutive working days or longer, for periods of around 12 hours a day, only the closeted nature of my behaviour preventing it from being any longer than that.

Having become bi-curious through one route or another over the last few years, anal play has been hand in glove with chastity, from prostate massagers to dildos, all of which have gone down (or is that in?) very well indeed thank you very much.

As ever, the exhibitionist within has allowed web cam appearances, acceptances of any and all friend requests and the striking up of conversations with people at home and abroad.

My Twitter profile has included regular postings of me in my chaste state, with and without underwear, so far without incurring the wrath of administrators of any kind, and I have followed more and more people of interest and connection to chastity and mistressing etc. and related threads of interest.

The webcam site of preference has been used, although the contents of the profile page continue to be switched on and off at various times dependent on how my sex drive is towards things in general.   I’ve also somewhat re-acquainted myself with Skype and another webcam and chat site of preference, often flitting between the camsites when a lull arises on one or the other.  Often, Skype contacts come from references on profiles across the other sites.

There is just slight apprehension at striking up communications with some people, yet a gung-ho attitude with others – and I’m mindful of the pitfalls either way.

When my kink switches on, I am immersed in a virtually no-holds barred kind of way, and things only ever come to an abrupt end if I allow myself to reach a sexual peak.

Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t, sometimes I need it, sometimes I have to have it, sometimes, I don’t.    It’s those moments that I do need to have it, that, akin to the aftermath of previous crossdressing sessions, see that guilt monster rear its ugly head again.  I don’t know what drives my mind set to those depths of despair at my own actions at that point until the next time, but it happens and I have no rhyme or reason for it, nor am able to understand it – I am merely carried along by it, whilst sexually driven or otherwise and for however short or long it lasts.

Throughout all of this, there have been strong bi-sexual tendencies, explicit descriptions and declarations of wanting to have my anal virginity taken properly, and, as I have often said before, in the right situation, at the right time and with the right person, it could very easily happen – albeit likely to be retrospectively foolish in the extreme, having been merely to satisfy some bizarre comparatively short term sexual kink – alternatively and in actuality, I’d probably run a mile.  It is merely role play really I suppose, bluff largely impossible to be called though.

Spin forward a few days and I suddenly but completely separately found myself hit by a proverbial freight train as a friend told me that someone they knew had done something sexually on-line that set them on a course to lose absolutely everything.  I will refrain from going into detail about that, but as the details washed around in my own mind, I went into a period of panic and paranoia as I reflected on my own recent on-line sexual activity on a web cam, a Skype session involving a group of people I’d invited and other web cam activity etc.

I concluded that I didn’t want to be in the same situation as my friend’s friend by any means – losing everything was not an option as has always been the case.

I found a cardboard box and quickly threw in the dildo, chastity devices and prostate massagers, leaving behind a cock pump and Fleshlight in the same hidey hole that I deemed more acceptable to have to hand for some reason, and took the box to the same storage place that my lingerie stash still resides in.

Spin forward a few more days and a more rational state of mind came to the fore.   What on earth was I thinking in making such a knee-jerk reaction?  There was no comparison to the situations for the friend’s friend and me, none whatsoever, other than the sexual nature of the on-line activity.  But then again, I was still allowing the thoughts, albeit at a less irrational but still irrational level, to justify thought processes, that I might also fall foul of digging one hell of a hole for myself somehow, and for what?  A sexual kick and kink?

The last week has been a challenging one for a number of reasons.  Thoughts have turned back to recovering the chastity devices etc. from storage and resuming on-line activities.  There was even brief moments of contemplation given to falling off the crossdressing wagon but soon shifting my attention to the other kink I’d swapped to instead.

Other daily mundane distractions this week, many to be fair, have deterred me from going to the storage facility, and embarking in all out resumption, but those distractions plus the UK heatwave, the sunshine and temperatures have led to being naked around the house before work, home alone, , a heady reminder of a regular draping of lingerie, and more recently, the fitting of chastity devices and the enjoyment of anal play with toys still looming heavily being in the environment in which that activity had recently taken place.

What was also reluctantly deterring me was a thought process which questioned why I was imposing chastity on myself, other than for a sexual kink.   From what I had read on line regarding reasons for chastity, I had no intention of following any significantly submissive path, connecting with a domme to any extent, and nor could I ever be in prolonged chastity to see what is down below shrink to smaller sizes as some would suggest long term chastity does and forego my manhood.

It seems that I need a kink of some sort though – not having one to fall back on doesn’t seem right somehow.  Absence from indulgence in crossdressing in lingerie for seven months means that can’t be the resumed kink, but I’ve now also left myself with abstention from chastity too because I don’t really know why I was doing it or what I hoped to achieve from it, concerned about some kind of unwanted exposure perhaps as at least partial motivation for not doing so, despite my own controls about the level of disclosure on line, a femme pseudonym and various profiles, photographic or otherwise.

I am currently left yearning for enough time to be able to resume my indulgence in anal toys and chastity, yet also seeking as many distractions and reasons for not doing so, yet also needing another kink to satisfy the inner kinkster.

No thanks, I’m just browsing… — May 17, 2019

No thanks, I’m just browsing…

In short, it has been around 5 months since any lingerie touched my body.  Only in a few arguably irrational moments have there been any thoughts about doing so, yearning to do so or wishing to do so.   I’ve looked back on my alter-ego social media account on Twitter largely by way of reminiscence – looking at where I’d been, how I had looked, reminding myself that is what I have a fairly long history of doing – history being the descriptor for the time being at least.

Just this week, I had cause to visit the remote storage facility on other business, and took the opportunity to search out the box of lingerie etc.  Why?  Quite simply – because.

Again, it was opened for the shortest of moments, the old mail order packaging which was covering most of the contents but a finger was allowed to touch the breast forms which sat on top of everything else.  There was no foraging, no closer analysis of what was within and the box was soon shut again and put away in the dark confines in which it continues to reside.

It is therefore confirmed that crossdressing continues to be a thing of the past – again – for now – whatever.    I know that I have relapsed several times (‘relapsed’ –  OK, let’s go with that if you like) before, yet somehow, my mind set towards it seems to be in a place that I can’t really say I’ve really been before.   Right now, whilst I could well imagine myself dressing (and remember doing so very vividly) I can’t see myself actually doing it – it is almost seen as a bit of waste of my time, somehow unworthy, uninteresting, undesired and unlikely to take up my time and minds eye at this time.

That is all well and good you might say, but since being introduced to chastity by my now long distanced former DM contact on Twitter, the block imposed –  quite rightly by them I might say – in more than a final way, that has been my alternative vice.   There have been weeks when I have remained in chastity for around 12 hours a day, 4 or 5 days a week, images shared on social media of my chaste state – caged or in a holy trainer.

However, I am the key holder – I can put myself in and take myself out whenever but I cannot get a fix on what urges me to lock myself up, nor, when the urge takes me, what motivates me to take to anal play with a variety of toys well documented before.    Hell, I do seem to enjoy it when the lustful craving strikes.

What I can reflect back on is how the normality comes crashing in when orgasm is finally reached.  I might not get anywhere near that point for days as lock up becomes the norm, but like crossdressing before it, when that peak is reached, the urge to resume normality and dismiss and distance the kink becomes all conquering, apathy towards the subject matter more than apparent.

Just the other day, for the first time in fact, I was semi-reluctant to do anything, yet somehow knew I wanted to.   I set out the toys before me on the floor, including the chastity devices, and must have spent a good ten or fifteen minutes standing there, considering if and what I might get involved in.

The period of deliberation was the source of much amd constant frustration and it got to the point where I forced myself to make a decision just to get on with whatever the inner demon wanted to do.

That ridiculous period of deliberation continues to be the basis of serious thought towards packing the whole chastity thing in too, the true meaning of doing so largely escaping me, yet the motivation to cease and desist, does not sit at the same level that crossdressing continues to do – however, it seems to be getting there.   I suppose the more rational thoughts come after another indulgence in use of a suction cup dildo, filmed from beneath whilst caged.

It all felt so good at the time.  Things came close to a hands free orgasm never achieved before, closest ever in fact, but ultimately, it led me to cum in my cage by jiggling the cage and its contents – something that you’re not supposed to be able to do but that I’ve reported upon being able to do a few times before.

Chastity is supposed to prevent all of that, but my biology, with a particular state of mind when applied, does, it seems, allow me to reach that point.    With that having been achieved, items were soon taken off, (irrespective of the time it took to get into them) cleaned up and put away and all of that normality then resumed.

The following days after such sessions leave me nowhere near such similar inclinations, far from it, that is, until the urge randomly and almost suddenly strikes again somehow.

There are two possible sides to my latest of sexual indulgences – one, the argument of ‘whatever floats your boat’ etc. and ‘if it feels good’, but two, there is the ‘what on earth am I doing and why am I really doing it?’ side.   Have I just swapped one kink for another?  That is most definitely a rhetorical question.

When I was lingerie cross dressing, chastity seemed like a good fit (no pun intended).  I have previously argued how chastity prevented me from orgasm which made me more ‘up’ for things when it was more appropriate.  I don’t think I need say anymore given the existence of my significant other, but that is the only slightly possible, only slightly and marginally justifiable argument for being in chastity other than just for an alternative kink.

Put bluntly and in a totally ‘NSFW’ type statement, I can avoid any and all instances of urges if I merely seek relief in the first instance.   It certainly worked out that way when thoughts and imagination outweighed urges and motivation the other week as I lay in bed.  Any plan to do anything whatsoever faded away very quickly afterwards and instead I attended to other things, including preparing for the working day, getting some breakfast etc.

What about other elements of my behaviours?  Well, there have been cam appearances in my chaste state as the sexual energy level increased, a site on which the profile has been switched back on – reasons now largely unbeknown to me right now.

I have signed up to a chastity website and have entered into forum discussions about how thing started, whether and how much I might need it, the effects of, etc and to be honest, it has been interesting to discuss with those with a fellow interest.

Body waxing appointments continue, but right now, are for no other reason than I want to be that way.  As I have remarked before, previous en-femme requirements now residing in the past, being smooth is cooler, less itchy, less sweaty and above all, my personal preference and method of manscaping or ‘male grooming’ if you like and it is always a good day when I am ‘mostly’ hair free.

My metabolism means that I have been naturally hirsute as regular blog readers will be fully aware, but the years of hair removal by waxing (everything else is understood to encourage growth, not discourage), is having an effect at long last.  It is still not as I want it, but perhaps that is the way it will always be until my body finally gets the message.

That leaves me with the existence of the blog.  Don’t worry – it isn’t going anywhere – far from it, but I do enjoy logging in, monitoring stats and occasionally using a search engine to find the site and links to it, along with reading the blogs of others I follow that have the same subject matters.   There have been some rather nice reviews for my blog on certain sites too for which I am grateful, many of which say that the entries have a ‘no holds barred’ approach, that everything is honest and in the open – and that is the way I always intended it to be.

I reflect on stats, the occasional comments to a post and who is reading what of my many entries over the years.   I always used to say that my blog was a way of talking, albeit to no-one in particular, a psychological release, a way of dealing with things, getting them off my chest, but then there is also the angle that, if my blog helps others in some way, and/or shares a journey I continue to make and the various routes along the way, then that is all well and good.

For now though, far from just browsing net presences, or, as it has turned out, immensely indecisively, the collection of toys, cut down in number only by the fact I didn’t ever pick up that plug I talked about (so have received a automatic refund from the vendor), I’m back on that middle ground of contentment and drive not to indulge in anything I somehow think that I am shouldn’t be at any given time.

It is both satisfying yet somehow frustrating in equal measure.

Is doing nothing and blending in with a perceived norm enough?  Somehow  – no – it isn’t.

Part of me thinks that I need and must have a sexual a kink in my life, a counter balance to the every day, the work day, the groundhog day experiences, the fast pace of life, work/home/eat/bed and repeat ad nauseum.    My mind still tells me that indulging in crossdressing so deeply, or more recently, chastity, then enables me to either run with it whilst I get on with whatever else life throws at me, or indulge in it and then put it aside having had sufficient time.

For now though, no thanks, I’m just browsing.

Until next time…thanks as always.

A time for action — April 9, 2019

A time for action

The significant other wanted to do some work in the man cave the other week, whilst I was out, and this work entailed coming rather close to where my boxed, long out of use lingerie collection was held.  I cursed under my breath and hatched a plan to rescue that box and store it in the back of my car where it ultimately stayed for some weeks.

Similarly, the cloth bag in which a suspender belt and hold ups had been held was also put in a similar location having hidden in my man bag since I last wore the items.

In the back of my mind, I knew that I needed to do something, but remained hesitant because I didn’t want to cast the merest eye over the contents for fear of being lured like the proverbial moth to the flame, and so the box and bag sat in the boot for a little longer.

Spin on a few more days and with a plan for a family meal out somewhere, I acknowledged the need to walk a distance from the car park to the restaurant, and rather considerately threw a few golf umbrellas in the boot of the car to challenge the naff weather.    However, with the significant other within reasonable viewing distance, I realised that there was a box, the style of which she would potentially be slightly familiar with in the boot – the box having slid around a fair bit with daily driving.

I cursed at a mild volume but without question, threw the umbrellas in without the boot being fully open and slammed it shut again at speed.  It was raining, so it was perhaps reasonable for those with a more innocent mind to conclude I was merely making haste.

With the meal done, we ventured home, but concluded a need to pick up a few things from a nearby supermarket.   Again, I could see things unravelling at the other end of the shopping expedition, as the bags were, of course, loaded into the boot.   Of course, it was still raining, so that acted as suitable cover for the significant other to make similar haste inside whilst I hung around to throw the box and bag containing my lingerie underneath the boot shelf and into the tyre well.  It wasn’t a great fit but it sufficed.

At the other end of the shopping trip, the rain continued to hurtle down, so, ever the strategist when it came to things related to crossdressing, I ushered the s/o into the car to avoid getting soaked and merely put the bags into the boot myself.

Close calls.  They were close enough to conclude that I needed to bite the proverbial bullet and get the bag contents into the box and get the box put away.

So, one morning, home alone once more, I ventured out to the car, collected the bits and bobs and brought them inside.  I was instantly acutely concerned with the risk of the sight of contents in the box.  I need not have worried. Upon opening the box, the content were covered by old redundant postal packaging, with absolutely nothing in view.

Wrestling with the need to grab the black suspender belt and hold ups from the black cloth bag, I duly did so and merely thrust them into the top of the box before quickly shutting it once more and making sure that it got to remote storage.

Before or after this, I don’t remember, and having slept naked the night before, my mind wandered to those items that did not form part of the box – the sex toys which occupy another hidey hole somewhere at home, including two chastity devices, a rubber prostate massager, my vibrating prostate massager, 6” dildo and a cock pump.   The focus of the attention was, for some reason, on the holy trainer and it was soon fitted and bound in order to wear for work all day.

I wondered why I did this and could only venture to describe it as a yearned kink, the trainer covered by a white silky g-string – one of my daily items of non-femme underwear.   As part of the earlier fitting, I’d collected a key and had put it on the bunch of house keys.   It wasn’t until I was at work for the day that I realised that it was not just another key but was in fact marked ‘BDSM’ on the key head.   This amused me so much that I did something that I hadn’t done for a few weeks and posted something on my Twitter page with a shot of the key and the odd relevant emoji – you know the sort – padlocks, keys and the like.

Talking of toys, you’ll note that these haven’t been put into remote storage like the lingerie has.  Since the latest crossdressing cessation, I have enjoyed the odd hour or so time home alone in a morning to enjoy some self pleasuring..  On just one recent occasion, I decided to use the suction cup dildo against the bedroom cupboard mirror for some deep anal and have also enjoyed the vibrating prostate massager too.  I must admit the sudden burst into life of fitting my holy trainer on more than one occasion, has reignited a passion for my sex toys.

What I don’t really understand is why I have felt it necessary to put myself into chastity again – a pattern that remained for the next few days.  I even began planning when I might next use the dildo and prostate massager.  Sexually explorative tendencies have come back to the fore it seems.

I suppose it wasn’t helped by one night’s more intense, and arguably retrospective flick back through my Twitter posts in my crossdressed and chaste state.  I suppose it is one of the reasons why I’ve stayed off the account, but the scroll through certainly sowed the proverbial seed.   Whilst the sight of me in lingerie kind of made me want to be in lingerie again, the reasons for not doing so were of more importance.   The fact that I have had no actual visible cues from that box opening have helped a great deal.

Eventually, the urge to put myself into chastity subsided, either though necessity or something else, but it resumed again last week with the cage, and use of the vibrating massager and dildo.   The intensity and lust led to blood-letting.  With the suction cup dildo pinned to the corner of a bit of furniture, and with the cage well and truly fitted, it seemed like the latter was a fortress through which nothing could cause harm to the nether regions.

I elected to straddle the dildo both ways, but turning around to face the wall and straddle the corner of the unit meant that as the action commenced, the riding motions led to the end of a filled cage coming  into contact with the surface.  Eventually, I paid enough attention to realise that I had trapped myself and blood had begun to pool from the end of my caged penis.

Things came to an abrupt end as concern for what damage I had caused to myself began to mount and released myself from the cage.  My anatomy was, it seems, able to stop the bleeding very quickly, thank goodness, and with things patched up,  either continued where I had left off, or decided enough was enough and applied myself to the day.   I don’t remember now.

The coming of last weekend led to an enforced break, but plans have been hatched again to resume with anal play, but rather than the holy trainer, the cage has been the chastity device of choice for some reason, applied during the working day.

The urge today though continued to exploration of anal play – to purchase a butt plug that can be worn out and about.  Reviews were reviewed, the item of choice was selected and ordered for imminent pick up at a collection point on route to and from the day job.

That is for another day which I look forward to immensely.

Which brings me on to the last part of this update – well, almost.  I should have expected it really.  A few weeks ago, I made a completely irrational, logic-free jaunt onto Fiona’s Twitter account having not done since – well, probably January time.   Followers had dwindled some, to below 300, and the odd time waster had clicked on ‘follow’ – the type that merely seeks to promote their own sites and interests which never get a follow back – you know the type, and there have been more since.

Curiosity caused me to select the DMs.  Safia – the person I’d flirted and chatted so much with, the person who put me into chastity, the person I’d put into chastity having bought items for and sent items to and even sent them a chastity key, even going as far as having previously apologised for any upset and if I if I had misled them, unintentionally indicating that there might be a chance of anything between us – had made some attempt to correspond with me about the extent of their chaste state.

As I’d not been on the account though, the wall of silence, normally unusual for me, had, it seems, been taken with evident offence.  The DM conversation had been blocked from continuing and I’d even been blocked.   In a strange kind of way, it hurt.  But then, being an otherwise rational sort of person, I quickly concluded hat their actions were fully justified.

I had warned them at the beginning of the year that I was having an almighty wobble and was, once more, questioning what the bloody hell I was doing with my life, but to be fair, I had then just simply disappeared.

I’d not really given any indication that things had stopped once more, nor warned that I had just got to stop everything, including my regular Twitter exchanges, anything in fact that would lure me in to things that, frankly, I would rather stop myself from doing.

Perhaps they deserved more than that, but in all honesty, everyone became the victims – collateral damage –  but you could say that Safia bore the brunt of it.   Perhaps offence had been taken to my perhaps irrational deletion of a number of more recent images from the DM thread?   The comments were there – the images no longer were.  Maybe that was something that caused objection too.  Fair enough I suppose, but I was only acting as my messed up brain instructed me to at the time.

Nevertheless, blocked as I am, I can only use this blog to offer my apologies for any hurt caused anyway with the off chance that they may read this.   Considering the three figure amount of money I’d spent on sending them all manner of things out of the goodness of my heart, perhaps I owed them nothing, especially as gratitude wasn’t very forthcoming and finally arrived under total duress when their cage arrived.

Having scrolled back though the DMs we exchanged the other day, I considered that I should not have gone as far as I did – but my sexuality was going at a new pace, a pace that Safia had somehow, likely unintentionally, had a hand in driving.  It still rankles with me that I am blocked, as I am a sentimental old sod, yet I am prepared to suffer the consequences of my actions in looking after number 1.

But I remain truly sorry.

I feel that I had gone too far at times, somehow raised their expectations, even when anything else was impossible.  I’d become too involved, then whipped the proverbial rug away after feet had become well and truly placed upon it.

Lingerie returned to storage, sex toys somehow still available and seemingly back into use, inclined to wear my holy trainer or cage for several working days running, and inclined for more toy time and being chaste in the days to come, that is merely for my own sexual kick.  I don’t really understand why I want to be so – there is no logic to it.

With the inclinations to toy anally, there are no ambitions for the real thing, no inclination to venture anywhere further outside of one’s comparatively recently declared bi-curiousness.  I’ve often said that in the right situation, fantasies I have very much but as it turns out retrospectively, unfortunately involved myself with on DMs with Safia, could well be played out.

The likelihood of them actually happening in any case are/were very slim and as I’ve also said before on my now stripped back and unused cam site of choice, if the opportunity did present itself, I’d probably run a mile.  Additionally, I’d probably be wracked with guilt that would be etched all over my face in the aftermath.   That’s a reason not to want it anyway.

So in summary, what we have here is cessation, storage, guilt and reflection and kink.  There is also peace of mind at not actually using up time with crossdressing the equal measures of joy and anguish if seemed to give.  I don’t want any of that right now, but I suppose, somewhere deep down, there is still a longing to do so in another world – not this World though.

I suppose that is more than enough this time around.  Until the next time – thanks for reading.   Comments welcome below.


Clearing the decks — January 18, 2019

Clearing the decks

It started with what was deemed the most explicit material – videos on an explicit XXX website.  I signed in, I deleted the videos, I deleted the profile and in feeding back for the reasons, merely said that it was ‘time to go’ but ‘thanks’.

Next, Skype. Logging in soon revealed that the program had changed.  It seemed that, by default, a user was automatically hidden until choosing to make themselves visible.  I reasoned that this was useful under the circumstances and, having taken a quick look at the missed messages from a wide range of anonymous folk from the opportunistic to the friendly, I stopped only to take momentary objection to the fact that I might be unfairly ignoring those with whom I had valued apparently genuine, time, interest and friendship.

My focus though was on a thread where I had shared more video.  The hatchet was wielded, the videos were removed, and I very quickly logged out.  That seemed enough for that particular day and I busied myself with something else.

The next day, I ventured on to my favoured web cam site, logged in, took an almost reflective spin through a few uploaded images I’d spun through and had seen many times before before switching off every single element of the profile bar the account itself.  Off went former captured images, off went the gallery, off went the ‘about me’ profile, off went the questionnaire, off went the link to Fiona’s Twitter account, and having wielded the hatchet there, all that was left was the avatar and basic details.

That was enough – I took a quick browse through the latest timeline posts doing my utmost to avoid being overtly drawn in any way, shape or form, and almost celebrated the fact that the entries from those being followed were, at the time, very heterosexual rather than being more bisexual or overtly crossdressing related.

I had spent only brief moments in recent days wondering quite whether the DM box would be full of inquisitive ‘where have you been?’ or ‘where are you?‘ messages from my chastity keyholder, or anyone else for that matter, me not having left any tweets, or made any DMs, or having even accessed the social media site for fear of being drawn like a moth to a flame.

How vain was I?  What did I REALLY expect?   There was nothing but a few notifications about new followers or ‘likes’ to previous posts.   Somehow, I’d expected something from my symbolic keyholder, but there had been nothing.  Nothing.  Nothing despite having lavished hard earned cash on all manner of things for them, having lavished vast amounts of my valuable spare time, home and away, on communicating via direct messaging.  See?  I was as unimportant to them as I had perhaps always been – I’d allowed myself to be used perhaps.  After all, I had usually opened dialogue, 99.9% of the time anyway and if there was nothing to respond to, why on earth would they want to open any dialogue with me – especially given that I’d apparently vanished?

There had been warnings of my disappearance and silence anyway.  I’d previously but recently said in no uncertain terms that the turn of the New Year had caused a monumental wobble and a serious bout of questioning one’s self.     Having taken momentary objection to no one giving a damn on my self imposed almost full Twitter abandonment, I brushed any disappointment away by simply logging out.

There have been occasions when my browser of choice allowed me to see my DMs, yet this was another occasion when the virus software, no doubt having done another of its off peak updates, seemed to decide that it would not show me the various DM threads this time around.

This prevented me from going through them and deleting what is probably a vast amount of imagery of me, dressed and undressed.  I supposed that it was therefore a deck to be cleared another day and moved on.

Earlier in a week wracked by the return of the ill health that plagued me in the run up to and over the festive season, I surfaced one morning, stripped out of the pyjamas to my birthday suit, prepared the dildo and took some naked anal, the suction cup dildo against a wardrobe mirror and with the smart phone filming away, the file only staying until the clear up afterwards when it was swiftly deleted.

Overall, and certainly in retrospect, the whole thing wasn’t great for all the usual reasons associated with such sexual activity, apart from the fact that, at some points during, it was.  Having seen a Twitter post about which muscles to use to grip, I revelled in the feelings caused by that sexual exploration and feeling that it was pushing the right buttons further than they had been pushed before, pressed the proverbial fast forward button and brought myself to climax whilst still feeling full penetration and applying what seemed a rather uncomfortable withdrawal.   For the first time ever, I was not crossdressed whilst I enjoyed this period of sex, and during the experience, spoke out to myself that, despite everything going off right now, it appeared that I STILL loved a bit of anal.

Since then, I’ve not craved it again.  Far from it.  In fact, as indicated in a previous blog entry, I have since given more, brief thought to finding a box large enough for everything bar perhaps the cock pump and Fleshlight to be put into a box and remotely stored away.

Conversely, there have been times when my mind’s eye has projected images of stockings and suspenders, reminders of the feelings and look of wearing a bra, the feelings of pulling on those stockings and admiring the stocking tops.   Perusing the many blog entries and Twitter accounts that I follow, I have been confronted by images of women wearing lingerie, bras, stockings and suspenders but there has only been the briefest of sparks of interest of taking things further.

Nothing has sparked a desire to dress, although there have been moments when I asked myself whether it was worth dressing before deciding firmly against having come up with less than NO reasons to do so.  I have also asked myself whether it was worth putting on a chastity device, but after the two months or so of exploration and indulgence, other than concluding that it prevented guilt as it also prevented or at least discouraged orgasm, I have been left questioning exactly how and why I was wearing it, other than for some sort of evidently unexplainable sexual kick.

The man bag has been carried around for days with two chastity devices packed away within (read ‘hidden away’ if you like’) and the remaining elements of my own lingerie, the suspender belt and stockings, taking up valuable space with no intent of being worn yet best left there in the absence of any secure plans to be put elsewhere.

Ill health means that elements of medication carried with me are more yearned for items, but I have needed to snap myself to my senses in the midst of feeling distinctly off colour and reaching almost desperately for it, by reminding myself to avoid leaving the man bag with the top open, and, in my mind at least, open to the casual investigation of others for things to be discovered that I don’t want to be discovered.

One day this week, sitting at my desk at the day job, I decided to pick up my bunch of keys, locate the two chastity keys retained in my possession, that had previously put me into and taken me out of my partial lock up, and merely removed them before casting them into the bags in which the chastity devices resided, in the dark depths of the man bag – this was another step towards an evident and all encompassing desire and drive to clear the decks.

Crossdressing hasn’t been on my mind.  Sexual activity hasn’t been on my mind.  Prioritising more deck clearing hasn’t been on my mind really either.  Other things, other people, the day job and, unfortunately, right now, ill health have been somehow refreshingly at times, keeping the mindset more focused away from the former.  Ill health has been at the forefront of my thoughts – and when we are ill, we can rarely concentrate on anything else anyway, as we fight our way through it all for however long it takes – these days – too long.

The sex toys remain in their various stored locations, the box of lingerie and the breast forms is hidden where it has been for sometime, and the man bag continues to have my chastity devices and lingerie remnants as necessary squatters for the time being until I decide upon and/or fashion something else.

Having recently benefitted from a partial body wax, I’m not in bad shape, yet occasional observations acknowledge or even expect that it is all coming back through again and right now, I’ve almost given in, conceded defeat to body hair even though I will continue to have it removed as I have been doing so for years as I don’t want it.   My dysphoria continually sees me finger tip search for and pluck in certain areas of my body recently waxed whilst critically analysing the areas next up for waxing, hatred pouring over every glance and stare.

I have carried out the day job without worrying as to whether my lingerie was properly covered up, whether anyone suspected that day, whether anyone was talking in corners, paranoia a-plenty perhaps, now no longer an issue.   No more was I checking and double checking browsers, whether everything really, really, REALLY had been put away properly at home, or whether I’d left tell-tale signs to finally burn all bridges.   This peace of mind was somehow massively comforting and reassuring right now.

All good?  Right and proper?  Something to take comfort from?  Not really.   Relapse and resumption are still very real possibilities.  I know that – you know that.  It has happened before after all.   I could quite suddenly and easily snap out of the current mindset tomorrow, the next day, next week or even next month.

However long it lasts, whether it is for good, for a medium to long term or otherwise – for now, the decks continue to be cleared.   Make of that what you will – because I can’t.

The pendulum swings, the pendulum stops — January 12, 2019

The pendulum swings, the pendulum stops

One of my previous entries at this time of year has been ‘Crappy New Year‘ – an indication perhaps of the effects that a change of year has on quite a lot of us I would guess.

There has been a distinct change to my approach to crossdressing as 2018 drew to a close.  I recall a previous remark along the lines that I was almost reluctant to get into the lingerie yet still did.

The end of 2018 saw a clear ‘ramping up’ of sexual exploration, of bi-curious tendencies, of explicit converation via social media messaging, of posting of explicit photographs and videos but conversely, an acknowledgement that perhaps the track I was on really wasn’t the right one, both clear display and recognition of deceitful traits, more blatant than ever before, in the company of those closest to me.

Last week, the pendulum of moods was swinging.  One way, indulging as per usual, the other, the complete opposite, no intent whatsoever to indulge in any way, shape or form.

Bizarrely, there was one day when I didn’t dress nor wear a chastity device, yet the items were available to me in the man bag as I went about the business of the day job.  The day wore on as I began remonstrating with myself that, somehow, I should be locked up.

Why?  Goodness only knows, but the mood continued, and eventually, I nipped off to the gents and locked myself up in the holy trainer before returning to my desk and seeing the afternoon out in a slightly more contented mood.

Anyway, back to last week.  The night before, I had immersed myself so deeply in my apparent sexual persuasions that I hatched a plan to indulge in dressing in a black lingerie set and of using a dildo against a mirror, all whilst locked up in the holy trainer chastity device.

The plan was duly hatched the following day, despite there being no time, despite there being a need to get off to work, despite a need to have breakfast and make some lunch before I went, despite the need to catch a train etc.

Filming it all, didn’t really go to plan, yet the footage remained on my smart phone device for the time being.  Inside, I craved a sexual peak, arguing with myself that it probably wasn’t the best thing I could do, given how I tend to feel afterwards, yet I pushed on.

Sure enough, with no further urges to anything else in the immediate aftermath, the lingerie and chastity device was removed, the detritus of condom wrappers, boxes, sex toys and other items of relevance were cleared away as applicable and that was it.

Since then, there has been a sort of brightness in my stride, I have seemed somehow more relaxed, more at ease, more likely to apply myself to something else and in all honesty, I have done.

I haven’t even been on Fiona’s social media presences, most notably – Twitter.  Sure, this is abandoning the ongoing DMs with my chastity keyholder and others than I pledged to offer support and friendship to, and is in the wake of somewhat irrationally signing up to a chastity website which seems to have little substance or membership.

The mindset has turned to opportunities that might present themselves to bundle all of the crossdressing paraphernalia, toys and outfits together and return them to the aforementioned ‘remote’ storage location.

I am, of course, mindful that this could be a mere blip and something might trigger a fall back in to the embracing arms of crossdressing, much as happened all too frequently before.  Just this morning, whilst dressing, I admired the smoothness of my recently waxed chest and my fairly hair-free body, just as I like it, and for a moment or so, pondered as to whether being this way just for comfort was enough for my inner psyche.

I didn’t really get an answer together, instead, throwing myself into applying deodorant, creams and potions as applicable, then daytime clothes, then applying myself into the activities of another all too likely quickly disappearing weekend, no lingerie, no chastity, no intention.

What is it that has led to what I have often described on social media as a ‘mindf**k’?  Plain and simply, a change of year – no more, no less.  There have been instances this week when I concluded to myself that the earlier indecision had been a temporary blip and that I was back on track with my crossdressing.

However, the unavoidable guilt felt after orgasm post-anal has been a bitter pill to swallow yet again.  I have blogged before about keeping a lid on reaching such peaks during indulgences, hence the self-imposed partial chastity, but being brought to one’s senses as part of a come-down from reaching ever heightening sexual peaks and overtones, is beginning to resonate a lot more than it did before.

When I stopped crossdressing last time, one of the driving forces was that I didn’t want to perceive myself as becoming a ‘dirty, sad old man’ and this very thought has been in my head again in the last few days.  I’m pushing 50 for goodness’ sake.

I have some good things going on in my life and I have also set myself some new year resolutions, some already in draft form before the turn of the year, and now being put into place.

My inbox has given me indications of things that I need to be doing now, soon or later this year, and there are other things in my mind to apply similarly.  None, or little of those things will be done, if I cannot shake myself off what is a rather intense, all controlling addiction.

It’s probably relevant to place another of those lines in here that many have said, many times historically since goodness only knows when I started this thing.  “If it’s not hurting anyone….”.

What if it is hurting me somehow?  It must be hurting others too indirectly.  If this thing is on my mind as much as it is – there is no ‘if’ about it really – then surely anyone holding something in without being able to adequately talk about it to anyone to any significant and/or helpful lengths, must find that their mood and behaviour impacts on others, or that my actions impact on other things that one day might blow up in my face.

I’m going to have to see how long this cessation and mindset lasts.   For now, the clock has stopped.  The pendulum has swung, but for now at least, it swings no more.