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.

Genetically so but still searching for answers… — December 25, 2016

Genetically so but still searching for answers…

I’ve been promising a blog entry along these lines for a while, but the truth of the matter is that I’ve been building up to even laying some words down for this entry as well as finding other things to talk about in the meantime.

I have mused on many occasions as to how long I’ve been a crossdresser.  When chatting on line, it has been a frequent question asked by others. Well, that and those such as “What made you start? “ Do you wear women’s clothes over your lingerie?”, “Have you ever worn clothes on top of your lingerie?”, ‘Does your wife know?” and perhaps one of the most popular: “Yours or the wife’s?”.

The answers to those questions are ‘I don’t know’, ‘No’, ‘Only once or twice and it’s not really for me’, ‘No’, and – well, it’s depends on what I’m wearing – it’s either mine or from the wife’s never worn collection.

There are markers in my life that inform me how long I’ve been crossdressing – secretly – the term is ‘closeted’ I have come to understand.  Whilst I won’t go into detail, I can turn the clock back at least ten years, and if I’m brutally honest, it’s probably longer than that.

In fact, having stopped typing for a while to consider the more precise facts, I’d say it was 11 years – which is not far off my estimate.  There are little moments in life, quite ordinary, everyday sort of stuff during which time I remember being crossdressed underneath male clothing as well as at home too, amongst them, key stages and moments in life – you know the sort of things.

But before I go on, let’s go back to get to more minutiae of the detail.  The memories are cloudy, but from my childhood, I vaguely remember dressing up in clothes from the grandparents’ ‘dressing up’ box but I don’t remember in exactly what.  It was what kids and their siblings did back then amongst other conventional, less technical things.   I also vaguely remember (in secret) trying on some of my Mother’s clothes although again, I don’t remember exactly what, but what I do know is, it didn’t really last long anyway or happen frequently at all.   Nor do I ever remember reaching any conclusion as to what I got out of it.

I suppose I was an average youth.  I had a few lads mags stored away in a place I never considered my mother would find them, although she probably did find them.  I remember getting off on Inge from Pinner in an edition of perhaps one of the more classier top shelf mags, but in my innocence, thought that Inge was some Scandinavian beauty from a place in Scandinavia called Pinner.  It certainly seemed far more exciting as a train of thought!

From then on, there’s no real clarity on my path towards becoming a crossdresser.  I certainly didn’t crossdress before I left home.  I wasn’t doing it when I got married but some way, somehow, along the way, I started.  But I don’t think I started because I was missing something else from my life.  This was just another facet of my life and I had to embrace it or let it embrace me.

I will freely admit to buying lingerie ‘for the wife’, over the years, both on-line and on the high street, and very genuinely so, but equally, I also later remember buying lingerie ‘for the wife’ but knowing that it would actually be for me or worn by me too.

It has been a long while since I bought her anything – a couple of Christmases ago I suppose – the reason (other than the chosen shop not having her size and I had to take the bra and knickers back for a refund) is that she just doesn’t wear anything other than day-to-day bra and knickers – never has – nor would it occur to her to do so – apart from on a blue moon of a blue moon of a blue moon of a …well you get the idea.  And usually, on those very rare occasions, hanging large in my mind despite the intimacy was the thought of how much I had in fact worn the item however nice it was to see her in it – but even then, there was one vital piece of clothing missing – stockings / suspenders.  She’s not into them but I am.  It does make me wonder why she has belts in her lingerie drawer as I’m sure I didn’t buy them, although one of them I may have done for probably completely bizarre reasons.

Generally, the lingerie items that she has languish in a bottom drawer or a wardrobe and there’s an element of almost military level strategy being applied when something of the selection becomes an outfit of choice for me, i.e. things go back as near as damn it where they were, cami-suspenders hanging in the correct way and order from a coat hanger in the wardrobe, heels put back as they were, g-strings washed and hung somewhere secret to dry before being returned from whence they came at some point later.  As she is adjudged never to go in those drawers, the items are never discovered as missing, which makes things easier all round before, during and after.  The stockings, not something she has, and therefore being mine are secreted in the man cave until they need replacing.

This week, having always been searching for answers but rarely finding them, I have stumbled across a few blogs that seek to answer the age old questions as to what a crossdresser gets out of crossdressing and why they do it.  I’ll snip a few key elements out for a future blog entry (that’s if I can find them again!) but for now, back to my timeline.

In truth, I don’t know how, why or when I started.  A lot of water has gone under the bridge since 2005 when I conclude I started to crossdress.  Why lingerie only?  Why not the full crossdress?

I think I see lingerie as being something I would want to see whilst I’m wearing it and covering it up almost seems to be a waste.  Addicted to appearing on line in my finery, equally, there have also been occasions when I’ve worn it under PJs and a dressing gown just for me.  I know I’m wearing it and having had sight of the fact, including the odd sneaky peak before covering up again, I’m then content at just knowing and of course, feeling that I’m wearing it.

I’ve worn it to work in an act reportedly described as ‘underdressing’ but until my return to crossdressing in October 2016 after almost twelve months off, hadn’t done so (for probably all the right reasons) since October 2009.

Why am I a crossdresser?  That’s a different question to why I started and there’s a bit more clarity now.  I have a transgender relative.  I won’t go into too much detail, but it won’t go into too much detail and give anything away to say that it has caused and continues to cause a fair old bit of family disharmony.  What I can say about it is that I used metaphorical smoke and mirrors to deal with it.  When my relative ‘came out’, I was, completely separately, already a crossdresser and had been for a time but when I started, I had no idea about them and any thoughts they had about their true feelings.

I was beginning to find methods of hair removal, and so were they but, in discussion, the pretense was solely one of for ‘manscaping’ reasons and that was it.  The actual facts were that we were on completely separate, undisclosed journeys with our feminine sides, completely unbeknown to each other.

The family are dealing with their transgender member in all the ways you can imagine.  Some accept, some don’t and won’t – that’s just the way it is.  Everyone is entitled to their stand point but people must still be allowed to be who they want to be even though it might come at a cost.

In all that time, my relative and I have been on our own separate paths (for a long time as it stands) and we continue to be.  But whilst she is ‘out’ and blossoming into her new life, transitioning and developing in all ways that she has seemingly always wanted, that is not my desire to any extent. I am happy with who I am, I have no desire to transition, but I do have a desire to remain (albeit secretly), in touch with my feminine side through my crossdressing in lingerie.

Consider this.  I continue to blend in as part of the family, day to day, week to week, month to month, year to year, family event to family event.  They take pride in the things I do and I merely fit in with things, keeping under the radar as a general rule whilst the family continue to adjust to one member being transgender and all of the furore it seems to cause.

I have no intent to declare that I am a crossdresser.  I can’t anyway as that would be the end of life as I know it.   I must remain firmly in the closet – as I have done for over a decade.  I’ve done it for this long and according to what I’ve read on line, crossdressers can remain closeted for three times that, or more.  That inner most secret never comes out to anyone (even those closest to them) whilst ever they live.  (Although it worries me that should I have to leave this life suddenly, that I wouldn’t be around when things begin to be found and what stress that would cause – but that’s not something I should really worry about right now I suppose!)

Imagine the confusion anyway and the misunderstanding if I did fling the closet door open, climb out with a large hammer and smash it to smithereens and just open up.  Just because I am a crossdresser, it doesn’t make me any different as to who I am and who I appear to be to those close to me.  It is just a side that they don’t know about – not even those I am closest to, but it’s not as easy as that is it, much though in an ideal world, it should be.

What we have here is plain and simple.  Genetics.  Something in the way that both I and my relative were made has made us the way we are.  It’s no one’s fault – our parents didn’t do anything wrong, there was no issue with the way we were brought up. We weren’t made to dress in clothes of the opposite sex, no dis-satisfaction at having boys in the family etc.- we had a good upbringing (perhaps slightly strict at times but that’s not necessarily a bad thing) and our family has always been a tad dysfunctional as are many these days, but that’s it.

But perhaps most interestingly of all, is that our paths through life have always been and continue to be separate, yet have such similarities at the same time.  Interesting isn’t it?  In previous years, it troubled me – I suppose – and led me to try and seek answers where there were no questions in the first place but I’m long since over that.

My relative lives elsewhere, away from the nucleus of the family, and has done for a while, so there has been no influence from me on them and them on me.   It’s just genetics – we’re wired similarly only different.

There.  I’ve been meaning to write about that for a while.   Why I am a crossdresser?  Because, as you probably could have told me before I even wrote this and in fact, as many have told me before during on-line chats, you can’t change the way you as it’s the way you are.  For me, after some periods away from crossdressing, I have become ever more mindful of the fact that I need it and it is part of me.

There are times when I’m not happy with myself as per my last more dis-satisfied blog entry, but some time away from it all and the application of some control usually helps put me back on the ‘right’ path, whatever that is.  Just within the last 24 hours, I have dressed again, contentedly, albeit going on line again but I still did it for me in my own personal space and time but with control applied.  And I enjoyed it too.

Time to pull the closet door shut once more.  Thanks for reading.  Until the next time…

Distinctly patriotic… — December 13, 2016

Distinctly patriotic…

It is certainly time for another blog update but this is one of those rare occasions where there is little driving it. Usually, there’s a particular subject matter that fires me up but on this occasion, there isn’t, so apologies for any perceived lack of direction.

Let’s recap. A year ago, I stopped crossdressing as I’d concluded that I’d dropped to a level of what I described as ‘debauchery’ with my webcam appearances – something I was not happy with – but also that nothing else seemed to matter, material things and people too.

Having put an end to it, from then on, for the best part of twelve months, I strode contentedly through life, always keeping in touch with inner interests, yet refraining from any actual crossdressing activity, chalking up the days one-by-one when I had not pulled on any lingerie, and seeing every day as motivation to maintain that progress and a day further away from when I last did.

But this was not total removal from the world of crossdressing.  In the Summer of this year, I was encouraged to set up a Twitter account for my en-femme alter ego.  The person that encouraged me seems to have disappeared without trace since – I follow them, they follow me (or at least – they did), but they may well have got lost in the many feeds that I now follow.

Mind you, I don’t remember seeing them on my followers list, so maybe they’ve done a ‘Gerry Lynn’ of twelve months ago and have gone into hiding themselves. Over those twelve months of actual abstinence, I was still viewing crossdressing on line, I was eventually on social networking of course and there were other things I was reading about crossdressing including other people’s blogs as well as maintaining my own too.

Of course, the subject matter was always somewhere floating around my thoughts irrespective of what I was doing.  The Summer saw me sexually stimulated by very warm UK sunshine, sunbathing in nothing but my short shorts, when out, going commando and even stepping outside naked in the cool and dead of night outside the holiday home.

I was on a sexual euphoria trip and somehow, found myself gripped by the draw of a Crystal Ice Fleshlight male masturbator, i.e. transparent – this after reading up on their use on line.  I was, it seems re-awakening sexually, driven in part at least by occasional full body wax sessions which made me feel even more charged, the feelings less so as the hair growth returned in between times.

I returned to crossdressing in the wake of webcam failure, encouraged by another on-line contact to do so by applying control, allowing myself to dress just for me, unable to get on cam anyway. Only, as some of you may recall, I found a way and returned to view.  This has been on an increasingly regular basis – evenings, early mornings, weekends.  I have also increasingly frequently underdressed – that is, wear lingerie under male clothing and have gone out to quite a few places – to work on a regular basis, albeit carefully covered..

Amongst all of this, I have continued my on-line shopping.  Having spent a good few years having new outfits delivered home, knowing that I would be home alone to intercept any parcels, over recent years, this has been no longer viable over more recent years, but again, the strategist within found other ways – locker facilities, local post offices.   First to arrive was a white bridal cami-suspender, then a delightful lacy red bustier basque with stockings to match.

Of course, the familiar outfits of old have had their time – I go with how the mood takes me as far as lingerie of choice – but most recently, a blue version of that lacy bustier although finding blue stockings to match has proved difficult from the same supplier and I have instead reverted to ‘Rainforest’ services to order a set of nylons to match which arrived last week – so, retrospectively, it seems my choice has been distinctly patriotic but that was completely by accident – white, red and blue in that order.

Of course, I’ve needed to buy new accessories – stockings in white and my trusty black lacy hold-ups. Stockings do get caught, ladder and with a particularly smaller white pair, end up getting a little more ragged sooner.

Discussions on-line have openly talked about breast forms.  Previously, I’d very much veered away from buying breast forms, seeing it as a step too far towards femininity.  Only, along the same lines that I had to have and try a Fleshlight, so too did I finally succumb and with on-line advice, ordered a silicone pair of suitable size.   Clearly, it was a case of ‘not what you know, but who you know’ when it comes to taking advice from fellow crossdressers etc.

I have had my first close sexual encounter with a man where I have orally attended to him.

At the time, I was just returning to crossdressing and, that very morning, had been crossdressed before removing the outfit, but the heady feeling of sexual euphoria made for the right place, right time, right person, much to their surprise.  I surprised but did not disgust myself.  This was another tick on an unwritten, undocumented bucket list.

I have begun embracing Skype, adding contacts, taking time out from my webcam site of choice to have more personal encounters on-line.   I have, to all intents and purposes, given myself to an on-line Mistress who told me in no uncertain terms that I must do everything she asks me to.

Opportunities on-line with my Mistress have proved to be very few and far between, largely due to her availability and mine, but perhaps it’s a case of ‘slowly, slowly, catchy monkey’.

I have also subscribed to an e-mail feminisation account although I really cannot see me totally indulging, but the fact I am exploring is, by itself, of much interest, that along with the move to ‘give myself’ to a Mistress.

All of this is very much closeted, as I have been for well in excess of a decade.   On the surface, I am exactly as those who have known me for some time continue to know me.

Underneath, I have, as my blogs would indicate, inwardly agonised over my feelings from time to time.  I have in fact, drafted an initial e-mail to an online counsellor but am yet to send that message to take up a paid initial on-line consultation as a coping mechanism.

I remain acutely aware of the things I need to do in my life, yet, it seems, absolutely must accept my feminine side and have that private ‘me’ time whilst maintaining cover, meticulously covering my tracks in all ways, from removing breast forms from the car whilst it went to the garage, to continually assessing where I should start hiding my building lingerie collection.

It’s not easy and I am still to open up to you about a very clear reason why I am the way that I am.   Evidence has been very clear, very recently.

It explains – to a degree – how I am the way I am.   However, waving my patriotic range of red white and blue lingerie, I remain the recovering crossdresser, but not recovering to stop, more so recovering to continue.

Until the next time – thanks for reading.

A slight deviation… — June 10, 2016

A slight deviation…

I suppose that, currently, I find myself on a reluctant but reflective path at the moment.

Not a week goes by when I don’t give some thought to the act of crossdressing, not a week goes by when I don’t reminisce or am reminded about crossdressing and not a week goes by when I don’t pass the same home and hardware store, sometimes even going in for some basics and reminding myself that I know where those lacy top black stockings are displayed – not that I ever allow myself to take even a merest of glances at the boxes on display – even though I know exactly what they look like.

This month, it is a total of seven months since I last crossdressed.  This has provided the strongest element of encouragement in keeping me on track, although I have wondered whether I will, one day, somehow, get to a point where I don’t really care how long it might have been and merely take to crossdressing again and to hell with it.

I guess it must have happened before when I stopped crossdressing under the most serious of consequences – i.e. being caught yet still being safely encapsulated in the same life that I had – and as I’ve said before – the reasons for that will forever remain locked solely in my mind.

However, I have found myself searching for some kind of consolation by going on line on my webcam, hirsutedness emanating from every pixel once more, but is there any women’s lingerie on display?  No.  I have however been wearing skimpy see-through or white g-strings – my usual attire – the boxer shorts having been binned years ago for a number of reasons.

Does the webcam presence satisfy me?  In the long-run, no. I know that there will be little interest – I’m no oil painting or male model but there’s a curious sexual deviant still hiding away, just not as deviant as to be dressed in stockings, suspenders, a g-string and a cami-suspender, spider basque or bra.

A look at the home screen for my site of preference sees an array of persons exhibiting themselves and those that merely put themselves on camera fully clothed, looking for some sort of titilation, stimulation or perhaps companionship.

Those who stop by my webcam – men it has to be said, enter into conversation about the mini-gallery of pics I have posted up in one of my favourites from the wife’s unused selection and my Avatar shot widely used.

I was asked the other day whether I could go and dress up or whether certain things were to hand, but merely answered that things weren’t to hand – a cowardly answer – rather that answering as I had done before – that it had been a while since I had crossdressed or that I had actually not done so for some time.

The merest hint that I was a crossdresser seemed enough to maintain the conversation for both me and the voyeur watching.  There were requests for some more exhibitionism but things came to an abrupt end at the other end when the voyeur either found some other interest or had to terminate their online session quickly.

As said above, the webcam presence doesn’t satisfy me, yet I have still put myself online on two separate occasions this week. I do so knowing that there will be little happening, little interest, yet I sit hoping for something, admitting that I enjoy being on cam irrespective of who is watching.

One individual asked whether I was sure I was straight.  Yes I said – I have had experiences which have assured me of that, although I have previously mused on this  blog and even above that I have curious and deviant tendencies.  I play along with conversation when some viewers suggest what they’d like to do to me given the chance, allowing myself to immerse myself into the world of fantasy.  One individual asked to follow up a cam session with a meet which I don’t and won’t do.  I admitted to being something of a cam-slut – at least that’s the best term I’ve been able to come up with of late.

This week though, whilst any viewer, displayed or not displayed is thrilling (and I’ll admit to viewing their profile on each occasion just to fill in the proverbial blanks), the fact that there is little interaction and certainly no female viewers, reminds me of two things.

1) There was a lot more interest when I was crossdressed.
2) I really shouldn’t be wasting my time when I could be doing something else or getting somewhere else.

Yet still, I will probably exhibit myself on-line again, dressed merely in one of my men’s g-strings, probably the skimpier, more see through or whiter the better, flesh on display in abundance, little left to the imagination, finding myself apologising for the extent of hair growth and openly declaring that I’m due to go through a full body wax again soon.

However, although I dislike it, my hirsutedness doesn’t seem to bother folk who drop into my cam session.  Whilst being hair-free is my preference, it is no longer as a pretense to crossdressing – I quite simply long to be hair free – I do not like seeing my body with a swarming mass of hair going in all directions – which it does.

Which brings me on to something that was suggested to me by the person who does my body wax.  They suggested that being completely smooth was not giving out the right message and it would be far better for me to be partially waxed but with a maintained, clippered chest.  I kindly rebuffed this suggestion, stating that I preferred to be, and wished to be hair free, citing, quite truthfully, that it was cooler and more comfortable too.

Whilst my history of crossdressing has never been discussed, I have wondered whether the person doing the waxing is drawing their own, possibly quite correct conclusions.  I suppose were they to stumble across my blog, they might well put two and two together and realise that it is their client behind the postings.  I have no doubt though that professionalism will remain, nothing would be discussed to confirm the connection, and the service I seek will continue to be offered.  I suppose that the fact that I might be wondering if they know that I think that they are thinking that I might have had other reasons for a full body wax adds an extra exciting frisson to the waxing session.

This morning, I contemplated another cam session.  I contemplated getting off to work relatively early but having come up with the title for this blog entry in my mind in the last few days but having forgotten it again and agonised over what it was to have then discovered it again led me to log in and at least enter the title in a working draft.

Only rather than get off to work, go on cam or busy myself with something else, I’ve merely done what I might impulsively do in any instance.  I have to attend to it.  The fingers started working and 1180 odd words later…

Oddly, the type of browsing on line has also changed of late.  I’ve taken a dislike to things that I’d previously been very interested in and sought something that may be described as ‘run of the mill’.

No crossdressing…but thoughts of it, and, with the readiness of a log in and a web cam, of late, a slight deviation…there will probably be another, albeit likely wholly futile appearance shortly that will still make me wonder why I’m doing it whilst it happens – yet I’ll still do it.  Work that one out.

What’s gone is gone… — May 2, 2016

What’s gone is gone…

Don’t you just hate technology?

Historically, I’ve blogged about those occasions when I’d logged into my webcam site of preference and into ‘My Account’, switched on previous gallery snap shots from live feeds, covertly taken by the site, perused through, then switched them off and logged out again.

Recently, I did such a thing again only to find that those frequently seen, occasionally switched off images were no longer there – erased – off into cyberspace – never to be seen again.

These were a rather (let’s say) raunchy array of images of what were my last crossdressing sessions and curiosity lured me to have a quick look through from time to time, concluding that I might do so again one time.  Alas no longer.

Determinedly, and perhaps bordering on desperately, I e-mailed the admin of the site who assured me that once I’d turned them off, that was it – they vanished.  I countered that I’d done this repeatedly before and those images had still been there.  Again, the admin countered that I could switch certain things on and off but snapshots from previous webcam sessions would disappear if I switched them off.

Some time ago, I had a photographic presence on Literotica forums and whilst text-wise I still do, the many photos in a variety of outfits, many long since purged, were removed during a previous fiercesome purge.  No amount of looking would find them and electronically, they were on a CD-ROM which has long been smashed to smithereens and taken down the local refuse facility.

So, what is done is done and what is gone is gone – to all extents.  There are however, some snapshots from those galleries that I saved and subsequently reuploaded as profile pics, so I have those – let’s say – to reflect on.

So, what does this apparently unfortunate on-line event tell me?  Well, I am one of those people who believes in destiny, i.e. these things are meant to happen and do so for a reason.  There is a part of me that has simply shrugged my shoulders and concluded that it was merely another part of my crossdressing ways set to be confined to cyberspace on my route towards the ‘me’ I seemingly set out to be after last dressing in early November 2015.

The now infrequent blog updates paint a similar story. Truth be told, my mind IS now largely elsewhere and is practically 100% content with it.  I barely have time to think (or for that matter, have motivation to think) about crossdressing (says he, logging in to write a blog entry!).

Generally, it’s not on my mind, I am less interested in browing on-line on the subject matter (although it has happened) and mostly, I’m throwing myself into a multitude of things – well, I say throwing – more like merely finding myself busy with many other things.

However, I know that my taste for crossdressing per se has not gone completely.  Somewhere in the back of my mind, especially stimulated by on-line imagery and having watched my wife put on and attach her bras of a morning, there’s still a taste there for lingerie and wanting to feel it wrapped around my body.

Making the bed of a morning, I have very occasionally glanced across at the wife’s lingerie drawer, but nothing more – no sneaky peaks, no merely opening the drawers, no touching the material, no sight whatsoever.  That, it itself, is a triumph.  But it’s not over – even now.

Showering, I have frequently glanced down at my legs and told myself many a time that I am merely keeping them ‘ready’, exfoliated, smooth and slender, my intimate area still and ever increasingly more so, hair free and smooth.  But although this might indicate a relapse is imminent, it is in fact, quite the opposite.  Another month passing by tells me that, this month, a week away or so from now infact, it will be the sixth month anniversary since I last pulled on some lingerie.

That, coupled with the acknowledgement of the peace of mind that I have, and the wish not to (even secretly decieve others or let myself down) are the biggest motivators to not crossdressing.

Would I like to? Sure – in an ideal world or parallel universe.  I would be very pleased to roll up a nice pair of lacy topped black hold ups, connect a suspender belt, pull up a nice lacy g-string and slip on a cami-suspender top – all in the quiet in which I have historically carried out such acts.  But one of the other motivators not to crossdress is the reminder that I know the depths of arguable depravity and debauchery I’d concluded that I’d plunged to before something made me change my mindset, approach and ways.

I remain in the groove of regular full body waxes, however, the fact that bits have been done on one appointment and not another has put me out of kilter.  This, I have told myself, is fine.  I seek to be smooth more often than I’m not and I know that the hair growth is, in the main, on the way out, but it has taken years to get to this stage and will take a few more before I’m how I want to be – going only rarely for hair removal appointments rather than every 6-8 weeks or so and being content with things in between.  When I next go, I will be ‘done’ from head to toe because I believe it is ready but these days, there are more instances of the person carrying out the waxing telling me that bits aren’t ready.  Inside, I wrangle with the disappointment coursing through my mind and body on hearing such statements.  Can’t they just take out what little is there?

Waxing bottles skidding across your skin and not dragging, even over those few hangers on means there’s just not enough to remove, in length or thickness and to persist in doing so would probably leave me quite sore.  I don’t think I want that!

I’m currently monitoring myself as to how hair is growing on certain parts of my body.  Generally, my intimate areas, my underarms and my legs contain far less hair and growth in between appointments but the upper part is less well behaved – my chest the biggest bugbear – mind you, that is the a bit seen more often than others I guess.

Should arms be waxed?  Apparently not – as it stimulates growth, but in this era of man-scaping or whatever you call it, I don’t seek to be clippered on, say, my chest, because it might be more socially acceptable. I know what I want and will continue to pursue it in the same way I have done for some time.  I can see progress – slowly – but I can see it.

Crossdressing blogs interest me.  Crossdressing pictures interest me.  Crossdressing still interests me – but all of that is not enough to make me actually indulge.  This is still part of what may be called ‘recovery’ – or quite simply – moving on – either for good, or just for now – however long ‘now’ is or will be.

What’s gone – is gone.

A year on, still recovering… — April 17, 2016

A year on, still recovering…

I thought as much – it occurred to me just the other day that it must be around 12 months since I started blogging and as if I needed clarity, the mechanics of WordPress confirmed as much.

April 16th 2015 – my first ‘coping’ blog entry was posted.  There are occasions where I’ve written blogs on the move, such has been the need, and I still remember whiling away time at public transport stations waiting for a connection whilst tapping away on my smartphone.

Equally, there have been a few hours spent where I am right now, in my home office, midnight oil being proverbially burnt, laying my thoughts down.

I was going to write a blog entry imminently, so it’s a coincidence that it happens to be virtually on the anniversary of my first set of ramblings.

It has occurred to me that it had been a while since I had last written a blog. The last blog ‘proper’ was on March 14 – the others since have been merely answering ‘survey’ questions from elsewhere, so that’s a month.

Have I thought about crossdressing? Honestly – yes but hardly at all, and that’s partially because I’ve had distractions galore, but also because, psychologically, I have been able to remind myself of the length of time that has past since I last cross dressed – early November to be precise.

I’ve suffered cold turkey, I’ve wobbled but haven’t fallen off the proverbial wagon.  There have been a few moments where I’ve felt that I needed something to alleviate the stresses and strains of a busy life, and for a merest of moments, I’ve contemplated whether I might do so by crossdressing, then told myself that I would not as that would ‘undo’ the ‘good’ work.

Just the other day, I caught sight of one of the wife’s red bras hanging casually on a hook in the bedroom.  Just for a merest of moments, a flicker in my mind asked whether I should put it on.  Then – *BANG*, the reminder that it would undo a great deal of good work if I did slammed in and besides, I didn’t really know what I was hoping to achieve by putting the bra on, fastening the clasps and adjusting it, when I’d got absolutely nothing else to wear in that fleeting moment.  It was a nonsense, and the moment passed with the ‘success’ clock still ticking.

I do my bit around the house, as we all should, and, regularly the last to leave the house of a morning, I make the bed in the peace and tranquility of the bedroom, frequently doing so in only my own underwear.  Occasionally, I’m at the wife’s side of the bed and for a fleeting moment, I recall the frequent delving in to pull out a suspender belt, bra, panties or g-string as part of a bigger dress up.

On the other side (or for that matter, either side), whilst tucking the bed down, I catch a glimpse of myself in the full length mirror and recall the many moments where I’d appreciated and admired the view, or used it as a way of getting things straight, the wardrobe containing the cami-suspender sets or baby dolls and how I’d pick and pluck one out, being careful to put them back in the same way once I’d done.

I remembered the peace and tranquility that had to apply when I was crossdressing.  Having the TV or radio on, or any noise for that matter, just wasn’t on.  Crossdressing was a deeply personal act and silence was a necessity.

I’ve contemplated where I am with my crossdressing from time to time.  Have I stopped for good?  Will I start again at some point?  Is there any way of all out, final recovery?  I’ve blogged about fearing a relapse whilst being confronted with my favourite black lacy hold up stockings whilst in the home and hardware store for other daily essentials before telling myself to stop being so ridiculous – of course I wasn’t going to suffer a relapse.

However, the fear of relapse had some foundation. There were moments, fully blogged about in the past, where I’d been able to avoid ‘that’ aisle but equally so, there had been moments where I hadn’t and it was just going to happen.

But time has ticked on since early November 2015, and as I’ve said before, for every day that has passed, that’s another day that has gone by since I last crossdressed.

Or did I?  No – I didn’t but that didn’t stop me playing along with an assumption that I was wearing a ladies’ g-string today.  A house all to myself led to me stripping naked, doing a spot of upstairs tidying before jumping into the shower and then having a shave.

Having towelled down, I liberally allowed the towel to drop to the floor and duly sat at my PC, logged into my cam-site of choice and busied myself with other things unless someone came on and wanted to chat.  I decided I’d cover up though and pulled on a g-string – one of my new ones.

I did a spot of carefree flirting with those who dropped by, I answered questions honestly.  There were a few delayed responses from those on the other end, many, it seemed had elected to read my blog and were very complimentary.  Having switched various elements of my presence off, including galleries and profiles, followers and ‘likes’ some time ago, it was quickly concluded that I was a crossdresser – my Avatar gave it away anyway.

To hell with I thought.  Let’s show them some more of me in my historic glory.  I realised that I could not only switch on the profile images but also the gallery of live web cam sessions.  Only, the site wouldn’t let me do the latter – the more explicit images, posing here, posing there, so those who were curious saw the four gallery stills until I turned them off again later – titilation and flirting over and done with, numerous changes from one g-string to another and some more erotic, aroused moments.

I was appearing on line, I was wearing mens’ g-strings but I allowed conclusions to be made otherwise whilst the attention was sustained.  There were no female visitors, only men, but somehow, I didn’t care.

But there was no overstepping the mark, no wandering anywhere near debauchery, this was merely flirting my sexuality on line.  I found myself apologising on the odd occasion for my at least partial hirsutedness but excusing myself that it would be addressed shortly.  Intimately, growth is little, elsewhere, there’s enough to warrant a full body wax imminently and I look forward to it.

However, previous body waxing sessions have been with one sole intention – to drape soft sensuous lingerie on and it had to be all done as quickly as possible so that I could throw myself into dressing and web-cam sessions.  More recently though, if my body has not been ready for a full waxing, either in whole or part, through necessity or recommendation, I’ve gone with it – it mattered not.

And it still doesn’t matter – but I love that ‘me’ time when I can be fully body waxed again.  Maybe the hair IS giving in at long last and I will get into a period where I’m having more weeks in between appointments.

I’m content – I know that there were two reasons why I wanted to have a fully body wax  – 1) because I dislike being hirsute 2) because my body looked better dressed in lingerie without hair.    Those two reasons still stand, because, if I chose to crossdress, my body would STILL Look better dressed in lingerie without hair.

For now, I have to admit that my web-cam session today came at the expense of doing a multitude of other things that I really could have done, should have done and wanted to do but I fancied a little ‘me’ time.  I thought to myself that, six months ago, upon ‘calculating’ that there would be an entire day available to myself, I’d have quite simply crossdressed – for as long as possible.

Truth be told, I’d only just finished my webcam session when the other half returned from being out for the day.  I ‘X’d out of the browser windows that were open, I threw on my jeans, t-shirt and socks and appeared as if I had been busying myself in tidying up a few things – including that towel I’d allowed to merely drop to the floor earlier.   For a merest of moments, there was though, panic  as the wife arrived home, but somehow, it was OK,  I’d not been crossdressing, I’d merely been being rather naughty being closed doors.

What I need to be careful of now, is NOT using up more arguably marginal time in locking myself away appearing on webcam in next to nothing like I have done today.  Today was a treat alright.

But as I caught sight of another of the wife’s bras casually hanging up in the bedroom today, I reminded myself that I’m STILL a recovering crossdresser.  I’ll not worry about whether I might relapse at some point, because, right now, I’m not about to relapse – that’s a worry for tomorrow – or the next day, or the next day…