The recovering crossdresser?

To crossdress or not crossdress – that is the question…

In the heat of the moment… — June 19, 2017

In the heat of the moment…

I don’t know what it is about the warm weather, but being able to fling one’s clothes off when alone around the house or to wear as little as possible is quite invigorating.  Clearly, it brings out the inhibited nudist within me!

In the middle of an early UK Summer heatwave, that feeling, coupled with the fact that I have recently enjoyed an upper body wax, sleeping naked and in the open at night and that I am moisturising and maintaining my body well of late has left me feeling a little heady it has to be said.

It was about March time when I put a stop to all things crossdressing, but, probably driven by the recent body wax and a high dosage of Vitamin D from the sun, my mind has recently wandered back towards the subject matter.  Over recent days, driven by some ulterior force, I have found myself searching the net, viewing imagery, perusing sales outlets (but going no further) and most recently, accessing any old log in to any old site that I can remember having an account for.

For the first time since March, I have experienced a wobble – albeit a moderate one – and in the moment, a heady yet irrational yearning for the feeling of wearing an outfit of some sort again.  I lay in bed last night imagining the feeling of a figure hugging cami-suspender set, the suspenders running down my upper thigh – the feelings were more than tangible – and the distractive thoughts did somewhat stop me from quickly dropping off to sleep, one reason, the other being how muggy it was.

This morning, I showered, shaved, moisturised, and wandered naked around the house, tidying a few things, doing a bit of preparation for the day ahead but later found myself in front of the PC screen once more, like a moth to a flame, searching aimlessly around without any real clue as to what I was doing.  I logged back into Skype and accepted a contact request from someone – just because.  I had a quick nosy around before logging out – but there was nothing to nosy at of course.

I searched around for my old alter-ego and my most recent one in Internet-land, knowing darn well that what I’d see would be nothing more than I already knew.  This was all aimless, pointless nonsense, particularly when I really could be getting myself into the day.

I remembered one of my old site log ins I hadn’t actually accessed for quite some time after the address just pinged into my head and logged in there where, I was reminded, I’d published a number of photographs of me in various outfits taken from another cam site, repackaged and reposted of course.   It was more than just a little stimulating to see myself in this way again, particularly as I’ve previously commented that my site of choice had, seemingly, no longer got the same number of galleries, not that anyone bar me could see them having switched them off in the profile settings.

The process of scrolling through the gallery was more than enough stimulation (yes, I was getting turned on by my OWN pictures!) to reach a peak and after this, I felt like I’d come to my senses once more, telling myself in the aftermath that the decision to well and truly put a stop to things in March was the right thing.  I couldn’t fall off the wagon once more, and perhaps more crucially – I  seemed to be telling myself that I mustn’t.

Having apparently come to my senses, it wasn’t long before I was clothed and ready for work.  All of a sudden covering up the birthday suit seemed wholly appropriate, being in it, becoming inappropriate all things considered.

I suppose that, given the sudden nature of the cessation of things once more back in March and the way that it happened, i.e. dismissing things to a far flung, largely inaccessible place in my life, was a very good way of avoiding careless sudden thoughts to throw me back into a pit I’d doubtless be grateful for being in – certainly in the medium to long term and arguably sooner than that.

It was a while ago that I remarked upon acknowledging the need to go through ‘cold turkey’, so perhaps I was a tad naïve to conclude that the way things had been going over the late Winter and Autumn would continue in the same way.

One thing IS for sure.  Had my outfits been more to hand this morning, I can’t honestly say that I’d have been able to hold steady, ignore things and resist temptation.  Knowing that the garments and accessories are not in any way easily to hand is very useful and, as I continue to pledge to ‘blog’ about how I’m managing to ‘recover’ without doing writing anything so far, I suppose that is the most important, at least initial piece of advice I could give to anyone that wants it.

If, like me, you feel that a devil sits on one shoulder urging you on whilst the angel sits on the other, pulling you back, and even if that’s not how you see things, moving the things away to a place that’s not very easy to get to, is probably the single most important way of avoiding any kind of irrational temptation, no matter if or when it strikes.

You may be asking where my ‘far flung’ place is.  For the purposes of at least partial if not total anonymity, I’m not going to say where it is for me, but I’m sure that, if there’s a need for you to find a place, and if, like me, you’ve been very firmly in a closet and covertly crossdressing for a period of time, the type of strategies employed almost by the second in order to remain there, will be equally tactically applied to find your own far flung place – one that works for you.

Right – that’ll do for now – two quick blog entries in the space of a few days but then again, there was a need to catch up I suppose and whilst the thoughts and motivation are in mind, it’s only right and proper to lay them down really.

I’ll do my utmost to offer (some/more) help, guidance and tips in my next blog entry.  In the meantime, thanks for reading.

Turning away — March 1, 2017

Turning away

I’ve often remarked as to how, for me at least, there can be days when it has just not been possible to crossdress.  These days can be the odd one or quite a number such as during holidays.  I have also both concluded and have had it suggested to me how important it is to moderate, and I’ve also read other blogs suggesting that when it doesn’t feel right to crossdress, then quite simply don’t.

Holiday time was a break by itself but that combined with how I have felt in the aftermath of recent crossdressing sessions and, well, let’s just say things that life can throw at you,  has conspired to set me on a path which is away from dressing far more often than I have been.   Additionally, for the first time for a long time, I’ve not really even been thinking of crossdressing, planning, shopping, viewing any outfits or clothing on line, working out what I might wear and when etc.  It just doesn’t seem to matter that much these days.

I have instead applied myself to the working day, morning ablutions, other jobs that need to be done or merely things that I either want to do and/or am more motivated to do, and I’ve even enjoyed lie-ins on a working day where ordinarily, I’ve been up very early where home alone, getting dressed in an outfit of preference and getting before the webcam – only there’s been far, far less of that of late – over the last few weeks anyway.

As I said, holiday time was a factor but mindset has definitely been the other way anyway.  No planning, no craving, no frustration because I couldn’t crossdress or longing for the next time – virtually none of that.

Having said that, there was the odd exception which, one could argue, blotted my copy book over the last week.   Up and about, still  in my PJs but with the bed made and an opportunity to get to work, instead, I merely thought that I would pull on an outfit onto my recently waxed body and, yes, you’ve guessed it, put myself before my webcam.

However, for this session, fate conspired because it was extremely quiet, little attention on either site of choice although I did strike up a conversation firstly with one far too rude and demanding person and then another less so in a private session.  But I was in no mood to concede to every single request – although some people can be so rude and not so much request things, more so demand them.  I don’t appreciate that sort of behaviour at all.

Advising the other party that I would have to get off to work,  and with their expectation that I would be back on line the following morning to continue where, in their mind, we might have left off, I disciplined myself, signed off, undressed from my red lacy basque, g-string, stockings and heels and got myself off to work, albeit late and using another form of transport – damn you crossdressing!

And that was really how the week went on until a somewhat casual and ultimately borderline decision to crossdress one morning last weekend, not because I really needed to, not because I had planned to or wanted to but more so, because I thought, in the spur of the moment, why the hell not?   Time was NOT on my side though.  The house was empty, but I’d already had a rather nice lie in, without any thoughts of crossdressing, no planning etc as detailed above.

I busied myself having dressed in the blue version of the same red outfit I referred to above, but instead, did plenty of jobs that needed doing whilst I breezed around the upper levels of the house – however, I told myelf that I could treat myself if everything was done.

I tided a few things up, made the bed, put some clothes away, tidied my office etc.  It was nice – it was dressing time for me and I satisfied myself within that this was control, something I’ve referred to many times, and doing something solely for me.

As I said, time was NOT on my side, and I really did know that.  But I was watching the clock and I was listening out for every single vehicle noise, several comings and goings having nothing to do with me, merely passers by and local residents going about their business.  By this time, I’d done everything that I wanted to do and decided to put myself before the web cam once more – almost as a ‘treat’ for doing so well earlier in the morning I suppose?!

I reached a point where I said to myself that should be it, and I really should undress, pack up and return to civvies – but I didn’t.  Still the clock meandered its way dangerously towards that benchmark time when I knew that I would no longer be home alone.  I pushed it about as far as I could push it and some and I was on the cusp of sorting myself out.   Suddenly, the sound of a slowing engine and road noise from outside made me dart for the window and a brief glimpse though the curtains.   Sure enough, members of the family had returned, but there I was, fully dressed, blue lacy basque, g-string, seamed blue stockings and heels.

S**T!  This was it – this really  was ‘it’.  Somewhere deep inside, whilst I was in a frantic state of panic, a reboot kicked in, a contingency back up plan that even I didn’t seem to know about that went into full pelt – I was on auto-pilot – it really was as if I was watching myself do everything.   That auto-pilot saw me fathom that the best way to get such an outfit off was from the top down, and to hell with the suspenders and stockings – everything was to all intents and purposes, torn off.

Down came the shoulder straps, down came the basque, down came the stockings and the g-string seemed to just come with it.  The heels were flung into a wardrobe, the outfit in the deepest recesses of the cupboard in which it is usually carefully kept albeit, right now, in a crumpled state, me wondering within whether I’d wrecked those blue stockings that had been hard to come by.  I dismissed the concern – it was not important in those frantic moments.

The delayed return to the house up the drive by the others allowed me precious seconds to clear the decks, pull on a T-shirt, undies and jeans – I was due out shortly anyway – and unlocked the door, making sure that the panic had been washed from my face.  I must have done so suitably as I entered into banter and greetings whilst dashing back upstairs to pull on a pair of socks.

Reasoning that the group downstairs was busy settling itself back in, I took the time to retrieve the heels from my wardrobe and return them to where they should be – in the wife’s.  I even had time to retrieve the crumpled outfit, straighten it all out, detach the stockings from the suspenders from which they still dangled, folded everything back up neatly and stored it neatly away.  However, returning to the man cave, I realised that the g-string was still on the floor, floundering but rich for discovery.  I remedied the situation quickly.

I then exhaled with relief several times in the immediate aftermath and again at various points throughout the rest of the day, and remonstrated with myself as I went about my business of the afternoon.  That was the closest call I’ve ever had to when I actually was caught some years back yet remain here to tell the tale.   I had been lucky this time with no confrontation as I undressed, just total panic and action which luckily, did go in my favour.  Whilst the warning was clear enough, it only served, at least for now, to steer me away from crossdressing – though not entirely.  I am still receptive to crossdressing but not driven – it would be escapism from everything else raging through my life at the moment, some of it being very difficult to deal with.

I have given serious consideration to using the marginal time before work this week to box up the lingerie, retrieve the breast forms and store it all away in the loft – not a purge, just a pause.  Lessons learned from all the £s worth of lovely outfits purged repeatedly over the years. The thought to gather and store has occurred daily this week so far, yet something has stopped me from doing that.

Up and about this morning, on a straight and narrow path, and planning nothing more but the ablutions, the packed lunch, the workday attire, I suddenly had another of those ‘why the hell not?’ moments.  Instead though, I ignored the question, busied myself in other quite ordinary ways, until I set off for work – conscience clear – lingerie left from where it had been so recently frantically stored, the situation healing as the week has drawn on.

It could have been oh so different.   Only it wasn’t.

Talking about it… — February 13, 2017

Talking about it…

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

For that, I thank you – whoever you are.

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

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

I am therefore grateful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh – that feeling again! — February 5, 2017

Oh – that feeling again!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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…