The recovering crossdresser?

To crossdress or not crossdress – that is the question…

A dangerous game — May 8, 2018

A dangerous game

Warm weather in the UK and for anyone really, causes one to throw off one’s clothing as the vitamin we seek from the Sun is soaked up to the ‘enth degree.

Add in the expectation of more daily ‘drudgery’ remarked upon in my last entry, and with a tidy home office and having concluded that I had some spare time on my hands, this morning, I took to the webcam wearing nothing but a g-string. Why?  Simply because I bloody well wanted to and nothing else seemed to be capable of ticking whatever box it was that I wanted to tick somewhere in the darkest, most deviant parts of my mindset.

In all honesty, I had no idea what I hoped to get out of it, I was just going along with ‘it’ whatever ‘it’ was.  I pulled out a cock pump with at least partial plans to use it, but it lay strewn on the desk top and remained unused until I put it away about an hour or so later.

A small audience gathered on the webcam and with my profile still displaying the same image associated with this blog, pictures could be painted that I am and remain a lingerie crossdresser.

My partially waxed body was evidently of some appeal to some individuals, coupled only with the extremely skimpy item being worn.  I was asked a number of questions, including whether I was a sub, and I guess I am, based on my willingness to follow certain (not all) instructions when before my cam.

I was asked to show off some of ‘my’ lingerie and, concluding that I knew my limits, took the unusual step of visiting the other half’s wardrobe and whisking out a selection of baby dolls, slips and cami-suspenders as well as the spider basque being worn in the only surviving image of my crossdressing days – now used solely as a profile pic and Avatar.

Returning before the web cam, I lifted the items off the hangers and held them before me for those that wanted to see them, and answering questions along the way – as you do, one particularly as to whether the spider basque was one and the same.

For the merest, most fleeting and arguably foolish of moments, I very nearly put an item on.  But I didn’t – even when asked – as the ‘progress’ of almost 14 months of resisting pushed me on but away from committing any act of wagon falling.

Retrospectively at least, it would seem that the demonstration was by no means for my benefit.  I barely paid any attention to the items as I showed them off – I merely displayed them, one by one until there was no more to be shown.  It seemed, at least now, that I was somehow blocking everything out and going through the motions asked of me.

This seemed to be enough for most people and the small assembled audience waned, complimentary and lustful some of it might have been.  The hangers were merely returned back to the wardrobe to hang, the items on them, unused, unworn by anyone – OK – me, as they had done for those 14 months or more

Returning before the webcam, as my mind began trying to remonstrate with myself that I ought to be getting off to the day job, a part of me stubbornly sat there before the camera – almost as a gesture of exhibitional defiance.

However, as the more rational side began to take a grip to get me moving, a contact of old ‘guested’ in and expressed their delight at seeing me ‘back’ on line.  The conversation, certainly on my part, was veiled.  I neither wanted to say that still did dress nor that I no longer dressed, instead finding the equivalent of muttering and mumbling as keyboard speak, merely said that how I was and how I am was best read in my various, albeit less frequent of late, blog entries.

Was this a cheap attempt to garner attention for my blog entry?  Not really – the contact was already aware of the existence of my blog and pledged to read up anyway.   Having already said that I really must apply myself to the day, I was set into a panic having thought I’d heard a presence at the front door, outside, inside, it mattered little.

This was an example of reasons why the crossdressing had to stop in March 2017 – sneaking around, panicked moments, frantic tidy ups, making myself late yet somehow, satisfying a deep inner craving for something exhibitionally and overtly sexual without really knowing what it was as it tends to be these days.

Things had gone on too long on this occasion.  The deep rooted concern that someone was home again was quickly confirmed as being nothing of the sort, but it had, in that split second of all out panic, made me tear the USB from the socket, sending the last camera shot into a frozen, blurry, blue-hued nonsense, whilst the chat window remained active.

With my inner acknowledgement of the need to ‘tidy up’ and indulge myself in more of the kind of intense, double checking, triple checking covering of tracks, before I coud even prepare to leave the house, I politely informed my friendly correspondent that it REALLY was time for me to go, and after the exchanging of genuine and heartfelt pleasantries with this one remaining cam viewing individual, the anti-climax of having really achieved nothing was exactly how it ended.

And so to another day of drudgery.   Yet having got through that today, I still almost desperately crave more of the overtly sexual, provocative cam time despite the largely fruitless thrill associated with it, despite it achieving very little apart from perhaps in small bursts.  Sheer bloody-mindedness!

Nothing has been anywhere near the intensity of sessions from back when I was cross dressed before a webcam – that I know – including the reasons for the same, yet still I somehow crave something from the sessions I indulge myself in, something drives me on.

Something drove me to display those items on cam on request today – something I’ve never actually done in that way before, something almost drove me to conclude ‘what the hell’ and half put something on, as if that would have been OK when my conscience told me that it would not.

That next opportunity and whatever it would likely ultimately not achieve was in clear view ahead when another day dawns.  This is a dangerous game.

Drudgery — May 6, 2018


…that is how it feels at the moment.  Drudgery.

Get up, try and get a multitude of things done in a small amount of time before work, get ready for work, go to work, work late, come home, eat food, check up on family and relatives, read a few emails, try and catch up on TV missed until all hours, go to bed and so the cycle revolves it seems.

Sure – I’m getting lots of things done that I never used to in the fit of my crossdressing peak, and I am still aiming to get some time off work to carry out a lot of stuff purely because I can to have some down time and get some other stuff done.

But otherwise, it is all seemingly so much drudgery.  There is a phrase that ‘all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’, and dull is what it seems to be at the moment.

There have been fleeting occasions where I have been faced with the temptation to both try on and look at items of lingerie.   On one recent occasion, I held one of the other half’s bras that I somehow find appealing up to my chest and stood in front of a mirror.   It wasn’t put on, although I wrestled with the thought of doing so for a while, intensely so in fact, until sighing heavily, arguably remonstrating with myself, putting it down and applying myself to the day instead.

The other day, I was making the bed – something I used to do as a pre-tense towards laying out the lingerie of choice before dressing in it – when I contemplated a little forage into unused, dark recesses of the wife’s lingerie drawer.   But I didn’t.  It seemed partially interesting, but largely pointless.

The reminder remains of the period of over 12 months since I last crossdressed and of the ‘progress’ – if that is what it is – made since.   The motivation to maintain course on the current path is far more of a draw than veering off it, but what is the seemingly daily drudgery – groundhog day if you like – does make me wonder whether there is something else that I need to light a spark to the day and life in general.

In the margins, there is that little ‘me’ time of a visit for a body wax, but growth continues to make me something akin to a ‘before’ and ‘after’ mannequin at the moment.  Bits are done, bits aren’t because they’re not ready – the drive continuing to establish an overall balance, allow everything to catch up to be suitable for an ‘all out’ at one session, but the sessions that I have are a highlight of the calendar which ticks through on my smart phone device and a break from arguable drudgery.

I really do need to find something else to be the above mentioned spark and that is very much the aim, although that treadmill of ‘groundhoggery’ is almost overpowering.

The blog has lain unattended to until now – other things prioritised above writing another entry.   But I have still been logging in to the account, I have read a few blog entries of others and I have perused the stats.  I’ve checked the e-mal account of my now dormant alter-ego, merely clearing out the masses of mail left and then logging out unless anything drew appeal, but little does these days.  They are usually entries telling me about blog entries that I have already ready anyway!

In the more positive, driven moments, thoughts have turned to clearing out the remotely stored lingerie and breast forms in acknowledging that this is probably the end of it, but that remains of little priority overall, and as stated before, is too far away to bother with.

What good would come of falling off the proverbial wagon anyway?  Ah well – time to move on – I need to go to bed, I’ve got TV to watch and there is work tomorrow…

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!