Very much on form… — November 22, 2016

Very much on form…

It has been some time since my last blog entry, but I have been keeping myself busy and occupied with my return to crossdressing.

I will freely admit that some of the time, it has been on-line, other times it has not but I am currently content either way. My new lacy red basque and red stockings have become my new favourite outfit, worn most of the time. An opportunity home alone over a recent weekend allowed me time to be dressed in that outfit practically all of the time except when I had to take it all off except the g-string, whilst attending to some family commitments.  Naughty!

However, once back home, it was covers off, lingerie back on again.   One night, I remained dressed all night and slept in nothing but the outfit.

I say ‘slept’, but more dozed, inebriated with the heady feelings of sexual euphoria.  Having got into bed alone, flat out, I revelled in the feeling of being so provocatively dressed under the sheets and caressed my body over the top of the lovely lace more than a few times.   I have revelled, both on-line and off-line in the way the basque feels running down my back, the boning touching virtually every bit of my back.

It being a basque, there is nothing from the waist down, allowing the matching g-string to take pride of place, the suspender straps and gold clasps running down my thigh to the red non-hold up stockings.

In short, right now, I need my crossdressing time – more than I think I have ever done before and I have yearned for it at every opportunity.   My plans were changed last week when I could not pull on my black suspenders, hold-ups and lacy g-string to go to work in under the office attire.

The black g-string was to hand.  Taken from the wife’s never worn collection, and worn to work, there was a need to launder it the other day and the only viable opportunity was whilst I showered, before finding a hidey hole for it to dry.  Frustrated at being unable to dress in exactly the way I planned, I remembered the g-string hanging up and available to me – so pulled it on to end the week.

And what a week. I have previously heavily baulked at buying breast forms – largely because I wasn’t really sure where I’d hide them – and I still don’t really have the answer for that, or where I might hide my building lingerie collection. Purging is not something I want to contemplate or do again anyway!

Sure – I’ve browsed at breast forms a few times, yet always baulked. The problem has long been to work out a size however, on-line cam time has proved valuable in being able to gain access to help and advice from those following my feed.   In another departure in my developing sexual exploration, there was, to be frank, no stopping me this time.

Reasoning that I can usually find a solution to many crossdressing related problems (as in where to store stuff), and knowing that I can order for delivery to another place is a carte blanc for me to indulge.   Lingerie to a post office, breast forms to a local locker facility nearby.   So the order was put in.

I was like a cat on a hot tin roof, a child in a sweet shop if you like. I was like a coiled spring, I couldn’t wait for the opportunity to try them on.

I did nothing but track that package last week and it eventually arrived ready for me to collect on the journey home. My advice had been to go for a 38B size and the silicone breast forms arrived for me to collect and I duly did so – having to open and view the minute I’d extracted the package from the locker.

Before I’d even left the car park in which the locker facility was based, I had used any implement possible to split the tape holding the box down.  Already, the weight of the box was sending signals as to what was within. In the murk of the evening, back in the car, I opened the box like a pirate might open a long searched for treasure chest. (No pun intended).

There they were. I instantly yearned for the hours to whittle away to the actual moment in which I’d try them on for the very first time, the very first time I’d ever worn breast forms.

That opportunity arose the following day, but again, I was unable to sleep, sleeping naked and regularly getting aroused at the thought of what was to come, even though I didn’t really know what to expect – I just knew to expect something.   The following morning, with the house empty once more, I pulled out the same red lacy basque of choice, pulled on the entire outfit and inserted the forms.

They didn’t sit right, the outfit was loose and things just didn’t look in the right place at all.   Reasoning that I’d over-adjusted the over-the-shoulder straps to minimise strap marks on getting undressed, I soon fathomed that those straps needed adjusting back up again and duly did so before reinserting the forms.

Once content, the wave of emotions of that very first time took over and I was driven to find instant relief, without a forethought of the moments after, the feeling of having breasts was amazing.   I erupted into a cupped hand before realising that there was little if nothing to clear up with available.   The strategist within, as ever, found a solution, and I reached for a clean hankerchief.

Not exactly overcome with guilt, I did however feel the need to clean up, undress, dress in the expected male attire and attend to a multitude of things that you usually find yourself doing at weekends. That was no bad thing.   But in those short few moments, I almost felt a little let down.   “Was that it?” I wondered. No matter.   There would be other more suitable opportunities that I would plan to exploit in the days ahead, crossdressing time minimal anyway usually over the weekend unless I am home alone for all of it, which is very rare indeed.

So about that hidey hole. I have an idea as to where to hide my forms and my building set of lingerie items in a place in the house that only I would ever venture – somewhere a little more remote than my man cave may ordinarily be.

Otherwise, regular readers will know how deeply, deeply closeted I have always been, and I have long tried to fathom why I am the way I am, when I started crossdressing – why etc.

But hiding away, coupled with some never disclosed facts about my background, something is now very apparent, and I feel that need to talk to someone about it as it might very well answer why I am a crossdresser – on face value, it goes a long way to doing so, but the closet door must remain closed.

I just need to find a way to talk about it.  Soon.

Doing it JUST for ME! — November 7, 2016

Doing it JUST for ME!

Firstly, can I just say a massive thank you to everyone who visits my blog anyway but particularly on November 3rd?  On that very day, fom around the World, there were 165 views from 73 visitors.   I am thrilled.  Thank you again to you for reading and following.  My blog is now featuring prominently on a site which promotes crossdressing blogs which is undoubtedly a huge help but that day certainly was record breaking.

And so to the here and now.  The last few days have been merely normal – I am content, have been contented with how I am at the moment since my return to crossdressing after almost a year out.

I say ‘content’, but somewhere within, there is a constant albeit distant view that my antics are something of deceit for everyone who knows me, particularly those closest to me.   I am however stopped from being enveloped by such thoughts by the contrast that, in all honesty, I have been a closeted crossdresser for quite some time.

Whilst I have remain closeted for so long, I have also remained very careful and acutely aware of virtually all dangers.  That’s not to say that I’m not capable of making careless errors which put me at the very edge of being outed, yet somehow, I manage to do what is necessary, even though some moments may be frantic, to settle things down.

Sure – as I’ve recently blogged, I have stepped a little too close to the edge in recent weeks, yet recognised the signs timeously and reined things back.  Good for me!

As I said recently on another entry, I had reached a point of taking crossdressing or leaving it – that’s not being dismissive of my urges and desires, merely that I didn’t think I needed or wanted to indulge.

The two pairs of white stockings I ordered the other day finally came out of the boot of the car this evening.  After another busy day at the proverbial coal face, I merely set off for the public transport, busied myself on my smartphone on the journey with some mundane stuff and merely vowed to return the jiffy bag to the man bag which, on return home to an empty house, I’d be able to do what I needed to do with things.

I said to myself that I would view the new stockings and I would also pull a pair on with my new bridal white outfit over which I would wear a pair of socks (it’s getting cold here now!), a pair of long-legged pyjamas and pyjama top and a dressing gown and merely apply myself to an evening of wearing for myself to enjoy and appreciate whilst attending to some chores around the house.  The packaging was opened, the stockings, one pair to wear, one pair to store, laid out to sort in front of me.

The stockings are those which are ‘one size’ but don’t actually really tell you what size they are.  I found them to be a little small to be honest, despite my slim, slender legs.   These were not hold ups, so needed attaching to my cami-suspender.    How many times did the left rear ping off, particularly as I moved around the house and as I covered myself up?  That was despite the adjustments I made to the outfit as I wore it.  At least half a dozen times did it ping before I finally got it all to settle – darned things.   Once  I’d dressed, there was a little bit of my own housekeeping to do.

Strategically, much as I often am with these sorts of things, I opened the packaging flat from both pairs, folded the card over on itself revealing just the plain card inside, posted it through my office shredder, delivered a few scrap pieces of paper over the top along with some other things that needed confidentially destroying, and reasoning that the receptacle was infact due for emptying, gathered up a black bag and, newest stuff first, upturned it into the dark cavernous bottom before tieing the bag up and taking it out to the bin.

And so to the chores that needed doing.  That was all.  I vowed that I could do some other things for me once these little jobs had been done.  Here, there was no flirting on-line, no web cam sessions – this was a hugely controlled dressing session for me and for me only.   I revelled in the sensation as the material and straps wrapped around and tightly caressed my body.  This was SO nice – women are so lucky to be able to wear these sorts of things daily whilst men are, societally, merely obliged to wear generic and comparatively bland men’s undergarments.

Well, no, they are not obiged in my world and I fail to see why I should comply.

The night was not sexual – but it was sensual, stimulating too, invigorating even.  Calmly, I signed into the same website from which I’d made recent purchases to merely review what I had bought to date but ended up finding something else for my ever building collection.   Note to self – these outfits are all soon going to have to go somewhere other than my current hidey hole!

This time, it would be a red outfit.  I spotted a red version of my old lacy pink outfit and promptly added it to the basket, added some red stockings to complement it and was about to complete the purchase for pick up at a collection point on the journey home from work in a day or two.  I’ll worry about where to store things at some other point.

I reasoned that recent purchases had been a little ‘one size fits all’ and acknowledged that things are a little – let’s say ‘snug’ without being overly tight – equally, the outfits are not uncomfortable.

(I have long pondered how I might get ‘my size’ en-femme but it’s not an exact science from research carried out so far.  Work in progress!  I’m going to need a tape measure and some on-line guidance at some point!)

In ensuring I am not ‘outed’, I am always mindful that any tell-tale strap marks on my skin need time to fade as my skin elasticity settles back into shape so set some time aside or just stay covered up for as long as is necessary.

However, having spotted something in a larger size which tempted me more, I removed one item, added the other and completed the purchase.   Still browsing, I then stumbled across the most divine, gorgeous blue version on a model who was wearing black stockings.

I allowed the mouse to roll over the images for a closer look and savoured wearing something so delightful AND in a colour I’d never worn before, my crossdressing history littered with blacks, a few less whites and only the occasional red.   “Enough” – I told myself – that was to be a shopping treat for another day.

So, with that done – here I am.  Still covered up, still dressed just for me.  The chores done, I took some time out to view some fellow blog entries and catch up on the stats for my own page.   With everything done, the fingers then began typing this very entry.  Watching the time, I am mindful that I must undress, remove my lingerie and hide it away before I am no longer home alone, and cover back up in my manly nightwear.

I am hugely contented with the control applied and that I have not been like a child in a proverbial sweet shop since my all-out indulgence the other week.   It would appear then that returning to crossdressing has made me an all round ever so slightly more contented, happier person.  I wouldn’t say I was miserable during the last year or so but I don’t think I was being fair to myself, not at least retrospectively.

As I might have said before – it’s good to be back dressing – doing it just for me is enthralling and hugely special.  That’s not to say that one day, I won’t return to my deviant side but that part of me seems somewhat quietened for the time being as the thrill of self-appreciating takes precedence.

Strange apathy — November 4, 2016

Strange apathy

The past few days have been something of another unique experience for me but in a way completely opposite to anything else.  In my last blog entry, I wrote how I had, after about a week of almost all-out indulgence, come to a point where I could simply take or leave crossdressing, concluding that it really wasn’t that important and having felt a bit – well – flat.

Although I have come out of that ‘flat’ feeling period, I’ve also entered what appears to be an apparently ‘normal’ period.  Having ordered some new white stockings the other day, the e-mail landed in my inbox letting me know that the package was available for collection but it didn’t really seem to matter to me either way.  Although I know that I can afford to leave it where it landed for a day or so, I almost contemplated not actually bothering at all!    Then I realised that as I’d paid for it, that alone was a viable reason for planning a pick up. More on that later.

Reflecting on the last week or so, I have acknowledged an almost hedonistic approach, an outpouring of unadulterated sexuality, a wanton craving to dress, read about dressing, write about dressing, follow on-line feeds, follow other on-line feeds and perhaps most critically of all – dressing and getting on-line – had all applied in a very short space of time.

Elements of the profile of my on-line webcam presence have been switched back on – previous images of cam sessions, additions of profile elements etc.  But here’s the thing.  Having spoken about a dreaded fear of being outed after dressing whilst doing some voluntary work (see a recent blog entry), this appears to have triggered a more rational view of things and my approach to crossdressing.

Following a web-cam session the other day, I was encouraged, very gently, very reassuringly, by someone I’d corresponded with for a while, not to go purging.  I vowed that I would not.   And frankly, right now – I will not – I have recently concluded that I needed my own very personal ‘me’ time, time that I could use to crossdress if I wanted to and most importantly of all, to do it just for me.

One of the recent realisations is that by going on cam, I am actually going against everything I set out to do when I stopped cross-dressing in November 2015.  Back then, other than the fact that everything else fell by the way side, nothing else mattered, things and people got neglected, I also became somewhat frustrated by the level of what I called ‘debauchery’ that I’d dropped to whilst on-line.  That outpouring of sexuality made me act, talk and behave so provocatively, was of a level I had been getting close to the other day and without much care at the time to be honest.

Yet, having asserted control towards the end of the session, having advised those watching the web-cam session that I really would have to get off to work and merely signing out, applying myself to another mundane working day led me into more of a path of ‘take it or leave it’ that I’ve recently referred to.

It is as if I’ve returned to crossdressing, indulged in a way that somehow, psychologically, has topped me right back up to the brim and having done that, I can return to the more every day me, a more controlled me, not hell-bent on wanton indulgence at every available moment and at the expense of everything else yet indulging when I wish to.

Acknowledging everything that has gone before, I am, right now, at that point where I really don’t need or want to crossdress – even though I know I could if I did.  I’ve recently done ‘other’ things that needed doing, I’ve had some social, down and family time, I’ve fully applied myself to the working day and left perusals of on-line blogs and feeds alone for a change – besides I’ve virtually used up all of my monthly credit on all of my network net time it seems!

Right now, I’m OK.  I’m not going to purge, I don’t have any urge to stop crossdressing again.  I don’t have any significant guilt about being a closeted crossdresser but I do have an urge to continue learning how to apply that control to which I’ve referred.

And that got me thinking that I really ought to think about not being so flagrant with things.  Pics have been posted etc, and although there has been one on a previous blog post, that gives no tell-tale signs as to who I am – the pic could be of anyone, anywhere, however, those elsewhere on certain pages do tend to show background room features, colour of wallpaper, carpet, positions of light-switches, hooks on doors – you get the picture (no pun intended).    On one of my sites of preference, the site, where given permission, automatically takes shots which it then posts as a gallery which you can only switch on or off – you cannot select the photos that are seen and not seen or edit them individually.

There again, background aside, I suppose that there is also the argument that what I am wearing and my body shape could mean I am easily identifiable to certain people.  Then again, perhaps it would only be a slim chance that two and two could be put together.  Or could it be that distinguishing marks – moles, birthmarks, scars etc – could prove to be my undoing?

No – no. I want control, and I realise that the way I have conducted myself over the last week or two has been somewhat flagrant and blatant, borderline careless perhaps.

Control will probably continue to be found along the way – in small steps.   Therefore, it’s time once more to realise the error of my ways and scale back a little – note to self!

However, there is the little matter of those white stockings I ordered that landed for collection recently.  Still in my more controlled, reflective mindset, the other morning, I reasoned that whether it be something covert or something else ordinary – whatever it was that I’d ordered, I’d done so using my hard-earned cash and I couldn’t just let it go to waste at the collection point, destined to be returned to sender.

This morning, I visited the collection point, picked up the jiffy-bagged, discreetly marked package for the attention of the daytime me, and stuffed it in my man bag where it stayed throughout the working day.   But there were no plans to pull out the new items from that jiffy bag – I will instead have no alternative but to secrete them somewhere for another day.

I will confess that, whilst on the journey home, waiting for the connection on the public transport, I did open the jiffy bag within my man-bag, just to see that there were contents inside.  Sure – I knew what they were, and I have absolutely no idea what possessed me to have a look when I knew what was inside!   That is merely another indication of the deviant tendencies, the borderline obsessive tendencies to absolutely have to do something – like I absolutely had to make sure that I put the order in for the said stockings before I could apply myself to other mundane working day the other day.

There was a somewhat humourous moment when I decided to secrete the jiffy bag in my car before returning home – it was a dark chilly evening, the car park lit only by the occasional lights.  Having opened the bag earlier, I was holding it by one end in between my car (parked backwards) and the one parked next door, standing at the back offside,  opening the boot and about to reach in, when I heard something fall to the floor.  I was holding the WRONG end of the bag and the two packages of stockings had fallen to the floor, out of sight of anyone but me.  I cursed at how careless I had been, assured myself that there had been nothing to see for anyone anyway, scooped things back up again, returned them to the jiffy bag and hid it away.   An amusing moment retrospectively, if not at the time!

Anyway, as I said – it is all about taking stock, reasserting control, finding a balance.  I’ve started crossdressing again – I have no intention to stop right now, merely to assert and learn to apply control and I recognise the signs of having not completely done so of late.

The strange apathy I have felt of late is perhaps more a case of me asserting that control rather than any loss of interest or that crossdressing was becoming the norm – although I’ve already blogged about concern over the latter.   Clearly, I’ve had my fix – I’ve binged on crossdressing for around a week or so, but now it’s time to let things settle.

It’s good to talk though.

Rise and fall… — October 31, 2016

Rise and fall…

This evening, after a very ordinary day at the daily grind, I would admit to having felt a bit ‘flat’, non-plussed with anything and everything really, and I could certainly put that down to the rise of crossdressing over the past week and then the fall after such a long time on a lofty peak.

Last week was a complete indulgence in crossdressing – as if I was somehow making up for lost time.  I wore an abundance of outfits in the margins, before work and after work.  I wore my new white ‘bridal’ outfit with plain topped white stockings and the wispy spider web thin leg material that came with the outfit.

Virtually every morning before work, I was cross-dressed – against everything I’d talked about in recent and less recent months, going on-line, but then again not always.  My ever-busying Twitter feed is a focus, watching who follows as well as following feeds that I like, has been another reason for encouragement, views on my PC as well as my smartphone in the margins of the margins of the day and night.

Sometimes though, when I dressed, I dressed only for me, covering up in everyday nightwear, long PJs and a thick dressing gown whilst I attended to the many other things that needed doing, contented by the cladding underneath and the sensation it generates.  That was a very clear sign to me that, this time, I can be in control, and can move away from a psychological place I have no desire to be in.

I am once more smooth-bodied – ‘en-femme’ if you like – more suiting a canvas for a draping of soft, sensual, sexy lingerie from time to time – although I know that the next growth spurt is not far behind to disatisfy me some more.  Hugely sexually charged, my mind has been significantly on opportunities to crossdress and what I might then wear and – importantly – how and for how long.

The other day, I decided that I would carry out some more voluntary work and I pondered over doing so wearing my new white outfit underneath jeans and a T-shirt.  Needing to be up and out early doors, I almost militarily strategically planned how I might get dressed before leaving the house.   Could I sweep the cover clothes out of the bedroom, remove the lingerie from its hidey hole and quickly dress in the bathroom before darting out of the house?

Discretion was concluded to be far more appropriate despite everything that my Jekyll & Hyde personality was telling me, despite everything that the ‘devil’ on one shoulder was not so much whispering, more bellowing in my ear to take leave of my senses.  The outfit, neatly folded in a polythene bag in which it had come, was whisked into my man-bag as I flitted out of the house, my plan to arrive and instantaneously dress in the toilets before getting on with the voluntary work.  Arriving first at the premises and concluding being highly unlikely to be joined by anyone THAT early, I utilised a full length mirror and set about the efficient task of getting into the outfit of choice THEN covering up of course.

“Hang on…” I thought as I prepared the thin, almost wispy thin material of the stockings.  “Don’t tell me that I’ve laddered them” I quickly examined loudly, but concluding that I hadn’t and simply finished off dressing.  This tight fitting bridal cami suspender outfit was not one I’d worn underneath any clothing before but once covered in my manly attire, I realised that the white and grey T-shirt was somewhat revealing of the contour lines and straps underneath so decided it would be better to pull on a thin fleece over the top.

Alone for some time whilst carrying out my duties, I took off the fleece, and feeling the heat a little, turned down the air-conditioning to keep the body temperature in check as it was enveloped in such lacy, sensual luxury.

How I revelled in feeling every strap, wrap and shred of material around my body!   I occasionally peered down the top as if I was seeking to check whether I was really wearing what I actually knew I was wearing.

Slipping my hands into my jeans pockets and sliding my hand around the back of my legs outside, I could feel the suspender straps tightly running down the front and back of my legs to the stocking tops.   I untucked my T-shirt for some more natural air-conditioning and body cooling but occasionally lifted it up for yet another check as to what lay beneath, revelling again in the moment, whilst my eyes scanned radar-like as to whether or not someone else had come on site to apply their spare time too.

My daring nature was eventually somewhat brought into a conflict of almost monumental proportions as I thought that I heard a distant door bang.

Still moving around the building, still with the occasional odd flash to myself, I was playing a dangerous game of cross-dressing roulette in a place I had no wish to be outed.  What if I had been seen by someone?  That would have been so very awful and careless for a number of reasons.  Why didn’t I just fight my earlier urges to go out crossdressed and apply the control to which I’d said I was focussed in a previous blog?   Whilst part of me agonised over that, the more rational part of me concluded that I had been careful, that had anyone else dropped by, they’d have seen me merely getting on with the work in hand, tapping away at the computer, shuffling paperwork etc and with my back to an office chair – those tell tale signs of a crossdresser were unlikely to be suspected never mind seen.

After an hour or two, it was time for me to leave and lock the office back up again, returning to the toilets to (what I call) disrobe back into civvies.   Stripped of the over-the-top civvies and standing in front of a full-length mirror in my lacy lovelies, I decided that, I needed so sought and obtained relief.

Exit the relief, enter the grief and guilt.  I undressed fairly swiftly, pulled the civvies back on again, locked up and locked the door even more securely by attending to the numbers on the combination pad.

On arrival earlier, I’d locked myself in and scrambled them not once but twice.  Yet on my departure, the numbers seemed very closely set to what the number should actually be.  I agonised that someone HAD been on site, may or may not have seen something and had merely less diligently scrambled the combination on their exit, having not even said ‘hello’ to me.

Somehow, I seemed intent on carrying on beating myself up, looking to find evidence to bring about my own downfall, and therefore left in a state of semi-panic, semi-anguish, semi-who knows what! It was though a feeling of impending doom the type of which I have experienced before. Something just didn’t feel right at the time and I didn’t like it one bit.

I couldn’t get home quick enough.  What on earth was I doing?  This wasn’t control – this was out of control I reasoned.  Somehow, I felt that I needed to allow every sign of normality to wash over me as soon as possible – see that everything was OK at home, familiar atmosphere, familar surroundings, familiar people and items all around – none of which were in anyway connected with a permanently closeted, resuming, indulging lingerie crossdresser.  It took me some time on and after arrival at home to assure myself that I was still in a controlled comfort-zone. If in doubt – put the kettle on.

I hid the polythene-bagged lingerie back in its hidey hole and merely blended back in with normality and comparative obscurity – to everyone else around me, I was merely the person they knew.

Inside, I knew I had the most secret of traits, the most secret of desires, the most deepest rooted of lingerie crossdressing fetishes.

The longer the day went on, the more normal things became, the more I allowed myself to slip into the comfort zone, the more distanced I was from the anguish I had felt earlier, yet in the aftermath, I’m still at least partially searching around, scanning the horizon for a dark spectre, a slow creeping death, a dreaded fear that someone HAD seen me sitting there as I had been working and was ready to ‘out’ me – having realised that there were clear lines of lingerie under that white and grey T-shirt as I sat and worked – or maybe they’d seen something else whilst I naively thought no-one was about.

Irrational surely?

And so to today.  Acknowledging yet being unable to measure just how flat I felt, I mused that, at that semi-irrational moment, I could quite easily take crossdressing or leave it.  I could dress and to hell with it, or quite simply not bother.

The only thing I have done though is order some new white stockings for delivery to a Post Office on the way home from work – that’s having searched around on line and found many vendors that, once clicking on ‘buy’, would ultimately only deliver to my front door and not a nearby ‘Rainforest’ locker.

Back to my tried and trusty vendor then which fits my needs like a glove. It turns out that those wispy stockings DID have the most awful ladder in them. Like a child in a sweet shop – I had to have some and wasn’t content to attack the day ’til a purchase had been made.

Other than that, I haven’t bothered – crossdressing was, today, on the back burner – not needed – somehow, the events of the previous day were enough to haved topped me up to the brim.

I have however used some free time at home alone to remove the replacement black lacy top hold ups from the car and hide them away, shredding the cardboard box containing them and covering the bits with a good handful of scrap paper and a receptacle of arguable office waste confetti.

Instead, I took myself out for some fast food, sitting there revelling in it to be honest – sometimes, junk food is good for you!  Feeling what seems to be described by many as ‘meh’ (?!) on social networking these days, the junk food only served to comfort me at JUST the right time.

And on arriving back at home, an opportunity to be alone, I simply pulled on my PJs and attended to some office work, cleared a few pressing e-mails.

Once I’d done that, with the lingerie items of choice STILL in all of their hidey holes, untouched today and not on the proverbial agenda, I finished up before attending to another blog entry to get it off my chest.

The rise and fall of crossdressing summed up in just one 24 hour period.

Sometimes, you just have to write a blog… — October 27, 2016

Sometimes, you just have to write a blog…

..and that moment is right now.

This week has been something of a sexual awakening.  The crossdressing has resumed, the guilt has been virtually non-existent – under control, but the on-line sessions have not – of that I would openly admit, but I’m on the right track – I think!

I have never considered myself anything other than heterosexual, but I suppose that the experiences I have had over the last few years have made me more than analyse my sexuality.  Everything was just fine and dandy during my almost year-long abstention too.

Sure, I won’t deny there have been some erotic moments in one-on-one company in certain situations, but these have been pigeonholed into periodic dalliances with which I am content.

Browsing the internet in my spare time has carried me through a wide range of different elements of pornography which I have well and truly immersed myself in, browsing extensively and inquisitively.  I won’t deny that I have seen plenty of crossdressing porn, those in-keeping with my lingerie fetish and this almost naturally carries the viewer into watching she-males and also what I believe are called ‘subs’ at the hands of dominant women.

I have also seen videos which might be described as ‘brain-washing’ erotica – quick changing tightly edited images and high energy music over several minutes, quick shots of provocatively dressed and positioned females, males and she-males, word play and commanding messages trying to hypnotise the viewer into becoming a sissy, cock hungry gurl who gives in to and craves being used because that is supposedly how it should be.

My viewing has been partially inquisitive – the female form but male genitalia and some of these she-males have been stunning, impossible to consider them anything other than a woman in casual attire it would seem.

I have, it has to be said, used a dildo on myself – it was this kind of activity that pushed me over the edge into what I called ‘debauchery’ that put a rapid halt to my crossdressing in November 2015.

Let’s just say that there was just something that I didn’t quite get on with in retrospect, yet the sensation was nice at the time.  However, it did not make me crave something real in there.  This was yet more of me exploring my sexuality.   I have, on occasion, fingered myself in the shower, used smaller, safe items anally but admittedly, nothing significant in recent memory, since November 2015.

Dildos can be used in more than one way to, let’s say, get an idea of what something feels like, but imagining myself doing absolutely anything with another man’s cock has been totally off the radar, totally out of the mindset – until this week.

Back in the crossdressing groove, the desire to wear lingerie at every possible moment has been immense.  I went to work dressed in black stockings, suspenders and lacy panties the other day, the erotica of what lay beneath in stark contrast to the every day drag of the office – it helped me get through the day.   An order had been put in for a new outfit – a white bridal lace cami-suspender with matching stockings and g-string and I knew that this would be ready from a nearby post office in the same way my old pink outfit had been many months ago.

This was my alter-ego blossoming and breaking out of the confines to which she had been restricted for the best part of 12 months.

So – what’s happened?  Without going into detail, but clarifying that the lingerie had been taken off and stored in the man bag, let’s just say that I found myself in an overtly sexual position compared to the man nearby in close proximity (who was, with consent, touching me intimately) and, well, I was, it seemed, up for whatever ‘it’ might have manifested itself to be.

Feeling particularly well turned on and desireable, I found myself quite literally rising up on a wave of sexuality, reaching for his crotch and feeling his hardness through the trouser material.  I must have caressed and rubbed for a few minutes, the hardening having already started before my hand moved somewhat dramatically and surprisingly to his crotch, my sexuality and far less clothed position having already turned him on he told me.

Somewhere inside, at that moment, my brain was in reboot, stalling at such a wave of sexual data being input, conflicting with any more rational thoughts, fighting against them and winning.   “F**K it“, I thought in an instant of an instant of an instant – somehow, the moment felt right and I was in a place I’d never been before and prepared to embrace it.

Reaching for the zip, I found it was down fairly quickly and pulled out his stiff cock which sprang to my attention.   There was no room or apparent need for a millisecond of thought – I quite simply went down on him slipping a hard cock into my mouth for the very first time ever, much to their ever greater surprise (I had already gone much further than he had expected by grabbing his crotch) and my gung-ho attitude.

My brain was in shut down, no perceived need to think at all, instead, overpowered by wanton lustful experimental craving.   Learning all the time, I must have spent a good few minutes sucking up and down his hardened shaft, up and down, deep and shallow, swirling my tongue around the head as it was clamped around his hardness before plunging back down again, as if I knew what I was doing, hearing occasional surprised moans at the pleasure being experienced as I worked – although I have no recollection of going deep.  I remember cupping and gently rolling his balls with one hand whilst I pulled on the shaft having released my mouth for a moment.

I acknowledged that there was no taste – this was hygiene personified to make the situation as it was.   This was, as I’ve read since, just like sucking on your own finger or arm – simply warm skin.  This acknowledgement seemed to make what I was doing matter even less, and I once more plunged my mouth down for round 2.  In between, I had reached for my own semi-hardened cock and masturbated a little as I continued to let my sexuality and extent of arousal pour out and push me on and outwards – still to the surprise of the recipient of my sudden out-of-the-blue bout of man-on-man oral sex.

A position change was suggested which resulted in my cock being held in his hand with his cock – both being rubbed together. The further heightened erotic, never before experienced situation caused some pre-ejaculate to leak out of me as orgasm seemed virtually uncontrollable.   I felt the urge to control and hold at all costs and did so – somehow seeing orgasm as a rather unsuitable, non-preferred way to cancel everything out and remove me from this other identical but parallel world I had found myself carried into.  In that moment of intense intimacy, my partner deftly swept the pre-cum from the tip of my cock and proceeded to rub it on to the tip of his still hard member.

The fact that I’d had to pull myself away from a brink that I didn’t want to get to for a number of reasons seemed to bring about a rapid end to things.  Somehow, there and then, I had gone far enough.  A momentary wave of what was actually irrational guilt hit me hard.

We embraced – a long warm and arguably reassuring bear-like hug, moments after I had put my hands over my face – in a wave of denial, guilt and shock at what I had just done.  I began to talk about it – probably rambling to an extent.  There was to be no sexual peak though, no comedown from such a height – just a quick, consensual stop.

Yet, in the aftermath, I was very quickly at a place of contentment, somehow, just knowing fully that I would not be taken over by guilt of any significant kind – in fact, guilt never crossed my mind – I just set off for my next destination as if this was just another step on another ordinary day and what had happened behind closed doors moments earlier was merely something which had happened, it was nice and that was it.

Nothing wrankled.  There were thoughts about what I had just done, but only in reflective, almost satisfactory ways – a bucket list entry ticked almost, another step along the road of sexual exploration, always exploratory, somehow always processing life to the minutiae of detail.

I have played the moment back in my head many times since but again, without any negative feelings whatsoever, no guilt.  Those who matter in my life, still matter on the same way – I have not seen this as an affair, a new relationship – it was just a form of consensual sex at a given moment – and it felt good.

Could I imagine doing this with anyone else, male or female and becoming a promiscuous bi-sexual?  No.  The situation would never be right and nor would I want to – but yet the moment I had been in WAS right.

Although I have allowed a form of role-play and fantasy in my on-line cam sessions whilst dressed in whatever lingerie outfit took my fancy in the run up – but that’s all it would ever get to.  It is though, nice to be desired is it not?

Could I imagine doing this or something similar again with the same person?  Yes.  When and IF I’m ready and willing.  I seem to hold control and for that I am grateful and reassured.  Could I imagine it going further?  Somehow, no, yet I’m almost not saying never right now – that’s a bridge to cross another day.  My issues with the after-math of self-pleasuring anally have been one of the few things I have been, at least retrospectively, if not during, unable to find contentment with, get things ‘just so’, rationalise with and that brings me back from going any further right now.  There may be some help for me with that though in the fullness of time.

Somewhere, there is an element of recognition of deceit against whoever matters in my life, yet I don’t currently see it that way somehow. Perhaps rather brazenly, as said above, I saw it was a form of consensual sexual activity in the right environment at the right time and with the right person.   That IS a surprise to me as to how content I have been in the aftermath, how comparatively dismissive of it I have been since other than the fact that I enjoyed it.  Perhaps going further would take me more towards fuller if not all out recognition of deceit. Let’s not go there!

I have done some internet browsing and it would appear that such sexual encounters do happen – even in the most manliest of environments and groupings, sometimes as some sort of bonding ritual. Sex, it seems, happens in all ways, shapes and forms – one person giving pleasure to another – with no labels, no ties, no tags, no assumptions or presumptions.

So, I’ve been carrying on as normal since.  Well, I say ‘normal’, but I continue to acknowledge that having found a way to get my webcam working again, I have been on an almost all-out assault on showing off, and/or dressing.  I’ve been here before.  I went somewhere with it that I found abhorrent back then.

Yet, I remain very acknowledging of the fact that I need to assert control, but I’m not quite in full control at the moment, using early morning and evenings to plan lingerie crossdressing, actually crossdressing and during mornings particularly, getting online and on-cam, however, I recognise that equally, there have also been times when I have NOT been on cam and instead, have been crossdressed in whatever outfit suited me at the time, but whilst covered up in pyjamas, socks and a dressing gown.  I dressed for no-one but me.

I have this week relished in the virginal whiteness of my new tight fitting bridal outfit, finding a large amount of women watching and engaging in conversation – much to my thrill, the male viewers almost seeming to give up in trying to interject and compete in the conversation.   I have always found it to be extremely exciting in a whole new way to be watched by women who appreciate a male crossdressed in lingerie.   Those moments this week have, at times, reached heightened arousal but not out of control – no peak and when it has been time, I’ve politely bid my grateful farewells, undressing and finding a hidey-hole for the outfit before putting my alter-ego away whilst the day-to-day me then simply blends in with the everyday crowd of folk just going about their daily business.  Yet there are probably so many very similarly naughty horny people who indulge behind closed doors but look so ordinary day to day just like me.

Nevertheless, the reasoning has prevailed – an opportunity home alone to cross dress conveniently presented itself earlier – so I planned it and did it – a black spider basque, black stockings and black see-through thong, but all covered up in that same ordinary manly nightwear, whilst having the chance whilst I write this blog.  Again, I dressed for no-one but me.

That said, acknowledging a need for control and recognition of the already once (and once only) horrific nature of the experience towards being ‘outed’ from my closet, this paragraph was written moments after I realised that crossdressing is now becoming something of an acceptable norm for me and I must be wary that there is no crossover risk.  I don’t want to find myself almost forgetting I am crossdressed underneath my PJs etc, so comfortable am I.   During a typing pause, my return to ‘civvies’ a few moments ago was therefore to apply the control to which I am trying to focus.    Oddly, I felt somewhat rushed and panicked as I undressed and tidied away as if there was somehow imminent danger (as it was – there wasn’t actually) but THAT is NOT a good thing – other than the fact I recognise the risk.

As it happens, it wasn’t that much longer before I was no longer home alone so my timing in tidying up and returning to what I call ‘civvies’ was very good, my reading of the signs perfected.

Returning to crossdressing has been and is thrilling, welcome, enjoyable, and arguably necessary, but I am also mindful of how dangerous it is and can be.  But another level of sexuality has this week been found – experimental – intriguing.  Use of the term ‘f**k buddy’ doesn’t seem right, more of being a sex toy should I wish to give myself to being, either on-line or, in the right moment – to someone and I’m alright with that.

Bi-sexual?  I don’t think so as I don’t look at men that way, but I would concede to a level of bi-curiousness – I have always been happy to learn and discover new things and experiences.   That has always been me.

Sometimes, you just have to write a blog…

Like a dog with a bone… — October 19, 2016

Like a dog with a bone…

In my previous blog entries from the period when I was last crossdressing but somewhat unhappy with the way I was doing it, I wrote about ‘Jekyll & Hyde’ tendencies – an angel on one shoulder whispering words of encouragement, the devil on the other, urging me to go the other way.

More recently, I’ve commented on not being able to get on-line via my webcam in the wake of the Windows 10 update which has led to so many people being unable to use their webcam either, and the programmers being more than a little slow in coming forward with a solution.

I like to consider myself as something of a determined character when it comes to some things, particularly IT related, concluding that the internet will usually always offer an alternative to doing something.  Sure – there were hacks of the registry suggested as a workaround around until the webcam patch is finally applied, but these didn’t work for me – something I reflected was ‘karma’ in preventing me from getting on-line in ‘my’ lingerie.

Earlier this week, despite everything I’d said in my last blog about applying control and moderation particularly because I could not get on-line, like a dog possesses and defends a bone, I determinedly set about another browse for workarounds, trying again to get my cam working against the odds in my preferred non-Microsoft browser.   Suddenly, after yet another blue screen and reboot, another browsing session link suggested trying another browser.  ‘Eureka’ I thought for the second time this week.  ‘Why didn’t I think about that?’ I mused.

‘Hang on’ – I thought.  What was I doing?  I needed to apply control and moderation to my crossdressing.  The last thing I needed to do was find a way to get on-line contrary to this and do some kind of psychological damage I’d concluded had tipped me over the edge in November 2015.

Like the visit to the home and hardware store the other day, there was to be no stopping me.  The quick fix had been discovered.  I launched Internet Explorer through a Windows search on my machine, selected my webcam site of preference, logged in, loaded up my webcam and ‘voila’ – at the ‘test’ stage, before going live, there was the image seen by my webcam where previously, either a black window or a blue screen had been.

With the test done, and as it was late at night, I hatched a unshakeable plan to turn in and arise nice and early to dress.  Having crossdressed for the first time this week since November 2015, going against everything a fellow blogger had suggested, there was, to be frank, again, no stopping me.

With the house empty, I was awake before dawn in an empty house, pulled out and pulled on my stockings, a black suspender belt, a black but totally transparent g-string, black lacy bra and a black see through baby doll and went on-line.  What was I thinking in being so blasé and exhibitive with the extremely see through g-string?  This was to be a test of my inner strength and my pledge to be in moderated control.

Could I apply moderation and control?  Yes – retrospectively, it seemed I could.  As I had found before during previous web cam sessions from last year, being crossdressed in this way drew an audience fairly swiftly whereas sitting there in just a men’s g-string as I had done on occasion more recently, was of little or no interest whatsoever.  But with no care as to whether those viewing were male or female, a mix of inquisitive, general and sexy chat began.

Applying control, I was very provocatively dressed but did now allow myself to become overly aroused.  Eventually, I decided that I would increase the proverbial temperature by changing into a black spider basque which leaves little to the imagination and shows off much more.  The skimpy outfit was complimented by the same g-string and stockings and put a lot more (albeit for the time being, more hirsute) flesh on offer, much to the thrill of some of the small assembled audience it seemed.   I pushed the man cave chair to one side, repositioned the cam for a full frontal/rear view and, on black heels, put on a good old fashioned show.

I love it when people get turned on by what I am doing, however great or slight, and this only serves to push me on.  I will admit, I did eventually get fully aroused, edging, cavorting, and started wandering towards a place that I had previously vowed that I would never get near again.

However, with some viewers telling me what it had done for them, I got to a point where I decided I really ought to get off to work and numbers on the stream were dwindling a little, much as happens for everyone.   Rejecting a thought process (and suggestion) to go out crossdressed in the suspender belt, panties and stockings, I said to the remaining audience that I had to go and switched off the cam and browsing session, deleting the history in the process of course!  Security at all times!

However, still headily aroused, I could only make a bee-line for the bathroom and within a very short time, came like I’ve never come before or at least in a long time, into a cupped  and ultimately full hand with a heavy stream of clear ejaculate in which swam strands of creamy semen and I moaned with pleasure as the flow continued for some reasonable time.  Clearly, something about crossdressing does something else to me that pushes a completely different button that I don’t usually get to otherwise.

Almost immediately afterwards, I cursed several times in quick succession as I felt a wave of guilt wash over me.  Here I was – still crossdressed, the sexual euphoria quickly diminishing, the clock ticking, the transport connections of favour, looking ever less possible.

But here’s the thing.  I had somehow contented myself with the control and moderation I had applied.  I had done, more or less, what I had wanted to do.  That time, and that sexual euphoria experienced, had, by and large, been solely my special time.   I quickly reasoned that because I had applied such control, I did not have to and nor should I be overwhelmed with guilt.  I had, after a very long time away, started once more to indulge in my own quality time – something that I inwardly relished and valued.

I merely went about my working day, confined the morning’s events to the past and contented myself with the knowledge that the following day would be a busy one, one which would not and should not offer time to crossdress, even though,before, I’d have found the time to my own personal detriment.

I was – now – content to wait for the next crossdressing opportunity – whenever that would be.   The guilt I spoke earlier about had been awash with thoughts of whether I’d stupidly blown it (whatever ‘it’ was), made me question who it was I was deceiving, who I would be betraying, but these were quickly put aside on the basis that these people did not know – I was being discreet and conducting myself appropriately and privately.

Over the course of the day, I have been on-line to buy what I hope will be the first of a number of new outfits that I equally hope won’t find the wrath of the dratted purge.  Still disappointed at the purging of my old tight fitting hot pink lacy basque and skimpy g-string, and having seen an image of that outfit on Twitter, I began a search for a replacement only to be thwarted by an inability for the vendor to mail to a nearby ‘Rainforest’ locker.

However, you know what search engines are like and the word ‘pink’ still took me to a white bridal outfit with basque, white stockings and simple white g-string, which, I guess, must have had ‘pink’ in there somewhere.  Fondly remembering but still agonsing over white bridal lingerie I’d purged long since, this new outfit was to be my returning treat.   Where I will store it once I have picked it up locally, well that’s for another day.   But I had to own it…like a dog with a bone.

And so to dressing before first light once more…bring it on.  I want more…

UPDATE:Blog posted, on-line browsing done, decision to have a shower, self-relief sought, guilt strikes again immediately afterwards. I don’t like the feeling of guilt. I don’t like it at all. The way it suddenly hits you and makes you feel. It puts a whole different spin on everything, certainly before bed.  However, then somehow, you’re over it.  :-/

It’s nice to be back. — October 17, 2016

It’s nice to be back.

Wow.  What a 24-hours.

I have had a Eureka moment.  Why I didn’t think about crossdessing but remaining off-line, I don’t know.  The fact that millions of webcam users (howsoever used) cannot use their devices following a Windows 10 upgrade means that I couldn’t get on-line even if I wanted to as launching the app leads to the blue screen reboot.

Commenting in my last blog, Jenna Badgyrl said things like:

  • …maybe you should allow yourself this treat in moderation? (If it can be moderated of course).’
  • ‘If it’s part of who you are and does no-one else any harm, then it’s hardly a crime, is it?’
  • ‘…the urge would always be there to take a walk on the wild side, so why not let it out from time to time?’ and;
  • ‘..if you decide to make a return, maybe just stay off the webcam’

The combined stresses of everyday life peaked over the weekend and having more than mulled over what Jenna said, I reflected on the key words ‘moderation’, ‘urge’, ‘why not’ and ‘stay off the webcam’, the latter resonating like a cathedral bell at full pelt.

The most powerful draw of the lot was the webcam.  I’d dress, lock myself away in the man-cave, set up, begin broadcasting and nine times out of ten, things would heat up to such a peak, and on occasion, I would be bordering on or involved in such debauchery and end up wracked with guilt.  So much so that in November 2015, I vowed to stop it and be what I said at the time was ‘a better person’.   If I couldn’t moderate, it had to go.

My blogs have repeated this many times, but I’ll say it again here.  Until November 2015, nothing else mattered.  I was addicted at every available hour of the day (other than the odd occasions where I’d go out with lingerie on underneath) I was always on-line.   First thing in the morning, evenings, weekends – all with that webcam running.  It was clearly that activity that pushed me to somewhere that, retrospectively, I didn’t want to go.

Then came that Eureka moment on my blog comments this week.  Why didn’t I think of this before?  Why didn’t I think about crossdressing discreetly – for me, my time – enjoying my passion? Sure, there are and have been sexual kicks but also because I love how it feels and makes me feel.  Relaxed.  Calmer.  More controlled, more rational somehow.  It is my release, my escape.

So to this morning.  I’ll say no more than the fact that it had been a rough night and my emotions were all over the place due to the stresses of work and everyday life.  In retaliation, my mind wandered very firmly towards the loving, welcoming open arms of crossdressing.

Head spinning, I set off to work this morning and found myself on the well trodden path of walking past the home & hardware store where I knew the stockings were waiting for me.  It is a large shop frontage with many ways to get in and I must have stalled on going in at least a dozen times in those few steps.   Somehow my legs carried me on and past the shop and onto work.  Whilst managing partial disappointment, I calmly told myself that even if I purchased there and then, they’d only be in the bottom of my work bag.  I vowed that I would use the day to consider everything from A-Z in more depth.  There was actually little left to consider.

I could crossdress.  It is what I am. I am a crossdresser and have been for years.  But I’m not a bad person because of it.   I have long been wracked with guilt that I am somehow decieving my wife and family and keeping a ‘dirty little’ secret from them, but whilst that is perhaps true, there is absolutely no way that anything could be any different, i.e. there is no opening up about it – that is clear to me after I was caught undressing in a hurry after the wife came home suddenly but, the long and the short of that never-to-be-forgotten moment of horror is that I managed to find my way out of the situation and a divorce and bitter separation.  My wife does not, and would not tolerate even the merest thought of crossdressing – of that I know – and because of how I was, does not suspect.

But it is clear that crossdressing is for me. I have always yearned for it, even if I told myself I wasn’t actually going to do it.   Crossdressing is my time.

I know fully why I stopped back in November last year. I couldn’t control my crossdressing and could only contemplate actively exhibiting myself on-line – tittilating others more than treating myself – on virtually every occasion.  I have reflected that even since November 2015, I’ve regularly looked at crossdressing erotica, videos, pictures, lingerie stores, other crossdresser blogs etc. on a fairly regular basis.  I was everything a crossdresser is except an actual crossdresser I guess.

Everybody and everything else paled into insignificance for most of the time I was crossdressing.  Other things didn’t get done and if I did start some general PC work, it’d usually be whilst dressed and waiting for people to start viewing and interacting with my web cam stream.

Sure, I loved it when people were turned on by what they saw, how I cavorted, changed outfits and openly chatted – particularly when a woman started to watch.  Even since I stopped crossdressing, I’ve still been on cam albeit in just my everyday g-strings – as if that was some sort of near-as-damn-it alternative.

Eureka.  Dwelling and having dwelled on the now blatantly obvious suggestion made by Jenna, I had the opportunity to finish work early today although the day had not gone smoothly by any shadow of the imagination.  In between the mundane tasks, I had agonised with my thoughts which were, at times, a mess, lacking direction and clarity and at other times, a distraction from trying to get my work done.

However, for the first time in a long time, I felt the butterflies of anticipation and excitement building up in my stomach.   My heart felt like it was racing.  Frankly, there was to be no stopping me this time.  This was a landmark moment and the adrenaline ran at full pace within.

The return walk to the public transport connection was already mapped out, and time was fairly quick to pass by from the office desk to the store aisle.  I made a bee-line for the stockings which were pulled off the rail in their compact box, put into the basket, checking to make sure they were most defintely what I wanted (to avoid being disappointed later), and joined in the basket by some everyday essentials, I was soon out through the checkout with no regrets, no guilt whatsoever.  Only mild elation.  I really was doing this!

I managed to get an early connection home which, quite simply, made for more dressing time at home I smugly celebrated.   As if I had never stopped crossdressing and as it used to be, I had planned what I would wear first and was very quickly changed.

As I write this, I have worn not one, not two but three outfits, the stockings being the showpiece adorning my long slender, albeit slightly hairy (for the time being) legs.

I nipped out for a few moments on an errand, covered up in a t-shirt, jeans, socks and fleece, but returned home to change out of one outfit into another, writing a few paragraphs of this blog before minimising the window and changing into my favourite of all – the finale.

Sure. I convinced myself that the webcam wouldn’t work due to the Windows 10 upgrade by signing in to the site of my choice and launching the webcam only for it to go to the blue screen once more.  I used the reboot time merely to change outfits again but nevertheless covered up once the dressing was complete.

There.  I have applied control – moderation if you like.  I have crossdressed for the first time in a long time.  I have enjoyed it and I have somewhat triumphantly it seems – returned.   I suppose I should thank the computer programmers for their undoubtedly unintended help in scuppering any web cam plans, but I must also thank Jenna for her contribution to helping Gerry Lynn find a way forward and flourish once more.

Now it is all about that control I need to apply….that I must now do, particularly whilst web cams remain completely out of bounds.  It’s good to be back.   This is whole new chapter of recovery for the recovering crossdresser.