The recovering crossdresser?

To crossdress or not crossdress – that is the question…

Two years on… — April 17, 2017

Two years on…

Logging into the blog account today, the notifications menu told me that I had reached my second anniversary.  I have plenty of other things to do today, but before I get on with whatever that is, and as I’d begun drafting a new blog entry, I thought I’d finish off the draft and post the final version up.

Firstly, I’d like to say a big thank you to those of you who took the time to so kindly comment on my last blog – I very much appreciate your understanding – and in any case, thank you for reading all or any of my entries over the last two years as well as those in the future.

The creation of this blog was always meant to be a way of expressing inner thoughts and feelings with absolutely no-one available to confide in, in person.  Despite everything that has happened, that is one thing that remains an ever-present.

I am left, albeit not all of the time, reflecting on an immense journey that perhaps I am still on.  I am at a loss to really understand why I allowed myself to be the way I was, not only since the tail end of last year, but, right now, at all.

Whether what happened over the last 13 years or so was right, wrong or indifferent, harmless infact, what it seemed that I needed was a jolt of arguably monumental proportions to – what you might call – ‘snap me out of it’.   I’ve had that jolt as documented in a previous blog.

Sure, crossdressing was nice, crossdressing was enjoyable and crossdressing was an occupying force over anything else that might ordinarily be a diversion or even a ‘must’ – crossdressing was an escape from the everyday grind and life’s stresses and strains.

But whether I enjoyed it or not, there remains one immense element that I certainly do not miss one iota.  Paranoia.  Sure – I probably inflicted that on myself to a very large degree but there’s nothing worse that being pre-occupied by guilt and sneaking around, watching your back – even though there was in fact, little to really watch, such was the military style method applied whilst I took up residence in the closet and the duration that I remained there.

The fact that I have emerged out of it leaving a previous life behind even makes me feel somewhat apprehensive to even write a blog entry, the subject of which usually remain secreted on a memory stick until published, when the draft is usually deleted once copied and pasted under the on-line persona.  Even the very existence of a draft on a memory stick is something that could well be discovered.  I remain susceptible to my own paranoia.

Apart from those occasional drafts, there is very little else tangible, practically nothing in fact, to evidence where and who I’ve been for all of that time.   Evidence of what I have left behind and what I may have ultimately suffered myself one day, was shown to me in recent happenings at home, whereby I watched, largely as a witness, but only occasional contributor to a rather heated domestic – one of the occupants of the house had done something (else) that they really shouldn’t have done and were feeling the wrath of my significant other.

I really didn’t want to enter the battle ring myself and had a very good reason to find a distraction as the decibel level climbed and the voices clashed.  Largely as a spectator,  watching the nature of the torrents of anger and fury, I concluded that I certainly did not want to experience that kind of wrath, the type that I had experienced once myself some time back when I had been found semi-naked, as I recall, stocking hanging off one foot at a time and in a situation where I should not have been anywhere near naked, the significant other having returned home suddenly having only just gone out, me having immediately set about crossdressing in the interim.  Yet I survived to tell the tale.

That never-to-be-forgotten moment was though, at the time, enough to kick me back on to what might be called ‘the straight and narrow’, a massive (and previously blog documented) purge followed, items of immense value consigned to a clothes bank in a neighbouring village.

My conscience is now clear.  I am a recovered crossdresser and see no rhyme or reason as to why I might fall off the proverbial wagon.   Good for me – “Well done!”, you might say.

But reflecting on where I am now, I most certainly do not seek to decry or trivialise those in society who continue to battle to be the person they want to be.  As I have said before, I have someone close to me who is undergoing gender reassignment much later in life – so I empathise and where possible, sympathise.

Crossdressing affected my life – for a very long time – a number of years, then not for the best part of 12 months, then intensely so for the best part of five months.   I really can’t imagine going back now.  Recent life events have made me look at my own existence in more detail than I ever have done before.

I look at the triggers that might have led me to indulge before and they are no longer triggers, they are merely reflective but otherwise heterosexual attractions from the opposite sex.  Lingerie clad mannequins equally no longer do what they did to me before.

I can reflect on my appreciation for wearing lingerie. I have no and have never had any qualms about being in the lingerie department of a department store or supermarket with my other half – whereas many men wouldn’t know what to do with themselves and would in fact, stare at the ceiling or anywhere, or their mobile phone, wriggle and shuffle uncomfortably, or even arrange to meet their other half elsewhere, just to be anywhere else.  That’s not me.

These days, walking in and seeing a store plan sign that says ‘Lingerie – 2nd floor’ (or whatever), no longer makes me either recoil in fear or crave and hope to be there and take as short or long a look as possible, whether we were to stop or merely pass through.  I can merely move on irrespective.

I have no hesitation in adjusting the other half’s bra straps when they are twisted as she dresses, (although perhaps many men help their other half do that), but with all of the above, whilst I will admit to some very inner most, but extremely brief moments of disappointment that I would/should no longer get to feel how it feels to wear one, it is not a motivator towards putting one on again.  It remains a bucket list tick now in the fact that I have appreciated the feelings in person.

There are many reasons why I no longer crossdress, but the main one is that, now that I don’t – I can enjoy life more, relax, not be at war with my own thoughts, when on my own or with others.  I was not at peace within during a large amount of my time crossdressing.  I have previously remarked on a ‘Jekyll & Hyde’ or ‘Angel and Devil’ scenario going on within, one telling me to do it, the other telling me not to – one voice frequently louder that the other as the two continued their tussle.  The ramblings of a mad man?  Perhaps but that’s the best explanation of how and what I was thinking.  I am now applying myself to other priorities, people and material things and it feels good.

However, many things remain of Fiona – my now muted alter-ego.   There have been no purges since I stopped – whenever I stopped (I no longer keep a record).  My outfits and my breast forms are hidden very well away, arguably too far away for even me to bother with – but they have not been thrown and perhaps they never will be.  Read into that what you will.

And yes, Fiona is still there in internet-land.  Account log ons and memberships are plenty, and whilst, on a strong day, I was able to briefly log into one and switch off the galleries and log out, that was a good day.

There are others – from a Twitter account to a couple of chat and webcam sites and an e-mail account.  Right now, I can’t bring myself to log into any of them to do anything with them to any extent, reviewing, dumbing down or removing.  It is just too soon.  Maybe it will always be too soon – and maybe they should remain somehow as a monument, an anonymous record as to where I’ve been, but all I know is, right now, even though I could go and take a look and tinker, as it is that easy whilst I sit here, I can’t and won’t go in.

In all honesty, I don’t want to allow myself to be drawn to even the merest of triggers and I feel that I could be drawn quite easiy.  I’m still the same person as I ever was – it’s just that my feelings towards crossdressing have been suppressed to the extreme.  However,  I concern myself that that I may be susceptible to elements of temptation of thoughts, not actions, and that one thing can lead to another as I found when I started crossdressing again – intensely so – late last year.

It really is all too soon.

Whilst I have much love and  remain supportive and empathetic to those struggling to be who they want to be in life, I am also aware that there are people out there, like me, perhaps even you reading this blog entry now, who are struggling to deal with what might be an addiction to crossdressing and are looking for help in moving on.

I have no intention of removing this blog from cyber-space.  I have read a great deal on the ‘net which has helped me, so if this blog helps someone else, then all the better.

You may be seeking some advice as to how I did it, or am doing it, how I suppressed and continue to suppress the addiction and thoughts, how I stopped and how I deal with things retrospectively and on an ongoing basis in my mind.  I am always happy to talk in response to comments to blogs and through the blog entries themselves.   As it has always been with how and when I write, I just need a starting block.

Ask me how I’m doing it right now and the words would probably be enough to fill a few books, so I’ll document things as I rationalise them in future blog entries.

As always, thanks for reading.

Calling a halt. — March 20, 2017

Calling a halt.

Previous blog entries have referred to a distinct change in mindset caused by recent life events.  Dependent on your point of view, this mood has either got better or worse.

For starters, I’m perhaps somewhat paranoid and arguably irrational, but just lately, I’ve grown tired of being on tenterhooks – albeit of my own hanging – watching my back however good I’ve been at hiding in the closet.  Yes, during times of concern, drama or perceived crisis, I’ve been wondering if, some way, somehow, this was it – but of course, it hasn’t been – I’m being and have been totally irrational but I still haven’t enjoyed feeling that way!

The word ‘deceit’ resonates very strongly these days.  My private actions are, and have been, whether anyone knows about it or not, deceit – that’s really the long and short of it.

Previously, and over a great deal of time that I’ve been indulging, I’ve not cared one iota or at best, cared little – but more recently, I have.  Life isn’t treating me too badly overall,.  Sure I’ve had some challenges to face and appear to be facing them – and that includes crossdressing.  Very recently, I’ve turned to dressing as a coping mechanism, escapism from immediate stress before me, and I suppose it was good whilst it lasted, but the aftermath was quite demoralising, flattening, as if everything that went before was somehow meaningless, pointless – and perhaps it was.

Whereas for a lot of time over recent years, I’ve hardly been able to get dressing out of my head much at all, more recently, it hasn’t been on my mind to anywhere near the same extent.

Trips to get a body wax are most defintely for personal preference these days and not to pre-empt sessions of crossdressing to be as en-femme as possible from the visual stimuli to the actual feeling of material on smooth skin.

Over recent weeks, bar the odd blip, there have been no thoughts, no planning, no stomach fluttering excitement on the way home, no jumping out of bed and into one outfit or another of a morning when time and opportunity arose.  Even this blog entry has been quite a way down the list of priorities, even though there was an aim to get something written at one point or another.

Sure, there have been the odd few days – and I mean odd – where I’ve dressed just because – no more, no less, and it’s been more of the same – web cams, making myself late, deferring other things blah blah blah – everything I’ve said many times before.   But as I said, it has been odd few days and those few days were quite a few days ago now as a standalone.

Life events have reminded me of deceit and I’ve recently blogged about how someone I know has had some very large skeletons (not crossdressing related) come out of their cupboard after their passing – and that, above everything else perhaps, has made me take a long hard look at my own life and where I am in it.  I just can’t talk about and be seen to criticise or stand on the opposite side of someone else’s deceit when manufacturing deceit of my own!

Many times over the history of this blog, I’ve talked through, over, under and around the thoughts, which I’ve considered quite reasonable at times, that if no one was getting hurt, then surely it was no problem, and I’ve even tried, with no avail, to discipline myself to dress solely in private, but that was never going to work in the main.  Fiona is an exhibitionist!

If one is determined to adhere to such stances and ways of life, then fine, but I’m not.  I was, but I’m not now.  I wasn’t happy with things so stopped for a year before things roared back into life some five months or so ago for reasons not totally known to me.   But although things have continued since then, in that time, there has been a far more analytical standpoint being taken as a undercurrent to everything I was doing, irrespective of how enjoyable it might have been.

So let’s summarise my findings.  Sure, I like/liked the dressing, I like/liked the feeling of dressing, I like/liked the look, and perhaps most importantly, I liked, perhaps craved, the attention.  Why?  That’s something that would probably come out through counselling and/or hypnotherapy neither of which I’m inclined to pursue to get a better understanding.

But who was it that was offering that attention to me online?  Men.  99.9% men, and yes, in my peak of excitement and indulgence, I got a kick out of knowing how excited they had become and I was pleased by the nature of comments from some too.  Others, well, they came and went whoever they were!  Were these on-line sessions for the benefit of me or them?

Don’t get me wrong, I have spoken, often repeatedly, with some very nice people on-line and enjoyed some proper conversations at times, but similarly, a majority of folk are, I’m afraid, after what might be determined to help them with their ‘money shot’ – go as far as you want with that descriptor!

Some very nice people like to chat – no more, no less – but they are and have been very few and far between in retrospect.   I don’t get anything out of the majority of web cam sessions, other than perhaps satisfying my own urges in that particular moment of time for what might be an hour or two, three tops and on the odd days of late but again, retrospectively, for what?   The aftermath has not been that great by any shadow of the imagination.

I’m middle aged as statistics go.  This is no slight on anyone and their own personal journey to be who they want to be – as I emphathise – and there IS a different between sympathising and empathising – but I have asked myself (without finding an answer), were I to continue as I had personally been doing, whether I was somehow destined to become a sad, lonely, dirty old man who would ultimately lose everything in life – and for what?

Here and now, and in fact, generally historically, I have a good life, trinkets and collectables, evidence of my hard work as an occupation as well as hobbies and family life, people who I make proud.

My crossdressing does not lead me towards any kind of change of gender or wanting to be someone else – there’s no end game – purely indulgence in something – a fetish, a kink or addiction that I sought comfort in, but I’ll openly admit to being in touch with my feminine side however short or far that might take me and whatever that might or might not mean.     As I’ve said before, I’ve never classed myself as a ‘man’s man’.

But, for me at least, being in touch with one’s feminine side doesn’t mean that I have to embrace secret indulgences and deceit that I now so clearly recognise, even if no-one close to me knows about them.   As I’ve probably said many times before, that doesn’t make it right.

“But if it makes you feel good, why not?” you might say, and there have been many times when I  have whole heartedly subscribed to that sentiment, but equally, there have been many times when I have stopped doing so or done so to a lesser extent.

Having not indulged in crossdressing much of late, great or slight, thoughts or otherwise, I have taken great enjoyment out of doing many other things, or just having some good old fashioned down time, whatever that might entail.

This is Au Revoir but not quite goodbye.  “But is it?” you may ask.  After all, I stopped in November 2015 and resumed in October 2016, so what’s different this time eh?

Well, put it this way, it is ‘au revoir’ for now and who knows, it might eventually be ‘goodbye’.  You might say that I’ve been here before, and you’d be right, but right now, the feelings are very much different.  Recent life events have made me take a hard look at things once more and perhaps more deeply than I have ever done before.

The challenge now is to take further steps to ‘do away’ with it.  Already, on my cam site of choice, I’ve switched images off.  So what’s next?  There are a number of web presences from e-mail accounts to site accounts including webcam, video calling and social networking, many of them set up very recently in the wake of a well documented change of alter-ego/pseudonym.

Can I bring myself to bin-bag and throw, or ‘purge’ things?  No – I can’t – at least not right now.  But I can begin to put them further out of the way, less to hand and on arrival tonight at home, that is exactly what I did as a priority above everything else.

This was, traditionally, at a sort of time of the day and week when I’d perhaps more be focused on what I’d be getting dressed up in when I got home and how long I’d be doing it for and exactly how, hiding away, curtains closed, private dressing time before exhibitionistic tendencies took a very firm hold.   No – right now, this is me, taking and applying some more of that control to which I’ve referred to before.

I’d already laid in bed late at night and first thing in the morning, thinking through the crossdressing trinkets, actual and on-line, planning on-line account deletion perhaps or some other particular course of action, but, right now, I’m somehow not inclined to do that sort of thing.  It’s not important, if they’re largely inactive and I don’t log into them – which, I’ll be frank, I have no motivation to do for any reason at this time, so what?

So, no purging, just a clearing of the decks.  This evening, having already identified a cardboard box, I reached into those hidey holes, pulled out the outfits and the bits and bobs and, largely without even looking at what I was doing, yet being totally aware of what I was doing, they were put into that box out of the corner of my eye – I didn’t want any visual stimuli of a spark in my mind to be ignited, I didn’t want to catch a glimpse of a dangling suspender clasp or strap for example – hence my focus elsewhere.  The box was closed and away everything went, way out of anyone’s sight, in no-man’s land and with no direct trace back to me were they to be found anyway.

To be blunt, it is and has been an addiction, a fetish if you like, and the most difficult thing of doing what I have done tonight was actually seeing and touching things again.   I determined that I was going to do this – it’s ‘cold turkey’ time.   If I wanted to remove the items somewhere remote, then me and only me can take those steps.  No-one ever said that overcoming one’s addiction was easy and without its pitfalls.

The title of this blog is ‘The recovering crossdresser?’ with an emphasis on the question mark and no answer as to whether recovery is stopping or indulging.   But having concluded that it is no longer for me, no longer right and proper for me to do so, right now, I am climbing out of the closet, leaving things behind, closing the door, locking it and somehow dispensing with the magic key that would allow me back in, in my mind’s eye.

It is perhaps the beginning of AN end if not THE end.  That might not go down well with some people who follow my on-line activities, but that’s the way it has to be for me and me alone.

Of course, I am under no illusion that there may be some more difficult times ahead than I am currently experiencing.  Even this week, the allure of a hosiery clad ladies leg and heels seen whilst out and about continues to be hugely invigorating but at this time, for completely heterosexual rather than motivational reasons.   Of course I know how it feels to wear such things – but let’s call it a tick on a bucket list if you like.

I’ll be back to update you some more when the subject matter enters my head.  This blog has wandered in different directions throughout its history on line.  This is merely another.  I thank you for reading and I hope you’ll continue to do so as this journey – wherever it is going – leads me.

Wish me luck if you like – but it’s time for Fiona to pack a bag and take a hike.

Leaving a trail of evidence… — March 7, 2017

Leaving a trail of evidence…

Put simply, someone I’ve known for a very long time died recently and since then, their proverbial skeletons have fallen out of their cupboard – I should stress that they have nothing to do with crossdressing.  However, those left behind have now not only had to deal with the grief but also the sudden appearance of a trail of deceit.

This got me thinking. What if.  What if I was suddenly no longer of this earth?  Without being intentionally morbid, anyone could be taken for a multitude of reasons – ill health, a road accident for example.   Grief does strange things to people, it changes mindsets, it changes how you feel about things in general and things more specific and even with a few disconcerting aches and pains which have, I feel, turned out to be nothing that a few good nights of sleep couldn’t cure, it does somewhat make me consider things in a different light.

It doesn’t take too much imagination to work out a scenario.  An unknowing grief stricken other is, perhaps finally, after some time, but still with some difficulty, clearing out the belongings of their deceased partner, from the mundane to the more in-depth when suddenly, they discover something they didn’t expect to see.

In my case, all those hidey holes of my life where Fiona’s world sits.  Now there’s such things as taking secrets to the grave, but the material items cannot be taken, at least, not in that respect.  A more callous, careless, selfish line of thought might be that if you’re dead, it’s no consequence to you, however, it does leave a trail of evidence, a trail of deceit behind for everyone to contemplate and deal with.   I’m certainly not comfortable with that scenario in any respect.

So, if I’m not seriously ill, what is there to worry about you might ask?  It’s a fair point, but if you also consider the fact that many of us have long term health conditions managed by drugs – me included – if you consider that anything could, in theory, happen to us at any time, a careless thoughtless moment where you step out into a road without thinking or looking, mind elsewhere for example, it could be that straight forward.

This is ridiculous surely?  Indeed, but as I said, grief does strange things to your mindset – well, mine anyway at this time.

Have I boxed up the lingerie and breast forms and stored them remotely where they’d be unlikely to be found anytime soon if at all?  No – they are exactly where they were.   My on-line profiles are exactly as they were, pics and all, and that’s another matter as some of those snap shots are a little too geographically a giveaway if you know what I mean, i.e. to the right person, they’d instantly identify a room lay out, key features etc and ultimately – me.

Knowing that I need to go in, save photos, edit as applicable and perhaps re-post in sections where I can control what is posted is a job to do to manage that, yet my mindset towards crossdressing deters me.   Equally so, and as I’ve said before, my body is what it is, and I dare say that my unknowing partner would be able to spot me irrespective of how well the surrounding elements were removed, blurred etc.   It’s a dangerous game, but then again, what are the chances of anyone who knows me that intimately going to such a site and putting two and two together?  As many correspondents have said to me before, “be careful”.  That’s non-descript yet somehow comprehensive advice, but I know what they mean.

There you are.  My mindset towards crossdressing is at a comparatively low ebb at this time.  That’s not to say that I’ve not crossdressed, because I have.  And yes, yet again, I’ve been in front of my web cam.  I’ve acceded to requests to wear certain colours and garments, some way outside of my preference (bra and panties only) but I’ve not allowed myself to be cajoled into doing things I don’t want to do.

Yet on each of the very, very few occasions that I’ve crossdressed over recent few weeks, it’s not been driven, it’s not been planned and truth be told, in the aftermath, I’ve not felt particularly contented, just dismissive.    This would perhaps be the right time to ditch it I guess, only I can’t.  As I said to one person on line the other day, intimately, privately, secretly, at those particular moments, when I need it and if I need it – I need it.

Difficult times at present may soon subside and I may start to feel better, yet right now, I am finding it difficult to foresee that.  It almost feels like I’ve gone into a period where I am in more control of my crossdressing that perhaps I have ever been, life events have allowed me to take more control, and I suppose that’s no bad thing.  But it’s not a cessation, and somehow it is not a continuation, but somewhere in between.

Deceit lies on my mind, more evident at times than others admittedly, as I continue through my life with loved ones across the family and beyond, yet I display none of it, I’m mindful of it of course, yet the closeted nature of my crossdressing persona lies, at least for now, and as it has done for many years now, undetected.

I just battle on with it alone, albeit with a blog to talk to and anonymous readers.  But all of that alone is useful and I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have such an avenue to lay this all down.  I suppose in an odd kind of way, that’s why I go before my web cam – to find like minded people to talk to.

However, If that wasn’t a problem by itself to deliberate over and write about, there is another – that little matter of a trail in my wake.

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!

The beginning of the end? — February 11, 2017

The beginning of the end?

After my last blog post, the week has been largely something of an abstention.  Earlier in the week, I pulled on a white bra and panties over one of my white g-strings (just because!), popped in my breast forms, put on my dressing gown over the top and got on with some work.  There was to be no webcam but I did log into Skype.  One individual opened up a chat window only conversation that went no further than me telling them what I was wearing and them expressing an interest in seeing but with total futility.

I won’t deny that there aren’t other things on my mind at the moment, and, in life, I suppose that all of us have affairs of the mind that tend to conspire to direct overall thoughts and how one might react day-to-day, experience to experience.  The day job has been busy, and ordinarily, I might well resort to underdressing to soften the stresses and strains of the day job a little, that’s if I don’t dress for a while solely before work.

Only this week, generally, I didn’t – either way.  The morning after I wore the white three item combo, it came back on again.  Latterly in the session, I also changed into a black outfit, bra, g-string, including stockings and suspenders, akin to getting back into my comfort zone yet having previously enjoyed the bra and panties only experience.   I did indeed go back on cam but signed myself up to another site (that came up on the top of a search engine) for no other reason other than I was a tad bored with the one I was on.

Although I was welcomed and told that I would go down well on the particular site in question, things petered out to a natural end but feeling quite intoxicated with the way I was dressed and particularly well stimulated by the sexuality surrounding the use of the breast forms, once more flying in the face of everything that had gone before in the past week, I sought relief in private.

Having planned a work day underdressing experience in the very same outfit, instead, the massive come down afterwards only served to make me undress, tidy up and put away the lingerie, pull on the everyday work day attire and, shrugging off what had gone before, merely went about the working day.

It felt like I’d had enough.  I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I don’t want to crossdress ever again, but I am far, far less motivated or even interested in doing so at the moment.  I could really do with accepting that if I DO need and/or would like to crossdress, that I quite simply do it for myself, having my own time, dressing in private, much as I have alluded to before, because web cam sessions aren’t all that.  Who really benefits?  Me or the viewer?

Yet, there I am, drawn to put myself before a cam like a moth to a flame, like a magnet to metal from time to time.   I must have some inner insecurities and/or are looking for the kind of interaction and appreciation I seem to get on a fairly frequent basis.

There have been enough opportunities this week to crossdress, but I really haven’t – certianly nowhere near as often as I ordinarily have been of late.  Over recent weeks, I’ve largely been avoiding logging into my Twitter site, or any of the other sites to which I am signed up, and I’ve not been that bothered about checking the e-mail account either.  Even this blog page has also been less of a focus and I have taken less glances through the stats and other blog entries.

That’s not the say that I’m not interested in anything and on the spur of the moment, I can be quite likely to merely take a look at one site or another, but I am trying to rationalise what has made me go the other way, i.e. in one week, quite hell bent on anything and everything crosdressing wise at any time, but this week and of ate, very much less inclined and instead, far more likely to invest my time in other things – something that has been quite fulfilling in all honesty.

This is either one thing or the other – it is either than I have plateaued, realising that what I do isn’t all that and I must now find another path, or that this is merely a break from things awaiting sudden reactivation of it all, and perhaps more besides.

I won’t deny that my disinterest in crossdressing is, at least partially, down to that long standing element of guilt, the importance of which becomes more apparent at some points, whilst at others, diminishes – time spent with family, people who deserve and or need some of my attention etc.

We all have times when things are not just run of the mill but are actually overall, quite OK, quite pleasant, quite nice, running along nicely, and I suppose that’s where I am right now.

I have already admitted that crossdressing is, for me, sexual at times as well as at others, calming, relaxing, intimate, personal – a little bit of me time, but it is the former scenario, when it gets overtly sexual that I hit a peak and a massive come down afterwards.

The reaction is and has almost certainly been one of ‘is that all there is?’ and ‘is that what it has come to?’.  It’s not nice and although I might enjoy the during, the immediately after is not pleasant right now.   Will that change?  Will I feel different about it in a few days, weeks or months?  Either way, it’s certainly putting me off at the moment.

A while ago, I penned an introductory e-mail to an on-line counsellor which I haven’t yet sent.  I am yet to decide whether that would be of any benefit now or at all – that hasn’t changed since it was first written.

I am Fiona – the recovering crossdresser.  Recovering from what and by when, I am yet to fully understand.

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.