The recovering crossdresser?

To crossdress or not crossdress – that is the question…

What’s in a name? — January 20, 2017

What’s in a name?

I really can’t remember whether one of my many blog entries has touched on this before, but in any case, it’s relevant to go over it again.

This year, it is 12 years since I found myself transported into the closet somehow and started crossdressing.  I don’t know how I started, exactly when I started or, more to the point, why I started but it’s largely irrelevant as it’s twelve years on and here I jolly well am!

Somewhere along the line, way back it has to be said, I came up with an en-femme name but there was clearly nothing in my head at the time any better than the one I’ve been using until this week.  In something akin to a dawn-breaking realisation, and having come across a blog link to the evidently fantastic ‘Boys Will Be Girls’ salon in London, it occurred to me that my en-femme name used for all these years was, to be fair, slightly ridiculous and almost tantamount to a parody – as if I wasn’t taking crossdressing seriously.  For that, although unintended, I apologise for any offence that may have been caused.

You may like the name ‘Gerry-Lynn’, and see it as somehow perhaps appropriate, some how feminine, girly and cute, but somehow, despite the absence of any clear thoughts of an alternative until now, I have gradually started to take a dislike to it, hence the branding of it as, for want of a better term, an unintended parody of my feminine side.   It is by no means a parodied, comedic or tongue in cheek side – it is, genuine, heartfelt, and sincere.   It took something of a ‘Eureka’ moment and a few minutes of thoughts to myself to come up with something better that just ticked the proverbial box

So about that name, Gerry-Lynn.  How on earth did I come up with that?  Is Gerry short for Geraldine?  No.  The ridicularity of the name – well that’s how I’ve suddenly seen it this week – is that it was concocted – (I really can’t come up with a better word than that) – from the word ‘Lingerie’, such is my love for the undergarments.   Yes – you’ve guessed it – swap the ‘gerie’ and the ‘Lin’ around and play around with the spelling a bit and that’s what you get – ‘Gerry-Lynn’.  Ridiculous?

Sure, people have addressed me on-line that way without any adverse reaction – only respect for me as a person. I’ve had an e-mail address built with the moniker in it, I’ve appeared on Literotica forums and crossdressing websites over the years as that name, and of course there’s (been) my Twitter feed – @gerrylynncder.

But there lies the problem.  I am something of an obsessive compulsive, evidenced from the drive to crossdress I suppose, but it is also evidenced by the many situations in my life where I’ve just got to do a particular thing right away once my mind gets fixed on it

Having realised that ‘Gerry-Lynn’ was no longer acceptable, having seen the much nicer en-femme names of others on line this week, that, I suppose was the trigger to make me think of something more suitable.  It didn’t take long.

It transpires that had I have been born a girl, I would have been called Fiona, so there you have it.  From here on in, I am Fiona and with that, I am more than content.  Having reached this conclusion yesterday, today I felt it completely appropriate to get things sorted.

So I am now well into the process of closing email accounts and opening new ones.  As for the Twitter account, well, although I changed the profile name as of yesterday, today somehow, that didn’t quite cut it, i.e. for it to be ‘Fiona’ @gerrylynncder.  I need and needed to remove it as much as possible.

So, having set up a new ‘Fiona’ email account, I set up a new Twitter account @fionacder and am now working to move over then close down relevant accounts and profiles, leaving Fiona to take precedence.  It is something of a cleansing exercise, but I have felt somewhat euphoric over it today it has to be said.  If you followed me @gerrylynncder, please do now follow me @fionacder in advance of me closing the former down – thanks!

The only problem is mulling over was that of my WordPress account of my old alter-ego name.  Having sorted e-mail and Twitter, and being content with my webcam presences, this led me to take a look through the settings.  I need not have worried as it was perfectly OK to change things over, add a new e-mail address, change the user name etc.  All done.

So, with some euphoria it has to be said, (and I said last time out that I wanted to introduce you to someone), I am Fiona – and I have probably been for a while, I just didn’t know it until now!

Finally, this time around, changing the subject, this week has seen me spend two working days underdressed. On the one day, black bra, stockings, suspenders and lacy g-string, on the other, for the first time, my bridal white cami-suspender set – the one that fits somewhat snug and tight to my slim body but purchased before I took a better grip an understanding of sizes.  Trial and error and all that.  Although, don’t mention those bloody pinging suspenders with those plastic clasps!  Infuriating!

In each instance, as research has found, going underdressed in public needs some careful planning.  Wearing thicker winter trousers, there has been no need for baggy boxers to hide strap marks and I find that experience somewhat more satisfactory.  It was nice to be able to casually reach in as part of an innocent looking ‘tucking my shirt’ in moment, and feel the lacy material of the lower cami-suspender as I sat, and how the suspender straps arched across the angle between stomach and top of the legs whilst sitting at the desk.

The opportunity to reach in allows a quick check that the shirt underneath the jumper remains baggy and pulled out, not tight to show cami-suspender lines, particularly when standing and moving around the office – another tip for those that don’t already know and to date, have not yet tried underdressing.

Nevertheless, something about being underdressed seems to make an internal radar, operating out of the corner of my eye, crank itself up and carry out scans for people looking my way, particularly as I sat in one of the comfy chairs in the works staff room this week.  I felt sure that there were people passing me by, who, as I sat there, minding my own business, casually reading, were, I felt, taking a slightly longer look in my direction slightly longer than might be naturally expected.

Maybe it was just me, in a partial state of paranoia, but then again maybe it wasn’t.  Had my strategic planning on work clothes still left a few hints as to what lies beneath?   If not that day, perhaps it was another day.

Working in a large office with more than a few people, many of which I don’t know nor perhaps will ever really know, I wonder, somewhat without regard it seems, whether there are whisperings in corners.

I care little to be honest, and I don’t do anything different, but merely process what I believe I am seeing out of the corner of my eye.  So long as I am content with my cover work.  It is not as if I was sitting there solely in my lingerie for goodness’ sake.  As I said in a previous blog entry, being covered up and not entirely giving the game away means that people may hesitate in saying something in case they are wrong, although that doesn’t stop rumours and speculation in corners I suppose.   On this occasion, they aren’t wrong, but this is 2017.  We are nowhere near where we need to be in becoming a tolerant society, but people should be allowed to be who they want to be – me included.

I – Fiona – will continue to be as meticulously careful as I have been since 2005, the closet about as private a place as a private place can be.

Until next time, thanks for reading.

Experimenting… — January 18, 2017


Firstly, a little bit of an update and a little pointer towards me asserting a little more control than I have done of late.   I have occasionally anguished over spending too much time getting in front of my PC and webcam which is not entirely a case of crossdressing for me, more so perhaps pointing to inner insecurities of which I have yet to understand.  Either that or I have extreme exhibitionistic tendencies I have yet to rationalise and accept.

More recently, I have had the mindset to dress in an underwear outfit of my choosing and then get on with some other things covered up in long legged pyjamas and a dressing gown.   The other night I did just that.   Home early, I elected for a recently forgotten but remembered silky blank cami-suspender with gold clasps.  I remembered about it via some rather bizarre route and hunted it down in the wife’s wardrobe.

Because the wife doesn’t have any kind of affinity with suspenders, the detachable straps had been long since removed and put in a little soft bag in her lingerie drawer, never to see the light of day unless I was sorting through it in private, hunting out the other straps for the other outfits for which the same had applied.   I think I’d previously concluded that a rough hand (not by me) had snapped one of the hooks to which the suspender strap had been removed from this particularly recently recalled black silky cami-suspender.

The investigative side of me one day not so long back ventured to verify.  Infact, no, the loops at the bottom of the cami-suspender were intact.  The other beautiful thing about this particular outfit is that there is some padding in the breast area, but not entirely stitched in – it is almost as if it was designed for breast forms to be inserted.  Cold breast forms inserted therefore don’t have any impact other than enhance cleavage and feel gorgeous.

Anyway, back to the other night.  The mundane journey home had led me to plan a dress up session in that outfit, but my mind is becoming transfixed with my breast forms, which sit so nicely in one of the wife’s unused bras.  My breast forms are 38c and so is the black lacy bra which fits me like a dream.   It is SO nice to be happy in knowing one’s size having pondered over it for some time.

On came a suspender belt, lacy g-string, and having sifted through three pairs of stockings, one a 10 denier, the other two being from the trusty home and hardware store, I pulled on the 10 denier somewhat sheer supermarket purchased stockings only to find a ladder.  They had to go.  Still, on with one of the other pair – only to find that they’d seen better days.   On came the third and final pair to complete the dress up.

Only that wasn’t it.  The other day, I had in fact opened the wife’s wardrobe and decided, much against anything I’d ever done before, to pull on one of her party dresses.  Over a bra and breast forms giving me a prominent, eye catching shape, and feeling the swish of the material around my legs, this was something of an experiment.  I also lifted the skirt of the dress to reveal the lingerie beneath in front of a full length mirror which was more than intoxicating.

I had previously only claimed to be a lingerie crossdresser but in a process which appears to be self-feminising over a period of time, and having seen visual stimuli, this was something I had time to do again the other night.  A total of three or four outfits were pulled on over the top, appreciated and taken off fairly swiftly afterwards   I am now, it seems, open to further crossdressing, whilst still so focussed on lingerie only.

I considered that I might, one day home alone, spend a little more time in such an outfit under which lingerie hides.  I also reasoned that, in a hurry, being in an outfit may well be very difficult to get out of that alone, before the lingerie has even been reached.  Further levels of crossdressing is one for the box labelled ‘experimentation’ and at a very safe convenient point.

Anyway, having pulled on PJ bottoms, socks to hide the stockings and a dressing gown, I vowed that I would go on line, switch on my webcam, and having inserted my forms into the bra as part of the dressing process, opened my dressing gown to expose the bra and breasts, positioned the camera, pointed the glare of the desk lamp to diffuse the evident hair growth and merely got to work, chatting with folk occasionally but getting some other desk work done.  I say ‘some’ as, although I was sitting there just showing my bra and breast forms, there were the odd few requests to flash a little more, which I duly did of course!

However, when it was time, I said my goodbyes, covered up and spent the rest of the evening dressed but covered up until it was time to de-femme (if that’s the word) ahead of no longer being home alone.

And so to today.   Today, I vowed that I would be dressing for work in the same bra, suspenders, stockings and g-string combo, minus the breast forms, for a day underdressed at work.  An invigorating day of being dressed and feeling the bra wrap around my upper chest and back, the occasional necessity to reconnect a stubborn, arguably ill attached in the first place suspender strap, but otherwise, merely enjoying the cossetting feel of lingerie under my male office attire.

Women do not know how lucky they are to be able to wear such things every single day!

Anyway, there’s another blog along shortly…there’s someone I want you to meet…

Questions! Questions! — January 11, 2017

Questions! Questions!

‘A funny thing happened to me on the way to…’ is an often used opening line for a classic comedian telling an old-fashioned joke.

I suppose it was kind of ever so slightly amusing along the same lines the other day, albeit in retrospect when I was on-line – again – it has to be said, dressed in my lingerie.  A casual browsing session had previously reminded me of one of the webcam sites that I have, on occasion frequented, but more recently, had forgotten.

Sometimes, my site of choice can be a little on the quiet side and contacts amongst contacts over the years often pointed to use of other sites over time, so these have provided alternative options from time to time.  One of them, I had been reminded about the other day via some method or another, and having recalled the log-in ID and password, duly logged in and did a bit of a tidy up and update of an account that told me I had been logged in around 2months ago.   It can’t have been for long as I can’t really remember it but still!

Anyway, the strategist in me decided to update the gallery of pics and, having temporarily saved a few recent pics from my main site of choice to my PC and having cropped and fettled and re-sized them to fit, I duly uploaded them as part of the refresh process, remembering to well and truly delete from my machine once I knew I’d done.  At the same time as I was also adding them, rather flagrantly and naughtily to my Twitter account.

The existence of these on my main site of preference, which does NOT allow editing, merely a switch on or off for public viewing is by itself a risk as it shows surrounding elements of the man cave identifiable to the right person.  Being able to crop and change for other sites is more of a bonus!  Risky stuff though for a closeted crossdresser.

Up went the photos to this particular but less frequented site, all of which were ultimately approved for posting and that was it.  The webcam session (yes, I’m still totally addicted to dressing and going on cam despite everything I’ve said and continue to say to the contrary!) was very invigorating and busy.   As far as I remember, it was the very next day when I was once again embarking on a session on the same site when, all of a sudden, with things going rather well, the ‘Account Suspended’ message came up with the preceding session terminated and access denied.

These things are usually a little more detailed though and sure enough, there was some sub-text which, put simply, suggested that I may have breached their age policy and wanted me to follow a process whereby I could confirm who I was..  Rather than embark on the whole lengthy process there and then (one I’ve been through on my site of choice before – providing photographs of me, full face, holding photo ID and a more close up but edited scan of the same ID), I shrugged, double checked that I really could not go back in and merely went to another site.

However, the seed was sown and I intend to fully stand up to my right to prove who I am but it got me thinking – what exactly did the person deciding to hit the proverbial big red STOP button use as a reason for doing so?   I was very quickly reviewing my slim, slender, arguably youthful body and in my mindset at least, flicking through the images I’d uploaded.  Clearly, from those images, I had been adjudged to be underage despite being middle-aged.

I toyed some more with the idea that they may think I am not actually who I purport to be but read again the rationale for the suspension of my account.   I suppose it is nice to be considered to be more youthful than I am, that my physique belies my years, and I should clearly be and am very grateful, even though I expect that old Father Time will catch up with me eventually.   I pondered over whether I had ‘passed’ somehow, but also quickly reached the conclusion that this was nothing to do with gender, merely age – the rationale of the ‘Account Suspended’ message really pointed clearly to that.

Still, I will indeed find some time to tinker with technology, take some photos and complete the process to reactivate my account.  But there’s still a niggling part of me that wants to confront them.   However, in retrospect, the process that has put the skids on my account is in place for very good reason – to protect those more vulnerable and to set a precedent and for that I must be grateful.

Questions! Questions!    Remaining as I have, for around 12 years now, very firmly in the closet, I have more than one reason to be hair free. Officially, but also quite genuinely, I get too hot and too uncomfortable with a swirling mass of hair over my body and a clearly fast acting metabolism which makes it grow at quite a rate akin to a Yeti or gorilla, but the years of full body waxing are starting, finally, to make some inroads on decreasing growth it seems and I now find myself in the position where I can have less done more often at my salon of choice in a nearby town.

However, this has recently led to my other half, clearly having looked me up and down a bit whilst I undressed or dressed, found a quiet moment the other day to enquire about when I was next due at the salon, this with the fact that I had been recently and only had part of my body waxed, the other parts, determined by the expert to be ‘not ready’ but would be in another few weeks.

The questions, starting with one as to when I was next going, became more inquisitive.  Why might I need to go more often?  She didn’t understand.  I reasoned that this was because hair is different on different parts of the body (I am told), some more thicker and determined than others, but also that the years of going every other month or so had begun training the hair to stop growing so much and that the right thing to do was to avoid encouraging growth if I was to be how I wanted to be, i.e. more hair free either for longer for permanently.   I also threw in how very infrequently someone else I knew now goes for their waxing sessions because of the years they had been going.

My other half said that she thought I looked OK as I was.  I had already apologised about being a little ‘before and after’ a day or so before and ahead of a (rare but planned) trip to a swimming pool, and said I might be a little uncomfortable in being that way in a public facility dependent on which way onlookers viewed me!

During that previous discussion, the other half had said that she thought I looked OK and that it wouldn’t matter, potentially in order to deter me from being a bit of a party pooper so to speak.  I mentioned in my last blog that I would concede to being more than a tad body conscious and that I always feel better when I have had a full body wax, then less happy as the growth starts to come through again.

Of course, with only rare trips to swimming pools, the only people who ever see most of my body with little or no clothes on is the other half and the person who carries out my body waxing.  The other half does have the habit of going into one of those shy girly voices sometimes around the time I have my body waxed, semi-objecting to someone else touching her man’s body.  I usually respond by saying that it is a necessary ‘evil’ if I want the job doing (which she now actually loves when done) and, even though she has herself visited the salon on a rare occasion when mutually convenient to do so, i.e. meeting me for a wander around town afterwards, that everything was highly professional.

So, what of all of the above you may ask?  I suppose for the former, as I said, I should be grateful and content to have to go through a process which is there for my own good as well as that of others but for the latter, it is probably a case of being aware of the rumblings and take appropriate caution being such a long-term resident of the crossdressing closet.

Questions by themselves, when uttered, state one element of what is going on in a person’s mind, but they can often be loaded and seek to establish other material facts not so clearly answered or evident from the question actually asked and the answer given.   Caution will therefore continue to be exercised from deep within the closet.

I’ll leave you with another ‘…funny thing happened to me’ anecdote from a long since passed appointment at the waxing salon.  Noting some grey hairs on my chest ahead of them being whipped out, seeking some reassurance as to my path towards being hair free, I asked the person doing the job whether they were merely weakening hairs.

“No” …came the response – “it’s just a sign of your age”.   Now about that website account suspension!

Crappy New Year — January 5, 2017

Crappy New Year

Well, the warning signs were there.  Hell bent on indulgence, either indulging or planning to indulge, probably looking for some sort of comfort and sucker from all the troubles in life, I have turned (back) to crossdressing but with virtual reality blinkers fitted it now seems.

As I said, the warning signs were there.  Somewhere deep down, I knew that what I was doing was more or less exactly the same as the period leading up to November 2015 when I called a halt to my crossdressing activity – going along at the expense of other things and people, whether that be with or without control and moderation applied.

Looking back, I now more clearly acknowledge having seen signs of slipping out of control yet largely ignored them then.  There have been all too frequent occasions where I drove to work rather than take the public transport – this was because I’d been up early indulging and missed a public transport connection.  I have gone into work later and whilst I have the option to work flexibly, this has still come at a cost as a negative now applies which will need to be worked back.

Regardless, I have continued to indulge in crossdressing leading up to and even during the festive season and if I’m honest, it has all been whilst on view of a web cam – i.e. not dressing solely for me but for the entertainment (if you want to call it that) of others.

But for some time, and once again, I have been neglecting the people and the things that I should not be neglecting.  I have not been as attentive and whilst there have been other things on my mind, you know the things, family troubles, a busy job etc, this has still been with a determined stride forward, acknowledging but mostly ignoring the signs.

I will not go into detail but suffice to say that it has not exactly been a Happy New Year as, all around me, the consequences of my actions have been building up to New Year fireworks of a not very bright, colourful kind.  However, outed I have not been and that is about the only plus point to it all.

As the alarm bells continue to ring, there has been yet more irrational panic going off in my mind.  As questions are asked by others about what might be on my mind, and although there have been plenty of things on my mind, crossdressing has been one of those things.  In the chaos and the aftermath of a major crisis, I have been left reviewing where things are stored ready for use.

Although my outfits are well hidden, there has been a nagging thought process that for some bizarre reason, they might somehow be found just when I least need them to be.  Sure – the latest crisis that makes it more of a crappy New Year than a happy one most definitely means that I must reassess my approach to my love of lingerie crossdressing, but it has also made me wonder whether an adjournment of things to a more remote hiding place may not be such a bad idea after all.

Out of sight, out of mind?  Not exactly, but more difficult to get to might just mean, more difficult to indulge in, but whether that be true or not, somehow, the irrational strategist in me is merely concluding that I should do it because of the very slim chance that there might be a frenetic search for answers or even just a more innocent New Year tidy up carried out by the other half to be helpful to me and to while away the hours but this would lead to at least the discovery of one hidey hole.

Whether I do move the items or not remains to be seen – it has been a few days now since everything blew up – somehow, irrationally, it seems the right thing to do and as it currently feels right to slide my affection for and indulgence in crossdressing to one side for a while, finding a more secure, remote location may just be the part of the process I need to refocus and go again.

I am sure that there are those of you who regularly read my blog entries (as diverse as those entries are) who are sitting there, even some of you who view my web cam, thinking ‘I knew this was going to happen’.  There are a few regular visitors to my web cam who have urged me to be careful and avoid being caught whilst dressed but I guess that means ‘being caught’ per se too.  As I said – caught – I have not been.

More level-headed thoughts over the last few days have been met with a recognition that I continue to be fairly body conscious generally – dysphoric to an extent perhaps.  I have received some nice comments from some individuals visiting my webcam that I have a nice body and bum.  I am slim, skinny if you like – always have been – but would they say the same if I wasn’t wearing a draping of sensual lingerie?

The clothing alone is enough to set my imagination going let alone wearing it so one can only imagine how others see it in their minds.  My hirsute body is, I’ll be fair, becoming less so as regular waxing sessions over a number of years continue to ‘train’ it out, hair growth getting finer and less, and more so, none in certain places on my body.

It is likely that I will now have less done, more often, but I still take a dislike to the parts of my body that continue to swarm with hair when it really comes through and even when it starts, I take immense disatisfaction.   This though, is a race, not a sprint and I know deep down that I AM making progress in my quest to be more regularly hair free and that I am becoming more content – just not totally content – with how I look.

It may be that my body conscious negativity – despite compliments – has something to do with my mood and right now, and as has often been the case, I am less inclined to crossdress when I am more hirsute and more so when I am less hairy.   Being more en-femme when wearing lingerie is by far, the most preferable.

I have, today, read some absolutely fantastic blogs about how some parts of the LBGT community treat others with some playing the ‘you’re not as trans as I am’ card, about those who want to transition but can’t, about those who consider themselves transgender but don’t want to transition, about the various segments of the spectrum and suggesting that there are some who dismiss crossdressers as being somewhat low on the scale and that their feelings are worthless when in fact, no-one, irrespective of how they feel should be lambasted, criticised, demeaned etc. and that if the LBGT community wants widespread acceptance, it must seek to accept those from within without question no matter how they choose to be – particularly as the reasons for how they choose to be or must be are sometimes not within their control and must be that way for all the most applicable if not wholly suitable reasons.  Everyone has a right to feel they way they feel.

Dysphoric I may be, body conscious I may be, but as seen on blogs, I do not wish to transition, nothing could be further from my mind, but I do seek to accept the part of me that seeks to be in touch with and embrace a feminine side.  I suppose I have always had that – I’m not a man’s man and never have been (whatever a ‘man’s man is!) and I do have quite a few effeminate tendencies and mannerisms I suppose, but I am happy being who I am, not necessarily the way I am.

Perhaps conveniently after the upheaval of the last few days, the fact that I am not content with how I look at the moment – particularly trying to manage my body and any outbreaks of ingrowing hairs and the most awful scar inflicting spots – is good timing which allows me to refocus at a time that I must.

I’ll be blunt.  Do I intend purging?  No.  Must I continue to reside in the closet?  Without a shadow of doubt – yes.   Will I crossdress again?   Highly likely.  But this is yet more of the learning and coping processes that I guess closeted crossdressers have to go through.

Although if I’m honest, I have once again given a brief moment of time to wondering whether it was time to fight the demons once more and put a stop to it, irrespective of how it would not sit well with me.  I don’t intend to call a half again but it’s a dangerous game.

It might hurt me to stop, (and I haven’t dressed at all so far this year) but indirectly, as it stands, the level of indulgence and focus is and has been clearly hurting others – people as well as things and those people, whilst aware of some of the things going on in my life, don’t know it all of course.

I don’t really see stopping as an option right now, but there has been more than a shot across my bow.  A new year wake up call – a crappy New Year.

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

Genetically so but still searching for answers…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A battle of two minds… — December 22, 2016

A battle of two minds…

You’ll have to excuse me on this occasion.  They are usually long blog entries, but this one is probably more of epic proportions.

For some reason, It seems like agony at the moment.

It’s the festive season, ‘tis the season to be jolly’ and all of that, and whilst to others, I appear to be simply plain old me, as busy as ever, tired, but otherwise fine overall, inside there’s a bit of a struggle going on right now if I’m honest.

When the opportunity arises, much as a closeted crossdresser might do, opportunities are acknowledged, planned and seized.  When might I next have an opportunity?  When will I be home alone?  Opportunities are sometimes thwarted – parts of the week when, habitually, it might be a regular occurrence, can be knocked out due to changes elsewhere.

But, the consolation is that there will be another opportunity, and, much as I’ve acknowledged before, and particularly more recently, there’s nothing wrong with applying a little self-control from time to time.

Last week, whilst there was probably just a day of underdressing, equally, there was another where it just didn’t feel right to do so.  There was also another where it just wasn’t right and there wasn’t an opportunity to dress before work anyway.  After the day of underdressing, items were removed before returning home, stored in the man-bag and sneaked away on arrival at home whilst things were busy downstairs.

One morning over the last week, somewhat unusually, I wore a black lacy bra, deep set suspender belt and those new stockings I bought the other day in the supermarket – one pair of them at least.  A sheer pair, probably 10 denier, but I was quickly reminded about what the denier grade meant as even the gentlest of handling led to a ladder before I’d even put them on.  Prepared for the bin at the earliest opportunity, the second pair from the pack was pulled out as back up as the investigative side of me just had to see what they were like on this occasion.

Compared to my trusty home and hardware store pair, these had less of a hold up stocking top, probably half the depth, and despite the returning hair growth (albeit admittedly less this time around I’m pleased to say), the bra (rather than a more covering cami-suspender outfit) made for a welcome fit and helped me realise that, in my refusal to buy some tape (I don’t think I could ever put them in exactly the right place anyway!), a bra was a more welcoming, suitable item to hold my breast forms in the right place.

The webcam site of preference had its profile tweaked – elements were updated, switched on (in the case of previously captured galleries) and a day or so later, a quick check noted the appearance of some photos of the most recent session which had been auto-captured, which I found to be oddly quite satisfying.  The glare of the desk lamp diffused the evidence of hair growth in the images and made for a more en-femme look to my slim body and long legs.

But there is one of the problems.  I really can’t stay off cam (much as before) and, although it’s a slim chance, my current train of thought allows publication of those photos within the profile (as I’ve said before) and for sight of the geography immediately around my body image to be spotted by people who might recognise it and subsequently ‘out’ me from my closet.  Those captured images are not available for cropping and editing – they’re either switched on or off.

As well as the colour of the carpet and wallpaper, position of light switches, shape of walls etc, things like body scars (damn ingrowing hairs!) , body shape, jewellery and rings are a giveaway to the right person, and I continue to dabble with the ‘on/off’ tick box in the profile settings.  However, one might ask why someone I know who might ‘out’ me, might be looking at such a site anyway!

The other day saw me toy with which outfit to wear that weekend morning and on this occasion, as soon as I was home alone, I hatched my plan and on came the recently acquired red lacy bustier and matching stockings.   Visitors to my webcam are, in the main – men – straight men – as well as fellow crossdressers with whom I’ve struck up a rapport.   There is also the odd female, their visit of which I find somewhat intriguing and fascinating – those who appreciate a man in lingerie.

Equally so, and perhaps this is one of the most interesting disclosures of this blog, the other day, I was mistaken for a woman – so I must have done something right.  The viewer had obviously been drawn by visual stimuli, not the facts behind the profile – there being obvious markers that I am male on it.  The conversation continued with a remark that my husband was a lucky man.  The equivalent of the computer screen egg timer went around in my head for a few seconds until I concluded that this person was mistaken.

I was far too busy concluding how well I had done first and foremost before replying by echoing the words of the correspondent.  “Hubby?” I said.  After about a minute or two (the viewer was probably double checking my profile) came, not a sudden disappearance from the list of viewers, but more interaction.  After the use of the initials “OMG!”, there was an exclamation of the fact that they realised I was actually a crossdressing male, but the question was asked as to why they found it intriguing and a turn on.   Clearly, I had lit a spark somewhere in the back of their mind.  The conversation continued for a while before it came to a natural end somehow and they signed out.

Anyway, back to the red outfit session.  Throughout the hour or two that I was on-line, I was constantly on very high alert for every car that drew up outside for someone returning home.   I need not have worried as I reached my own comfort zone and closed the session with the intent to undress in good time before the house returned to hustle and bustle elsewhere.

With my Skype log in active, and having confirmed I still had some time in the bank, I embarked on a 1-2-1 session on it with a certain individual as the teaser within set about their business.  Hearing the audible thrill of the male viewer as they talked to me and although my mic was on, I corresponded only via the keyboard.  Their thrill at seeing me in my lingerie moving around the room was enough for them to find their peak as my provocative nature set their excitement alight.

With some sort of smug satisfaction that seems to be held by my en-femme persona, that being of having excited yet another guy to orgasm through a heady mix of chat and provocative imagery, this was more than enough to conclude I’d had and done enough for the day and, having ended the session, was back in what I call ‘civvies’ in good time and slipped back into normality with everything tidied and cleared away, web sessions closed, log ins emptied, web browsing history deleted.

But here’s the thing that is causing me so much anguish in my head at the moment.  I seemingly have no intent to ease off on my webcam sessions to a significant extent and though I have no intention of purging any outfits, I remain mindful of my ever building collection of owned lingerie – and that I’m somehow playing a dangerous game overall.   But the hidey holes of the man cave and its annexes are far better than a box in the damp cold loft I have reasoned.

Equally so, the daily pleasantries of life and a loving wife plus all the bonuses of a busy job, hustle and bustle of life, family time, hobbies and just the home environment trigger a mush of thoughts, tainted significantly by what might well be described as guilt.

I know what you’re going to say – it affects all crossdressers and whilst I’ve talked about purges before, I have absolutely no intent on going there again as I’ve just said.  This is a battle of the mind of which I can’t say I’ve felt before in exactly the same way.  Whether you or I like it or not, this is a form of deceit, living a secret life for so long, doing it in secret, hiding away in corners, year after year on average and somehow, it just doesn’t seem right.

I’d admit there are periods when I just don’t care – a conclusion has already been stated on a previous blog that this is who I am and whilst I would continue to subscribe to that, i.e. that I still love crossdressing in lingerie, there are times when it might seem that I come to my senses a little.

Yesterday, I underdressed for work in the wake of an on-line session that admittedly made me late to get going as the exhibitionism had a vice like grip over any other form of motivation.   I remained in the outfit in which I’d dressed earlier – black bra, breast forms worn on the car journey to work,  deep set suspender belt, hardware store stockings (which have seen better days) and a semi-transparent g-string.

Every now and again, it being a plastic hook, plastic clasp configuration on the belt, and wearing hold up stockings for more sensation of wear and through choice, one of those clasps would ping and the OCD in me would just have to go and sort it out at the earliest opportunity.  I didn’t do too bad over the course of the day but as home time approached, more pings made for evidence that it was time to get back into ‘civvies’ anyway.

Heading for an office toilet at some late hour of the day, I undressed from the covering male attire, and stood near a full length mirror to ‘admire’ the appearance one last time for the day.  I say admire but the paunch and body hair awaiting another waxing session didn’t exactly satisfy me.  Conversely though, the lingerie did and I felt compelled to seek relief before I dressed for the car journey home, hiding the lingerie in the man bag as part of the process.

Immediately afterwards, I had one of those ‘coming to my senses’ moments.  Was THIS what my life had come to?  Seedily and secretly changing in an office toilet? Hiding lingerie to sneak back away or prepare for washing when I got home?

Wracked by several weeks of a lack of sleep caused by an active mind, busy job, a focus on crossdressing, general issues of the family on my mind, other commitments and of course, the pressures of the approach of the festive season, I was in a form of shut-down on the way home, flat, quiet, exhausted and reflecting on where I was in life right now.

I returned home but left the man bag in the car, the lingerie hidden within as if it had been flung into some dark distant corner, as if I was somehow ignoring, semi-discarding that side of my life at that point.  That man bag was NOT coming in the house – not until the morning at least.

The wife read the signs on my face when I walked through the door – I was genuinely exhausted but I had already ridden a wave of emotions over the weekend, watching emotive TV programming that set a few tears rolling in the dark, Christmas light-lit karma of our living room, the glare of the TV further hiding my emotions as I sat.

Last night, I decided that I could do without crossdressing for the time being. Normality was needed – at least for a while.  As I recall, in the period approaching my return to crossdressing in late October, I said that I needed to assert some control yet in all honesty, I have been somewhat back on the same hell-bent, all indulgent path which has probably more than edged towards the debauchery I referred to in previous blogs.

Yet, like the crossdressing itself, I am heavily drawn to going on line – whether that be the web cam site of choice or on Skype – flirting and being an exhibitionist to anyone and everyone on line. What IS that all about?!

Whilst not really on a path to putting a stop towards my crossdressing, neither am I that contented to indulge right now.  Maybe that is the control I need, however, the ability to assert that control is about as regular as a motorway service stop on the M25 – few and far between.

A few days ‘off’ might do me some good and I may well feel better about it in a few days.  Maybe I just need a rest.

I’ve not yet sent that e-mail to the on-line counsellor for an initial consultation and whilst I don’t know what might come of that, equally, I can’t say that such an opportunity wouldn’t do me any good.

Untiil next time – thanks for reading and seasons greetings!

Distinctly patriotic… — December 13, 2016

Distinctly patriotic…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until the next time – thanks for reading.