The recovering crossdresser?

To crossdress or not crossdress – that is the question…

Lead him not into temptation… — June 6, 2022

Lead him not into temptation…

Another salon appointment had come around. Parts of my body really needed waxing but other parts of my body needed something else – and I both knew it and wanted it. The inner submissive was burning with some intensity – probably hotter than it had burned for some time.

I was ushered into the room and stripped off, strategically leaving my skimpy g-string so that it could be seen by the side of my neatly folded pile of clothes.

As usual, I remained standing despite the treatment table being ready for me. But this time, there was to be no gentle cock and balls patting for him to be drawn upon coming into the room – already waxed, my tiny limp cock merely submissively hung as much as it could.

He entered the room as the theoretical appointment clock began to tick away.

Immediately, he openly and verbally acknowledged that, if I was standing for him, he knew that I was ready for him – and that he liked it.

He moved straight for my limp cock and began working it but was soon lightly caressing his sub’s body – around the bum curves, between the legs and teasing the thighs as the mirror in front reflected everything back to us both.

I cavorted, swinging my hips and pushing my bum out to signal that I was available to him and was responsive to being used.

He made a point of saying that we would never get any waxing done if I was going to behave like this. I demonstrated my submissive side by failing to reply, body language alone signalling that I remained his eager and willing toy.

The visual stimuli of the action being played out for us both in the mirror led me to very quickly bend over the treatment table without really having a reason why or having any real expectations as to what would happen. He moved his fully clothed body in behind me and ground his crotch in to my bum crack, symbolically thrusting and pushing as I watched via the mirror.

This didn’t last long and he said something along the lines of wanting to wield his long-since hard cock around my bum and hole he had recently broken in just a few short weeks before.

That morning, I’d showered, had a shave and had splashed on some after shave knowingly preparing and readying myself for him with full expectation, as was the pattern at the salon these days, for sex to be the priority but with some degree of acknowledgement that waxing really was needed too at some point.

He dropped his trousers and undies and drew back close in once more.

He knew where things were leading. I was somehow indicating through body language alone, that I was there to be fucked again. It seemed, somehow that my inner conscience was knocking on my submissive side which was in full control, reminding it of the need to be waxed but of the risk of being bareback fucked once more. Whilst the sub was listening, it was also dismissive of those muted appeals and remained in a haze of partial fuck-toy shut down as he did what ever he did from behind.

It seemed as if the muted appeals from within had been picked up by him though and he seized control of the situation, breaking away to use the need to wax parts of my body as a tool towards resisting from fucking me again.

I complied – of course – but as I passed him to climb on to the treatment table, I bent down briefly to suck his cock for a few seconds much to his audible pleasure.

This was met with the breathy and fulfilled comment of appreciation that I had sucked the cock that had he said had just been in my tight hole as if I had passed another test and landmark on his path of sexually developing his sub.

As he seemed to be in a moment of indecision as to whether he should remain naked from the waist down, I asked him how he wanted me on the treatment table and took no surprise that he wanted me on all fours from the options that I had offered. He struggled to restrain his cock as he pulled his undies up and fastened his jeans.

There was then a juxtaposition of sex and treatment as he began waxing my already previously partly waxed bum which I angled and swung at him from the all-fours, continuing to offer my submissive and available state to be used as he wished. The period of waxing wasn’t rushed but it was, I would say, slightly hurried.

I kept him hard or semi-erect by occasionally using the soles of my feet to graze, rub and push against his fly, teasing him and bringing about occasional breaths of pleasure.

Waxing complete, cooling lotion was later applied and duly rubbed in. The audible tones of three aligned fingers slapping my hole to open and loosen me echoed around the room. His fingers entered my now lubricated behind and started to work my hole, whilst occasionally using the other hand to reach under and caress my cock, balls and perineum.

After a few minutes, he praised his sub by stating that I had taken three fingers with ease, again, somehow ticking a box on a sexual development list in his mind despite knowing that I had frequently, willingly and easily taken three many times before. I held back from suggesting to him that I could take and wanted more.

He drizzled some oil down my bum cheeks and crack and finger fucked me some more for a few minutes before clicking back to business mode, telling me that he had another appointment and checked the time.

Concluding that he could do what needed to be done in the time allowing, he instructed me to sit on the side of the treatment table. I duly complied but spread my legs. The switch flicked again and his trousers and undies were brought sufficiently down to allow his re-hardened cock to spring to attention.

We both took turns to frot. Occasionally, I would pull away and gently tap my cock tip on his. This “power bottom” tactic caused pre-cum to leak from his cock. Either I fed directly yearning for more and eagerly wiping any up or he fed me instead. I uttered an approving and lustful hum.

Then, another first. Having already flicked a favourite switch by tweaking my nipples, he bent down and spent a good few seconds sucking and nibbling one nipple on my recently waxed chest before drawing away. I approvingly acknowledged the ‘first’ but teased that he should not now leave the other nipple to be neglected. He complied.

I occasionally arched my body, contemplating leaning back and envisaging my first ever missionary-style fuck to be able to look into his eyes but realising that the physiology was not conducive. He used the opportunity to reach under, cradling my balls in a hand whilst inserting some fingers into my hole.

Moments later, probably acknowledging the need to continue the waxing treatment, he resumed the frotting at pace. He wanted his sub’s cum and he knew how and where he wanted it. Sending his sub into uncontrollable orgasm, my cock powered out a hot, thick, creamy load of cum across his balls, my semen then dropping somewhere below.

He relished the feeling of warmth from my cum on his balls then asked me to rub the cum in as he used some of my load as lube and brought himself off, body convulsing as his load covered my cock and jetted up to splash on an arm.

My load had rebounded off his balls and had dropped into the well of his thigh-high removed boxers as well as having dribbled down the side of the treatment table. He was left contemplating the impact of the cum stained undies he would have to wear for the rest of the working day, cleaning up what he could but seemingly relishing seeing his next client in his wet, telling undies, remarking on the wetness in his jeans as he dressed again.

He then used some paper towels to clean his cum from his sub. I uttered a grateful but muted note of thanks before assuming the same seated position for the waxing to take place in the time that, in truth, was, retrospectively not available but he merely continued and the appointment concluded.

He left. I briefly viewed the cum stained treatment table cover as if it was my trophy, dressed and made my way out to book the next appointment.

Although I knew that I was not fully smooth bodied, I queried how long it would be until I should be back in his company.

An appointment was booked with his reply that “something always needs doing”. Nothing further was said but we knew the sexual undertones to the comment.

Whilst I was there, he made a proposition to me involving the future attendance of a reportedly well hung and apparently attractive man. It was likely that I couldn’t make one particular other and separate appointment for this as his subject of ongoing sexual development, but, as if he was seeking to tick his sub’s sexual development list somewhat further, he said that it could be rearranged.

Having not quite led him not into temptation that day, he was now leading me – again.

For me, for you, for me. — May 30, 2022

For me, for you, for me.

It has to be said that, of late, I have experienced moments of, in my eyes at least, a female led relationship in the kink side of things and these instances have been blogged about within the last few months.

As far as my significant other is concerned, it is merely intimacy and foreplay but I revel in what it could be and allow a little role play to occur. Moments have included me being naked, away in the holiday home, or for her to be happy, in theory or actuality, for me to be naked around the house. I ventured downstairs the other night, late in just my birthday suit, (‘the others’ behind a closed door and not for moving) and nonchalantly came back up stairs moments later, swanning back into the bedroom.

She took both surprise and delight at my antics without really discussing them but the more naked I am, and inclined to be, the more she eyes me up and uses my currently smooth, post waxed body to play with as and when she sees fit, nipple rubbing through a t-shirt or cock play including checking whether I have undies on – each time, merely teasing – no chance and/or intention of taking it further. I’m NOT complaining though!

When we are finally home alone for good, the ‘others’ having moved out (no idea when that will be but not anytime soon it seems), then there is more potential for more intimacy, and for me to allow what I see as FLR processes to play out.

I was working in my home office the other day when she came in from a shopping trip with a bag stating that she had a present for me. I gratefully received the bag and began the investigation of what lay within with great intrigue.

She had bought ‘me‘ a matching white bra and knickers set after I’d recently stated to her that I’d like to see her in such lingerie rather than a random mish-mash bra with dull, beige or otherwise bland, (what you might call ‘Bridget’), knickers. She said that, if the new set fitted her properly, she’d get some more like it. I reveled in the moment.

In my heart of hearts though, I knew what she had bought them for – they certainly weren’t for me – not in the literal sense, but, allowing a brief, fantasy-fuelled FLR led-sub relationship to rage through my mind, for a few seconds, I played alone with the ruse. “Oh you’ve bought me a new bra, thank you, that’s lovely!” I said, as if it was a genuine gift I was thrilled with. I had a genuine sense of gratitude for my gift in those few fleeting moments.

The fantasy world was that I was in an FLR, she was starting the process of domming and/or feminising her submissive and here was the first such instance of things to come. Reality soon bit as I woke up and smelled the proverbial coffee – 3, 2, 1, and I was ‘back in the room’ thinking of how it otherwise might have been in my darkest, wildest fantasies, fuelled by experienced recently blogged about.

Having previously been very much resigned to never being able to cross dress again, of late, an inner spark, nurtured by dabbling in the hidden items in storage and my own sexual development at the salon, means that I am now plotting a resumption of everything that was brought to an abrupt halt in March 2020, but on a far more part time basis than it was back then when the pandemic struck, when all activity was wiped out in an instance, resulting in my hidden treasures being consigned to storage to wait seemingly forever.

The logistics of resumption on any level are, however, beyond complicated and plans to extract a limited selection of items, chastity, plugs and lingerie, during rare home alone time, to prepare and hide to take to work to dress, lock and plug on the odd days, have already been rendered impossible on two occasions due to domestic circumstances just not turning out as they were seemingly going to which would have allowed the time and opportunity. But it seems that I am not to be deterred and that I will accept the long game to satisfy my recently re-ignited inner desires, needs, urges and cravings.

But whereas, once the act of cross dressing seemed like ‘never again’, it is now more a matter of ‘when’, not ‘if’. The urge to dress in lingerie is, as it used to be back in the day, fuelled by visual stimuli. These days, I’m far more likely to be interested in finding a way how to, albeit briefly, try a bra on just for a dabble and a buzz, rather than to sigh and reflect on what once was before leaving it well alone and simply moving on.

A lot has changed since my sexual development recently gathered pace, and so, as it had been bought “for me” and was still in the bedroom awaiting its first official use by the significant other, try it on, I did, briefly admiring the look in a mirror, before quickly taking it off once more – the try on, lasting mere seconds.

The recovering crossdresser appears to be on the ‘other’ recovery route again these days. For me, for you, for me.

A frustrated sub — May 25, 2022

A frustrated sub

March 2020. We knew something was around. We knew it didn’t sound very nice but the possibility that it could land on our doorstep was unimaginable. But it did land on everyone’s doorstep.

March 2020 had started in much the same way that every other month and day had since late 2019 when I was taken into ownership by Mistress.

I would be home alone, up early, the house empty or soon to be empty but either way, there was enough time and space to spring out of bed as soon as the opportunity arose and would either pull on the outfit that Mistress had pre-selected or another for the time being that could perhaps not be worn for work. I would lock in the chastity device of Mistress’ choice and would prepare the plug that she had also ordered – if not the remote control plug because she didn’t have the time to use me, it was usually the largest of my three standard plugs. I might use my dildo for “training” – a hyperthetical term which seemed relevant even though I saw it as highly unlikely that I would ever feel a real cock inside me. I would end up being wrong about that!

I might be on a web cam, changing outfits on request, outwardly exhibiting, sometimes explicitly or filming or photographing my finished state to evidence later to Mistress and on social media.

Then, eventually, I tore myself away, adhered to Mistress’ requirements for the day, covered up in office attire and set off for work. I would be dressed, locked and plugged for around 12 hours every week day and would occasionally have time home alone at the weekend to extend the servitude further.

The pandemic changed all of that. All of the circumstances that allowed my kinks to flourish were cancelled in an instant.

I naively assumed that it wouldn’t be for long. I was wrong on every level.

Everything in the home dynamic changed. Though I was OK, others in the household were not and faced unemployment.

I resigned myself to, firstly, a wait and then to the end to 95% of my kinks. Nothing got any better for these indulgences to be able to resume and they haven’t. My significant other now has a new job but works from home whereas before, she would be out early to go to a place of work which signalled the green light for Fiona to come out and play.

Although I have regular time at the salon for a body wax, I’m never fully done, I’m always a work in progress such are the apparent regulations that now prevent reputable salons from doing a full body wax in one session. I find that regularly frustrating as I have a irrational obsession for wanting to be hair free and the fight for me is real. It affects my self confidence in a massive way but I am generally far less hirsute than I used to be having been going to the salon for a number of years and on a far more frequent basis.

Other than that, everything that I hold dear from cross dressing and kink was put into locked, dark storage. I vowed never to purge again having acknowledged the sheer value and amount of lovely things thrown away on numerous occasions over the last 16 years or so.

Two years on and I have been resigned to the fact that I’m knocking on in years, and that crossdressing just isn’t possible anymore and is unlikely to be again.

To put a tin lid on it, even Mistress’ life changed and she also brought about a stop to things. That seemed to be it once and for all even though I would be hers forever – Mistress knew that and I knew that. It was a nice gesture.

More recently, thoughts have turned to the final act. Disposal of everything – the final death knell for Fiona. I have not done it yet but it is hugely symbolic that I’ve even thought about it.

I’ve made it through the last few years but being able to connect with Fiona through posting archive photos on her social media account. But now, I have nothing new to post and I can only now desperately try to find and justify reasons for posting old favourite pics up as a way of sustaining account activity. I haven’t started that yet but that’s not to say that I won’t.

But I am a sub, and luckily for me, I have time at the salon for myself – time which, apart from the body waxing, has, over a number of years, developed me sexually.

Being sustained somehow as a sub, nurtured at the salon, let loose at the salon, even if not a crossdressing sub has led me, after all this time, to start to try and find ways to indulge in whatever time there is.

For years, I have been a strategist to remain deeply closeted and the strategist within has started planning. When and how feature prominently but it isn’t cut and dried and it comes with massive risk – risk which is not necessarily a deterrent.

Fiona is fighting to get out once more. I thought she was consigned to the history books but it seems that I have underestimated her inner strength despite knowing how controlling she was before.

Within the last few weeks, I’ve been plugged for a few hours home alone having recovered my remote control plug.

Within the last few weeks, my cock has been inserted into a cock pump and I can now be ruined by it.

Within the last few weeks, I’ve tried on every chastity device bar one that I’ve never worn due to a fault that I have always planned to try and rectify.

Within the last few months, I’ve been content to be naked around the house whenever possible, even when working from home as the inner submissive fights to get out.

Within the last few months, there are FLR signs developing in my home relationship with my significant other. She doesn’t see them in the way that I do but that is enough for me.

But of late, barely (no pun intended) nothing is letting me settle. The suppressed sub and cross dresser is fighting to get out and breathe once more.

I hated yesterday. Yesterday was so utterly frustrating without being able to say why. I wrote two blog posts in 24 hours and this is now a third. I wanted to indulge desperately yet I felt I couldn’t see a clear way as to how and whether it would work.

I was in the office yesterday and felt more frustrated and flatter and flatter as the day went on, hitting rock bottom on the way home in the car, unable to talk to myself to avoid the dash cam recording it. I probably sighed numerous times on the way and took my frustrations out on other motorists and road conditions.

I was, to all intents and purposes, home alone on arrival. I threw my car keys and bag down on the work top, and, leaning against it, proceeded to spin through the secret gallery of crossdressing, anal and chastity pics on my phone, airbrushing a few imperfections from the shots that had already been posted on social media long ago.

I took a picture of my recently waxed chest with the aim to replace the image in my last blog with it. But even that wasn’t perfect and a zoom in identified some hairs that were not removed at the salon.

Against my better judgement, (I really shouldn’t shave my body as it encourages growth) I stepped in the shower, reached for the shaving gel and blades and shaved my chest and above crotch area to satisfy the obsession and feel better somehow.

Only a junk food evening meal with family and a TV binge made things feel better but stepping into bed that night, naked, sexually charged but still tired after several other nights of poor sleep made for another sleepless night of thinking and playing.

I am very much a frustrated sub right now.

Used at will — April 27, 2022

Used at will

It was just another ordinary day and I was busying myself in the kitchen, having, earlier, pulled on some jogging bottoms but no undies because – well, just because.

I was in the kitchen having probably been intent on making myself some lunch or a drink – just a mundane moment.

Only it wasn’t. Sunlight streamed into the room as I stood at a stretch of worktop near the front window but with my back to it.

Suddenly, the significant other broke off from work on her laptop further down the room and approached me, distracting me from the intended tasks, feeling my naked bum through my jogging bottoms or rubbing my, by now, hardening, unrestrained cock.

Suddenly, with the blind still allowing sunlight to stream in and for any passers by to see, my jogging bottoms were pulled to the floor and she began working my cock to full hardness from behind taking full advantage of my moans of pleasure that arose from this unexpected moment.

Her thought processes turned to concluding a need for privacy and she broke off for a moment to pull the kitchen blind down, enveloping the room in partial darkness.

A hand returned to my cock and she continued to work. Struggling to stand, the palm of my hands went down on the worktop to steady myself. She knew exactly what she was doing. She had full control. She wanted to simply make me cum at her demand and continued to pump steadily and rhythmically with the aim to bring me off quickly.

After a few minutes, she sensed that my audible moans and body language meant that the cum was rising. Amid my mist and haze of pleasure, I could tell that she was contemplating whether to allow my streams of pent-up creamy semen to hit the work surfaces, cupboard doors and laminate floor before deciding against it.

Strategically, she continued to work with one hand whilst tightly cupping the other hand underneath my cock tip, and emptied me into it. I can still picture the scene now.

With that, she smiled seductively, dominantly and satisfactorily, cleaned up with some kitchen towel, a dislike for the taste of cum and an intent not to lower herself to take her sub’s cum, and merely resumed her laptop work, leaving me to clean myself up, pull my jogging bottoms back up again, pull myself together to a state of as much composure as was possible to carry on with what was originally planned, as the last remnants of cum oozed out of my unrestrained cock, dampening my joggers and dripping occasionally on to my legs.

Whilst she nonchalantly sighed with satisfaction, I was left contemplating another sudden FLR moment in my life – of the type that is becoming more frequent, yet, to her, merely something she felt like doing having used me at will.

Secret sub, officially led — April 25, 2022

Secret sub, officially led

Unusually for me, I’d had a rather long, hot bath. I emerged, wrapped a towel around my waist and went into the kitchen where the significant other was sitting, in a corner, reading something or other.

The ambient temperature of the room coupled with the ‘fresh out of the bath’ body temperature meant that the towel was sufficient.

I observed that the kitchen area needed a quick tidy up and equally, both of us were getting a little peckish so it was suggested that I made some sandwiches and prepared a few nibbles that we’d shopped for earlier.

My comparative nakedness juxtaposed very vividly with her fully clothed state, the TV nattering away to itself and the blinds closed. This was just a short period of time after the recent conversation (blogged about in my last post) about what ‘got me going’, so my sex drive was at a significantly heightened level anyway.

I’d stuffed the wrap of the towel down as one does when one emerges from a bath or shower, but the ‘stuff’ was, as tends to be the case with me, down in front, rather than to one side, either way, I never make a good job of such things. A mixture of breathing, general movement around the kitchen and the fact I’d (accidentally) made a bad job of wrapping myself up in just a towel, led to the tell-tale signs that the towel was, in fact, slowly slipping.

Of course, it fell to the floor. Having already been intermittently lifting her gaze from the reading material, I was told to leave the towel, and continued to busy myself, following any preparatory instructions from across the room, completely naked.

The cogs in my brain instantly began reveling in and relishing the extent of which an evidently female-led relationship was unfolding, overtly sexually, not just through being asked/told to do a particular household chore in any normal situation.

Inside, I was telling myself to calm down and see the situation as mundane and not worthy of excitement.

The chores went on with me in this state for some considerable minutes.

However, blood was surging in to my cock, causing almost a full erection as my mind more than wandered away through the thrill of something I craved but had never experienced before nor thought was ever likely – this despite efforts to keep my back to her through some form of partial embarrassment about my aroused state – the effort failing through the need to move around the kitchen, getting crockery and cutlery, putting the kettle on, visiting the fridge, but also coupled with instructions to turn around.

I continued focusing on my responsibilities in the kitchen, dutifully and quietly following orders, but becoming increasingly aware that the book had been put down and she had made her way towards and then closely behind me in her fully clothed state, me, vulnerable, naked and sexually charged through being dominated under the domestic circumstances.

A hand reached around my body, slowly gripping my ever hardening cock and beginning to slowly work back and forward, my head dropping back, the room, the silence broken by the TV muttering away to itself, and my audible moans of pleasure.

She ordered me to the twin settee in the corner of the kitchen, and draped herself, fully clothed across both seats. I knelt over and across her, naked, hard, aroused, dominated, continuing to revel in the FLR of the moment.

Moments later, she ushered me to the bedroom and stripped off. Her submissive of the moment expressed an eagerness to go down on and further serve her, but was denied. Some foreplay ensued, but she then instructed her sub to take her.

Eagerness to serve and satisfy poured from every pore of my body, a focus to perform, to satisfy her, and began to pump her moist pussy, steadily, thoroughly, intently. The moments passed by as my hips drew up and down, back and forth. Fully submissive, I pledged openly that I wanted and needed to satisfy her, and her alone, give her what she wanted, to hold back my own intents and a need to cum inside her at a time of my own choosing.

The dominant female was having none of this and sought to further assert control, to flick the button on her submissive, seizing on the one sure fire thing to make him cum – a seductive draw down the nose of her glasses, the twinkle in her eyes over the top of them needing no words to give the instruction. She knew how to pull the proverbial trigger.

There was to be no holding back. My long since teased and hardened cock erupted a powerful, hot, full, pent-up and creamy load into her warm, wet, accommodating pussy, two moments combined yet of stark contrast, one being of the actual – a consensual relationship between partners with mutual orgasm – the other far removed from where a conventional sub might find themselves – i.e. locked in chastity, dressed in lingerie, maybe even plugged, denied pussy, denied orgasm unless allowed, and even then, likely ruined, and above all, still made to serve. Internally, I considered myself lucky for what had happened and the circumstances that were playing out, holding on to and very much relishing, no, celebrating the FLR elements that had applied and anticipated more at some point in the future.

She dressed and returned to the TV, I merely donned a dressing gown, loosely tied, and sat beside her, the gown opening to reveal my vulnerability. Despite her very run-of-the-mill orientations, and inability to consider elements of kink unless shown on a TV documentary, the older we get, the more alone we get, the more elements of being in an overtly sexual FLR becoming apparent.

It may not happen again for a while, but that is surely part of the draw. Inconceivably and unknowingly to her, historically, I am already and have long been a sub. A secret sub, now more officially led.

Until the next time…

Awkward conversation, interesting prospects — April 22, 2022

Awkward conversation, interesting prospects

I was on a trip out with the significant other, sitting down enjoying some quiet time with a drink and some pleasant views when she began asking some rather probing questions, of the type she had never asked before. It took me by surprise I must say.

This was not the mundane type of thing – you know, the “What do you want for your dinner?” or “What shall we do tonight?” etc.

The questions were the type that needed some very careful, analytical thought processes before uttering the slightest word. For some minutes, I was more or less stalling whilst the rather dusty strategy cogs in my brain were cleared and forced into action.

The questions were more about what floated my boat sexually. What turned me on? What ‘did it’ for me? My stalling answers were, more or less those of “I don’t know really” etc.

“Where was she going with this?” I wondered to myself. There is a very shrouded history when it comes to inner elements of sexual interest. Were she to think long and hard enough, she would be able to cast her mind back quite a few years and almost find her own answers.

As previously blogged in one of my many posts, it was back in the heady and now treasured days of her leaving for work early, me springing out of bed like a coiled spring to dress in a long-since planned lingerie outfit. Only, on one fateful day, she returned home within minutes – probably having forgotten something or having had her circumstances changed – but enough minutes had passed for me to have donned the complete outfit, stockings et al.

Her unexpected arrival led to me more or less tearing the outfit off, throwing it into the dark recesses of a wardrobe and similarly tearing off the stockings, but not totally and one was still lingering on the end of a foot. I assume, as there were no questions asked, they were stockings, which she did not usually wear, from her drawer. Being asked where the stockings had otherwise come from would have provided enough ammunition to blow my upcoming excuse out of the water, but, here, it was irrelevant.

Anyway, the point was, I offered valid and standing mitigation as to why I was trying stockings on and after a few turbulent hours, that was that. I managed to recover the outfit from the dark recesses of the wardrobe and returned from whence it came
.

Anyway, back to the questions she sought on what ‘did it’ for me. There were a few utterances of “I don’t know really.” and lots of quiet thinking time. I didn’t want to give enough info to make it blatantly obvious and saw the passage of time as something which almost trivialised the question – as if there wasn’t anything much at all.

The conversation stumbled along with me internally screaming as to how much I loved lingerie and crossdressing, that I would happily (terms and conditions apply) become her sub and let her dress me up, lock me up in or release me from chastity, plug my tight backside and occasionally fuck me with a strap on perhaps. All the trappings of being a sub except being cucked. That is not something I want and, in any case, nor would she – to that extent or any of the above – it would be beyond her comprehension close to home – only something she would see on TV in one of “those” documentaries.

Her probing questions were more along the lines of conventional kink and I bloody well knew that, hence the difficulty in formulating an answer for so many at least partially awkward minutes. Because of my evident struggles to utter an answer, she threw a very few (long since forgotten) suggestions at me. I’ve probably forgotten about them because they didn’t interest me one iota.

Eventually, I openly mused and verbally “supposed” that I did quite like stockings (but not fishnet) and suspenders (well, I DO!). The conversation stumbled on and more or less concluded with her stating that she had taken note of everything (not that I’d said that much) I’d said.

Internally, I appreciated the response but, in the main, I dismissively shrugged. My rationale?

1) There was a wardrobe full of cami-suspender outfits I’d bought her over the years, that she’d worn on a very, very rare occasion and even then without stockings or suspenders (whereas I’d had plenty of use out of them.) For whatever reason, self deprecation or otherwise, historically, on evidence, she just wasn’t ‘in’ to that sort of thing – clearly. I have often said that the reason she isn’t into it, is the reason I was/am.

2) She’d thrown a lot of her ‘bottom drawer’ oddments away a long time ago – the suspender straps, the garters, the other nick nacks.

3) We were never or rarely alone at home and were often subject to trivial intrusions for one reason or another
.

Speaking honestly, I’m probably a fairly (but not fully) submissive other half anyway. I’ll go along with most things – suggestions for this, that and the other and I pull my weight in the household chores too. Internally, I acknowledge this day-to-day and seize upon it to consider the extent that I might be in a female led relationship and what this does to my kink-o-meter.

There have been moments where she’d rather I be naked for her around the house and there have been moments where some form of domme-sub roleplay has been evident – to me, not really her so much and it is not inconceivable that when we are home alone on a regular basis because the “others” have taken the decision to move out, these elements might come to the fore a bit, but then again, not as I would want them to be directly. But, you can’t always get what you want, so goes the song title.

There are, however, and, of late, since “that” awkward conversation with the interesting prospects, there have been some instances of domme-sub / FLR roleplay that will be detailed in the next blog entry.

As ever, thanks for following and thanks for reading.