I just can’t do it anymore. I’ve realized that I really need to center myself and get in touch with my spiritual side. I’ve decided to be born again this sunday with my parents as witnesses. I just can’t continue in this life. The masturbation – the wicked thoughts coursing thru my veins – and the visions… the sinful, nasty visions…
…
I just can’t take it anymore.
I’m sorry. I hope that you all understand.
I’m sure there are other flirts out there that do not fear the eternal damnation of their souls.
I have to be right with myself – and with God – and the lying that I’ve done to my parents – it just breaks my little heart apart.
I will miss you all.

Good bye.

APRIL FOOLS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Did you really think I was serious? I’m not going anywhere. Despite all the complaining and moaning (in a bad way) I do – I LOVE you guys. I love getting you off and I absolutely LOVE cumming with some of you, too. I’d like to cum with ALL of you – but you know – I can’t be picky. This job has allowed me to have fun – share some of my wicked naughty thoughts and damn – it’s really actually quite therapeutic when you get down to it.

I do consider myself a sort of sex therapist, ya know. I get to work out all kinds of thoughts and fantasies and memories with my callers. I get to experiment and try on different roles and explore uncharted seas (lol!) and go where no man has gone before…wait…that’s so “treky” right there, huh?

I’ve thanked all of you so much you’re gonna start asking me to pay you – so I won’t make this all sappy and emotional tonight. Yeah – I know – you’re all relieved. But I get so much more out of this than the paycheck I’m blessed with monthly. Considering what psychiatrists charge I guess I’m pretty cheap therapy too when you look at it. And yeah – I did change my rates for my anything goes line not so long ago. That isn’t a joke. That’s just … inflation and the cost of gas. I’ll keep it there though I PROMISE for another 6 months at least. I have an idea for some of my faithful “clients” (hahaha) too – remind me to tell you about it later, k? You know how I tend to have all these plans and hardly follow thru with half of them. Though I did do better this past month, didn’t I?

Damn – I totally went off track… AGAIN!

Anyways – I’m not going anywhere.

Pretty good April Fools though, huh?

I really do mean – anything. I think. But there are some limitations to even my imagination and creativity. I know that the offending parties won’t even read this – so indulge me for a bit and let me get this off my 34B chest.

When I say anything goes – I really do mean anything goes. However – (and yeah – there is a BUT in this sentence…) it does not mean that your drunk ass can call me up ask me how young I can be in your fantasy – then sit back and tell me to “go”. Go? Go the f*** where? Go back to watching the great porn movie I was watching before your drunk juvenile don’t know what you’re doing ass called me and interupted what could have been a great orgasm? Go to bed and dream about something other than YOU? Go get a latte at starbucks? What the hell does “go” mean? COME ON! LOL!

When I say anything goes – what it basically means is this: YOU let me know – like good big boys should – what kinds of things you have in mind. You picked up the phone, damn it. You had an idea when you picked up the phone what you were looking for. Was it that someone actually answered the phone that threw you off? Did your balls just drop and you really have no clue? Are you and your buddies taking a break from playing guitar hero and on a dare you called up and made a purchase using your daddy’s credit card or what?

This is not the first time that this has happened. I get about 2 of these every month – and it drives me absolutely crazy. MOST of the time guys can mutter out AT LEAST that they just want to hear me. THAT is helpful. But “GO”???!!!! Again – GO WHERE?

I’m a human being. I’m here as a service, YES, but I’m not a machine you can type data into and out of my mouth spits the perfectly custom made fantasy for you. Wait – these morons who call me and just say “GO” aren’t even that active in the fantasy. They aren’t even TYPING anything into the machine – they are just assuming that their call is like every other call I get – and I should be at their beck and call girl or something. It’s the attitude in which the “go” is muttered, I think, that has me up here ranting and raving like an idiot! LOL! I don’t take too well to being ordered around – hence my lack of a submissive listing. The few dominant calls I get are clear, too. They want someone who is intelligent – who is mindful and present. Not a machine that spits out the appropriate material in which you can jerk off to. Ya know? I just beg you (the “yous” who are the offending parties) – for the love of God and all that is pure and holy – DO NOT CALL ME if you are going to require mind reading as a skill. I don’t know what you want. I don’t know what you are looking for. I can guess and we might get lucky – or you can try … just try to communicate a LITTLE bit and we can BOTH have a great – enjoyable – satisfying time together. You are all so unique with different kinks and different wants and desires and I wouldn’t want it or have it any other way. That is what makes this fun for me. There are those rare instances when our kinks collide and I dig what you dig or whatever – and then – watch out! But even if that never happens – just knowing that YOU are satisfied gets me off – makes me happy – brings me pleasure. Guessing at what that is just drives me nuts. So even if you don’t give a rat’s ass what gets me off – give a rats ass what gets YOU off. Know what it is that you are looking for – or don’t call me. Seriously. GO with the “GO” stuff to someone else down the line that has more patience and isn’t going thru nicotine with drawl. LOL! Seriously. I don’t believe in blocking anyone from calling me – EXCEPT in these sorts of instances. I don’t block because I don’t like the fantasy you like – or block you because my anything goes doesn’t jive with yours but I will block you faster than you can blink if you say “GO” before any REAL valuable information has been shared for me to GO on. And one more thing…you know that you have 4 minutes in which to talk to me. We can get some serious damage done in that 4 minutes – but 4 minutes is wasted pretty darn quick when you have no idea what you even need me to do or say or BE! And one more other thing…when that damn lady comes on the line and says 1 minute remaining – don’t – I repeat – DO NOT take that to mean this is your chance to get CeCe’s number. You want my number? 1-800-TO FLIRT!!! Give me a napkin – I’ll write it down for you. MY GOODNESS!!!!!!!

*end rant*

I’m on my way to bed now – but before I go … some of my latest feedback that makes this latest rant seem well worth it. After all – if I didn’t have to go thru the bullshit – I wouldn’t of ever met some of my most favorite-est people in the whole entire universe, right?

• My “puppie” wrote:
  Talking with CeCe: 1.80/minute. Buying CeCe a sweet present: $50.00. Reading CeCe’s diary: Priceless
• My newest caller glacierescape73 wrote:
  Outstanding! Very sexy young voice!! Smokin hot pics!! Very Nasty Mind
• My little recovering addict wrote:
  An ephiphany! Imagine CeCe, playful on the swing set – little skirt – no panties. She caught me peeking. Punishment is embarrassing. U gotta find out – don’tcha?

Just reading those sweet little comments makes the nightmare written above seem petty and silly, now. Thank you all so much.

OOOOOH and I almost forgot! My little “puppie” sent me presents! A little portable picture printer thingee! And some great smelling cocunut butter from the body shop and delicious lip gloss from sephoria! Thank you soooo much puppie for the presents! I love getting presents and I swear between you, Doc, and U.R. – you’re going to spoil me rotten before I reach the old age of 19!! *wink* Thanks so much, puppie. wait … let me put on some vanilla frosting lip gloss first… okay… ****SMOOOOOOOCHIESSSSS MUAHHHHHHHZZZZ****

I’m outtie like I wish my belly button was…

So Neil II calls me and tells me that his wife’s best friend Julie is going to be coming over and he wants to fuck her. I’m thinking – okay – he really is doing a fantasy in his mind, right? um… wrong. Now – granted I don’t know if Julie is who he says she is or not – and I don’t even mind – what I’m excited about much more than any fact checker is this on the up and up or whatever is this: I get to hear this man fuck a woman. I got out the candles and everything – I was that excited. But it was not to be. What to be was even better.

Neil told me a fantasy and involved only me in the fantasy – while in reality – Julie was sitting across from him – playing with herself and listening to me weave this tale of babysitter caught by husband while boyfriend watches me all on webcam. By the end of the fantasy – I don’t know how many people were in that room with me and Neil – but at the very end there were the two of them… Julie’s soft moans coming thru the telephone while she sucked his hard cock – and Neil’s groans as he reached a satisfying orgasm.

It isn’t every day that I get to play with 2 people on the phone…and when it happens – the few times it happens (one other time was with “my puppie” and his girlfriend… and I mean “puppie” in the non bestiality way, people!!) I count it as an extreme …. gift. 2 is company 3 is a crowd and all that, ya know.

So thanks neil and julie for inviting me in and sharing yourselves and your kinky thoughts with me the other nite.

I’ve been sitting here for the past hour (no lie) trying to put down what I want to say about the whole 3 some thing. I have been in one – yes. And I don’t know if I could ever do it again… unless it was with someone I was having (only?) a physical relationship with. And why exactly is that? I’ve been watching 6 feet under – and my favorite character, David, had a 3 some with his gay lover Keith. Um… yeah – it was hot, too. So anyways – afterwards the guy (the 3 in the some) got up and made breakfast for them. I really was mad. I was yelling at the television which I always do which I also know is always annoying – but whatever. Anyways – I was yelling at the guy. His name was Sarge. “Sarge – get the f out of there. damn.” Moment over, ya know? That’s like over kill – like when a guy makes you cum fifty times and still wants to suck with the same intensity on your clit. It’s just overkill. Know when to stop – and know when to leave. The appropriate time to leave is after you cum. Don’t sleep in the bed with the 2 some. Get your 3 some ass out of there. Moment over. And here is Sarge – up in the kitchen making eggs. I was just annoyed. Really annoyed. (can you tell?).

But maybe sitting here for an hour was just plain stupid. Maybe I already answered myself and solved the whole 3 some mystery. LOL! I guess I said it all earlier when I mentioned the whole moment over thing. The 3 in the some just needs to know when the moment is over and then promptly and politely leave.

After 50 minutes on the phone with neil and julie I left. Moment(s) over. I’m sure the 2 of them got up after a little nap and made themselves eggs and toast and had a wonderful time remembering it. At least I hope they did.

So ok. Issue solved. I, CeCe, would have a 3 some with: 2 other girls – 1 girl and 1 boy – 2 boys (actually been there done that) if and only if … the 3 in the some knew when to leave – and did so at the appropriate time. VOILA!

Having solved that intense mystery I can now sleep!!

I went to WalMart today. I feel like a sell out when I go to WalMart. I stepped in the store, and instantly I felt like I should be “saying no” to it for some reason, but I couldn’t remember why so I stepped inside and grabbed a cart.

That was my first mistake.

After I grabbed the cart – knowing full well I had just gone there to get some liquid shower soap – and some more lotion – and a few shelves/storage things for my room – I went down the middle aisles to see if I needed anything else.

That was my second mistake.

I ALWAYS need something else. It’s not that I’m spoiled – wait. It’s not that I’m spoiled that much – it’s just that I’m one of those people who always wants. And once I open up those flood gates – I want more and more and more. I’m like that with movies. I’m like that with books. I’m like that with peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwiches – and I’m like that with money. I’m also like that with friends, with sex, and was like that with cigarettes and on occasion the illegally acquired strawberry margarita. I have – what I have accused many of my callers of having – an addictive personality. I also have very distinctive ideas of how I see things – and how I want things to be for myself. I tend to have this idea in my head of what I want things to ultimately be like – and give up quickly if I see that this idea is near impossible to achieve. I guess I’m an addictive perfectionist.

So I go into WalMart – and I go browsing along the aisles to see if there is anything that I need. And I find all kinds of things that I want. I start imagining having an apartment of my own. I see the dishdrainer that I would choose. Then I see the bookshelves that I would have in the living room. I look at the dishes that would sit in my cupboards, and then I find myself in the bedding department. I feel the need – before I go any further – to announce that I am a girl. The bedding department is the worst possible area for a girl to be in in any major shopping store. Let me see if I can illustrate why.

When a girl goes to look at bedding she doesn’t just look at the sheets – she also looks at the sham – and the pillow shams – and the rug – and the curtains for the windows – and then the lamps – and then plants or flowers – and thennnn she goes quickly to the bathroom section. Because any girl knows that the bathroom also has to go along with the theme of the bedroom. It just has to. The towels have to match the rug in the bathroom which also has to match or at least be in the same color family as the bedroom colors. Pretty soon I had convinced myself that I needed new sheets for my bed. They were on sale. But then the sheets didn’t really go with the pillow cases I already had (and I have about 5 pillows on my bed – the non decorative kind. I have about 10 decorative pillows AT LEAST) so I had to get pillow cases. And then I questioned the little rug that is by my bed. Then I found myself in the CD section of the store. I wanted Nelly Furtado – but then there was also the newest Joss Stone CD. Did I want to dance around in my panties and bra to Man Eater – or did I want to write papers and evaluate my life while listening to soulful Joss Stone. By the time I left WalMart Hell I had spent about 40 more bucks on things than I really needed to – or even that I had really planned on spending. I had chisseled away 2 hours off of my day day dreaming thru the aisles of hell – and I had a splitting headache from wanting wanting wanting wanting everything my eyes landed on.

I need to say no to WalMart for this reason. It is a money trap. It reminds me of the slot machines on the cruise ships. It calls out your name – you see it as a trap – you have a roll of quarters and you have told yourself that you will not spend 1 quarter more than that roll – and the next thing you know you’re 50 bucks down listening to the little “WHEEL OF FORTUNE” voice and getting all moist and orgasmic over the damn thing.

WalMart makes me moist. It really truely does. It makes me excited. And the proof that WalMart is like sex to me – is that as soon as I had packed up my little bags and walked defeated to my car – I wanted a cigarette. I wanted to light up and inhale it while leaning my head back in my car and trying to catch my breath. I wanted to blow little lazy smoke circles in the air and stick my finger thru them like I was fingering myself. I wanted to feel the thing in between my fingers and listen to the hiss it makes when you inhale. I wanted to watch the little cherry at the end grow brighter and I wanted that little bit of a head rush that goes right along with it.

Thank god for the patch is all I’m saying. Had it not been for that little patch on my shoulder blade I would have ran to the store if I had to and picked up a box and had a nice delicious orgasm while polluting my lungs. *sigh*

I really need to “just say no” to WalMart.

I just killed the hugest spider ever. I went into my room/loft and saw it – next to the ceiling. Chilling. Looking down at me like, “whatup, biotch?” I had to do a balancing act between my dresser top and the steps/ladder up to my loft. Clutching a kleenex in my hand and saying a prayer that it wouldn’t crawl down my arm – which has never actually happened but every time I think of killing a spider with a kleenex it does cross my mind – I quickly descended down upon the beast. It fell to the carpet where I pounded it over and over again until its lifeless body lay in a heap. Still not convinced – I smooshed it up and crumped the kleenex in my hand – making warrior sounds like, “ooooh god – please die… eeeeeeeeew… icky icky!”

My friend, the Doctor, would have scooped up the spider – leading it onto a piece of paper. He would have then carried it gently to the front door – kneeled down and set it free while singing “born free” or something equally as inspiring.

I’m not that kind of a chick.

I figure the spider has crossed the line when it enters my abode. The other spiders I have nearly killed – that are missing legs and things – probably told all the spider pals of the evil CeCe that lives in that loft over yonder that doesn’t play when it comes to anything that crawls. (cats and dogs excluded). They had to have been warned, plenty of times, of the dangers of entering my home.

I use to try killing spiders and other creepy crawlies with shoes. But I learned that spiders can run faster than some athlete in the olympics doing a sprint – so I had to adjust my killing methods. So the kleenex came to be. One nice big wad of kleenex. And the secret is to smoosh it too – because those spiders can play dead better than any thing I’ve ever known. The other secret is not to look – so you must really squish it and know that you have left no leg uncrushed – and no body un-smooshed. You gotta be serious about it. Because spiders are creepy. And they bite me. In places that I can’t reach – like in the very middle of my back – too far up for my hand to reach. You all know the spot, I’m sure… sort of between my shoulder blades. They are also just plain ugly. Not that I think things that are ugly should be killed necessarily. But ugly things that bite you definitely don’t deserve an escort out of your home on a nice piece of paper. Nah uh. Sorry “Doc”. You’re a better person than I am. *sigh*

Now I’m freaked. I’m thinking that there might be a spider inside of my covers. Maybe before the spider died – it yelled out to his home boy to bite me good tonight – and his boy is hiding under my covers – waiting until I snuggle up nice and tight and then it will bite me in some sort of homage to his fallen (squished) leader. God. I have to get this out of my head before I have some nicotine enhanced dream of gigantic spiders running after me with kleenex in all 8 of their hands.

I hear some of you laughing.

I’m not laughing – so you can’t say you’re laughing with me, either.

In other news – I have to go to the dentist tomorrow to get my teeth cleaned. It’s been 7 months since my last cleaning. Why did that sound like a confession. Forgive me dentist for I haven’t flossed. It’s been 7 months since my last conf cleansing. Yup. Having braces doesn’t make you exempt from cleaning it turns out. It makes it even more necessary, actually. My teeth are gonna be all nice and clean and bright. I will also have all that nicotine and tar and stuff removed from my teeth – so that will be a nice “I quit” moment.

After my shower today I forgot to put on my patch. I removed the old one when I got into the shower – because it wouldn’t have stayed on, ya know…but when I got out of the shower and dressed I completely forgot to replace the old one with the new. When I got to work I remembered and called home and asked my daddy to bring me it. He of course came running to the gym (ok – he drove – but he drove quickly!). He is so handsome. I introduced him to the ladies of the gym and then turned around pulling the back of my shirt down to expose my back so that he could affix my drug to my thirsty nicotine craving skin. I leaned my head back and moaned as the skin under the little square started to itch – an indication, I’ve learned, that the poison nicotine is entering my body. (Aren’t I dramatic as hell? LOL!). My dad patted my back – itched the area around the patch a bit – then turned me around and kissed me on the top of the head. “See you when you get home, little one.” He said. And then left. Looking back at the ladies staring in amazement – I started to laugh. It must have looked like something out of a Lifetime Television for Women Movie of the week ad. Young woman hooked on drugs by an older pimp. Not calling my father a pimp or anything – but that’s how they all were looking at me. Like I was lying about my dad being my dad or something as a cover! LOL!

So all is well again. And I’m ok – and hooked up.

Except for that damn spider I keep thinking about.

I wonder if his whole family is in here – or if it’s just his homeboy – waiting under the covers for me to finally go to bed.

We’ll soon find out…

(CeCe leaves her blog – with a box of kleenex in her hand….Scene fades to black…)