So a bit ago (last year sometime?) I talked about a little crush that I had on a girl in choir at church. Yeah. I know – lots to swallow right there, huh? Celina is a lesbian? Celina goes to church? Celina sings in a choir? No time to slow down, boys, keep up, okay? Ask questions later. Many of you know that my father is a pastor and many of you know this because church plays a part in some of our fantasies (those of you who aren’t afraid you’re going to burn in hell by mentioning sex and church in the same convo, that is! hehe) . It was only a matter of time before I returned to my roots. And no, I don’t personally have any conflicting feelings about church and masturbation or what I do here. As long as we keep things in perspective and understand the things we think about and fantasize about don’t make us bad or good – they just make us uniquely human. but enough of that. I see your eyes glazing over. So yeah – I’m in a church choir and I developed the HUGEST crush on this girl and had no idea what was happening. She already had a girlfriend, too, so I was feeling doubly bad about having a crush on someone that isn’t available. Though hello – how many times does that happen to me at this job? Too many times to count. So yeah – Ifound myself getting all nervous when I sat next to her and when she would touch my thigh (yeah – she TOUCHED ME A LOT) I would get all tingly and I thought am I a lesbian now or what the hell is going on? So I asked my parents about it and they said, “whatev” Not in those words, but basically. Whoever I love and how I love is of no consequence for (to?) them. As long as I’m happy and no one is getting hurt. They are bleeding heart liberals. Whatcha gonna do? So we went out for lunch a few times and wrote notes back and forth and gushed all over each other’s art and flirted and blah blah. And then disaster struck. This little thing called reality hit and suddenly this crush became really painful. I remember the same thing happening to a friend of mine who wanted more from me than I could give and then suddenly just being around me sucked. Which is why we don’t talk any more. And it hurt when it happened, but now I get it. Being around that one thing that reminds you of what you can’t achieve or accomplish or have or be with or whatever it is – it just hurts. Plain sucks. So you begin to avoid it and find ways to not be reminded of the pain. So I started to shut down. Became really pouty and a bit bratty (I know you’re shocked) and then I contemplated leaving the church and never singing in choir again. And someone (a caller, I believe) told me that this is exactly why these things are called CRUSHES. They are really fun at first, but when love/lust/infactuation is one sided all of a sudden that thing that made you giggle and get all warm and sensitive and stuff, all of a sudden it starts to crush the life out of you.

Great positive feel good post, CeCe.

So yeah. It was difficult. But about 2 weeks ago, I realized that I had come through the other side. I decided to just let it be. I told myself that I wasn’t being foolish to feel such strong feelings for someone. That more than likely (definitely more likely than not) the object of my crush wanted me to feel exactly how I was feeling. I had definitely been led on, toyed with, manipulated. Not out of some cruel evil plot, but just because everyone (men and women, gay, straight, bi, old, young, republican and liberals) want to be wanted and love attention and are drawn to cute brace faced girls with great senses of humor. Seriously, though, it’s human to want to be wanted, and it’s easy to play those games we do to see if we’re really as wanted as we think we are. You get my point. I forgave her. I started to see her as someone who may have a slight bigger case of insecurity than I did. I decided to love her anyway, but love her in a mature healthy way. I wouldn’t daydream about her anymore or be upset when I no longer got her attention. I would just allow whatever to be to be and look at things a bit more positively. And things started to change. And now things are almost back to normal and there’s only a slight scar where the crush use to be. Sometimes when it gets pressed it’s a little tender and I think that it’s coming back again. But it never does. It stays put. It knows to stay put. So – thank God. I got through it.

I have a few callers who call for advice every now and again and I try to give the best advice I can. I don’t have a license (obviously) to give psychiatric advice and referrals (ahaha) but I do have an open mind and I’m kind. I honestly do not judge people harshly. Niteflirt has the ability to freak out flirts from time to time and I don’t ever get freaked out. Sure, there are some things I’m not into. We can’t all be into everything. But there isn’t anything that makes me want to run in the opposite direction. There isn’t anything that makes me think the person thinking it or doing it or whatever is sick. I know that’s pretty liberal of me, and it’s not said to be a challenge so everyone with unique fetishes and over the top ideas in their heads can call me up to test me on what I’m saying, it’s said as a way of maybe comforting those of you who are worried about things that you think about or get excited about or whatever. Here I am, a pastor’s kid, working on niteflirt, having crushes on girls, having fantasies about all kinds of things that are off the beaten trail, going to school and living in a world that is predominately afraid of differences. I actually live in the very city that describes that song “little boxes”. Here I am, having all kinds of conflicting thoughts and feelings about a host of things that could all be labeled taboo by someone. But I’m not ashamed of my fantasies. So you shouldn’t be either.

So there you have it. A confession to tantalize a few confessions out of you. For those of you who have entrusted me to your secrets, thank you. I’ll keep them safe. And for those who are wondering if you can trust me with a few of your ‘gems’ – wonder no more. Give me a call. You’ll be glad you did.

Her last name had cock in it. But somehow her name escaped the taunts of highschool children. It was as though she was protected with a fine layer of repellent that nothing evil could penetrate. Everyone loved her. I was no exception.

She taught a bunch of subjects in our tiny little school (English, Voice, Psychology) and had gone to a college that only the finest teachers had attended. It was a well-known Minnesota college – Lutheran and liberal arts. My father had attended that same college – and his siblings – and virtually everyone in the little town of less than 1000 people. The fact that she had gone there just made the college (not her) that much more revered. At least in my 13-year-old mind.

I sought to be involved in everything she was involved in and that included an after school activity I didn’t even know if I was good at. I ended up winning two state titles. My name and picture were in the little town’s paper – and that was a big deal. I use to save all the clippings but have since lost track of them.

She had the neatest writing I have ever seen. When she wrote on the whiteboard it was as though she were drawing flowers and stems and leaves instead of words like Freud and Cognitive and Self Actualization. I would sit in her room during lunch period while the other children consumed heavy amounts of cheese the consistency of paste and pasta the texture of rubber. She would grade papers and I would pretend to read. I would look up from my desk and just stare at her frosted blonde hair and her blue blue eyes and love her. I simply worshiped the ground she walked on.

She was my very first friend. My best friend. And when I later moved, she wrote long letters to me in her flower cursive. I would read the letters over and over and over again and I would rub my fingers over the part that said she loved me as though the words themselves were made out of silk.

It had been awhile since I had had friends as important as she was. Women friends. I sometimes catch glimpses in friendships I’ve developed with men, but they always seem so much more complicated than the one I had with my English teacher. Even though I was in love with her, you see, I never thought of actually fucking her. It wasn’t that I wasn’t attracted to her. It was just that our relationship was so much deeper than a physical relationship. I wanted to crawl up inside of her and just stay there forever – I didn’t want to actually kiss her or have some physical relationship with her or anything. I wanted to be near her. And I envied her children because they got to be tucked into bed each night by her – and kissed awake by her in the morning. I would often wonder if they knew how lucky they were.

I quit the gym the other day. I just couldn’t take it anymore and it was clear to me that they just had other ideas about me – and how to run the place that didn’t go along with what I thought. It’s a rather long, complicated story that right about now (at 3:14AM in the morning) doesn’t seem to matter that much. But I went back to the gym this afternoon so that they could kiss my little ass. Afterwards I worked out a bit – and talked to the ladies there, reassuring them that I would know if they were working out and to not use my leaving as an excuse to get all out of shape and weak again. Little ladies just grabbed me and held onto me and squeezed my cheeks and told me how wonderful I was. Other women slipped me their business cards and told me to call them if I needed anything. Other women called me and asked me how I was and if they (the management) had mistreated me. Still others called me up and invited me to bar-be-ques that would be held in my honor. I received letters and note cards and little gift certificates from women who just wanted to tell me how lovely I was and how much I had helped them while I was there. They urged me to keep in touch with them and to let them know if I was going to be in the area and we “could do lunch” and just “catch up.”

So I have this fascination with girls. And women. I like looking at them – but they have to be a certain type. I don’t think anything turns me on more than self confidence, tenderness and . . . brilliance. I don’t entertain fantasies of fucking women. I know that people find that hard to believe – or I should say – I know that men find that hard to believe – but there it is. I don’t. I don’t get off on watching women fuck each other, either. I’ll watch – but I can’t ever sit there and masturbate – I just watch like I watch Hell’s Kitchen. It’s entertaining and a bit mystifying, really. But I could totally have a relationship with a girl. I would even sleep with a girl IF there was some sort of spiritual bond or something. It wouldn’t be about sex – but more like wanting to climb inside of her soul – and realizing that maybe if I placed my tongue on the most intimate of her parts I just might get there quicker.

I don’t know what made me write this entry. Well, maybe it is because I know that by not working at the gym and working with the women I was working with I’m giving up quite a bit. There was a sort of . . . community that was so drama free it was scary. We had stuff that went on due to management stuff and an occasional tiff or whatever – but overall – we would just bond together. Talk about our lives – children – school – boyfriends – husbands – recipes -politics – the latest movie and the last book we read. I’m going to miss that tremendously. And even though I plan on working out there and joining another gym with a few other women – it still just feels slightly different and I’m a bit scared that I’ll lose that part of me that felt confident and competent and able to stand tall among other women. I’m afraid I’ll start thinking like so many other women I see – who doubt that that type of honest, true, and just really tender relationship can exist.

ma.tric.u.latevb -lated; -lating: to enroll as a member of a body and esp. of a college or university – matriculation /n

The university that I’m planning on attending for fall Semester is hot on the ass of CeCe. Transcripts have been sent in up till now (My Summer classes will end a week before Fall Semester starts so I’ll carry those with me into the administrative office for my first counseling session) and on every single solitary piece of paper I get from these people is the word Matriculation. It sounds painful. It sounds like something you catch after a “everything stays in Vegas” weekend. I had to do this tour earlier before I could even start looking at the Fall Class Schedule. A virtual tour (a 3 hour tour… a 3 hour tour…). Complete with really cheesy video of students asking questions like…”I’m going to be working part time at starbucks – and I’m really worried if I’ll have time to study with all the classes I’m taking. Where can I go to speak with someone who could help me?” I’m not even kidding. Then you have to take your little mouse and point it in the direction the student should go – and then “click” on the correct building. I wanted to see if the college had a sense of humor equivalent to my somewhat dry and witty one, so I clicked on the cafeteria. I figured the dude should just go get a cup of Joe and think about his life for a bit instead of speaking to a counselor who would only tell him to take out another 50 loans to pay for his education so he could stop working for the pusher of crack we know here in Southern Cali as StarBUCKS. Or maybe he could take a walk over to the Restroom Facilities, to the very last stall on the left with the nice little glory hole – and suck a few for 10 minutes – making the equivalent of what he might make working at the fine establishment for 3 hours. But I didn’t. I had to matriculate as fast as possible.

I have a tentative schedule in mind. Will be taking 5 classes – and one of them is Bowling – so I think that’s really only technically four classes, right? Japanese (though I may change that to Spanish cuz Japanese is hella hard…as you well know, DOC!), Intro to Screen Writing, Honors Composition (English class…notice the HONORS part of that class. Yeah. They accepted me into the honors program…woot woo for CeCe!), Intro To Algebra (sobs), and what was the other class? (counting)… oh wait. That’s it. 5. Ok. So now all I have to do is wait for a little email to tell me I can register and that I’ll be accepted in as a sophmore – which should be easy because I have enough credits and have 2 letters of recommendation from the profs from the classes I took this past year along with a very very sweet letter from a past teacher saying how absolutely brilliant I am (I’m so kidding). I should be a “shoe in”. So to speak. In non NF language.

Ya know … back to that boy who was wondering about study time with his job and the little glory hole in the back stall of the men’s latrine… Why does gay sex intrigue so many women? I’m not saying ALL women – I’m just saying MANY women. Like this woma(e)n.

A few months ago I went to this really great gay club with a good friend of mine. I should really call her up one of these days to see if we can go back – I’m in the mood to stare. The club wasn’t in West Hollywood – as many might imagine – but in this really small kinda college-y city West of there, I think. I’m directionally impaired. The club looked like any other 18 and over club – and the parking lot was packed. I could feel the music through my feet as we walked into the club. And the men that were walking INTO that club were F-I-N-E – bold face – HUGE FONT Fine! I mean Gawgous! My friend kept elbowing me, too, because I was practically drooling from so much lucious eye food. Yes. I said it – EYE FOOD – because candy is a snack – but these boys were MEALS! So we get into the club – and make our way with great lovely green stamps on our hands that just screamed NOT LEGAL TO DRINK – and shoved our way politely to the dance floor. And there they were. All these wonderful specimens – all this eye food – dancing with other eye foods. I couldn’t believe it. My friend knew, of course, but I had no idea! And as politically incorrect as this may sound – these morsels of food did not look at all like the types of food that would be dancing with – well – other food. Which just made it all the hotter. My friend explained that this club was infamous for these type of men that did not look the part – most of which had girlfriends at home or wives or whatever – and were at the clubs Saturday nite shaking their groove thangs. There is something absolutely fantastic about gay sex – but even more so orgasmic when the gay sex is between men who don’t appear (and please forgive me for this… ) GAY. I know there is a word for that – and it’s not “butch” – but I can’t for the life of me remember…

So anyways – yeah. The student I helped MATRICULATE looks to be that type – the type you’d never in a million years take for the type that would be in the stall on his knees earning some money for some books. So my little 2 n’s – if you are reading this – THIS will be coming up again very very soon! *wink wink nudge nudge* And for those who are reading over this entry as fast as your little eyes can all the while shaking your head like “nah uh – not for me, dawg!” – I’ll give you this: I, being the now matriculated student and soon to be student in HONORS English can very easily switch around a few things (like the sex of the student for one) and give you a whole ‘nother type of fantasy. Don’t be scared. And judging from the post below and my extreme longing to be out on my own, I probably could be desperate enough (not really – but it’s YOUR fantasy! lol) to visit that little stall in the Men’s Restroom and …

I’ll be up pretty late tonight – I slept like a log after the gym earlier – and have more energy then I know what to do with. Of course I could prepare for my Government class on Tuesday but that would be just too… um. That wouldn’t be me. Wait. I’m responsible and matriculated…

Poli Sci here I come!

I’m disgusted. Truly disgusted. I feel as though I’m going to be held hostage by the Heiress In Jail update until that girl is let out of jail. I don’t think there has been so much press about something so incredibly vapid and useless since the press frenzy around Sanjaya or whatever his name was on American Idol. I was counting down the days till he was out of there – and I find myself doing the same with this Ms. Paris, too.

It has me thinking.

Is this every man’s fantasy?

Is this like some showtime television show that comes on about 1:00AM when all the little kids are in their pj’s with feet – and their parents are downstairs – in striped jail suits – watching the latest soft porn movie titled “Her time behind bars” – acting along with the somewhat predictable but no less appealing plot?

What is it about women in jail that makes a man’s penis stand to attention – and is this somehow to blame for the press frenzy around Ms. Hilton’s time there?

It’s not often that I listen to talk radio – but since my unfortunate event where my ipod and fm transmitor thing a ma jig was taken from me so violently (sob) – I have been listening to quite a bit of radio while I’m riding along in my car- and since the music played on regular stations no longer appeals to me – I change the station rapidly to talk radio. Everyone is talking about Paris – and they have their little spin on it – so as not to appear too… I don’t know … typical maybe. A show the other day almost caused me to get into an accident. A blonde called who sounded like a twin of Minnie Mouse – and described herself as being a DD – and small – like five feet and nothing small. She said that her boyfriend was in his fancy smancy car and had gotten pulled over by the police. She told the host of the show that she had never been so miserable in all her life and that she felt really bad for Paris and all that she would probably have to live thru while in jail. “They were calling me Princess” this stupid bitch cried. “It was because of my boyfriend – and I had a warrant because I didn’t show up for a court date – although I did pay the ticket – but they were so mean to me (hiccup) that…(gasp)…I just wanted to die! And the men there were so dirty – they were so (sniff sniff) filthy that I didn’t want to even sssssssit dowwwwwwn!”

I silently begged her to stop.

The hosts had hit their jackpot and went in for the kill.

“So how big are your tits?” They asked with what can only be described as a sinister laugh.

“What does that have to do with anything.” The blonde with big tits gulped. Good for you, I thought. Hang on to what little bit of decency you have left. Don’t answer the … “They are 34DD’s. I mean they are really big – but… what does that have to do with anything.”

“So are your nipples really sensitive?” The other DJ asked – dead pan.

“Um…” (Don’t do it stupid girl… don’tttttt) “Well – yeah – as a matter of fact they are … but again – this doesn’t have anything to do with my story.”

Oh yes it does!!! And for the next 15 minutes these two djs proceeded to show her exactly how relevant her jug size was to … well… to life. Specifically their fantasy about little princesses in jail – with big tits (or little ones – doesn’t matter) who find themselves in a jail cell – turning tricks with the guards for protection – or licking their cell mates pussy for a cigarette. Because that is what this is all about, isn’t it? Our (particularily) men’s fascination with women (princesses) behind bars – in dirty and animalistic places – where desperation can turn any good girl into a certifiable whore. Where bars are just backdrops to sinful fantasies – and where a key can unlock the possiblity of getting a girl to do just about anything for a hot shower and a phone call.

I understand. I have had my little fantasies, too – and well – I still like the whole gay cop bad inmate gay porn story. Never gets old. However, I don’t think I would be glued to the set – (or my Hitachi wand) if Denzel got put in jail today. I don’t even think I would be glued to the set if Richard Simmons was placed in jail – or any of the guys on Bravo Television’s “Work Out” – who have to be gay. I think. I don’t even think one of my callers – with muscles all lathered up in babyoil the way he likes – would get me to be obsessed about his time behind bars. How much is a photo of Paris in jail going for these days? And how many times has the mug shot of her been downloaded and downloaded ON these past … 12 or so hours?

Maybe I should put up a CeCe in jail listing. I can pretend to call you up collect – you accept the charges of course – and then I can tell you about my shower with the girls the other day. Or you can be the warden – and I can tell you to go fuck yourself if you expect me to be in the general public with the rest of the dirty filthy hos that are in here. You can push me down on my knees behind your desk – handcuff my hands behind my back to the legs of the desk behind me – and force your cock down my throat. Or – I don’t know – you can pretend that I’m in solitary confinement – and instead of slipping me a plate of hot slop thru the little slot in the door – you can put your cock thru the opening instead and insist that I suck that for lunch.

Seriously – if no one takes me up on my offer – I am going to be even more confused about the intense obsession with this chick’s jail sentence. If what I’m thinking is correct – right now at this moment – thousands of niteflirt girls are making up profiles about their time behind bars – and thousand more guys are lining up to call them and hear all about it.

I recently completed the incredible task of emailing 30 more men and sending pictures for each 15 minutes they were on with me. I really should learn to do this at the time that it happens – but that would be responsible of me – and we all know how procrastination is and will always be my middle name. Thanks again for all the great calls – and for being so patient with your presents! Enjoy them, boys. Remember – the promotion goes on until June 15th. I don’t know if I will continue it after that – you’ll all have to let me know if it’s a good idea or not. Of the 30 or so pics that I send out – maybe 5 men will actually write me back to let me know that they got them and enjoy them. Take your hands off your penis’ for a sec and send me a little note on nf or gmail (celinawetdreams) and let me know if you’re even excited by this offer. If it’s worth it to ya all – I’d like to continue doing it for another month. We’ll see, though.

I was going to write about a few of my favorite things (callers) but my hand is starting to cramp up – and truth be told – I’ve been extremely horny. I think I turned myself on with all this prison talk and I may just have to do something about that. I also have to work this evening *ho hum* which means I need to start saving up some energy so I can work out.

Remind me someone to talk about the cancer walk I participated in – and how drunk and horny I got while walking – and how we almost were asked to leave by the coordinators of the event. It isn’t as good as a prison type story – but it comes close in many ways!

*Smoochies*

Now that my big bad final is out of the way – and I’m free for about 2 days – Ihave been soaking up all kinds of television that I wasn’t able to indulge in … wait. Why am I lying? I’ve been watching tv – and doing all nighters since the beginning of my classes! But since everyone was away this weekend (I had to stay back cuz of the big bad Final! grrrr) I got to sit around in my panties and watch BAD tv. Really bad tv. Like – the biggest hollywood feuds, and the naughtiest bad girls, and coyote ugly marathon, and… (drum roll please) Maxim’s Top 100 – Most Beautiful Women. *sigh* *double sigh* *triple sigh with drool on the side*!!!! I love looking at beautiful women. I really do. I feel bad for men who can’t look at beautiful men with the same freedom as we women can look at beautiful women. Seriously. I just love looking at a beautiful girl. I’m MOST appreciative – and feel no sense of jealousy or anything ridiculous as that. Maybe it’s confidence – maybe it’s just … I dunno … maturity? (haha). I have only had a few moments of jealousy about pretty women in my life – and that usually happens when a guy is going on and on about a particular kind of woman that I’m not. Like if a guy was going to be talking about his fascination with tall women who played basketball or something – and I was so not that type. I’d start to wonder if maybe he should just go and find himself someone from a woman’s basketball team and stop fucking me, ya know? And yeah – I’ve been with guys who do that. Maybe not aobut a woman who is tall and plays basketball – but more like a woman who has big titties and a huge ass or something.

So anyways – back to Maxim.

I was watching it and all of a sudden – they show right off the bat – number 100. I about came. This woman was so damn beautiful it made my heart just hurt. I kept backing up the dvr on the satellite just so I could stare at her. Luscious lips. Great hair. Olive complexion. Nice boobies. Sweet – almost nerdy demeanor. Incredibly intelligent – I mean I think this girl speaks like 10 languages or something. And she can write in Arabic. Talk about TALENTED!!! (pitter pat pitter pat). I mean – just look at her: OMG! Lawdy lord gawd Almighty! Her name is Noureen DeWulf – and according to Maxim Magazine – she is number 100 of the most beautiful women in … well – I guess in the entire US of A. So I was interested, of course. If she was 100 – then who in the hell was NUMBER UNO? I had to stick around and find out, Didn’t I?!?!

What a disappointment. They didn’t go thru all of them – but they focused on a few. You can always go to Maxim and look at the list yourself, of course – but I find that it is my duty to share with you the news straight away. According to Maxim – LINDSAY LOHAN is the most beautiful woman in the United States Of America. Now in the picture she looks pretty good. But THE MOST BEAUTIFUL? More beautiful than number 100? Come on! I know we all love teens (waves from her desk) – but come on! Has MAXIM lost their damn minds? There are so many more beautiful women in the world other than Lindsay Lohan! Jeez Louise. I’m still upset. I sat and waited for an hour for … LINDSAY LOHAN. I don’t hate the girl. I really don’t. I hate Paris Hilton. Ok. I don’t even hate Paris – she just annoys me. I don’t even hate Lindsay. She doesn’t annoy me – other than her drinking and her hanging out with the wrong crowd and her lack of acting ability. I think she’s probably a nice girl. She needs to stop singing. But she’s okay. I like her fine. But I don’t think she’s more beautiful than … let’s say… Kim Kardashian. Do You?

I thought that I would have the energy to put up my top 10 pretty women in the world – but I just don’t have it in me right now. I’m just annoyed. (lol! I take things way too seriously, right?). Maybe later on I will. I don’t know.

So as not to be a hater – let me just say CONGRATS Lindsay! You’re a fine looking young woman – that I wouldn’t mind fucking with a dildo or two while pulling your hair and calling you “fire crotch”. I’d even invite you to a party or two – but you need to stay away from the booze – and the karaoke machine. I love you, though. Muahz!