I just got done emailing some of my friends from my last writing class at school. I had to tell them I wouldn’t be returning to campus as a student. I’ll still be doing some volunteer work (because, hey, I need these things on my application for schools!), but I won’t be attending school there. I’ll be working on my math class. Trying to get the damn stuff done already. I have one final math class, and I’m taking it off campus with my tutor.

A few years ago, I came across this porn movie with Gauge in it. She’s this blonde that is exceptionally gifted at anal sex. Actually she stands on her head and gets fucked in the ass which, hats off to you, Gauge, is impressive! The movie I first saw her in had the title Bring em Young. They said it was a university, and I thought it was just a porn thing. Clever, too, I thought. Cuz it actually sounded like it could be a real school. BYU.

Imagine my surprise when my tutor enrolled me in an independent studies class at BYU – Brigham Young University. I told Sarah Nanette last night that I didn’t think it was a real school! As a result, I keep saying the name wrong. Bringum Young. Ugh. My tutor is going to think I’m a bigger freak than he realized.

It was super hard not signing up for any classes. But I don’t need them. I signed up for classes last semester because I needed them and they would count towards my major. But enough is enough. I gotta get out of the small college in this now small town and head for greener pastures. And it’s really scary. I didn’t realize before how much I was clinging to the school. I didn’t realize how it had become a crutch for me. And I didn’t realize how sometimes, when bad things happen, it kind of keeps you stuck. Even if you’re miserable, there is a safety in being miserable and stuck. There are tons of reasons why I want to continue taking classes at my old school, but none of them are healthy reasons, I’ve realized. So… I’m moving on.

What this means for niteflirt is, I’ll probably have better hours. I’ll be more flexible during the next few months. And I’ll be working more because BYU ain’t cheap, to be honest. One class is costing the same as 4 classes at my old school. And that’s not including the books that I’ll need. I’m reviewing a previous class at the moment so I’m covered, but by next month I want to be enrolled.

This is the most adult thing I’ve done in a long time.
And it feels good.

Today’s topic? Parents. They just don’t understand, yo!

So there are definitely secrets I keep from my parents. The biggest one being (surprise surprise) this job. But I have other little secrets my parents don’t know about. One of them is my obsession with nail polish and cosmetics of all kinds, really. But lately my obsession has stuck on nail polish and the monkey on my back hasn’t let go! So my dad made me a nail polish rack for Christmas. It’s really nice, too. Like really nice. I can’t even explain how nice it is. And he was so proud of it, but told me that I shouldn’t try to fill it up completely, since the rack can hold 200+ nail polishes. And I just kind of laughed. Nervously. And while I was breaking out into a sweat, I was trying to figure out a way I could ask my father to make 4 more of those racks for my entire collection.

Yeah. I said it.

And the really crappy thing about it is: the new collections have started to come out, and I already purged a lot of my polishes out. I got rid of tons of my mini nail polishes, and some of my LA colors that I picked up at various Ross’ and Dollar Tree stores. I probably can get rid of some of my Sinful Color nail polishes, because there really isn’t anything unique about a lot of the colors from that collection, and I’m not really married to the idea of picking up any more of them. They tend to release new collections that are basically the same fucking polish they released before, but they just add another name to it. I don’t like that. So … the more I think of it, the more I probably will just get rid of those. I’ll peak at them tomorrow and see if I start to cry at the thought of saying goodbye to them or not.

Where was I?

yeah – so my father has no idea. And he was talking about possibly selling these racks to suppliers and collectors. Cuz it’s an awesome rack (why do I feel like a guy describing some chick’s tits every time I say “rack”?). But he probably will sell it for $200. And I told him that was too much. He needs to make a cheaper one. And he told me that anyone who spends 5 bucks on a bottle of polish can afford to spend $200 bucks on a cool rack to show their collection off. I wanted to tell him I’d prefer to go to target and buy a plastic container, shove my polishes in there, and take the other 190 bucks and buy fingernail polish! But he wouldn’t understand. And he’d probably commit me.

That’s the only thing on my mind, currently. How my father will one day see what his daughter spends her money on and wonder where he went wrong. And I’ll tell him I’m sorry I disappointed him and didn’t become a missionary in Africa like he wanted. But things could always be worse. I could be spending all my money on drugs. Or shoes.

Apparently our beloved Southern Belle admitted to having diabetes only because she’s the new spokesperson for this new wonder drug that helps control diabetes so you can continue eating food like… well, like Paula Deen cooks. Again I have to say – Who the f*ck cares. Apparently I do, because this is my second blog about it. So let me just write my final post about this and then go on to something more interesting – like Demi Moore going into to rehab and Seal and Heidi Klum breaking up. Or sex. Maybe I should just stick to sex.

This is the thing – No one should look at television as some moral road map for good eating, good relationships, good anything – except for entertainment, and barely that! Paula Deen should not be cooking for anything other than decadent people who don’t give a flying tootsie roll what goes into their mouths and the food network. Last I saw, there weren’t a whole lot of people cooking healthy on that show. That whole network is one big food orgy, isn’t it? So Paula wants to get money sponsoring a drug for diabetes while peddling fried twinkies and bacon wrapped hamburgers and sides of french fries and oreo caramel chocolate shakes. How is that any different than movie stars peddling cigarettes in movies and sluts selling beer while washing your BMW and anorexic models dropping dead on runways but preaching about diet pills or the latest diet? Why is Paula Deen any different than any other hypocrite out there and why are we so surprised. Were we looking to her for salvation and she sold our soul to the Devil of Chocolate Cake… I don’t get it.

Stepping off my soap box now.

I’ll post earlier tomorrow because I go out singing tomorrow and have writing group Thursday evening. Looks like the next few nights will be late nights. I’ll try to stay logged in through tomorrow morning, but I’m not promising I’ll actually hear you should you call in the early mornings…though I did talk to a few of you horny bad boys early this morning! Nothing beats being ravished in the early morning by some of you before you go to work. You always leave me happy and pleasantly exhausted!

Speak soon. Oh, and lay off the sugar and butter. Unless you’re licking it off of me, in which case – have seconds!

I saw this little “blurb” about a woman having two vaginas and I didn’t even really read it. That’s how disturbed I was by it. But I’m going to google it now, and give you my first impressions/reactions. Here we go. Women with two vaginas.

• According to google, there are plenty of woman who have two vaginas (vagini? vaginay?). Tyra Banks spoke with 5 such women in 2010. Wow, Tyra. You go girl. With your bad kinky multi vagina talkin self!
• The latest woman afflicted with multivaginaitis is named Hazel. Hazel? I dunno, a woman with 2 vaginas shouldn’t be named Hazel. She should be named something sexy like…Shanna. or… Victoria. or…PussyGalore.
• Hazel Jones…she sounds like she lives next door!…apparently has been approached by several adult film producers, one who offered to pay her 1 million dollars. Good for you, Hazel. The things they will probably do to your 2 vaginas warrants much more than 1 million dollars!!
• Let’s think about this seriously for a moment. She has 2 vaginas. 2 cervixes. 2 uterus’. (uteri? uteruseses) which means she can have 2 times of the month, she can lose her virginity twice. And, if she’s having sex and a guy says “oops. wrong hole…” she can’t dismiss it as a guy trying to “slip one by her”! Poor Hazel.

So what do you think? Does the thought of Ms. Hazel’s two Vagini make you horny?

I’m logged in for the next couple of hours. Feeling MUCH better, so give me a call! You’ll be glad you did.

Does this count as a post?

I will talk to you soon. And I’m going to log in. Sporadically. I don’t want to moan in your ear. I could pass it off as ecstasy though, right? Hmmm. We’ll play it by ear.

But hey – I STILL posted. See?

Before I forget… I’m thinking about having a special word for the day that if mentioned will grant you a special present from me. What do you think? I know I don’t have to bribe you all with things, and I know that my blogging like a maniac is pretty much the best present EVA (haha!) but I just think it would be cool. And it would be a cool game that wouldn’t stretch my brain too much. And it’s not something I have to really keep track of like my other loser ideas that I had but never did for long.

And, I’m not sure how many of you know this, but… You can comment in my comment section. I like interaction. I know some of you might be intimidated, because there are some mean people that come into my comments sometimes (*ahem*TIFFY*ahem*) but I do a good job of moderating stuff, and I have pepper spray.

Oh my gosh! My clock on this blog says it’s 11:01:59 PM. It’s really 10:02PM PST. That means I ALMOST missed out on a blog post tonight. Cuz I was going to wait a little bit longer. Whew! That was close.

Gonna go moan a little… I’ll really try to log on and hang in there for a bit. Forgive me if it doesn’t work for tonight. I’ll be better tomorrow, okay? Please forgive me? Pretty please with whipped yummy cream on top…

So today, so far, I’ve made it. I’m one day strong. 1/40. In case you were curious.

I noticed a few people tried to call me the last few days. I’ll be sending you all out a few vouchers for some minutes by tomorrow.

Gotta go and write before my group this evening. Yes, I’m going to group tonight. But I will log in this evening. Probably close to midnight so I’ll miss some of you early to bed-ers (Michael, Sarah Nanette) BUT – tomorrow evening will be an earlier one. As will Monday and Tuesday evenings. Creating a current schedule is on my list of things to do. Hey! No eye rolls. I’ve managed to blog 3 days in a row. Well, I blogged twice on one day, so I guess that’s not technically accurate. But it’s still impressive, yes? And entertaining? Talk soon!

So I just announced on twitter that I’ll be doing something for 40 days straight. I already want to quit and I haven’t even lasted a day yet. Don’t ask me why 40 came to mind, it just sounded like a nice number. We’ll see how it goes, but I’ll probably do 40 more after a little bit of a break. You all can feel free to guess what I might be doing for 40 days straight. Masturbating? Math? Mayhem? Abstinence? Aerobics? Anal? Had to throw some sexual things in there to keep your interest.

I’m not sure if this is the time or place to mention this, but … (I pretty much know it’s not the right time, but I lost track of my censor 4 hours ago when I should have been asleep. In its place is this now grouchy no filter bitch. My apologies. Before I go there though – Merry Christmas! How were your Holidays?)

My callers have spoiled me. I’ve been on line now for … a few weeks (I AM only 18, you know!) and in that time I’ve acquired some pretty special callers. Namely 2. Ok, 3. And those 3 callers have spoiled me rotten. They usually ask me how I am doing. They always introduce themselves to me, even though I know their voices by heart, they know my secret kinks and collect them in little journals under their pillows, eager to expose me should our relationship take a turn for the worst. I kid. But they do know my secrets. They always say hello – and most of the time say goodbye (some of us have an understanding, unspoken, that should they get cut off during the happy ending, they don’t need to add time to say goodbye. Come on, that would just be silly!). Some of my newer callers lately have found themselves on the other side of my block button. And I NEVER block. But if you happen to be reading this, and you can’t get through to your favorite teen anymore (and really, if you’re reading this, you haven’t been blocked. You know how that goes; the people that need to hear things don’t, and the ones who don’t need to hear all of this will call me, worried that I’m upset with them when they are the “3″ I spoke of earlier. Ok, it’s more like 20. 20 regulars), then more than likely you’ve done one of the following, or in many cases, a combination of 2-3 of these things:

1. Hung up on me after 2 minutes – leaving me to wonder, “Was it something I said?”
2. Called and demanded, quite rudely, that I moan for you, with no “lead up” or introduction. While I realize I work for a service, and you are a customer, you would never walk into a classy restaurant, seat yourself, pat your belly and order the waitperson to give you “some food” with out specifying what you’d like. Ok, maybe you might, but then you might also enjoy people spitting in your food, as I’m sure they would if you ever did something like that in a restaurant
3. Called and said nothing, or whispered so low I couldn’t understand a word you were saying

Now, so this post isn’t totally negative and bitchy, let me explain a few things that will make our calls pleasant for both of us, keeping you off my blocked list.

1. Introduce yourself. Contrary to popular belief, I can not see who is calling me. Your user name does not come up on the screen, so I really don’t know who you are, unless you call frequently – and even then, sometimes it takes me a minute to register who you are. I know. Unforgivable and ego-deflating. By introducing yourself to me, however, I usually can figure out what you like and immediately go into the role play, eliminating potentially awkward moments when you try to tell me how pink ruffled panties draped over your face while watching Happy Days turns you on. Or whatever.
2. Note I said usually. Sometimes I don’t remember callers from week to week. I get a lot of calls, and sometimes just hearing a name doesn’t register with me what kinds of calls we do together. If you’re a regular of mine, then I usually know you and your fantasies right away, but if you’re fairly new to me and we only speak sporadically, then please forgive me when I ask you what we talked about last time.
3. If you keep in mind a few favorite fantasies of mine, that would be going above and beyond the call of duty. But if you want a really great call with me, just mention a babysitter movie you’ve seen lately, or ask me if I’ve gone to confession. ESPECIALLY if you want me to moan or if you want me to be horny. Just hearing the phone ring doesn’t do it for me (I know, I know. So disappointing!). I don’t typically sit around and watch dirty movies and play with myself. When I do, you all are asleep. Trust me. (I just watched a really hot movie 30 minutes ago and none of you called and asked me if I was horny!)
4. I am well known for my realistic fantasies and role plays. So, please feel free to send me an email and let me know ahead of time what you’re looking for and if I’ll indulge you in the fantasy. Anything really does go. Most of the time. Even if there’s something that I won’t do, I will never make you feel horrible for suggesting it. Ask around (okay – you can’t ask…just read my feedback!) I’m pretty open minded and I have a few nasty things running amuck in my head, too. I will never judge you. There just might be some things I seriously can’t get excited about. I’ve only ran across ONE call in the past …um … 3 months I’ve been working as a phone sex operator (haha!) that I’ve had to decline. If you email me and call me to let me know to read the email before you call back, I’ll totally comp you that 1 minute it took to tell me to read my email.

I think that just about covers it.

I’m still not sleepy.

I hope this didn’t come across as bitchy/whiny/or complaining too much. I’ve just noticed myself getting a bit grumpy lately, and thought it might be wise for me to get this off of my 34B chest. Before things got ugly.
I’ll write a properly nice post later. I know you don’t believe me, since it’s been months since my last post. So, won’t you be surprised when there actually is another post and I’m more pleasant?

I’m up until I fall asleep. If you call and I see I’ve missed your call (there are ways to tell, you know. Niteflirt totally documents all my missed calls!), then I will comp you a few minutes for your trouble. I did something similar for a while last year as encouragement for you all to call. I realize it can be quite disappointing when your cock is in your hand and your favorite teen with braces isn’t picking up her damn phone. What a rude, insolent girl!

Talk soon my cuppy cake yum yum apples of my eye!

But I wanted to update everyone on the goings on of CeCe. I’m going to let you all in on a secret – but I am not looking for sympathy. Really. It’s just a heads up type of thing.

First week of classes kicked my ass. Turns out taking 5 classes (mostly literature) is pretty dang difficult. But REALLY fun. I mean REALLY fun. I’m having a wonderful time. Most of my classes are flowing into the other and I feel like I’m finally getting the whole college experience. There’s been several moments where I have been seriously ELATED to be learning. And I read some really incredible text – that was really difficult to read on a whole comprehension level, you know? And I aced my first quiz and could have written an A paper on everything I had read. I just “got” it. It all started to make sense. All the history and literature classes and PHILOSOPHY classes and Political Science classes – all those classes finally met at one point this semester and it’s like the planets all aligned. I don’t know if I’m making sense but it’s a great feeling to be able to use all this learnin’.

The result is – I’m still trying to figure out where study time goes and where play time goes. I figure it might be another week before I can put up a schedule. I know I haven’t had an up to date one since I was 18 (she says tongue in cheek).

This is what I’m going to do in the meantime: I’m going to log in when I get a chance. I don’t know how long I will last – but I will be sending you free minutes if I miss a call. and don’t go fibbing because I get a report of who calls and who doesn’t answer! So please don’t hesitate to call if you see me on. If I don’t answer I’m probably drooling on my pillow, in class and forgot to turn off my phone line, grabbing a quick bite to eat or something like that. Again – if I miss your call I WILL send you a couple of minutes for next time as an incentive to try me again the next time I’m on.

I got to lay down for a bit. This up at 7 and to bed at 2:00AM is beginning to take a toll on my eyes! But tomorrow today is my last day before the weekend so it’s going to be PARTY PLAY TIME at CeCe’s for sure, though!

Hope to talk/play soon!

I know that I have not been around for years. Or a year. It’s been a hell of a long time. But I made a pact with myself. I’m not going to tell you what that pact is. Because as many of you know, I often make pacts with myself, others, and occasionally the devil, and I very rarely keep those pacts which explains why I have currently have no soul and my first 3 children will be Satan’s. I kid. Sort of.

So here we are again. I’ve missed you. And, oddly enough, I’ve missed this blog. It’s always been a bit of an outlet for me. But sometimes, when I put enough unneeded pressure on myself, it becomes a chore. And then I avoid it. Or, enough time goes by and I forget how cathartic it is to write and then pretty soon it’s been a year. Or, I find myself being extremely negative and really outlandishly rude and debbie downer-ish and can’t stand the words coming from my fingers and make a vow to only write when I’m feeling more positive and pretty soon a year has gone by. It’s amazing how fast time goes by. And it’s just not when you’re old, young people often feel the blur of the seasons, too. We’re just in denial, drunk, or preoccupied on other things and don’t mention it. In my literature class 2 semesters ago I came across a lovely quote: Optima dies . . . prima fugit — “The best days are the first to flew”. Yeah. I’m still trying to grasp the full meaning of that, too. Bonus points if you know which novel has this quote as its epigraph.

The past few months – ok…the past year has been filled with many things obsessive. Many of you probably already are familiar with my obsession with all things cosmetic. I kind of OD’d a bit on the whole make up thing, although I will willingly take any Inglot palettes anyone wishes to donate to the cause. I sort of found myself in a nail polish flurry the past few months where I found my modest collection of 20 nail polishes proliferate into a collection of just about at last count 600. A few days ago I stumbled onto a new obsession.

I’m not exactly sure how it happens – these fetishes. I find it insightful, alluring, entertaining, intriguing, …. to ask my callers at times where a particular “like” came from. It seems obvious for some things – a panty fetish is revealed to be connected to first seeing panties and instantly sprouting a hard on connecting the two things together in fantasy matrimony till death do you part. Other things a bit more complex. Balloon popping? Gas Pedals? asphyxiation? I can connect every thing I’ve wanted to collect into a single solitary moment, suspended in my mind by pleasure seeking threads. When I was quite young I remember having dreams of colored tights in my dresser. Every night I would go to bed and dream of them – pink, yellow, blue, every color of the rainbow. I would wake, run to my dresser, and to my disappointment find that my dreams never came true. When I see make up in rainbow color order I feel powerless. I need to have every color, regardless if it’s in my right color group or not. If I start collecting a specific brand of nail polish, I have to have ROYGBIV colors first before embarking on the other glitters and other spectrums of colors. It’s a rule – one that my friends find amusing but that I find a bit like being in a self inflicted expensive prison.

A few days ago I remembered playing on a friend’s typewriter she had “inherited” from her grandfather. It was a big, clunky black heavy thing – and we would hunt and peck out silly words on pieces of white construction paper, not knowing any better. When a mistake was made we would backspace backspace backspace and x, x, x over the offending word or words and then start over. Our typed words became a sort of distressed piece of art I suppose, but to us it was just a funny, old thing that smelled like mold, that would make funny click clack ding noises that we would play on. Until a few days ago.

In my creative writing class we had to come up with an author we wanted to study and then we were to research him or her and write like them. I picked, of course, Carrie Bradshaw. She wrote on a MAC lap top in front of her window of her New York Brownstone Apartment. And she wrote about sex. It really was a no brainer. But I still looked up other author’s I admired – real authors – not figments of the author’s imagination, as Carrie Bradshaw is to Candace Bushnell. Some wrote long hand on yellow legal pads (Toni Morrison). Some wrote on their computers and others, like Hemmingway, Burroughs, Plath, wrote their masterpieces on manual typewriters.

And so the search has begun. I’m determined to find a manual typewriter. Perhaps a Remington. This one has colored glass keys. She’s lovely!

Or maybe a Royal.

There is, for me at least, the holy grail which is the Hermes 3000, a mint green manual typewriter, rumored to type like a dream.
.
I’d like a few electric typewriters from the 60′s or 70′s, too. Something that might sit on the desk in the office of Madmen, perhaps.

I have no desire to have a typewriter that doesn’t function. I don’t want it to be for looks. I want to use it. I want to hear it. I want to smell it. So there you have it. You’re the first to know of this new collection that I have been drawn to. A door in to my newest fetish. I figured I’d invite you in, as many of you have invited me in through your front doors to your fetishes through out the years. Take your shoes off. Stay a bit. Let’s talk of the best days. Before they flee.