I hate to be the one to do it, but for the sake of all phone sex operators/entertainers/fantasy enhances/(insert own personal choice of titles here) – it needs to be said. 

*ahem*

Just because a woman CAN have multiple orgasms, does NOT mean that she wants to have 20.  To be more specific, just because this woman can have multiple orgasms, does NOT mean that I am comfortable having 5.  To make this easier to digest, I will break down my argument into 3 main issues: Energy, Pleasure, and Pain.  I think that about covers the topics.  Although there may be more, these are the ones top on my list.

1. Energy.
1. Cumming takes energy.
2. Energy requires energy.
3. When a person creates energy by putting forth energy, exhaustion will occur. 
4. Successive orgasms with no recovery time while pretty in movies and intriguing by men who are largely unable to achieve multiple orgasms, is exhausting.
2. Pleasure.
1. Pleasure feels good.
2. When a man can make a woman feel good, it will result in the man feeling a certain amount of pleasure.
3. Unless he’s a selfish ass and then he’s probably not reading this because he’s never made a woman cum out of his own self centered need to achieve an orgasm as quickly as possible so he can roll over and go to bed.
4. You can actually get too much of a good thing.
5. I realized this when I ate 1/4 pound of peach candies in one sitting.
6. the first 20 pieces were delicious, and then it just got painful.
7. a few orgasms is lovely, but after 5 or 6 orgasms, discomfort will be a result. This is especially true if one is using the Hitachi Wand.
8. Energy creates heat (See Einstein’s whole theory on relativity).
9. A clitoris bursting into flames could be the result of too much of a good thing turned very bad and, I’m guessing, this would be extremely unpleasant.
3. Pain.
1. Have you ever had an itch in the middle of your back that you couldn’t reach?
2. Then you find the right stick (or fork or fingernails of a friend, parent or lover)  and you ask them to scratch your itch for you…
3. And at first you just move around like some cat in heat because it feels so fucking good.
4. But then they just stay on that one spot, and they start to go harder and you try to move away from them…
5. But they are kind of dense, and they keep up with it until finally your itch is gone, and in its place is a hole where your back use to be?
6. Yeah.  I believe I’ve made my point.

So dear caller.  I love the fact that “you” delight in my orgasms.  When I tell you that I’m cumming, please take pleasure in knowing you are responsible for the great response (well, and Hitachi wand, of course!) If you want me to have a second – ask me if I’m ready or if I need a bit of a break.  I will tell you honestly how it is.  When I say something like … “ouchie” – that usually means that smoke is beginning to come off of my clit and I need a bit of a break.  I’m not being cute.  If you wonder if I’ve reached orgasm (sometimes I have to be a bit quiet…sorry – sucks living at home!), please don’t hesitate to ask me.  If you need me to tell you “I’m cumming” – I will be more than willing to do so.  Please – for the love of my clitoris and all that is holy, when I tell you I can not cum anymore, don’t consider that a challenge.  It’s not.  I mean I. CAN. NOT. PHYSICALLY. CUM. ANYMORE. WITH OUT. DOING. DAMAGE. TO. MY. WOMANHOOD! 

This blog post is my own personal opinion and I do not intend to speak for every other woman in the entire universe.  The specific details may be different (maybe SarahICanCumFiftyTimeswhileSquirting can cum 50 times with out setting her clit on fire…) but I assure you that all women do have limits on how many times they are able to cum with out experiencing discomfort.  The clit, like the penis, becomes very sensitive after arousal and should be handled with care.  Thank you and goodnight.

About a week ago I decided I needed a new adventure. Maybe it’s my ADD – maybe it’s avoidance. Maybe it’s that I still haven’t quite kicked my smoking habit as much as I’d like and I need to do something with all this inner ‘teenage’ angst I have. Who knows. Maybe it was a moment of insanity that made me google training for your first 5. Now even though I’m athletic (I’ve sprinted before – short distances, mostly, played softball, danced (not THAT KIND!) – and been a gym rat as of late) so this running more than a minute thing is SERIOUSLY a challenge for me. I’m definitely not a couch potato, but the thought of heavy breathing (why do all my posts take on a sexual vibe?) and sweating doesn’t exactly appeal to me. At least not when I’m alone in the elements first thing in the morning while running.

So I started this whole training project. And this coming week I’ll be on week 2. Ill be running a total of 2 minutes by the end of this week, I think. Supposedly at this rate – in 8 weeks I’ll be running 30 minutes non stop , which “they” say is a 5k. I think I’ll have to run 45 minutes straight to go that distance. I am not running fast enough to do a 10 minute mile. 3 miles is 5 kilometers, right? Damn American school system. Haven’t we been trying to move over to the metric system for the past 50 years now? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just do it already instead of giving us water bottles with liters and telling us how many cm something is next to the inches to avoid confusion. They tell us it’s easy – easier than the American system of units, yet the only people who are using the metric system are doctors and scientists. The smart people, basically. But I digress.

Running is hard. Anyone who runs has my complete attention and then a healthy dollop of respect on the side. People who run past me as I crawl along on my 20 minute mile are impressive. Their leg muscles inspire me and their even breath as they actually say hello to me as they pass is impressive beyond words. If I look in your direction as I’m “running” by you, consider yourself lucky. Half of the time I can’t see through the pain.

I’m exaggerating.

Slightly.

The thing is, I kinda like the challenge. I like running and knowing that whatever is inside of me – any fear or anxiety or worry or whatever, leaves my body because struggling for air and longing for my next breath takes precedent over any emotional trouble I might be feeling at the moment. I like the feeling when I forget the task of running and I look up and see squirrels running up trees, and flowers crawling slowly up someone’s white picket fence, and the fat Morris the Cat body double that lies in the middle of the path every Wednesday morning at about the same time every day as I gasp by. I love how at the end I’m always amazed at what I’ve accomplished. I like how strong I feel I am at that moment, and how my sweat catches up to me all of a sudden — like – “whoa! I’m hot!” flood of sweat that literally drips off my body in rivers of varying size and shape.

I wouldn’t say I’m addicted. Yet. But I’m fast on my way. I wouldn’t say it’s my drug of choice in making myself feel better, but it’s definitely in the top 5. I wouldn’t say I believe this whole process will work and in 8 weeks I’ll be running 30 minutes straight, but I’m definitely willing to try.

What do I have to lose?

I don’t blame you if you don’t. Yes, it’s me, CeCe, signing in after MANY months. And though I know it would entertain you to hear all the excuses I could muster up, I’m just gonna stick with the boring details: I was knee deep in Algebra. yup. I was in math hell for many months and just as soon as I could get my head above water, that’s when the bridge would break and I’d be over my head in mathematical problems all over again. I was barely logged in, and when I was I was often times distracted or called away from business to tackle yet another ruthless word problem. This is the time that you should all start playing violins for me. Thank you.

So now I have a month off from school and I have ever intention of catching up on some things around here. Things are starting (finally) to look up around here, and I am proud to have not given in to the panic that surrounded me. I guess the paid mails are even working fine as of late. See? Patience IS a virtue!

Some of you remembered my birthday and thank you, but I’ve stopped celebrating them. If you call me, you’ll notice that I’m 19 again. I figure it’s a good year, and that way no one has to wonder why a 20 somethin’ year old is still going under “teenwetdream”. It will be our little secret. I still have my braces on, so as far as I’m concerned, I still look like a teen, and well, I’m still fighting to keep myself well with in your dreams. Yeah, I’m still corny.

So this is really just a quick update. If I make it too long it will be another 2 months before I post it. It is Monday, the 28th of December, and I will be logging in around 8:00PM this evening (that’s California Pacific time) and staying logged in until I can’t keep my eyes open. You should call me and say hi, if you haven’t had the chance. I definitely look forward to reconnecting with some of you AND meeting new and kinky/interesting men, too! Thank you for your patience these past few months, not only with niteflirt’s issues, but with my school schedule and stuff. I’m back. I promise.

As much as I try to make this blog not about teenage angst (specially since I’m not one anymore!), angst always finds its way onto my page. Can i just say that I am working on a lot of things — niteflirt and my schedule have definitely taken a back seat for a moment. But tonight I will be attempting a work schedule. I may write about my growth spurt in a private entry somewhere. I’m not sure. I may just write it in my diary (personal) in the old fashioned way, and leave this blog for more important, less chaotic, more mature posts. For a change.

I just wanted to let the ones who read my ramblings know that I am still here. A little bruised on the inside, a bit reflective, a bit perplexed by love — but still here. Still CeCe. Still me. I will write more soon.

I believe that there are still a few of you who have read me long enough to remember the house sitting gig I had a few years ago. I was hired by a woman who I had met at a gym I worked at. The stay was lovely. I was away from my family and all craziness for like 4 nights, and I got to sleep with the most adorable poodle mix puppy ever (he was the final straw — I wanted a small doggy after that). There was the greatest pool (with stone and waterfalls in 2 different levels) in the backyard the size of a park – surrounded by the prettiest stone patio. Her house was filled with wooden elephants , and she had this carousel horse that she had repainted in the middle of her living room. Her house smelled like lemon root oil defuser stuff and cigarettes. She lit cigarettes off of the other, and it didn’t bother me, because I had just quit and decided that smelling cigarettes was just about as good as having one. When she left, I found the carton of cigarettes in the refrigerator, and convincing myself that I could just have “one little one by the pool outside”. I suddenly – in one puff – started to smoke again. I literally removed the nicotine patch from my body so that I could enjoy the cigarette more, which doesn’t sound so strange to smokers, probably, but sounds incredibly sick to me now in retrospect. By the time she had returned home I had shared the joy of lighting one cigarette after another, and another, and another – and 4 packs later I was pretty much back on the “saddle” again.

She never had children. Had been divorced, and worked only to afford the vacations she went on as often as she could. She was young at heart, filled with energy, and made me laugh often and loudly…the kind of laughter you might hear from me if you catch me off guard with a particularly funny joke. The kind of laugh that echos – comes out with a loud blast of HA! followed by maniacal giggles. She had a sense of humor as dry as toast, and would say something with such a straight face that I would have to search in her eyes for a twinkle to know if she were kidding or not. She had a convertible – that she often drove with the top down. It was shiny and well taken care of. She was the kind of older woman you would want as a grandmother. She was hip. Cool. Funny. Sharp. Energetic. Pretty. Alive from her head to her toes – and insisted on everyone around her being the same way. And she embraced me, as most of the older women at the gym did those days. Always asked me about school. Always wanted to know how I was doing. Always managed to make me smile. She delighted in me in much the same way I delighted in her. So when I heard years later that she had full blown lung cancer, I couldn’t quite believe it. Inside of me I refused to see her as sick, so I never visited her. I said that I would, but I never picked up the phone to call. I stood by while a mutual friend called to check in on her, and I cried when I thought about how terribly unfair it was to be addicted to something that could eat you up inside – literally – but I never went to see her. I heard she was doing better a few months ago.

But a few hours ago, I was notified that she was dead.

So while I could go on and on in true CeCe fashion about how horrible it feels to not have paid my respects to her while she was living, and how even though I know she knows what is in my heart, it still would have done a world of good (wouldn’t it?) to have told her while she was living that she was important and would be missed. Trust me – I could write 5 blog entries about that. A caller of mine has adopted me into the Jewish Family — and I’m pretty sure with my Christian background and now Jewish indoctrination that I can wallow in guilt and remorse for at least as long as “we” wandered around in the wilderness eating manna. But that doesn’t make for great blogging. Or maybe it does. But I’m not in the mood for all of that.

What I’m in the mood for is something I thought I would never do as a new “ex” smoker (1 year ago March!). I’m going to lecture and nag everyone I know who smokes. I’m going to nag so hard you’ll wonder what the hell got into me. I’m going to nag so hard that callers of mine who DO smoke will either quit immediately, call someone else in fear that i will smell smoke on them and lecture them at 1.85/minute, or make a pledge to never tell me they do if they do. I’m going to nag my friends to stop smoking. I’m going to nag the person next to me smoking in the car with a kid in the back seat. I’m going to nag the people at my gym who promote health and well being, but then step outside and smoke on their breaks. I’m going to be THAT ex smoker people can’t stand. And I’m going to enjoy every fuckin’ minute of it.

I’m horrible at goodbyes. As I’ve proven in the above story with a fairly good friend of mine. More than acquaintance, got christmas presents from her one year, but lost touch when I left the gym she worked out at kind of friend. So imagine how I’d be if one of YOU were to die. And before you say something smart like “But CeCe … how would you know…” I’ll just say – I have my ways of figuring it out. There’s a network some of you have no clue about (half joking). Ok – mostly 100 percent joking. I wouldn’t know. But suddenly you wouldn’t be sending me notes on NF, leaving me comments, or calling. And I would wonder – and your presence WOULD be missed. And if you told me you were sick – I wouldn’t be able to handle it much better than I did in my friend’s case. And not saying goodbye to someone who is sick and dying really puts a damper on things so I would be a bit fucked up for days. And since all things lead back to me (lol) – don’t do that to me. You know what I’m trying to say. So since I’m bad at goodbyes – I’m pledging to do as much as I can so that people I love and care about won’t die at their own hands.

So here we go. Here are some reasons why you probably don’t wanna continue smoking (if you do). If you aren’t a smoker, feel free to skip over this part – or pass it along to someone who is a smoker and join me in being a nag. Embrace your inner nag. You know you wanna.

IF DYING DOESN’T SCARE YOU…MAYBE THIS WILL:

• Smoking speeds up mental decline. You heard me. Or maybe you didn’t. If you smoke – chances are you’ll not remember where you put your cigarettes or ashtray or lighter. You won’t remember where you put your dentures either, and will probably forget that you left the stove on. You’re dangerous at this point of mental decline, and will be hospitalized, where you’ll have to endure all the great things that old people who can’t remember who they are endure. Not fun.
• Smoking increases your chances of having lupus. Lupus isn’t fun. It hurts. You’re in pain a lot and there is nothing you can do about it. Except to light up another cigarette. If only you could remember where you put them — and if only you could get up and move your pain ridden body.
• SID Syndrome … you know that horrible disease that takes the lives of innocent little babies? Well guess what? All that smoke you’re inhaling (if you’re a woman and expecting) or exhaling into the air so the mother of your unborn child can inhale, is increasing the risk of your child dying of SID. So not cool.
• Oh, and if your baby doesn’t die, you will wish YOU could, because smoking has also been led to Colic. Your baby is going to HATE life as much as you are going to hate life and will let you know every minute of his/her existence for months. No Hush Little Baby for you!
• But you may not have to worry about the last 2 issues, because smoking also makes your dick limp. Oh yes it does. A recent study showed that a man who smoked about a pack of cigarettes a day had 60 percent chance of penile disfunction. And we all know what that is, don’t we?
• As if not being able to get hard is painful enough — there’s more. Did you know that men who smoke are 4 times more likely to suffer from a disease called macular degeneration? What is that? Glad you asked. Basically it’s a degeneration in part of your brain that causes blindness. This will probably come in handy though, because if you can’t get hard, you certainly don’t want to be able to look at porn, right?
• Acid Reflux, Arthritis, Breast Cancer (men get it too), Depression and thyroid disease. Just a few more reasons to stop smoking — in case lung cancer and cardio vascular disease doesn’t scare you enough to quit.

There are many more reasons to quit smoking other than the most obvious one (me – duh!). As crappy as things get sometimes, is that one cigarette worth shortening the time you have here on this earth as a valuable member of society, as a friend, father, mother, son, daughter, client, boss, etc? If you can’t quit for yourself yet, then find someone who is worth quitting for until you get some sense knocked into you. Please. It’s really not worth it.

If anyone would like some information/tips on how to quit, let me know. I have some tricks up my sleeves (and some websites and resources). There are several relays going on so if anyone would like to donate either their time, energy, or make a donation to the American Cancer Society, you’ll have more than enough opportunities to do so. I’m planning on walking this year (preferably with out the spiked coffee!) at a relay. It’s an eye opening experience being around family members and survivors of cancer.

Anywho – thank you for listening to me rant. As you can imagine, it’s been a pretty emotional last few hours for me, and I just needed a place to unload it for a bit. I don’t believe in people doing things because they are “scared” into it for the most part. But I think that when I smoked, I really was in a lot of denial about what I was doing to my body, and to the body and lungs of those around me. I think if I had really stopped to think about what I was doing, I would have stopped earlier. I’m just hoping that a little bit of knowledge will go a long way.

It’s time to open our eyes.