“I saw a book for you the other day.”

“I love books!”

“And you would have loved this one.”

I could practically hear the laughter in his voice. I became worried, but still asked,”What kind of book?”

“The Big Penis Book.”

I erupted into laughter. “What the hell?”

“Yeah. I felt a little inadequate even picking the book up.”

“You picked it up?”

“Yeah. Was kind of heavy. Of course I picked it up! It was begging me to pick it up.”

“So what was it? A book of ….”

“Big Penis’”

“You’re lying.”

“Nope. Actually I was thinking of buying it for you.”

“You made me choke just then.”

“Yeah well….”

“Stop it.”

“I don’t know where you would put it though…”

“Put what?”

“The book!” He said, sounding exasperated. “Focus, please.”

“How big is it?” Hopefully he realizes I’m talking about the book and not the items inside of the book.

“Oh, it’s pretty big. It kinda has to be to contain all the pictures of these large penis’” he said, not missing a beat.

“What is it? A coffee book table?”

“Yup.”

“Oh hell no!”

And so our conversation continued. Me growing curious about the big penis book and John Holmes becoming more and more uncomfortable discussing male anatomy by the minute.

A few weeks later I found myself in a Barnes and Noble Bookstore. I was in heaven in this particular Barnes and Noble. The store was about 4 stories high, and took up the whole corner of main street of the outside mall. Everywhere I looked there were people, books piled on their laps with the kind of ecstasy that only book lovers really understand. Where there were no chairs, people occupied corners and spread their good finds, starbuck coffee cups, and several hours too old pastries around them like a fortress. I have happy sighs for moments like these. Sometimes you’ll hear them after a satisfying orgasm, or if you’re lucky (?) enough to catch me sucking on some frozen pineapple tidbits. I. was. in. heaven. I settled in a chair on the 3rd level, close to the windows leading out to the patios that were of course filled to their capacity. I was close to the stairs, and occupied myself with watching people walking towards the various cashiers. Occasionally I would jot something down in my notebook – some observation or thought or something I wanted to write about later. My little notebook I carry around with me in my purse is a new thing I’m trying lately. It seems that I have these ideas and write things on napkins, church bulletins, or tell myself I’ll somehow remember. I never did. By the stair case there was a large wooden table with books displayed. Big books. Big coffee books that one might display to impress visitors. I never quite understood the need for such books. Once you saw all the pictures in them, didn’t the book just become one more thing to dust under? You had to really love the photography in the pictures to make room for such an obtrusive thing.

And then I saw it. The Big Penis Book. Displayed proudly on the landing of the 3rd floor. As people rounded the corner on their descent to the first floor you could practically hear the screeching of brakes. I noticed that the majority of the people who stopped and did a double take were men. They would walk by, looking over their shoulders carefully, and then look back at the penis book. If the coast was clear they would open the book quickly, flipping through the glossy pages of phallic delights, and then attempt to put the book back on the table with out anyone noticing. This last feat was difficult as the book was proudly displayed on an acrylic stand for all of humanity to see. Most of the lookie loos would place the book cover down on the table and walk away quickly. A few minutes later a clerk would come by to straighten up the table, pick up the book and place it back on the stand, and the cycle would begin again. From my vantage point it was easy to see the variety of men and women that stopped by the table. All shapes and sizes and colors, all turning various shades of embarrassment. I began to imagine what they must have been thinking as they opened up the book to see what defined “big”. I wondered if the men could be impressed slightly at the sheer magnitude of some of the penis’. I mean from the cover itself, the book looked like a Large Penis Extravaganza. There on the front of the Pepto Bismal pink book was a man donning only a pair of briefs, and his penis, somewhat flacid and reaching up to his belly button showing through the thin cotton material. I imagined the book to be the Dairy Queen of Pricks. Chocolate, Vanilla, Butterscotch Swirl…

Anyway — I don’t have the book. I’m satisfied to receive in my in box a P.P (Penis Pic) of the day. The buyer wishes to remain anonymous, not because he’s insecure about his own masculinity, but because copying pictures out of book violates some sort of copyright law I’m pretty sure, which also explains why I won’t be displaying any here. You can all breathe a sigh of relief.

It’s the force of the music as it drives through loud speakers.

It’s my eyes focused and almost not looking at the instructor who urges the class forward.

It’s the sound of exhausted grunts, pleading sighs, and faint "oh God’s" that respond to the request to turn up our tension.

Occasionally I scream — not a scream out of some horror flick but some "wooo hoooo!" sort of call to announce the adrenalin bursting out of the newly elated and overjoyed me.

There are towels beneath my bike soaking up the droplets of sweat pouring off of me – baptizing the floor.

At some point I become aware of the seat beneath me.  I squeeze the saddle with inner thighs while I climb Mount Everest, and the curve of the seat slaps against my buttocks reminding me that rest is going to come.

Sweat seems erotic during the hour.  It carves little paths along the most fit bikers in the class, outlining muscles and curves and dips.  It completely ruins hairdos; leaving pony tails limp and wet and plasters bangs against foreheads wrinkled in concentration and exertion.  I notice my own sweat – soaking through the neck of my T-shirt, slowly moving down the spine of my back to the waist band of my panties. down the thong occupied crack of my ass.  My thighs sweat, my arms sweat, my shins sweat. I’m wet.

When we’re allowed to peddle a bit and sit straight up in our saddles, I shift slightly and lean back so that the saddle doesn’t rub against my inner lips. I guzzle down water – tempted to pour it over me and shake my head back and forth like the guys do in the Just Do It commercials. 

Do you ever just want to fuck someone after you’re done at the gym, I ask  the only one I can.

"Hell, yes!" He replies with an excruciatingly silent "No Shit!". I breathe a sigh of relief. Sometimes I worry that I forcibly knit sex into every fiber of my life which yields some crappy, artificial penthouse letter blanket.

The truth is that during a particular groove filled song I lean a bit forward and rock a little back and forth and though I don’t cum – the feeling of the sudden burst of energy combined with the sweat and grunts and heat and music and throbbing and pushing and driven beats to the ultimate goal makes me feel like I could …

I just might …

I kind of would if it were at all possible to do with out falling from the platform onto the cold hard sweaty tile floor…

cum.

 

I don’t creatively write as much as I’d like…but tonight I felt inspired to put it into words in a way that even the most exercise weary person could get excited about.    Thank you for indulging me.  I’m going to bed but will be logging in tomorrow once again … probably a little bit in the afternoon and then I’ll come back on late at night.  I think I’ll even blog again (watches her readers faint one by one… lol!) and give an update of my week OTHER than the gym.  I know. It’s truly amazing and brings a tear to my eye, too! 

Have a great evening/morning/weekend!

I could use a massage.  A deep tissue – God I’m going to weep – Will you please marry me and father my children – Oh God It Hurts So Fuckin Good – Massage.  It has been a long time since I felt like this.  I get tired from working out at the gym – but I rarely get that deep sore feeling.  I feel it in my hips, butt, and muscles that I didn’t realize were even part of the anatomy of humans.  And I’m going back to spin tomorrow.

Listen, it’s not my fault.  I could stop if I wanted to.  I just don’t want to right now.  I was minding my own business when my cousin asked me if I was going to go to spin again tomorrow.  I suddenly thought to myself – wait a second – if I don’t go she’ll go and she’ll get the "burn" with out me and I’ll be jealous.  Before I could stop myself I said yes. And that, my friends, is the final step to my addiction.

Don’t worry.  I’ll be fine.  I’m more complaining just to complain and draw attention to the fact that I hurt.  But I signed up for it.  I knew that on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays I would be spinning and then about 7 hours later returning back to the scene of the crimes and having the nazi trainer kick my ass.  I knew this – and yet I continued on.  My reasoning?  I need to get cardio in somehow.  So why not?  Just a second, my arms are telling me the many reasons why not…

The good news is: I haven’t felt better.  I really have not.  I think since the moment I stopped smoking I have been funky inside.  Just feeling kind of blecky and not quite right.  I definitely feel a big difference and much more myself now after the gym. I know I get a bit obsessive about certain things and I’ll try to even things out a bit by next week, I promise.  I know I’m all jock heavy right now and you’re all wondering if I’m planning on beefing up and competing for the title of most outrageous muscles on a girl type contest.  I totally don’t want buff – I want the slight jiggle I gained when I stopped smoking to tone up under my arm right there.  I want the little back fat pocket right there to go away and never return.  I want a firmer ass and more toned arms. More than that, I want to be able to run on the treadmill one day just cuz I can, I want my endurance to carry me further than I thought it could.  I want to be able to fill my lungs up with air and not start coughing from asthma or left over tar in my getting pinker by the day lungs. I want to beat my trainer in planks on Friday.  Today I held mine for 1 minute 30 seconds.  My goal is 2 minutes. I’m gonna beat her ass and make her cry on Friday.  Yeah.  (no – there aren’t tickets available or audio quite yet…)

I just got done reading about cigarettes – and as much as I told myself I wouldn’t be one of those ex smokers who lectured people about smoking, I’m about to be. Yeah Yeah Yeah – I know your erection just took a nose dive – but seriously – nicotine makes your dick go limp quicker anyway – so those smokers who are reading this won’t mind the familiar.   This is all I’m going to say though about it.  I really liked smoking.  I wish I could do it and not get sick and have lungs that worked right and not increase my chances of cancer, but unfortunately I can’t.  So listen up all my callers that are smokers:  If you can honestly tell me that you’ll quit this year, I will give you a free relaxation mp3 that could (it hasn’t been tested so I’m not making any claims! lol) help you relax and refocus and not freak out.  I can (and Tiffy can, too – along with all the other clients I have who stopped smoking…) provide you with lots of information and cheer you on and give you incentives (like the dick that stays harder longer isn’t incentive enough???!!!). The thing is: I’m going to be that kind of ex smoker that everyone hates.  I’m going to be this cheer leader for going to the gym, working out at home, getting some exercise (to the best of your physical ability…) and quitting all those nasty little habits like cigarettes.  Masturbate instead.  I mean it.  Keep your hands busy.  If you are interested in joining the smokefree dreamers (I’ve lost my mind…) then email me on NF or at celinawetdreams at gmail dot com and I will send you a form to fill out (a friendly contract that will hold up in any court of CeCe!) and we will start our make over.  Your family will thank you — and I’m pretty sure it has something to do with global warming because EVERYTHING causes global warming!

That’s all I got for you today.  I’m exhausted and I have some things I still need to work on before I have to go to sleep and do this all over again tomorrow.  I’m taking a nap tomorrow though.  Fuck it.  My day off from the gym is Tuesday – and (sobs) Tuesday was just a few days ago which means I have a whole lotta pain to endure before my next break.  I will (I promise) log in tomorrow.  Probably afternoon.  I have to go to my writing class in the evening (remember?) so I won’t be logging in late that nite.  I WILL be logging in during the day on Friday because I have no social life basically and working out makes me horny.  It really does. I haven’t thought about fucking so much since I found the hitachi wand and named him.

Talk to you soon!

When I was a bit younger and a whole lot more innocent, I had a major crush on one of my older brother’s friends named …well, let’s just call him Tom Joel. He use to play the piano like … I can’t even think of a proper analogy.  He just played the piano extremely well.  Like EXTREMELY well.  He would sit and just listen to a song maybe once or twice, and then he would play it back like memorex. He use to play this one piano song (a Rag) by Billy Joel that amazed me. His fingers looked so good gliding across those keys.  *swoon*  Being a piano player myself, I quickly developed a crush on him like no other.  In order to impress him, I started to collect Billy Joel CD’s and quickly learn all the lyrics to every song I could.  I love you just the way you are (or whatever the actual title of that song is!) was one of my favorites.  "I hope you know that you will always be…the special someone that I knew…WHAT will it take till you believe in me – the way that I believe in you?"  LOL!  Classic, right?  Tell me a tear didn’t just slowly fall from your eye.

So this title came to me quite a few weeks ago and I didn’t get the chance to write about it.  But when another incident happened to remind me of that song, I knew that me writing a post called "Don’t Go Changin’" was inevitable. 

We all have taken… wait… let me rephrase that.

Most of us have painstakingly thought about our screen names.  Now that I’m 20 years old I realize I should have taken a little bit more care in choosing my name.  We all make mistakes.  But honestly — I know that most of you have screen names on NF that really MEAN something to you.  Sometimes you’re delighted when a flirt asks you about your name because your name is from a book you love, or a movie character you look up to, or the name of the street where you parked to get your first blow job from that chick you had a crush on or whatever.  The point is – names are special for the majority of you and I completely understand. Hell,  I completely agree.  A name is everything.  I have one "client"/friend/lovah who has my name as part of his screen name.  That is pretty much because, as I explained to him, he’s smart enough to make another name for himself should he ever wish to speak to someone else (LOL!).  It happened a very long time ago and it’s really way beyond even the confines of NF so I can’t even really discuss it that much because I start getting embarrassed and fidget and talk too much.  Let’s just say that it’s a one time deal and I have, since then, separated myself from the practice of informing anyone or suggesting that anyone be CeCe’s ANYTHING.  It’s just a bit too much attention for me, and as much as I am all out there and bold like floats during GAY PRIDE in West Hollywood, I am really actually very shy when it comes to affections.  So – don’t go changin’ – to try to please me.  I love your name just the way it…are.

The other day I was glancing through my customers when I see my name attached to a person’s name.  I recognized this person’s name from an order he had placed with me.  Nice fellow.  I rather liked him.  I don’t think ill of him and I wish him well (wink).  He had found someone on NF that … floated his boat, let’s say, and he changed his name to suit his preference which meant that the names on my customer list and feedbacks changed to reflect his newest devotions.  Again – no biggie.  I am not available enough to claim anyone’s loyalty.  And when nature calls us we must answer the call by any means necessary.  I get that.  I am honestly not insulted.  But there is a slight rumor, I think, that is going around the halls of NF that this type of devotion is what some of us ladies love.  A few more of my feelings on using my name as your moniker:

• You can call yourself Tatu, or even Jesus if you’d like.  Just get on the phone and give me a call and have a great time.  You can name yourself MarysJesus if need be – you’re giving me a call and that is what matters to me at that moment. 
• I don’t impress easily.  Tattoo my name on your body and I might be!
• Nothing says devotion like a few dozen roses in her favorite color (I love pink)
• Nothing says devotion like a few gifts off a wish list (I’m thinking that purple Ipod Shuffle needs to be mine).

I believe I’ve made my point.

Earlier today I get an email asking me to break some major rule on NF, and the individual has changed his name to include a part of mine.  As if I’m going to look at that sign of "devotion" and think – hell yeah.  Anything for you, "cece"dude.  It takes seconds to change your name to reflect my name in it, but it takes many days and hours of devotion to earn a place in my heart. It’s far more important to find a place in my heart.    So please.  I beg of you.  Listen to what Billy Joel is saying (WWBJD?) and don’t go changing to try to please me.  I love your name just the way it … are. 

Before I leave you and … pass out, I think.  (looks at time… maybe I can hang for a few more hours….) I need to make a public service announcement in regards to my blog and the comments held with in.  The comments do not in any way reflect the opinions of this chick (points to self).  The comments on my blog (the replies I’m talkin ‘ about) are the individual’s thoughts and as such, I will not be held accountable for anything that anyone says in my blog – and I will not um … how do I say it… ?  If they claim somethin and it turns out to be false… sowwy.  Not my fault either.  (just put it in lawyer speak to make it sound fancier if you’d like).   I say all of this because it has come to my attention that there are people who are afraid to comment in my blog after reading some of the exchanges between readers and myself – or readers and innocent bystanders/commenters.  Many have been bullied by a nazi named Rolf, and  a few have been befriended (Nazis need love, too!).  Some have gotten through the wrath of many of my more adoring ‘fans’, and others have left weeping never to return again.  A few customer’s told me that they would not be commenting in my blog ever — and some of these customer’s are very tough and intelligent people (maybe that’s why they will not comment – ilut!).  One of my customer’s today told me that after reading some of my feedback and comments he realized that he might be jumped into some secret society gang type thing and had a dream that he actually was accosted by one of my submissive fans.  This submissive turned Dom – tied up my new customer, blind folded him, took his wallet and credit card, and proceeded to use his information to pay for his calls to me on NF.  He called me up from his phone, and I laughed at him while being impressed by my submissive turned Dom caller.  My switch customer then later tortured him by showing up at his door in ski masks and the like.  I have to get into it all a little later, but wanted to touch on it today as it relates to my topic.  It does.  The connection is there!   Listen – do not be scared of any thing you read.  I don’t think that any of my callers will hurt you, tie you up and blind fold you, steal your credit cards and use them to pay for their sex calls to me, or anything else.  But just in case, don’t leave your real email address when replying.  And you may want to use an alias.  Just use one with out my name in it because… (sing it with me now!)

I love you just the way you are!

I’m on until 1:00AM or so.  Fading fast though.  Will be back on tomorrow evening — feel free to make an appointment if you need to.

So … if I wait 4+ days before writing in my diary, will I have something of value to say when I finally open up my editor/word program and start writing? Stay tuned…

On Wednesday I attended my writing class and learned more about plot points. LOL. I’m not so bitter about it anymore though. Honestly. Tiffy – you can put your letter away – I won’t be needing it anymore. I realized that truthfully – my teacher is just doing what I need him to do right now and that is give me a handy dandy excuse as to why I’m not writing. We go through this a lot here on this diary, people … feel free to just power ahead – skip a few paragraphs and pick up around the time I talk about my favorite callers. I won’t mind.

See, my teach wants us to know about the whole plot point thing to the point that we recite them every time we see a movie. Hmmm .. that was plot number 14 me thinks! It impresses your friends and other movie goers. But for reals, he really does want it to sink into our skulls. The plot points are our mid-term and the 30 pages of script are our final. I should be a bit more, um … what’s the word I’m looking for? … oh yeah! I should be more appreciative (lol) of my teacher. The other reason why I should be thankful is that I have not written a thing. I really hate when Rolf is right (lord knows I do!) but he’s right. There is absolutely NOTHING that is getting in my way of writing. There hasn’t EVER been anything that has gotten in my way. Even when I didn’t have the right software (which now thanks to Uncle Randy I will – thank you SO much U.R. for buying me Final Draft! You are a Godsend and I absolutely love you for giving me such a great present with out me even HINTING at it. I’ve hinted to other people about that damn program but never to you *smiles* so it was really sweet that you saw I needed it for class and went ahead and got it for me!) I didn’t have an excuse for not writing SOMETHING. Even before I knew what plot points were I certainly had ideas in my head and I certainly could have written them down. The sad truth about me – when it comes to writing in particular – is that I have this fear factor that haunts my sweet ass whenever it comes time to really do that one thing that I really love. And truth be told I will find all kinds of excuses or reasons for not doing any of it. First I needed to de-clutter my home so I could think. Um – I decluttered and I still didn’t write. Then I thought – okay – I need to take a class or something – so I took a class. Still did not write (and this was before the current class I’m taking.) So then I thought what I really need is a writing partner – but then I sort of have sabatoged those friendships in various ways so they can’t hold me accountable for writing. Ok – so then I thought what I needed was books – paper – a printer – a lap top – um… a brain transplant. The truth is – while all of these things will help me TREMENDOUSLY (especially that brain transplant) I have had the ability to write every single day – at least something – and I haven’t done it. So ok, Rolf, you got me. Once again. I’m not even mad about it anymore, honestly. I’m too tired of my tired ass excuses to be.

Wow – that could be a downer of a paragraph, couldn’t it? I’m going to leave it as is, though. Summarizing things and giving some clever little solution makes for a tidy blog, I admit, but I’m tired of making promises I have no intention of keeping. What’s that saying about Bullshit walking? yeah. So…

On Thursday I took my Algebra test and I got 9/10. Right – for all you smart asses out there…(I can hear you now … 9 out of 10 wrong, CeCe?) There was one question that I really just freaked out about – but I worked it out and I still got the wrong answer though it made ALMOST good sense to me (my answer) – so hey – I’m happy that I at least got 50 percent of the process correct while solving the problem. Course there is no “almost” in math. Either it’s right or it’s wrong – but like most things in my life I’m realizing that there is some poetry to a process that really should be honored/appreciated. If you do things enough and there is a rhythm to it that seeps into your brain … hey … eventually you’ll grow some confidence, right? I’m trying to cultivate that in my relationship with this whole Math thing. It’s cool how sometimes you’ll do a problem and your fingers just fly about and you piece things together and you come up with the right answer and you wonder HOW the hell did I just do that? Practice hasn’t made 10/10 perfect but it certainly has helped me grow a bit more confident about a subject that use to give me panic attacks. Progress is a good thing.

Friday – Saturday I signed in and took quite a few calls. I don’t remember having such a busy weekend since last month! I had a really great time – met some great new callers I’m looking forward to knowing/exploring/spoiling/being spoiled by/teasing/humiliating and seducing. Whew! I really like those calls that just fall in line with the types of calls I like to do – my personality – etc. It’s like meeting a new friend and you’re stumbling all over each other when you talk. It’s not due to your not knowing when they are done talking or whatever – it’s due to your “energy” really. The way in which you already know what the other person is thinking – what they need – and you’re so excited that your words are boiling over onto each other type energy. I sold some more pictures to a great admirer – and also got more feedback than I remember receiving in a long, long time. That’s always nice to see! Oh – and I also received a really nice tribute from a long lost caller who called me up for a great hour role play. If it was simply about the “money” and “job” situation I would call tomorrow a day of rest, go to church and absolve myself, and do some laundry – but um… I don’t wanna! *grin* I will be on probably late morning/early afternoon. At least I’ll be on alerts if nothing else. Then I’ll log in for a few hours before calling it a night and getting some rest for Monday classes. I gotta talk to Tiffy and Mama Tee about revising my schedule ONCE MORE – as I’m going to have to be available during Saturday DAYs more often. I had forgotten how much fun I have on Saturday mornings – in my pjs eating cold cereal and excusing myself to take calls and be naughty in between my favorite cartoons.

Ok – so yes – I still love my little man, Jackson. And yes – he’s still testing his limits every chance he gets. My Doc, hearing my anguish about the torn up pee pads (Jackson now tears 3 of them up daily whenever I leave him alone for more than 5 minutes in his play pen – which consequently has every toy imaginable from every Pet Store in Southern California!) bought me the wizdog I had mentioned a few posts back. That should help with much of my pain. Jackson is just a bit stir crazy. He is outgrowing his little cozy room in the kitchen and has gotten a taste of freedom and peeing on area rugs. He is not an easy one to contain any longer and often times, yes, I ask myself what the flying fuck I was thinking by getting a PUPPY at this point of my school year. But then I pick him up to take him to bed with me at the end of the night – and hold him on his back in the crook of my arm, you know? Like a baby. He looks up at me and kisses my arm, fingers, any bit of skin he can lick, and I just melt. He yawns and the smell of his puppy breath (which always gets me) intoxicates me. And then I remember the “why”. I got him because a part of me really needed it. Hopefully I didn’t get him as a further excuse for not writing – but more for a sort of inspiration that I so badly needed. It is indeed much more of a responsibility than I ever imagined but one that I’m happy to embrace. A lot of this is just him being a puppy and I really can’t take it personally – or like he’s some asshole that is setting out to make my life more difficult, you know? Jackson has… completed me by being something I can so easily give my affections to. If I was a guy with this cute puppy Jackson would also be getting me laid. Seriously – this dog is cute…everyone says so.

Alright … I’m going on alerts while I watch a movie and doze off for a few hours before I face the end of my weekend. I’ll speak with you soon – if not tomorrow then definitely Monday (12:00-2:00pm, 7:00-12:00 is my tentative plan) Thanks again to all those who gave me such sweet feedback – and for the new callers I had the pleasure of meeting. Looking forward to many more sweet encounters!