Freaky CeCe 03
Officially Unofficial
We sat there on the bed in our quiet dorm room, the distant sounds of the city filtering through the window like a muffled soundtrack—cars honking, a train rumbling somewhere in the night. CeCe had pulled the blanket over her lap, her baggy hoodie zipped up for once, covering those full breasts that she'd been so eager to bare just moments ago. Her caramel skin still flushed from her earlier wandering, but her eyes were soft, serious. I wiped my tears, sniffling.
My head was still resting on her lap. She rocked back and forth slowly, much like a mother and her newborn. I lay there taking in her lavender scent and her gentle touch. She ran her hands through my frizzy hair, taking care to avoid tangles, but touching parts of my scalp as her fingers slowly combed through my hair. That moment was a turning point for me emotionally. No one else has been able to comfort me like CeCe did at that moment. Once the room got quiet, she took a deep breath and started talking, her voice steady but vulnerable.
“At first, Tasha, I was scared, knowing what porn was doing to me,” CeCe confessed, her thick thighs shifting under the blanket. I felt her thighs under my cheeks. “When I realized I was getting addicted—watching more, touching myself constantly—it freaked me out. I thought something was wrong with me. But then I stumbled onto stuff online about 'gooning'—you know, that endless edging, losing yourself in porn for hours. There were whole social media pages, communities treating it like a lifestyle, not a problem. People sharing how it rewired them for the better, made them feel alive. It clicked for me. And with my autism... I knew a long time ago it'd put me in places most folks wouldn't understand. The hyperfocus, the sensory obsessions—I've been preparing for the consequences since I got diagnosed. Isolation, judgment, all that. But I'm grateful I'm high-functioning, not worse off. I fought hard to get here, masking in classes, pushing through social stuff. I don't want you to feel bad, Tasha. This isn't your fault. You showed me a door, but I chose to walk through it and embrace this life.”
She paused for a moment to pat my head. I didn't dare move from that position. This moment felt so perfect. She rested her hand on my head and continued.
“I chose not to tell you of my condition. College is about fresh starts and redefining yourself. I didn't want special treatment. I didn't want you to feel sorry for me. I couldn't just throw out the 'I'm autistic' card every time something got heavy. The real world never works like that. So don't you regret any of your actions. Don't you drown in guilt for the choices I made.”
As I sat there nestled in her lap, she reached for my hand, locking fingers with me, her touch warm and reassuring. “I know the ramifications—how it's changed all my reward centers, making everything else feel dull compared to the high of porn and exposure. It can be isolating as hell, pushing people away like it has with everyone else. But at least now I'm happy. Truly happy. Before you introduced me to this, I just... existed. Fearful of the world, hiding in my shell, scared of every interaction. Now? I feel free, confident in my body, in my desires.”
She began to sob. I sat up and leaned over to hug her. Tears welled up in her eyes then, spilling over as she accepted my embrace, her curvy frame pressing against mine through the fabric.
“I'm sorry, Tasha,” she whispered, her voice breaking into sobs. “I never wanted to hurt you. You've been my rock—the only one who stuck around. I feel so safe with you. You're... you're in between for me. More than a bestie, more than a sister, not quite a lover. It's this deep, complex feeling I can't even label, but it's real. I understand if you start something with a guy, or anyone—I'll give you space, wear clothes around them, back off completely. But everything I do now feels right. If you can accept me like this...”
She sobbed uncontrollably. My heart sunk for her. Tears welling up again in my eyes. This poor woman had lived a lifetime of mental struggles and she was barely 20 years old. I had my whole world turned upside down with this brilliant whirlwind of beauty, intelligence, and depravity. I was learning to live by watching her. She was learning to live by letting go to explore her deepest desires. She just needed someone in her corner that understood so she had some anchor to reality. I accepted this unspoken role completely.
We talked for hours that night, pouring out our hearts in the dim light of our room, the weight of it all lifting bit by bit. I understood her then—really understood. My heart swelled, full to bursting with love for this fearless, complicated soul. Even if CeCe never fully acknowledged what we were, I made a silent vow right there to be faithful to her, to stand by her side no matter what. I didn't fall in love with her. That was such a shallow definition of how I felt. I loved her in ways that defied words the moment we met.
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keep touching yourself