to put her up.
Some people talk shit.
Others are impressed.
Sarah and I are kind of laughing behind the scenes about the whole thing. She likes it, likes the attention, and I like being the guy able to give it to her. It’s how we connect: a very public relationship that was actually an inside joke between us. A secret. Something only she and I understood. It brought us close in a sense. Close enough that she agreed to fly out to Vegas to meet me.
Officially, this weekend is an event for The Dirty.
Unofficially, I’m here for Sarah. To see if it’s real.
We’re in Vegas, and all the top Dirty Celebs are here: Leper, 8-Belles, Elvira—all the good ones. Elvira is the only brunette I’ve ever had any legitimate interest toward, so it’s kind of between her and Sarah, in my mind.
I’m at a table with eight girls at this restaurant called Company, which is outside of LAX (in the Luxor). Sarah is sitting next to me. Elvira is across the way. She’s from Boston, so I ask questions that girls like these can easily field. General ones like: What’s it like out on the East Coast?
Dinner with me is typically a revelation for some of these girls because I’m not mean or judgmental. In fact, I’m overtly polite and aware of their immediate needs. I ask if they need another drink, if they want me to call the waiter over, if they’d like more of a particular dish—things that a good date should do. A gentleman, like James Bond. I talk about Vegas because I know a lot (perhaps too much) about the city: gambling, poker, restaurants, but the girls find it interesting. And I make them laugh. These girls are so used to one side of Nik Richie that they come into the situation with their defenses up. They’re tense, and most of the time won’t eat more than some salad or a few bites of bread. These girls are afraid to eat in front of me, assuming that I’m mentally criticizing them already, so I have to be funny. Be a gentleman. Be the guy that makes it okay for them to relax, eat, enjoy themselves.
So these eight girls at the table think I’m nothing like I really am, because it’s all an act. A persona. They’ve seen Internet Nik Richie. This is date Nik Richie, the version that calls you Kelly instead of Elvira, the one that comments on your better features over the ones he finds displeasing. He is funny instead of sarcastic. He’ll allow you to speak instead of speaking for you. He is friendly, and by extension, a source of relief to these girls who have more than likely suffered privately to one degree or another for the sake of entertainment.
Sarah Wood a.k.a. Nik’s Chick (left) and Nik Richie (right) having dinner at The Company at the Luxor in Las Vegas, Nevada.
So I talk to Elvira—maybe more than I should, because I feel a hand smooth up my leg. It’s Sarah, tracing the inseam of my pants with her fingers. She settles on top of my cock and starts squeezing while I’m trying to carry on a conversation. I ask some question about Boston clubs or something and Sarah pretends she’s interested, squeezing, telling me with her hand: Hey, don’t hit on Elvira. You’re mine.
When I like a girl, I don’t fuck her right away.
I liked Sarah, and even though she moved out of Leper’s room to be with me—even though she threw herself at me—I didn’t give in. So Vegas basically ended up being me pampering Sarah, getting to know her, spending time with her. We did the event at Pure inside of Caesar’s, but it was mostly an excuse to meet Sarah. I became obsessed with this chick. She had a boyfriend.
The boyfriend fucks everything up, and I don’t mean that in the way of “oh, she’s got a boyfriend so I guess I’m out.” That doesn’t bother me. I’ve hooked up with plenty of girls that had boyfriends (both to and without my knowledge), so that’s not the issue. The problem with this dude, this Eduardo fucker, is that he’s in the country illegally and basically mooching off of Sarah. He’s
Some people talk shit.
Others are impressed.
Sarah and I are kind of laughing behind the scenes about the whole thing. She likes it, likes the attention, and I like being the guy able to give it to her. It’s how we connect: a very public relationship that was actually an inside joke between us. A secret. Something only she and I understood. It brought us close in a sense. Close enough that she agreed to fly out to Vegas to meet me.
Officially, this weekend is an event for The Dirty.
Unofficially, I’m here for Sarah. To see if it’s real.
We’re in Vegas, and all the top Dirty Celebs are here: Leper, 8-Belles, Elvira—all the good ones. Elvira is the only brunette I’ve ever had any legitimate interest toward, so it’s kind of between her and Sarah, in my mind.
I’m at a table with eight girls at this restaurant called Company, which is outside of LAX (in the Luxor). Sarah is sitting next to me. Elvira is across the way. She’s from Boston, so I ask questions that girls like these can easily field. General ones like: What’s it like out on the East Coast?
Dinner with me is typically a revelation for some of these girls because I’m not mean or judgmental. In fact, I’m overtly polite and aware of their immediate needs. I ask if they need another drink, if they want me to call the waiter over, if they’d like more of a particular dish—things that a good date should do. A gentleman, like James Bond. I talk about Vegas because I know a lot (perhaps too much) about the city: gambling, poker, restaurants, but the girls find it interesting. And I make them laugh. These girls are so used to one side of Nik Richie that they come into the situation with their defenses up. They’re tense, and most of the time won’t eat more than some salad or a few bites of bread. These girls are afraid to eat in front of me, assuming that I’m mentally criticizing them already, so I have to be funny. Be a gentleman. Be the guy that makes it okay for them to relax, eat, enjoy themselves.
So these eight girls at the table think I’m nothing like I really am, because it’s all an act. A persona. They’ve seen Internet Nik Richie. This is date Nik Richie, the version that calls you Kelly instead of Elvira, the one that comments on your better features over the ones he finds displeasing. He is funny instead of sarcastic. He’ll allow you to speak instead of speaking for you. He is friendly, and by extension, a source of relief to these girls who have more than likely suffered privately to one degree or another for the sake of entertainment.
Sarah Wood a.k.a. Nik’s Chick (left) and Nik Richie (right) having dinner at The Company at the Luxor in Las Vegas, Nevada.
So I talk to Elvira—maybe more than I should, because I feel a hand smooth up my leg. It’s Sarah, tracing the inseam of my pants with her fingers. She settles on top of my cock and starts squeezing while I’m trying to carry on a conversation. I ask some question about Boston clubs or something and Sarah pretends she’s interested, squeezing, telling me with her hand: Hey, don’t hit on Elvira. You’re mine.
When I like a girl, I don’t fuck her right away.
I liked Sarah, and even though she moved out of Leper’s room to be with me—even though she threw herself at me—I didn’t give in. So Vegas basically ended up being me pampering Sarah, getting to know her, spending time with her. We did the event at Pure inside of Caesar’s, but it was mostly an excuse to meet Sarah. I became obsessed with this chick. She had a boyfriend.
The boyfriend fucks everything up, and I don’t mean that in the way of “oh, she’s got a boyfriend so I guess I’m out.” That doesn’t bother me. I’ve hooked up with plenty of girls that had boyfriends (both to and without my knowledge), so that’s not the issue. The problem with this dude, this Eduardo fucker, is that he’s in the country illegally and basically mooching off of Sarah. He’s
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