Sex, Lies and the Dirty (13 page)

We’re talking guys with too much money and too much imagination. No morals. These dudes wire transfer tens of thousands of dollars to girls like Kina, flying them out to someplace in the Middle East or Dubai or Miami. The location isn’t constant, but the result is that they get these girls out of their element so they’re basically trapped. They either do what they’re being paid to do, or they’re fucked. Dead. Sometimes they just have to fuck some hairy Arab dude. Other times they have to get pissed and shitted on. This is the point some men reach: so bored with themselves and their lives that they fly out random girls from Vegas to pee on them. If the girl doesn’t cooperate, they either get shot or thrown off the side of a boat or smacked around.

The choice becomes, “Do I let this guy shit on me and make $25,000 or do I ask to go home and maybe get a bullet in the head?”

For these girls, it’s not much of a choice. A no-brainer, really. They degrade themselves for a day and get to live off the profit for months. I try to do my part by posting it on the site, thinking that maybe these girls will think twice before they get on that plane or boat or whatever. I fool myself into believing common sense will kick in, that they’ll stop selling their bodies to the highest bidder. They won’t listen. They ignore it. “
The Dirty
is just talking shit again,” they think.

It only takes one though. One crazy Arab or psycho rich dude, and it’s over. You’re done. Dead. The dream is over and you never make it back to Vegas.

The city has so many ways to kill you. Either the scene and the drugs get you, or the lifestyle takes a wrong turn. You either wind up twenty-seven years old and used up or shit on and shot in the head. It’s only a matter of time. And there’s always going to be a new girl. For every Kina, there’s another, newer version of Kina with a fake ID. A young Scooby Snack just waiting to be discovered by the right group of people. For every hot blonde with +2’s, there’s ten more waiting to take her spot at the VIP table in some club. There’s always another
Dirty
Celeb waiting to happen.
³⁸
They’ll die in slow motion and Nik Richie will be there to commentate. To warn. To speak the truth.

If you’re fucking up, you can always count on me to say something.

37
Something I never minded because she’d usually bring a few of her friends from the
Blondtourage
, as they referred to themselves. They mooched off our bottles, of course, but I always liked having her around because her and Scooby together were like a power couple. It also got the rumor mill churning again that there was something between them, even though the three of us knew that couldn’t be further from the truth.

38
The
Dirty
Celeb typically goes through three specific stages, hence, the revolving door nature:

1) Resistance: stage in which
Dirty
Celeb begs for their posts to be taken down. What they don’t realize is that for every one that’s taken down, about ten more come in, thus adding more fuel to the fire.

2) Acceptance: stage in which
Dirty
Celeb takes no action against the site or site moderators. They’ve reached a point where they’re comfortable being a topic of conversation, debate, and/or ridicule. The subject will even make mention of their status in a positive light or use it for personal gain.

3) Withdrawal: stage in which
Dirty
Celeb has declined in popularity, and therefore, is no longer a topic of discussion. The subject will then act out in one way or another to encourage another post and return to their former state of notoriety.

Ginger

I fall in love with Sarah’s picture.

Part of the confusion about the “Would You?”
³⁹
section of the site is that people think I’m rejecting or bagging on these girls to appear impossible to please or a jerk, and that’s not necessarily true. I actually am
this picky
, to the point where it borders on being a detriment. The flaw isn’t something I go looking for. They pop out and I lack the ability to ignore them. Of course, things like caking on too much makeup or a half-inch of black roots on blonde hair stick out to me just as they would to anyone else. I’m normal in that regard. However, I also notice things like symmetry and bone structure: one breast that’s bigger than the other, a jawline not cut quite right, or a nose that slopes at a curved angle rather than straight. Things like kempt teeth and body proportions matter to me. I hate tattoos. I hate body piercings and skin irregularities (scars, birthmarks, moles, etc.). Perhaps this is an actual defect or me just being superficial, but my views on women have always been this rigid. It’s not an act or some personality trait of the Nik Richie persona. I’m actually wired this way.

So to say that Sarah Wood is “my type” means more coming from me than it would most people. Out of all the models and strippers and escort girls that were being sent to me on a daily basis—the kind of girls that most men would dump their entire bank accounts on—Sarah is the one I find myself saying “yes” to. Yes, I would.

People start referring to Sarah as Nik’s Chick on the site
because they know she’s my type, but that’s putting it lightly. I want Sarah. I want to date her and be with her. I want a relationship, and it has to be with Sarah because nobody else has what I’m looking for. It’s Amanda Reed all over again but worse. So much worse.

It comes to my attention that she works at Dolce Vendetta in Dallas and that she’s actually friends with Leper of all people, but I never put two and two together that she was the bottle server at my event. Even though Dolce Vendetta kind of sucked, I actually find myself plotting a Dallas trip just to see Sarah. That’s not immediate enough, though. I have this sense of urgency I don’t normally have with other girls, so I send her a MySpace message which basically says: I’m going to say that you’re my girlfriend because you’re the only girl I find attractive these days.

It’s kind of a joke, kind of not. Obviously, we aren’t really going to be in a committed relationship. This is more or less my way of flirting with her, letting her know that I am, in fact, interested without completely putting myself out there.

Sarah’s all about it. She changes her relationship status and I’m telling everyone that Nik’s Chick is actually my chick. Even though we had never formally met, as far as the Internet world is concerned, we’re an item. Then people start submitting her, saying things like, “You’re always judging other girls but do you have the balls to put your own girlfriend up?”

And I was like,
Fuck, she’s not my girlfriend. I’ll put her up all damn day
.

Her picture goes live: she’s beautiful, blonde, blue eyes, the kind of blue eyes that I like, and a shade of tan that looks natural. She’s pretty much all the physical attributes I look for in a girl, so I’m proud 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.