Sex, Lies and the Dirty by Nik Richie Read Free Book Online Page A

going to let you stick it in me 23 ,” she says, but I can tell it’s total bullshit. She lets me grab her tits, and then my hand smoothes down to her ass where, to my extreme displeasure, is a butterfly tattoo not totally unlike what Alien has. On the nightstand is a hotel clock. I’ve got about thirty minutes before I’m supposed to leave, which is basically just long enough to fuck Leper and not endure any of that after-sex weirdness of cuddling or whatever. I’ve got a condom. No one’s going to find out.
    I ask, “You promise not to tell Hillary?”
    Leper stops kissing me, stressing how serious she is, telling me, “It’ll be our secret. I want you so bad. I want to fuck you so bad.”
    I get the condom. Leper fucks the shit out of me.

    Her cunt is a little loafy, a little lippy. Not cut quite as tight as most girls I’ve been with, but I’m writing that off to her having so many partners over the years, and I can’t deny she’s incredible in bed. Actually, too wild, like maybe she has to really show off because of who I am or who she thinks I am. She’s screaming and pummeling her body on me, saying, “Daddy, daddy, daddy—fuck me good, daddy! Oh, you’re fucking me so good, sweets!” in that slurred-out Texas accent, and then I feel like I have to play the game back: do something crazy. Do something that these girls, these pseudo-porn-star coke-whores are used to, so I slide an arm between us and wrap my hand around her neck. Fucking. Squeezing. Choking her. Squeezing hard so her face starts to deepen. My other hand slides under, into her ass where I jam two of my fingers inside her and she’s screaming harder as I choke her, saying, “Oh sweets oh sweets oh my fucking God, daddy!” but it’s obscured through the booze and accent and pressure I’m putting on her vocal cords. I fuck her, and she starts holding her breath so that she can come harder and then I come inside her, gripping my eyes shut. Tight. We come, and then I roll off of her because I need to catch a plane, grabbing the nearest articles of clothing I can find. An awkward silence has already begun to set.
    Then Leper says, “I betcha Hillary Duff never fucked you like that.”
    I say, “You know what, Kelli—she hasn’t.”

    From the bed, Leper is watching me pack. Nude. Relaxed. She asks me if she can use the phone sitting on the nightstand.
    “Kelli, this is your room,” I say, packing jeans, shirts, socks. “Sleep in. Wake up. Be safe. I don’t care.”
    “Can I have your number?”
    “Nobody has my number. I never give out my number.”
    “Well…how do I get a hold of you?”
    I tell her, “E-mail me.”
    “What’s your e-mail?”
    “Nik@thedirty…N-I-K at the dirty,” I say, packing—just throwing everything into the luggage in no particular order. I don’t even have time to shower, so I’ll be boarding the plane stinking like booze and Leper. Meanwhile, she’s raiding the minibar, pulling out every tiny bottle of Crown Royal that’s in there. Leper gets back on the bed, unscrewing one and picking up the phone out of the cradle.
    She dials the front desk, maybe for more room service, but then I hear her say, “Yeah, uh, I’m looking for Dwayne Carter’s 24 room.”
    I stop packing and shoot Leper a look like, Are you serious right now?
    She goes, “No, it’s fine. I just want to meet him…take pictures. That’s all.”
    “Whatever, I don’t care.”

    The Monday I get back, there’s a submission that comes in titled: “Leper bangs celebrity after Dolce Vendetta event,” and I’m thinking, Oh great, not even a week and the bitch has already told everyone that we hooked up. It’s not like I’m going to post it, but I’m annoyed that after all her “it’s gonna be our little secret” bullshit that she can’t keep her mouth shut.
    So I open the submission, and in the text body it reads: “Leper bangs the shit out of Lil Wayne,” and then there’s a bunch of pictures attached of her