Well, what do we have here?

I don't usually do this. Tell people my secrets. But I'm feeling increasingly isolated in the city.

I'm taking pictures of a pretty blond at the end of the month and all I can think about is whether or not she'll want me to kiss her to get in the mood. The photos are for her finance and I'm hoping he won't mind.

I've woken up twice this week from a sex dream. Not actual sex in the dream. Touching. Rubbing. Inappropriate locations. Though I think any location is appropriate as long as you're discrete.

I should probably tell you who I am.

Ahem.

I am Nikki Tuck. I like short walks in the city, leading to a bar.

I like to be clear about things. I don't like to hurt peoples feelings, but I won't take responsibility for you hurting your own. Ha. That sounds so shitty.

I'm writing here for fun. To remember. To immortalize. So when I'm sixty I'll know I had a damn good time.

How did I get my name?

Well, I was sitting with the Producer (you'll hear more about him later) and we were having shrimp and martini's (I was having martini's, many martini's) and he was telling me how he wishes he were younger. That I'm smart and fun and sexy. I'm his dream girl.

I laughed and thought to myself. No, Mr. Producer, you're married, buying me drinks and fucking me sideways tonight. I'm no dream girl, I'm a Dream Whore.


-Nikki