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Slippery Id: The C Tease That's The Bee's Knees


Review of Nikki Sims' "Non-Nude" Website.

“I saw your face and right away...
Somethin' inside me trembled tenderly
And in your eyes, boy, I could see...
You'd be mine...Mmmm...”-3-Speed

“When the circumstances are right, everything
becomes a dance.”-Lynette 'Squeaky' Fromme

Music had Lester Bangs and Richard Meltzer. Motion pictures had Cahiers Du Cinema and Film Threat. Politics had Hunter S. Thompson. Hunter and William S. Burroughs shared Drugs and Fire Power. And National Lampoon had pretty much everything else...including virtually any direct-to-DVD sex comedy produced after 1989. But Porn never had nobody. Not really. Unless you count the nameless, faceless automatons of sites like Freeones or Metacafe.com, random illiterate pud-whackers who happen to take the time between panting and pulling to punch a few random keys on their effluence-drenched Notebooks. But the poetry of Pornography has never been set down by contemporary society's scribes. And reviews of Steven Soderbergh's The Girlfriend Experience do not count.

That's where Rob Sayville comes in. That's all me, dawg. And when the hack-journalist of Imp Scrib, the Internet's leading website for tabloid tomfoolery, isn't incurring the wrath of celebrity publicists or dogging out the day-time dancers at low-end gentlemen's clubs, he's surfing the Net for the newest in Naughty. Lo, a star is found in Nikki Sims...


Modern porn clips are the only kind of "motion pictures" around that still take the risks avant-gardist Kenneth Anger (Lucifer Rising, Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome) and prince of puke John Waters (circa Multiple Maniacs, Pink Flamingos) used to take—that is, using pop music willy nilly and lofty licensing rights be damned, and daring to take sex seriously and imagistic the way Hollywood fetishizes their violence.

And the beauty part is, they get away with it by virtue of the fact that anyone in a reputable position to call them out on cribbing the music for free are too ashamed to tarnish their dubious cred by copping to an adult pay site membership. So it is that when you download the video of Nikki Sims, real name Christina Kuehner, gyrating salaciously in a darkened room, voluptuous meat greased up with body paint, you can hear the unmistakable sound of the latest Rihanna song blaring its drum-and-bass pulsation over her own pleasurable palpitations.

If you don't know who she is, Nikki Sims is the ultimate cock tease, the tease du jour, or, as her website has it, “the girl next door” (though I defy you to find a chick like this on your block, let alone on your cock).

I've been consumed by a potent hunger for Christina Kuehner since the late-nineties. The name probably doesn't mean anything to you, most likely because the World or, at least, the World Wide Web, knows her more intimately and infamously as Next Door Nikki or, simply, "Nikki Sims." But to me? To me she'll always be "mi petite ardillita," my little Chipmunk.

What Nikki does that no other online porn performer does is deal in the cliffhanger climax, getting you hard without ever having to put anything hard inside herself. At least nothing made of flesh and bone or sinew and vein. Nikki Sims is a cock tease and Nikkisplaymates.com is a website that celebrates non-nude fantasy girls, chicks who bring you to the precipice of pre-cum without ever violating their chastity. Not on screen anyway.

There's something extremely pristine about a girl in a pleated black skirt letting you look up her ruffled white shirt and then fixing you with bedroom eyes and a smile before vanishing mid-estrus. This is the Art of Nikkisplaymates.com and it is the stuff that's made Nikki Sims such a success. Nikkisplaymates.com is, also, the one and only website where it would legitimately take thirty days of membership for the average subscriber to wade through the 436 videos and countless .ZIP sets (54,200 photos at the time of this writing).

In the age of the blowbang, it's refreshing to see a chick who refuses to do anything other than taunt us with the outer-rim of her lips and there's something to be said, something quite profound (though it alludes me) about a "girl next door" advertising her camouflaged camel toe as if it were a gilded lily. How many shorties have you met who could get drunk and wily with their best male counterparts and still come home with their panties on? What's more, Nikki made millions not by swallowing a seawall worth of spunk, but by being her own charming self and, on occasion, slurping a melting popsicle or dolling herself up with dollops of day-glo face paint. In the era of e-come-ons it's a rare thing indeed to witness a gorgeous girl making her ends by shielding her nipples. How's that for a generation that supposedly no longer knows the meaning of the word "chaste?"

Very few things are hotter than observing a chick digging on some smut, and Nikki knows this. That is why she gives us "Nikki Pervin," an 82-pic set of photos of her in a blue bikini, flicking the bean like a champion shuffleboard player as she peruses the pages of a stroke mag.

And this is just the tip of the shaft, mon frere, the proverbial icing on the cake, as Ms. Sims explores damn near every possible fetish in clips whose clever titles include Basketball Drills, Sex Toy Reviews, For My Feet Peeps, Ice Cream, Black Light Body Paint, Princess Bubblegum, Jump Rope and Playing In The Rain (the latter consisting, quite literally, of The Simster exercising while soaking wet in torrential downpour.


Some of my esteemed readers are already turned off, no doubt, by the notion of a non-nude model with a body that defies the laws of nature and morality refusing to get down proper and add penetration to the plenitude of ways in which she shakes us all up. But hardcore gets boring and it happens that, by the time you've waded through the vast well of semen-saturated daisy chains and wonton ladies in the lake, your boner has shriveled from the banality of their on-screen sins. Like Barenaked Ladies put it themselves, “It's all been done. Ah-woo-hoo-hoo! It's all been done!” It's all been done before. But Sims recreates lust from the ground up, giving us something to swell on in the very austerity of her innocuous lap dances and illustrious sexy time simulations. It's the untouchable nature of her act, that of the fantasy girl in tease mode, that makes for images that are a paragon by virtue of their bulletproof status; you can never spoil what the imagination has concocted, and Nikki allows us to dream without drudging up the ordinarily inevitable.

If the average pervert is anything like me, they don't want to loose their personal reserve of the world's finest skin cream on the cinematic equivalent of a dry-hump. But, like a great food aficionado, they realize the value of a good appetizer. In this department, Nikki's site is a consummate pornographic primer, kicking your libido into high gear before you blow your load on something a little less wholesome elsewhere. In summation, Nikkisplaymates.com is like the strip club you take your slit to in order to get her satisfactorily hungry for a sip off the crotch snake. And if you don't have a slit, then Sims is there to stare at you coquettishly from within the screen, slapping her tattooed ass, sending out daggers from her sleepy eyes and offering a delectable consolation prize for the stupid guys who can't score and refuse to pay for it.



Nikki is sucking artificial penises now, participating in a form of performance art that pays direct homage to what I labeled, not long ago, The Prosthetic Aesthetic. And I am mired in smut up to my pelvis. Nikki may never do a gen-u-wine hardcore shoot, just as probably I will never be nominated for a Pulitzer for Excellence in Erotic Prose. Neither of us will ever be invited to an establishment luncheon, for much the same reason: THEY can no more tolerate the presence of out-front sexuality as they can endure the sight of a 5 ft. 11" 200 lb man with hairy nipples lumbering about wearing nothing but thick-rimmed eye glasses and a translucent gelatin-based cock ring.

But neither I nor Nikki are any worse for our relegation, because the true measure of one's worth is not in conference halls or galas or gathering places, but in the cluttered bedrooms of our very own domiciles, those happy time fun palaces where the visionary's merit is laid out in stockpiles of personal pleasure lubes and ergonomic amenities. And as a wiser man than I once said, "You can separate the men from the boys by the price of their toys." Amen! Estrus-esto perpetua...

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