Nikki Nextdoor
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Nikki Nextdoor
© Copyright - The Next Door, Inc. This project is funded by the Tennessee Department of Mental Health and Substance Abuse Services. Web Design & Development by Data Driven Design
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© Copyright - The Next Door, Inc. This project is funded by the Tennessee Department of Mental Health and Substance Abuse Services. Web Design & Development by Data Driven Design
Facebook Twitter Youtube Instagram
We use anonymous cookies and analytics to give you the best possible experience, and to help us improve the site. For more details, please check our Privacy Policy .
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View all All Photos Tagged next door nikki
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SmugMug + Flickr .
Connecting people through photography.
Not the style you'd be looking for?
Things look different in the morning light
If you hurt my feelings I'll cry out loud
I'm Carrie, not-the-kind-of-girl-you'd-marry
Mild and meek like the girl next door?
But I'm not a man's toy, I'll never be
I'm Carrie, not-the-kind-of-girl-you'd-marry
Just to see you're not really sore?
I'm just not the girl to hide my face
I'm Carrie, not-the-kind-of-girl-you'd-marry
I'm Carrie, not-the-kind-of-girl-you'd-marry
If I keep on searching, but until then
I'm Carrie, not-the-kind-of-girl-you'd-marry
Thankyou in advance for your support, faves, comments and awards!
This beautiful Grade II-listed building in Kimbolton is appropriately called Corner House. It is right in the centre of the village with the entrance to the churchyard just a few yards away, out of shot to the right. The 18th century house is built of brick with a 19th century stucco facade.
Kimbolton is about nine miles west of Huntingdon and 14 miles north of Bedford. It is geographically situated within Huntingdonshire, which is an historic county of England and is now a non-metropolitan district of Cambridgeshire.
Kimbolton Castle was the final home of King Henry VIII's first wife, Catherine of Aragon. Originally a medieval castle but subsequently rebuilt and converted into a stately palace, it was the family seat of the Dukes of Manchester from 1615 until 1950. It now houses Kimbolton School.
Kimbolton holds special memories for me. Many years ago a little stray white dog followed us home late at night and refused to leave our front lawn. We took her in. About a year later we were sitting in the back garden of the New Sun Inn in Kimbolton when half a dozen tiny puppies wandered in from a back door, and one started to nibble my shoe laces. We picked her up and she fell asleep on my lap. To cut a long story short, I had a word with the landlord and my then wife and I came back for her three weeks later. Suki and Nikki (the white dog) were our devoted family pets for the next 17 or 18 years.
In her college dorm, Julie's daughter and her roommate Nikki hear a knock at their door. To their surprise, a man from the building management company asked to come in and make sure their locks were working appropriately. He informed that there have been reports of a foot fetish predator on campus, breaking into girls dorm rooms, tying them up, gagging them, sucking their toes, and taking pictures of the girls all helpless. Unfortunately for these two, they were next...
Oh those wonderful days when I can visit Grandma Geraldine
I can honestly say this is the most perfect place to be at midday on a Saturday. My heart is pounding and my penis is already throbbing at the thought of how wonderful it will feel very soon. I don't have to wait long: Grandma Geraldine opens the door and I step forwards into the soft embrace of her blouse. She cuddles me tight and chuckles into my hair, then I pull my face back and ask her: "Grandma, can I get dressed straight away?"
Her face crumples into dismay. "What about at least saying hello to your Grandma, Nikki, and asking me if I'm well?"
I hang my head in shame. "I'm sorry Grandma. How are you today? But I can't wait to go upstairs to your room. It's where I really want to be – because the dress closet is waiting for us."
She purses her lips like she's my cross schoolmistress, but I can see the sparkle through her glasses and she can't help breaking into her loving smile. She holds out her hand for me and fills my heart with sweetness by leading me to the stairs and on up to her bedroom.
Grandma Geraldine's house is magic, like it belongs in a story from Hans Christian Anderson. It smells of a mixture of furniture polish, women's gorgeous smells and the adorable scent that filled my nostrils when she cuddled me just now into her blouse. As we climb the stairs her perfume seems to grow stronger, exciting me all the more because that is the fragrance which is always there when she is helping me to choose a dress and helping me put it on. Then we enter the lovely softness of her boudoir: lace curtains and satin drapes, pink satin cushions and pillows and her big satin bed spread where she lets me lie in my dress – or on days when she lets me wear one of her slips and panties and even a corselet.
She's wearing one of her narrow black skirts today, and her frilly blouse in salmon pink nylon as she walks me slowly round her boudoir. Ohhhh the sweet smell of her dressing table and the shades of pinkness everywhere. My head is feeling light and fluffy – because I know that any moment she will be picking me out a dress to wear for the rest of the afternoon.
"I have a new dress for you, Nikki darling," she says.
"Ohhh! Is it a floral dress, Grandma?"
"No, the last dress I bought you was a floral print. This time I wanted you to have something different." She starts undoing my trousers while I undo my shirt.
"Has my new dress got its own petticoat?"
"Has it got its own panties inside?"
"No dear – but I'm sure we can find you some panties to wear." I stand in front of her completely naked – ready to become her grand-daughter.
She turns the key in the dark polished door and opens the closet. Ohhhh! My heart almost stops at the prettiness of all these floaty, swishy, shiny dresses. She runs her hand along the skirts and frills with a swish. "Can you see your new dress, darling?"
I recognise my apricot satin party dress, my pink and blue floral dress from last month, and my schoolgirl dress for Saint Teresa's – how wonderful it would be to go to school wearing it and walking into the school yard with all the other girls turning and looking at me in my pleated green dress and white blouse. Then I see something I can't remember seeing before: pink and white stripes, with white lacy ruffles. My pulse goes pitter-pat again as I hold the stripes and feel how deliciously silky it is.
"That's right, Nikki pet. Shall we get take it out and see?"
My clitoris starts to climb higher in front of me as the dress opens out fully for me to see. It has so many candy stripes, all in silk, and row after row of lovely white frilling. Ohhh, Grandma lifts its skirt to show me the white petticoat underneath, and she opens that too to show me how silky smooth it is on the inside. "We'll have to put my little girl into the new pair of panties I've bought for her," she says. "Let's lay your nice new dress across the bed while we put these on."
The panties are a pair of bloomers, in shiny rose pink nylon, and I hold onto Grandma's shoulder as she slips them over my feet. The feel of them as they slide softly up my legs is so girlish. I am sure the girls at Saint Teresa's would never wear panties as silky as these under their lovely dresses.
Then she lifts my dress off the bed, threads one of her arms inside it, and presents the inside waist above my head. I'm going to be dressed in my new pink and white striped dress.
The coldness of the petticoat, and the sweet silk bodice, make me shudder with pleasure. I can just see through the stripes as it stops for a moment over my face while Grandma arranges the petticoat smoothly around me, then lets the dress drop onto my shoulders. I feel it close around my bloomers with a delicate slide this way and that, and my clitoris rises to welcome it. I can't help looking down the front of my dress, over horizontal stripes between lovely white frills. There are no sleeves. Instead my arms are bare like a girl in a summer dress and it smells of the dress store: sweet, perfumed and feminine. I can't take it all in: I'm just too happy and I start to cry.
"There, there, my pet. Has Nikki got a lovely new dress on? Is it just too feminine and sweet?" Grandma holds my face into her blouse, pressing me closer and hugging me. I feel her fingers slotting my dress buttons through their button holes from my waist up to my neck and I just cry and cry as her hands fold my sash ribbons together behind my waist and slide them into a huge bow for me. When she's happy that my moment of upset has subsided she draws back, just enough to look into my eyes and smile.
"Let's stand at the mirror shall we, and see what a sweet grand-daughter I have."
She stands behind me at the mirror and fusses out my skirt all round me, then we hold hands next to each other and I can adore seeing how delicious my new dress is. She sits me at her dressing table to put me into anklets and Mary Janes, and ties a ribbon in my hair. Finally she chooses a pair of her ear-rings for me to wear. I am so girly – so pretty – and so excited. It isn't long before I find what a lovely feeling I get when I hold my dress out to the sides so that the petticoat pulls tight across my bloomers. And that leads to me finding how sweet it is when I slide it this way and that across the panty nylon. I look at Grandma, in case this is too naughty, but she has that strict Grandma look on her face which I recognise to mean: ‘You're vexing me, my boy, with extra laundry to do, but on the other hand, I have plenty more lingerie I can put you into.'
It leads to an early change of panties – followed by another a few minutes later as I feel so wonderful in my new dress. She lays me back across her lap to turn up my dress and petticoat and take down my sticky panties. "I think you may be wearing your new dress for too long, sweetheart," she says, dropping the wet panties into the laundry basket beside her chair. "Maybe we can put you into one of Grandma's dresses instead," and she slides my next pair of panties up my legs and into place, "and you can lie on the bed and feel lovely in your panties while Grandma feels the shape of your girl's clitoris through a nice nylon slip and a matching pair of panties. Would you like to wear one of my bras darling?"
I just about manage to whisper "Yes please Grandma," as I climb to my feet and a flood of girly feelings rises through my body and my head. I hold my dress ever so wide again so that its sticky petticoat slides deliciously left and right and round and round over the satin gusset of Grandma's lovely panties. I can't resist being as girly as I possibly can and surrender to the feminine feelings that overwhelm me. "Ohhhhhh, Grandma Geraldine! Thank you! Thank you for making this a very special Saturday at your house."
Integrity Toys Fashion Royalty Maison Collection Siren Silhouette Korinne “Nikki” Dimas
Or: “I’m taking my Barbies and I’m going HOME!”
This story, is about my next door neighbor growing up. She was two months younger than me, but an only child, and she didn’t have the edge that being raised by older children and 80’s action films gave me. So, my patience with her “immaturity” could wear thin sometimes. I could also have a really rude temper.
She is the only person I regularly actually “Played Barbies” with. We would gather up our dolls and doll clothes and go to one or the other’s house. Divide up our dolls and give them names, relationships, backstories, build them houses, decide what part of the room was “The Mall,” and we would act out their little lives. We could play for days or until one of us got sick of the other, and it often ended in a disagreement and one of us stating “I’m taking my Barbies and I’m going HOME!”
She always named one of her dolls Korinne.
We, of course, lost touch when we moved away from each other as kids and grew up. I saw her once as a proto-adult in our early twenties and she had grown up to be absolutely gorgeous. She still used Korinne as her professional name.
And “I’m Taking My Barbies and Going HOME!” is still my official war cry.
Integrity Toys Fashion Royalty Maison Collection Siren Silhouette Korinne “Nikki” Dimas
Or: “I’m taking my Barbies and I’m going HOME!”
This story, is about my next door neighbor growing up. She was two months younger than me, but an only child, and she didn’t have the edge that being raised by older children and 80’s action films gave me. So, my patience with her “immaturity” could wear thin sometimes. I could also have a really rude temper.
She is the only person I regularly actually “Played Barbies” with. We would gather up our dolls and doll clothes and go to one or the other’s house. Divide up our dolls and give them names, relationships, backstories, build them houses, decide what part of the room was “The Mall,” and we would act out their little lives. We could play for days or until one of us got sick of the other, and it often ended in a disagreement and one of us stating “I’m taking my Barbies and I’m going HOME!”
She always named one of her dolls Korinne.
We, of course, lost touch when we moved away from each other as kids and grew up. I saw her once as a proto-adult in our early twenties and she had grown up to be absolutely gorgeous. She still used Korinne as her professional name.
And “I’m Taking My Barbies and Going HOME!” is still my official war cry.
a. 201127F-Melbourne'HeraldSun'-SovereignHill. This is a replica historical town, bringing the 1850s gold-rush way of life to a modern audience. It is in the top-league of attractions for visitation numbers in Victoria.
b. 140708-Melbourne'HeraldSun'-Spotswood-CandiedBakery
cd. 210602-aboutregional-Goulburn-TrappersBakery
a. 210902Th-Fairfax-GoodFood-bakery
b. 210910F-Fairfax-GoodFood-SouthYarra-Pretzel
c. 211106Sa-Sydney'SundayTelegraph'-MalikaBakehouse
d. 220108Sa-Launceston'Examiner'-Wynyard-FrenchSticksBakery
Where to find Melbourne’s best pies July 8, 2014
WINTER is in full swing and the only thing guaranteed to brighten a grey day is a heartwarming meat pie. Dan Stock trawled the suburbs to find Melbourne’s best.
Zumbo's beef and mushroom pie. Picture: Nicole Cleary
WINTER is in full swing and the only thing guaranteed to brighten a grey day, to warm a long night or to coax a smile after your team goes down at the ‘G, is a hearty,heartwarming meat pie.
Here in our great city the pie takes on many forms — from the traditional, say a Four’N’Twenty, from the servo, through to the exotic, say a lentil ratatouille number from a hip foodtruck, and many versions of beef in between.
But where will you find the best savoury pastries going around?
Where will you find those with firm yet flaky buttery pastry?
Those with fillings that are all killer, no filler, all flavour to savour?
Dan Stock trawled the suburbs to find Melbourne’s 10 best to eat this winter.
CHICKEN, LEEK, BACON, CORN PIE ($8.90) at Pure Pie
We’ve done it to the brothers Finn, Phar Lap - heck, we even claim Russell Crowe as one of our own - so there’s very good case for officially adopting Kiwi expats Holly and Michael Carthew as Aussie pie makers extraordinaire.
From the first humble batches made in their St Kilda apartment in 2011 and sold at farmers’ markets, to the thriving online and retail business of today, Pure Pie pies have rightfully won many fans around town.
“Our pies come from a Kiwi base of flavours,” Holly says. “And that’s what we wanted to achieve with our chicken and corn pie.”
In an all-butter sour cream pie base, chunks of free-range chicken are cooked with smoky, streaky bacon, and teamed with a creamy corn and leek sauce.
The pie is then topped with hand-crimped golden puff pastry. It’s a gloriously comforting pie of great beauty.
“We just want to make people happy,” Holly says. And with this winter winner they are doing their bit to make us smile broadly (even if a bit begrudgingly).
383 Bay St, Port Melbourne, 9041 5004
Pure Pie owner and baker Mike Carthew with tray of chicken, leek, bacon and corn pies. Picture: Nathan Dyer
TRADITIONAL BEEF ($8.50) at Bendigo St Milk Bar
Di and Mario di Stefano have transformed a traditional backstreet milk bar into a locals’ cafe where the conversation is easy, the coffee is good – but the pies are out of this world.
“We were shown how to make our pies by our friend Gina, who translated a traditional spanakopita recipe into an Australian pie when she emigrated to Australia,” Di says.
“She perfected the art over 20 years and we’ve followed her ‘secret’ recipe for the past eight years.”
That recipe makes a pie that’s generously filled with hunks of beef, stewed tender and covered in a sticky gravy with a lovely onion sweetness.
The good pastry, not overly flaky, and crisped top and bottom before serving.
“We don’t use pie warmers as it dries out the contents quickly,” Di says.
“The most difficult part of producing our pies in-house is being able to keep up with the demand.”
It’s with very good reason they are coveted so.
The beef pie at Bendigo St Milk Bar. Picture: Nicole Cleary
GOURMET PIE TRUCK ($5) at Gourmet Pie Truck
A classically trained French chef with a Greek heritage making an Aussie icon – George Vagianakis might have such luminaries as Jacques Reymond, France Soir and Paris Go on his CV that stretches back 25 years, but it’s with his six-month-old pie food truck that he’s now making his mark.
“I thought to myself, what would make good street food? And our national dish wasn’t represented,” he says.
It is now. With 11 flavours on offer, from Thai chicken to chunky steak to a red lentil ratatouille all baked daily, there’s something for all tastes.
“I do everything by hand, I hand-chop, hand-marinate, make the pasty – I do it all,” he says.
For his curry pie, t
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