Back in September, Reader A. asked me to stop into Spyce over in Old Town. I made it in back in the Fall sometime, can’t remember when. Had a great evening with a girl who’s name I already forget. It was actually as enlightening as it was low-key. She knew I wouldn’t be buying any dances, but since I was one of only two or three customers in the place, she decided to give me her undivided attention.
She was pretty cute. Late-twenties, early-thirties. She had a kid. We talked about kids, dating customers, different clubs around town, and a couple of douchebags who eventually showed up. She said despite the fact said douches have more money than God, they’d all end up spending as much as me during the evening. Yet they thought they were someone as did the manager, so off she went to the champegne room to entertain. Oh well.
I’ve always wanted to go back there if only to meet up with her again. In the couple times I’ve been back, she hasn’t been there. So I guess she’s lost to the ages. Too bad.
For a while there Spyce was all over the radio talking about their Friday night steak and lobster dinner. It’s $10 and surely better than $10 worth of Taco Bell, no? So I decided to check it out after work this past Friday.
Susan at River City Kitty does a much better job describing the interior than I.
The interior of the bar was pretty nice and very nightclubby. The stage sits a mere six inches off of the ground with poles very close to the corners and table seating rather than a rail around the stage; guess what this means? Nightly meetings twixt stiletto heel and customer body parts. They have got to raise that stage or build a rail around it before someone gets an accidental stripper-induced concussion.
The handful of times I’ve been in now, I’m still not sure what to make of the stage set-up. First off, no one is sure where to put their money. I like to just set it up on the rail and let the girl take it. There being no rail, there’s nowhere for me to put it. I finally figured out I had to just throw it on-stage. Fine, I guess, but it’s still confusing. Of course when you’re the only guy sitting at the stage, it’s probably not that confusing after all.
The kitchen is located in a separate room in the back of the club. It’s basically a lunch counter with a half dozen bar stools. As I entered, there was a meeting of…ummmm….let’s call them entrepreneurs….at one end of the counter. I went to the other end and sat down.
“Steak and lobster?” the cook asked.
“Yes sir,” I replied.
He asked me how I took my steak. I advised medium-rare, and he threw it on the broiler.
I went back into the main room to get my beer and found Selinda taking the stage. She stopped me in my tracks. Like Victoria at Pallas, Selinda got my crank turning. She reminds me of an older version of my senior prom date. Oh my. Short red hair. Nice butt. Probably 5′3″ or 5′4″. And the eyes. Oh my. She could have had anything she wanted.
Well, almost. After three songs and lots of attention, it was time to go enjoy my steak.
It’s actually not too bad. It was a nice strip steak served with a small lobster tail. Baked potato with all the trimmings. What the hell else do you want? And unlike the Acropolis, it’s not served to you whi;e you’re sitting at the rail. I suppose they could bring it out to the main room, but then you’d have girls descending on you asking you to buy them dinner. And really, I don’t want to sit and watch you eat.
So I sat back in the back and watched Utah kick the holy heck out of Alabama. That was kind of fun to see!
After I finished dinner, I rushed back out to the stage to watch Selinda . And again, she made me feel 17. Again. The brush up against my cheek. The hands rubbing my thighs. The hot breath on my neck. It was quite awesome.
Again, Selinda isn’t for everyone. But she’ll definitely have me back in Spyce and soon.
The other girl working happy hour was Athena. She’s a taller blonde and much more full-contact than Selinda. Athena wasn’t on stage 30-seconds before she was straddling me, bouncing up and down, and doing a really awful fake moan. A complete turn-off. I’m all for whorish strippers and girls who make like they’ll put-out even if they won’t. But this kind of act just doesn’t do it for me. But like a trooper, I put up with it.
When she turned around and whipped her blonde hair around, I caught a glimpse of a tattoo on her neck that brought a whole flood of memories back. It was a tattoo of a $100 bill. It was the same tattoo I’d seen on a girl at Pop-A-Top back earlier in the fall…
Oh, Pop-A-Top! Man. A friend of mine aptly described that place as scuzzy. It’s out on Columbia right around 63rd. It’s a combination bar and jack shack. The girls spend their whole time on stage trying to get you to “go next door” to this other building where there’s no alcohol and, according to one girl, no cameras. Then she promised the experience was “guaranteed to blow your mind.”
Hey! A codeword! Even I know what that means. There was no way I was going next door. That doesn’t mean one girl in particular didn’t try.
As I was making my way toward the door, a girl came up and stopped me. She started rubbing my belly while eventually reaching inside my shirt and squeezing my nipple. She starts asking me if I want to go next door, so I decided to play along. I mean the nipple thing definitely had my attention.
So we go through the negotiation. It’s $160 to go next door and seemingly there would be no rules once we got there. She was definitely the cutest girl in the place, so if I was gonna spend $160 on an experience that night, it would be with her. But my big head overruled the littler one, and I excused myself.
I don’t have to tell you the girl twisting my nipple was Athena, the same girl aggressively dry-humping me at the side of the stage Friday night. I didn’t have the heart to bring the subject up as even Spyce a rung or two up the club ladder, and I didn’t know if she wanted to be reminded.
I left after about an hour to go meet up with some friends. The allure of Selinda, though, brought me back around 10.
By then, the club had changed. No longer was it a lonely little spot with only two strippers working a weird stage. By 10pm, they were charging a $5 cover and they had a fairly decent crowd. They definitely skewed younger and clubbier. But they were respectful for the most part, unlike the frat boy thing you see at Stars or the Dolphin.
I picked a table along one of the walls and waited to see my Selinda again. Unfortunately she was nowhere to be found. Instead the night shift had taken over. They were younger, a hotter. Lots of 8s and one 9. Her name? Mitzy.
She’s 24, blonde, and stacked. She’s got a perfect body and an attitude to match. As I took my spot at the stage, she lasered in on me and went to work. She nibbled on my ear. Rubbed my thighs. Twisted my nipples. See, this is why it’s not such a bad thing to have the stage only 6″ off the ground! Where else in town can you get a $1 lap dance? Nowhere!
She found me a little while later and took me back to the couches. Only in the case of Spyce, its the arm chairs. We made a little idle chit-chat as she curled up on my lap. Her breasts were right in my face, and her smooth back and butt were rubbing against my arm. I had to cop a feel. And unlike most other dancers, she didn’t move my hand away. Huh. It was going to be one of those dances!
As our song started, I looked over to the bouncer. His back was turned to us as he stood in the door. It was obvious he wanted to give us our privacy.
Off came Mitzy’s bra, and we commenced the dance. She rubbed her crotch against mine for what seemed like an eternity before turning around and thrusting her breasts in my face as she came around to nibble my ear. She worked down my neck and to my chest, pausing to nibble on each nipple.
Note: I don’t know a lot, but I do know this. If you want to know how to please your woman in bed, pay attention to the things she does to you. This is almost always an example of what she wants done to her. Do those things, and you’ll have a happy girl.
Clearly Mitzy enjoyed the nipple play, so at the next chance, I returned the favor. Was her shudder real or fake or revulsion? Couldn’t tell you. I can say breasts were offered more than once, so that says something.
She talked me into a second song, this one involved much more nibbling and panting. Man, she does a good job. May I recommend Mitzy at Spyce for all your couch dance needs.
We made some more small talk at the end. We exchanged our real names, which was kind of fun. I told her the story of the girl I met at the D2 who had her stage name, her fake-real name and her real-real name. She thought that was a bit much. Maybe so, but it made for nice small talk.
My wallet freshly lightened, I left the place around midnight. I’ll definitely be back. Not only for the lobster, but for Mitzy. And maybe I’ll see if I can get Selinda on the couch too.