Lance Bass Opens Space-Themed Gay Nightclub

Taking a page out of Lindsay Lohan’s prescription pad, former *NSYNC member Lance Bass has opened a nightclub centered around a cause near and dear to his heart: space.

The club, called *NSPACE, brings some celestial energy to Fire Island’s Cherry Grove neighborhood.  When I visited the club last Saturday, a glitter-covered Lance greeted me on the other side of the Get Smart-esque spaceship door.  “One small step for man,” he said as he led me in,  “one giant step for the man who was cheated out of buying the house from The Brady Bunch.”

The lighting in the club is dim, with bursts of neon light all throughout - perfect for hooking up with someone out of your league.  NASA memorabilia lines the walls: old spacesuits, helmets, and for some reason, a picture of Madonna.  “Oh yeah, didn’t she want to go to the moon a few years ago?” I asked.  “I don’t know,” Lance replied.  “But she’s out of this world.”

We walked over to the all-glass bar with seats straight out of The Jetsons, and one of the bartenders enthusiastically came out to greet us.  The bartender uniforms - if you can call them uniforms - are unique to say the least.  Each drink-slinger is fully nude, covered in a body-painted spacesuit, his dick painted like a rocket ship and his testicles painted with flames.  “Doesn’t this violate the health code?” I asked Lance.  “Honey, this is Fire Island,” he said.  “The health department is a Chihuahua in a tutu.”  

We sat down at the bar and enjoyed a round of the club’s signature cocktail - The Challenger, named for the rim of Pop Rocks that explodes in your mouth.  “You know, I was supposed to go to space almost 20 years ago,” Lance told me, “but I had to pull out at the last minute.  It was like having sex with women all over again.”

He kept talking, but I was fixated on the club’s scent.  I wasn’t quite sure what it was, but I definitely knew what it wasn’t.  “This is the first gay club I’ve ever been to that doesn’t smell like semen,” I told Lance.  He smiled proudly.  “I know,” he said.  “I go out of my way to make sure it always smells like spacemen.”

Once we finished our drinks, Lance whisked me away to the other side of the building, promising to show me the club’s “crown jewel.”  On the way there, I noticed a door that read: NO SPACE SUITS. BIRTHDAY SUITS ONLY.  “What’s in there?” I asked.  “That’s the Moon Room,” Lance answered, with a wink.  “Guys can cuddle up in the craters and get their space rocks off.”

We kept walking until we landed at a door labeled VR ROOM.  Inside, a bunch of guys wore VR headsets and stroked their rock hard rocketships.  “You just show them VR porn?” I asked.  Lance smiled.  “Not quite.  We show them Justin Timberlake concerts.”  As he said this, I noticed his rocketship begin to poke through his rubber suit.  “I know what people really want. You don’t think I ever jay’d off while he was …” Lance trailed off as his husband of five years, Michael Turchin, approached.  “I just finished watching Justin at the Super Bowl,” Michael told us.  “Let me tell you,” he said, glaring at Lance, “you could learn a thing or two.”

The club is open Fridays and Saturdays from 7pm to 4am.  “I keep my weekdays open in case I get any calls,” he told me.  At press time, Lance had received six calls: one from his dry cleaner, and five from someone claiming to be the IRS.