Source – On a recent weekday afternoon in a SoHo loft, smiling partygoers crowded around a three-layer vanilla birthday cake covered with rainbow frosting, sprinkles and cherries.
Performer Lindsay Dye entered the room. She eyed the crowd, approached the cake — then plunked her bare butt smack on top of it.
Over the next 15 minutes, the raven-haired vamp sensually smeared globs of Pillsbury frosting and cake crumbs all over her back, thighs and buns.
The fetish, known as “cake sitting,” is how Dye makes ends meet.
“I never in my wildest dreams thought I could actually make a living doing this,” the 29-year-old Brooklynite told The Post. “But here I am, and I couldn’t be happier.”
Dye typically does three shows every week, raking in $150 per 15-minute session. She charges $50 for each additional half hour. The performer also offers homemade cakes for $50, or $25 for a custom cake design.
But audiences definitely can’t have Dye’s cake and eat it, too. …
“I’ve had people go face first into my butt, and that’s not something I’m cool with at all,” said Dye.
Far be it for me to disparage how anyone else chooses to earn an honest living in this country. I mean, what are we celebrating this weekend if not the American laborer? From the people who tamed a wilderness to the ones who crossed a continent with a railway. From the ones who built an industrial powerhouse to the ones who forged the weapons that won the wars. From the men who flew to the moon to the chick who sits her bare ass down on your birthday cake. We are all examples of the dignity of honest work.
But just indulge me while I try to wrap my brain around this. There’s no sex involved. No touching of any kind. But it’s a “fetish,” which is by definition sexual, right? So there are people out there who are so into watching it that they’ll pay 150 bucks for 15 minutes and $50 for every half hour after to see Lindsay Dye smear frosting and cake crumbs on her butt? So, presumably, they can jack to it while eating the cake after she goes? Have I got that right, or am I missing something?
I have to think that after the first few minutes, it would get really awkward. But then I claim ignorance on the whole “fetish” thing. Maybe the weird buzz in the room from having a complete stranger smear buttercream and sprinkles into her crack while making eye contact is some sort of an arousal trigger? Beats me. My fetishes, if you can even call them that, are women in glasses, smart women (a real life 6 is a Jeopardy! 9 in my book) and chicks in movies and TV who kick ass (the Black Widow hallway fight in Iron Man 2 is PG-porn). So I’m the last guy to understand this.
Then again, as these things go, Cake Fetish is probably one of the milder ones. More like Costanza eating a sub in the middle of sex to combine his two favorite things. People have been into weirder things. I remember Stern used to have a regular guest on who sold VHSs of women in bikinis doing nothing but popping balloons. And she couldn’t produce them faster than they sold out. Gilbert Gottfried always tells the story of how TVs original Joker Cesar Romero used to love to drop his pants and have guys throw oranges wedges at his bare butt. And don’t get me started on “Eggs, Danny Thomas-style.” So if she can pay her bills taking money from Cake Fetishists, more power to her.
I’m just sorry for Lindsay Dye that her father is dead. By that I mean, he has to be. Because if my daughter told me she was going to be a professional Cake Sitter, as soon as that first cake came out of the oven, I’d turn up the gas, blow out the pilot and stick my head in. I guess maybe I am judging.