In 2002 I wrote a screenplay IN HEAVEN ABOVE in which a former Soviet province saved itself from bankruptcy by holding a lottery with the prize of being the first man to have sex in space in their revamped space shuttle. I sent the scenario to a number of film companies. Rejection followed rejection followed rejection.
After an old girlfriend at CAA didn’t return my phone calls and I retired IN HEAVEN ABOVE to my closet with the rest of my unpublished manuscripts. They excelled at collecting dust.
Hope sprung from an eternal fount.
Last month I received a call from a Canadian film director. We knew each other through a mutual friend, who had been his lover. Both were married to other people. Divorce was out of the question, but he had read my script as a favor to her.
“What you think?” Hope for aging writes sprung from an eternal fount.
“It was very funny,” Allyn replied without much interest and then asked, “Is sex in pace possible?”
“According to all the research, no.”
“So no one has had sex in space?” His time was worth thousands of dollars a minute. He spoke as if every word cost him a thousand dollars.
“No.” I was used to people picking my mind. This was a WOT or a waste of time, but I had ten minutes to spare.
“How can you be certain that no one has not had sex in space?”
“NASA is too square. In fact NASA spokesman Bill Jeffs of the Johnson Space Center in Houston has said, “We don’t study sexuality in space, and we don’t have any studies ongoing with that, plus astronauts are also very conservative by nature and will do nothing to jeopardize their seat for the next mission.”
I had extensively researched the Internet during the writing of IN HEAVEN ABOVE. I knew the subject better than the President mostly because presidents of the USA think about death from above rather than sex.
Only one married couple had been rocketed into orbit. The only available privacy on the Space Shuttle was by shutting themselves in the airlock and they were too Christian to take such a risk. “The fundamentalists would have a cow if the heavens were spoiled by copulation.”
“What about the Russians?” He was speaking with a ‘hurry up’ tone. Script pitches were usually a hundred words or less.
“The Russians have brought up guitars and vodka, but I doubt they got it together for sex.” Hearing the rush in his voice I remembered why I hated LA. “But they tried out several positions for sex. One with guinea pigs. That report is censored by the NASA and Russian space authorities.”
“I don’t give a shit about guinea pigs.” Hollywood directors only cared about how much popcorn they sold.
“No, I don’t imagine you would.” I covered my snide tracks with a shovel of information. “Keep this in mind. The biggest challenge of sex in space is Newton’s Third Law.” My teachers at Xaverian Brothers had excelled at foisting knowledge to their students. “So if I thrust, a woman is propelled farther from me. Coupling is considered nearly impossible in a weightless environment.”
“And scientists have not come up with a solution?”
“Which is?”
“For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Only four positions work in space, but they need help.Are you familiar with the dolphin theory.”
A heart beat of silence sounded his complete ignorance.
“The Ocean is much my space. Buoyancy is the same as weightlessness and some scientists suggest that dolphin need a third party to help them mate in a near-zero-gravity situation. It always helps to have someone pushing, but also if you were strapped to a wall by Velcro, that might help the lack of gravity.”
Sort of like a bondage menage a trois?”
“Yes, but the research of sex in Space has been limited by the religious constraints of the fundamentalists and Catholic Church, plus most of space missions have been with men and NASA doesn’t launch gay astronauts. At least none have come out of the closet. Plus there’s another problem?”
“Another one?”
“That there isn’t enough blood in your cock to achieve erection.” Enough men on Earth suffered from penile dysfunction to not have to spread their illness in Space.
“But if you took a Viagra, wouldn’t the drug help the flow of blood to the penis?” The director was rich enough to have booked a future flight on Virgin’s Space Shuttle.
“I’m not a scientist, plus I never use Viagra or Cialis, since those pills are only to helpl a man have sex with a woman whom he doesn’t want to fuck, but if you google ‘sex in space’, you come up with nothing. It doesn’t interest the scientists and most of space missions have been with men and astronauts are not gay. At least none have come out of the closet.”
“Thanks for the information.” He accepted my explanation.
“What about IN HEAVEN ABOVE?” I was hoping for an advance.
“It’s funny and an unusual story, but this is America. No one here is interested in foreigners having sex in Space.” He was leaving town this week to film another TV show for HBO.
“Space is not the angels.” This call had been a waste of my time and at my age time was not a luxury.
“And monster aliens. If you come up with a good monster screenplay, give me a call.”
“Yeah, right.” I hung up the phone and remembered celestial space tours are offering weddings in space for $2.3 million per person.
Honeymoons in orbit can’t be far behind this venture into Space with special suits made for the conjugal passage through the stars. Space hookers will be next, unless we’re heading for Venus which everyone knows is populated by blue-skinned vixens in fur bikinis and they do it for free. Same as me.