by Ann Baillie-Regentin
(10/02/02)
Lately while you've been gone, I've been thinking about sex in zero gravity. My first thought is that it would probably do my breasts a world of good, but then I get distracted by imagining what it might do to your cock. Without the pull of gravity, how would it stand? Would it drift as you moved as if you were underwater? I could balance it on my fingertip, thick and full but strangely weightless. I could drop down in front of you, not onto my knees but just down, and bury my face in your groin. I'd like to lick your balls, feel you thrusting against my face, kiss you, suck on you, drifting in the middle of the room, nothing touching me but you, my hands on your hips, your hands on my head, your cock as far down my throat as I can take it.
I know how hard you like to fuck me sometimes. What would happen without the bed at my back? Without gravity, with only our bodies for leverage, we would need to hold on to each other, move in new ways, each thrust and grind having unexpected results. We could spin like a top, roll end over end, stretch out into impossible positions. We would drift, I think, and turn, as we grappled and clung, fetching up against walls and consoles and shoving off again into the room followed by tiny droplets of sweat.
Sex without earth-noises. Sex accompanied by the hum of the machines that give us oxygen and keep us afloat thousands of miles above the atmosphere. Sex at Earthrise, kissing at the window that overlooks the rest of life. Sex as a talisman and an antidote against the perfect dark and emptiness outside. We should be upside down, but there is no upside or down here and I am holding on even tighter, I can't afford to lose you now, not now, not now, oh please! Please! Please! Yes! Just like that, as deep as you can, yes! Oh God! Oh, thank you! Thank you! You are so good, so good to me, and you know it, you can hear it when I come.
I want you to pull out when you come. I want to watch the milky ribbons shooting out from the end of your cock, see them floating there, alive with possibilities. I want to reach out with my tongue, taste the glistening drops and strands. It's nectar to me and you know this, too. I want to revel in it while you watch with dark, feral eyes. I want to play with it, let it break over my fingers and dance on my breasts, feel it caress my cheek and get into my hair until all of it is gone, on me or inside of me somewhere. I want to feel you grab hold of me hard enough to send us reeling into the wall and shove your tongue into my mouth, pure savagery. We should be right side up, but there's no right side or up here, just bodies suspended beyond the Van Allen Belt, and this time you really are taking me to the moon.
