Why NASA no Longer Studies Sex in Space
You may have heard the news. NASA has released a document outlining ethical issues in space travel to Mars. On topic not covered was sexual activity in space. You are lucky to be reading right now. I have some inside information. Here’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
It all started some time back. I was sitting on my couch spooning the bite-sized goodness known as Frosted Mini Wheat into my mouth when my doorbell rang. Much perturbed by the interruption I set the bowl down and peeked out the window. There was a man in a white lab coat holding a clipboard. He looked impatient and nervous. I was curious.
I opened the door and started to recite the greeting I had planned for nervous impatient front-door visitors.
“Hi. I’m not interested in becoming a Jehovah Witness. I’m not Mormon material. I don’t need a magazine and we don’t eat meat that is sold from a cooler in the back of a pickup truck. Have a nice day.”
I had intended to give the greeting but I didn’t make it past the Hi. He flashed me and started to speak. After putting his badge away carefully in his front coat pocket he began to talk with a clinical and apathetic coldness. I knew from experience only a government agent could muster this level of apathetic coldness. This is what he said,
“Hello Mrs. Imperceptible. My name is Agent 32-56 and I am here to recruit you for the study of sexual activity in space. We have had your house under surveillance for the last few months. You may have noticed the helicopters overhead.”
“Uh Yeah,” I said as I started to look for the hidden camera. I was certain I was being punked.
“You are a prime candidate for our experiment. We have documented proof that in the last month you have exhibited all of the sexual behaviors we are interested in studying. Congratulations. This is a wonderful opportunity for you. Can we count on you to support your country.”
He then handed me a list. The list was simply titled ‘Required Sexual Behaviors’. There were check marks beside each of the items. I looked over the list and realized he had the wrong person. He was looking for the newlyweds down the street. I didn’t even have a chandelier. I had intended to tell him he had the wrong person but I didn’t. He didn’t give me a chance.
Before I knew what was happening I had signed six forms to be filed in triplicate and had a really cool ‘NASA hearts sex’ pin for my lapel. He fired a flare into the sky and an extraction team of really hot men descended from a helicopter hovering above the clouds. They grunted and farted a lot as they whisked me off to an undisclosed location. They were very nice to me. They knew I was the only hope for a successful study of sex in space. The whole future of our race depended on me. I waved at the people stuck in traffic on I-95 and peeked into windows with high-powered binoculars. It was very exciting.
Once we arrived at the undisclosed location just outside of D.C. Dick Cheney and I shared a plate of bacon cheese fries with extra sour cream and discussed his health. Everyone was especially nice. I felt at home. They made me feel like I belonged. I knew I couldn’t disappoint them.
A few hours later they brought in my husband. He was giving me the “what the hell have you gotten me into” look. Once everything had been explained he was in. His exact words were “Hot sweaty space sex? Why not? I’ll give it a go.” He’s very English like that.
People shook our hands and patted our backs. They praised us for our patriotism. Confetti was shot out of cannons. We felt like celebrities. It was a high point in my ordinary and mundane existence. I was walking on air. Not in the same way I would be walking on air a short plane ride later, mind you. But I was floating none-the-less.
To be continued. Maybe.
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