I’m back with my final installment of this story. I apologize for keeping you waiting. I was a witness in a civil case where a bikini wax went terribly wrong. It was a long and painful trial. Thankfully Robin Williams received justice and a nice settlement as well. So here’s the rest of the story. Just as I promised things get messy.
Our passion was urgent so we quickly undressed. That’s when we heard the chanting. Resistance fighters had stormed the outer perimeter of the zero gravity chamber. They were dumping trays in the already full trash receptacles and screaming about bacon. Worse yet, they were putting ketchup packages under the tires of unsuspecting motorists!
“The Canadians are angry. They want to be the first to copulate in space.” I heard the frightened cashier shout.
I knew the mission had gotten dangerous and I knew the future of sex depended on it’s completion. I ripped a strip of red cloth off the bed and tied it around my head. I then let out a primate scream. It was similar to a primal scream but it sounded more like a chimpanzee. My husband stood with his hands reaching for the sky and shouted “Adrieeenne!”
“What the hell?” I asked incredulously. “That’s Rocky, I was doing Rambo!”
“It’s the same thing. You knew what I meant”
We bickered for a few brief minutes. The sound of the Canadian resistance fighters grew louder. For the good of the country we put aside our differences.
We had drifted apart physically and emotionally in the disrobing/bickering process and decided to run into each other’s arms. It was a symbolic rejoining of our relationship. It was like a scene from movie. Minus the gravity. We expected to fall into the vibrating bed and make wild passionate zero gravity love. Just as we reached each other the chamber reached full degravitification. According to the official documentation, we bounced off each other and started to ‘crash around like a forcefully thrown crazy ball in a cement room’.
Through all the noise and confusion I could hear the loud shouting of the Canadians. They had been captured and were complaining about their inhumane treatment. They were demanding round bacon on their McMuffins and maple syrup for their beavers. A few were demanding that everyone speak French. I tried to listen but I had my own problems.
At some point my bra strap caught on a hook. My body was yanked to an abrupt stop and I was jerked back towards the wall of the space station. I then bounced off the wall and the whole process started over again. I was being thrown back and forth like a yo-yo. I wasn’t feeling very patriotic at this point.
“Ouch! Ahh! My head is hitting the circuit board.” I cried in distress. “I’m getting a cramp in my leg.” Memories of my old car, strawberry wine, and young love saturated my mind.
In a panic my husband tried to reach me by steering his body with the body part that looked the most like a rudder and using his built in air propulsion mechanism.
“Jesus Christ, man. That’s a penis not a rudder. Let go of it and help me” I shouted.
Alarms started to sound. “Abort the mission. Abort the mission.” The monotone voice shouted over the loud speaker.
“NO!” I shouted, “I will not have an abortion. I want this mission!” My dreams of going down in the history books were shattering before my eyes.
In his haste and confusion my husband bumped into the emergency eject button. The escape hatched opened and we were effectively flushed from the chamber. We flew through the air and landed headfirst in a barrel of chicken nugget coating. There we were naked, bruised, and yes, lightly seasoned and battered.
“What a mess” My husband said shaking his head.
I crawled out of the batter and collapsed into a pile of goo onto the floor. I then slid across the floor and bumped into the United Nations mandated barrel of maple syrup. The barrel cracked and all the sticky sweet syrup poured out onto the floor.
Dave, the NASA lawyer, looked around in disgust. “I tried telling you this could get messy.” He said. He then started to call the EPA.
“I’ve failed” I sobbed. “I have failed my country.”
“This is terrible.” The man in the nice suit and combat boots shouted. “This has set the space program back at least 150 years. We may never recover.”
“Can I get some fries now?” My husband asked. I heard the deep fryer kick into action.
At this point, I had no choice. I was overcome with despair, embarrassment, and the knowledge that I had failed my country. I did what any reasonable self-respecting person would do. I covered myself in cheeseburger wrappers and fled the scene. The nugget coating and syrup held them in place nicely.
So there you have it. I am a space sex failure. Not only that, I have set the space program back 150 years. Yes, you heard me right. The space shuttle is now a cotton gin. I am so ashamed.
I had vowed to live the rest of life in a small suburban subdivision in central Virginia. Surrounded by min-vans and dogs dressed in human clothing. A place where I could hide my shame behind the cover of pot luck dinners and PTA meetings. You know, exile. But you have given me the courage to share my story and let go of the guilt. I will have to live with the fact that I ruined sex in space for the entire planet. At least now I no longer have to live with it in silence. I means a lot to have someone that understands. It was important that the truth be told.
I have a few more painful stories to tell you but I have to go now. I think I just saw a ninja in my front yard. I hope they’re not still mad after the unsuccessful emergency circumcision I attempted on…
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