In 2002 I wrote a screenplay IN HEAVEN ABOVE in which a former Soviet republic attempts to save itself from bankruptcy by holding a lottery. The prize is not money, but the chance to be the first man to have sex in space in a revamped space shuttle. I sent the scenario to a number of film companies. Rejection followed rejection followed rejection. An old girlfriend working at CAA didn’t return my phone calls and I retired IN HEAVEN ABOVE into limbo.
A month ago I received an email from a film producer was intrigued by the possibilities of sex in space. I phoned him from Luxembourg and his secretary put me on hold. After thirty seconds I was ready to kill the call, but he came on line and explained that he was thinking about leasing a space flight from Virgin Galactic for a party in 2013.
“You mean an orgy?” My old boss Manny believed in telling it straight. The truth kept you out of trouble much better than a lie.
“Something like that.”
“And you’re calling me for what?” The A to B connection was unclear.
“You wrote that screenplay about sex in space. I thought it was great, but everyone else was too hung-up about sex back when Bush was in office."
“What about now?” Hope sprung from an eternal fount.
“I don’t do porno.” Rated R killed a film at the mega-plex, plus it was hard jerking off with popcorn crumbs in your hand.
“But the writing showed that you had done research into the subject and I was wondering whether you thought sex was possible in space.”
“Possible?” Another freebie for a complete stranger. Manny had a word for this conversation. A waste of time, but I had ten minutes to kill. “Everything is possible.”
“Has it ever been done?” The producer was calling from Hollywoood. His time was worth thousands of dollars a minute. He spoke as if every word cost him a thousand dollars.
“Firstly, NASA is too square. In fact NASA spokesman Bill Jeffs of the Johnson Space Center in Houston admitted and this is a quote, "We don't study sexuality in space and we don't have any studies ongoing with that. Astronauts are also very conservative by nature and will do nothing to jeopardize their seat for the next mission.”
Only one married couple had been rocketed into orbit. Privacy on the Space Shuttle was non-existent, unless they shut themselves in the airlock and they were too Christian for such a risk. “The fundamentalists would have a cow if the heavens were spoiled by copulation.”
“Well, 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 his voice I remembered why I hated LA. It’s shallower than an Archie comic book. “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 producers 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. “But keep this in mind. Only four positions work in space without any help. Are you familiar with the dolphin theory.”
A heart beat 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 to be strapped to a wall by Velcro, that might help defeat the lack of gravity.”
Sort of like a bondage menage a trois.”
I had his attention and he asked, “Would you like to come along?”
I found the idea of being naked with anyone other than my wife Mam repulsive, but said, “Yes, as long as I can bring my wife.”
“Your wife?” The cost of the ticket on Virgin Galactic was $200,000.
“One of the great problems about sex in space is the welling of blood within your body. Same as a man in his 60s. One look at my wife and I’m hard as the titanium heat shield on a Space Shuttle.”
“Your wife?” He was asking me to be a pimp.
“Mine and mine alone. See you in heaven.” Manny would love that I left that I left the producer hanging with anticipation, but he would make it into Space with his harem of space hookers, unless Virgin Galactic was heading for Venus which everyone knows is populated by blue-skinned vixens in fur bikinis.
They do it for free.
I have heaven on Earth.
For I have Mam.
And a woman like her has never left the ground.She gets airsick.