Essays

I'm Ron, from NASA.

“History was supposed to be made Friday when, for the first time, two female astronauts were scheduled to do a spacewalk together outside the International Space Station. However, one of the astronauts was switched out this week because of a lack of ‘spacesuit availability.’” – NPR, 3/26/19

Hi. I’m Ron. I’m from NASA.

I’m that guy that makes suits. You know, the suits that we didn’t have enough of to complete a historic all female spacewalk this Friday?

The thing that kind of seemed like a problem we could have figured out before they took off, because sizes can change in space but you really don’t go from a medium to large just because your food is floating?

Yeah, I’m that guy. I actually made these space suits back in 1970s. It was a different time. I’m not saying it as an excuse, but legally, women weren’t allowed to go to space or vote.

I know you’re thinking, Ron, you fool, Why didn’t you bang down the bosses’ door and say, LET ME MAKE ANOTHER SUIT! DAMN THE BUDGET! IT’S FOR HISTORY! You could have been the Kevin Costner in “Hidden Figures 2: This Suit Needs Room for Titties”

I’ve calculated curvatures that could bring Stephen Hawking’s Ghost to ghost tears. You’ve build a goddamn spaceship.

Look, I know what you’re thinking. I’m a sexist.

But I’m not a sexist, I’m just really horny.

It’s not just the suit. I haven’t been able to build anything new these past two decades. You see, it’s not the women in space I’m horny for. It’s SPACE ITSELF. I just go goo-goo-ga-ga thinking about SPACE STUFF. Gaping black holes, titillating nebulas, lonely, salacious quasars pulsating millions of lightyears away from the nearest being, aching for my touch.  I didn’t think I’d be like this. I thought by now I’d be married, with kids even. I saved myself for marriage the good christian way but just never found that special someone. Somehow things just didn’t click for me until the Hubble Telescope was launched in 1990. I took one look through her sultry lens and nothing was the same for me again.

That’s when I I realized I didn’t want to have sex with women, I wanted to have sex with SPACE.

Venus, Mars and Jupiter - that is MY ideal threesome. Two guys, one gal, because everything in space has a gender that I arbitrarily assign it, and with me of course watching from a safe distance from all the debris that that would naturally result in a collision of these cosmic behemoths while they copulated. I want to be Pegged by the ghost of john glenn. Interstellar, First Man, Gravity, Martian, even Guardians of the Galaxy are porn to me.I can barely get through 15 minutes without spilling my seed. A glance at the moon is always accompanied by the feeling a half chub straining against my khakis. All that vast white expanse, the gentle curve of the surface, pockmarked with craters, barely scorched by man’s impure touch, my thighs quiver just at the thought. Have you ever tried to calculate the degree of heat leaving the surface of the sun in relation to earth’s orbit with a ROCK HARD BONER?

The worst part about this (other than it stops me from doing my job and helping the brave women astronauts do theirs) is that when I cum? It’s loud, and it’s bad.

When I climax, I go “IIIII LOOOOVEEE CARLLLLL SAAAGANNN” cause I do, and that’s also the noise I make when I cum.

Sometimes I cum a little bit, sometimes I cum a lot, but mostly, I can’t stop cumming at all when I’m thinking about SPACE. It costs 12 million dollars to make a new space suit, 5 million of which goes to getting all the cum out of it in the end.

Sure, my horniness may limit humanity from progress on a daily basis, but I’m a scientist, exploration is in my heart.

As Carl Sagan said…

“Exploration is in our nature. We began as wanderers, and we are wanderers still. We have lingered long enough on the shores of the cosmic ocean. We are ready at last to set sail for the stars. and fuck the shit out of them until we explode in the cold, soundless vacuum of space.”

Well, he said most of that, I added the last part.



Clare Austen-Smith