HowTo: Sex in space


All the sex in space (and zero gravity) chat is very titillating; everywhere in the articles and blog posts are hints at what we all want to know about the most — the *actual* sex. We’ll never get an explicit taste of space sex from these outlets of conjecture. Not to mention that sex in space, as a topic, will always be bookended by marriage, reproduction and evolutionary urges. *Yawn.*

So I present to you: a guide to good, old-fashioned fuckin’ and suckin’ in the future. In space.

How it works:

Perhaps what’s so mind-boggling to space sex pundits is that we are no longer talking about “missionary position with the lights off” sex. For this, I think the future cannot arrive fast enough. Sex in zero (or reduced) gravity is going to change the way we fuck for many reasons — primarily because while floating in zero G you need to use stationary objects to move, period. Getting cock into pussy, into mouth, into ass — getitng pussy into face, or getting the strap-on into his ass — is all going to be a coordinated effort, Your partner’s body will wander no matter how hard they try to keep still. And you better bet you’ll need to tether that bottle of lube (and its cap). In fact, all your sex toys will need wrist straps.

(Please) tie me to the console and fuck my brains out:

This is the natural next step for space sex: bondage. No, you won’t need to know which pocket to flag your synthetic space hanky in, or need to know BDSM scenester lingo to get laid in the spacepod, but a little forethought about restraint is going to be the name of the game. Rope and knot knowledge will help; what would be even better of course would be some lightweight, easy-on/off NASA-manufactured tethers. And the shuttle will need to be slightly redesigned with eyebolt-style tie down points — all over the ship. Oh yes.

What to wear:

That’s the problem. I saw the outfits for Vanna Bonta’s concept for the “2suit” garment and wept openly. This burlap-sack-with-velcro anti-lingerie would be fine if I jacked off while watching people fly at each other wearing outfits made of dinner napkins. Not my fetish. First of all, everyone will need the proper footwear, so you better design me a rig to fuck in that compliments my black 6″ stilettoes and looks good against the leather underbust corset and rubber crotchless panties I plan on wearing while I bang Captain Kirk (circa 1969). Sex in space does not need to be unsexy to work — or to be simply contemplated. Clearly the best solution is to get fetish and BDSM makers on the job. There already exist a delightful array of fuck slings, body harnesses, bondage outfits and all other manner of joining hot wet and deliciouly swollen space bits together. And do make it rubber or elastic; it’ll be lightweight, vegan, and give enough push/pull/springback to get a nice rythym going. Because hello — rythym is key to coming, and difficult to get when you’ve got no gravity.

The Kama Sutra of intergalactic cocksucking:

Now’s the time to perfect your technique of putting a condom on with your mouth. And, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but facial comeshots will have to be saved for when you get back on the planet (so sad, I know). The fact is, come is going to get *everywhere* if allowed to shoot off into the atmosphere, and while I’m giggling thinking of trying to catch it all in your mouth as it floats around the cabin, it’s just nonconsensual to let that stuff fly free if you’re in orbit with others. Not to mention how hard come is to get out of hair already. Think about getting it out of your best spacesuit. Enough said.

Photo via 1970 British series UFO tribute site.

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Raising my robot army

I forgot about this photo that Eddie took of me! (Original on Flickr is here.) My day at SRL starts here.

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All you ever think about is text

Lazy sunday readings:

* Congress targets deceptive ‘sex’ sites — don’t know how this could be prosecutable, but it looks like using “furby” in your URL/name could have you up on federal charges. Snip: “Anyone who includes misleading words or images intended to confuse a minor into viewing a possibly harmful Web site could be imprisoned for up to 20 years and fined, the legislation says.”

* Sweet Viviane spotted a cute interview with my super-adorable and whipsmart friend Ducky Doolittle: check out Just Ducky. Snip: “Apparently, Tofu Wu Wu — 1 block of soft tofu, 1 can of 100 per cent pineapple juice, and salt — tastes just like vagina.”

* This is a case worth watching, and if you haven’t been following it the Xbiz article EFF Sides With Google Over Perfect 10 on Appeal will fill you in nicely. Snip: “Perfect 10 wants to hold Google responsible for the misdeeds of the websites it links to,” EFF attorney Fred von Lohmann said. “No search engine could survive if that were the rule, nor, for that matter, could most bloggers or other web publishers. If Perfect 10 succeeds in convincing the court that in-line linking and framing of images constitutes a public display or distribution of copyrighted work, then millions of web publishers and bloggers will suddenly be on the wrong side of copyright law — as well as the millions of web users who may follow a link to a website with infringing content.”

* And the YouTube TOU issue developed on Boing Boing last week, with YT only finally addressing the attention with a statement *after* the EFF’s Jason Schultz called them on the carpet. Personally, I see it as a neat obfuscation; they focus on the fact that the original blog post excerpted the new TOU — which is parsed nicely in the comments — without copping to the fact that yes indeed they do have a TOU that effectively forces users to remove their content in order to know they completely control what happens with their videos/images/music. If you want your full rights the way to enforce ownership is to delete your videos from the service. Take your ball and go home, crybaby. Snip from Wired blog: “The fact that YouTube is not required to alert you to when they use your content, means that they can use your content before you can remove it. It’s kinda moot to remove it from the site after they’ve already used it.” Of course they’re not the only service that behaves this way with user content but they’re a good example for a discussion like this. However, for the videos I make and care about owning the content, I’ll stick with Blip‘s full roster of Creative Commons licenses that I can choose from on upload for each of my videos, thanks. Plus, they may not be as fast as YT (yet), but the videos *look* a hell of a lot better anyway.

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Welding in 100+ degree heat sucks

Three photos from my day yesterday at SRL begin here; today’s pics begin here, all with narrative. I just want to sink into a bathtub full of ice cubes, drink a beer, and have someone kiss my bruises.

I have the beer, anyway.

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It must have been after 2am when I climbed off the parked car outside BOCA last night because they were telling us — and everyone — to get out. A guy came up to me and said, “Are you Violet Blue?” I think I smilled and nodded sheepishly. He said, “I thought so! You were on *fire* dancing on the bar in there.” Wow. Still amazed by that… I did indeed dance on the bar at BOCA; I also dragged the Current TV cameraman into my psychosexual mock-cunnilingus act with a grrrl trumpet player on the bar; I used him as ballast while I crawled around on her as she played; I have a *huge* bruise on my left knee from the whole thing. Probably screwed up his footage (I declined an interview with them, partly because I didn’t want to sign a release).

Shared a cab home with horn players going to the Haight, crawled into bed covered in confetti. I doubt the video I took is any good because it was so dark in the club, but I’ll check it later — gotta jet to SRL now. Enjoy the photos I took last night from my (certifiably) insane experiences with my dear friends The Extra Action Marching Band.

* * * * * * *

More, more, more.

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Going out

Going with pigtails at the last minute. Yay!

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A longtime reader from Copenhagen writes me today, “It seems that you have been totally hyperactive on the blogging front lately, which is good for us stalkers, but is it good for you?”

I’ve actually been holding back. This is a personal post; skip it if you come here for the porn or machines.

* * * * * * *

I’ve been working on a lot of top-secret projects for the past few weeks, one which will be a huge announcement, complete with a pretty major publicity campaign behind it. It’s a recognition that no one of my kind has ever received; sitting on a secret, and having meetings in officies about it for the past month has been a struggle. Not that I need to tell everyone everything all the time, but I have become such a container of secrets in almost every aspect of my life that I constantly feel either invisible, or hollow. Not sure which.

Last week I took a break from blogging, and somehow, my jobs — and you — were here when I came back. It’s true; following my blog is a bit like dating me. I go away, I pull in, I come back, reveal, dance. Emotionally I’ve been in the underworld, too — too many secrets held, my heart becoming a hard container. It’s not just being a sex blogger that I think makes people unsteady about being my lover; I tell you a lot but actually maintain a high level of privacy. But when my secret lovers leave me hungry, wanting more — am I thirsty? not sure. — I feel wildly empty, like I’m not going to make it to the next time I see them.

She hurt me. We were in a suite high above the city; she’s a wealthy power femme who doesn’t live here and we only see each other about twice a year. She flew to see me. The hotel room was breathtaking, and once inside with the door locked, her black designer gown slid off her shoulders revealing nothing underneath, save her high, high heels. She came close and smelled like chocolate; she removed my glasses and kissed me until I felt like she’d broken all my bones and put me back together again. Later, after we’d explored each other with lips and hands and tongues and toys and slaps and bites, she set to work with my (SRL) Carhart belt. She took pictures. I had bites from another lover; she was fascinated by the rings his teeth left on my skin, and documented them.

In the morning the first thing she said to me in a low whisper was, “How can anyone wake up next to you and not want to fuck you?”

Sometimes I’d rather walk alone. At the SRL 4th of July party when I stopped lighting fuses for a minute and decided to eat, I found a place where no one was but I could watch the party. I surveyed my friends and family, new strangers, and even a few people who dislike me. My ex boyfriend was there — we are now close friends — and we used to be in love, and I watched him for a minute too. I still feel like people can fall in love with me and love me for years without really knowing me at all. Bottle rockets whizzed by my head and the explosions were loud. I thought about my big, mainstream media top-secret project, I thought about the boy who holds my heart in his hands from so far away, I thought about Minx, and I thought about the strange road it took for me to get here.

When I got off the streets at nearly 18, it was really hard to figure out how to communicate with non-street people. I still sometimes give up on tableware and eat with my hands; I can’t sleep with socks on because I slept in my clothes for a little over three years, and I hide and burrow reflexively when I sleep. I felt like I had to fake it when I got a home and a job, to imitate and ape normal people as best I could so I could have friends, keep a job, maybe even be loved. It’s this sense of remove and feeling alien that makes me appreciate being desired in a way that rocks me to the core. Standing by myself in the middle of all those people on the 4th and thinking about this, I felt like I understood myself and finally started to be okay about being alone — until my friends playfully busted me for hanging out by myself at a party.

I saw two lovers last week, both who live far from San Francisco. The boy is greedy for me.

He woke up next to me, and had to fuck me. Eyes locked in the pre-dawn light, lips crushing, holding each others’ faces, pussy clenched tight on cock, I surrounded him and held him like a treasure; it doesn’t matter about the time we take, doesn’t matter about the secrets we make, when I’m with him it’s from within, I was floating, I was flying, I was dying. I cried and he kissed the tears on my eyelashes just after the sun came up.

He’s the first person I’ve ever been with who has actually read my books.

Tonight I’m going out dancing, alone. I plan on getting into trouble. I’ll take pictures and video for you.

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