The blackness of the Universe. The solitude. Man was never intended for space; humanity is not hard-wired for zero gravity, absolute cold, absence of sunlight. We evolved on the big blue marble, remember. The biggest and bluest of all marbles. But here you are, anyway, miles away from home, fixing Solar Maximum Power Panels (version 9671). A mechanical prodigy straight out of tech college. One year, nearly three hundred billion miles from planet Earth, with nothing but a big nerd chick as your company.
It is 2:00 a.m.
Your name is David Farmer. Your favorite book is Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Your favorite color is green.
You are floating weightlessly in space, tethered by a safety line, fixing one of the solar panels that feeds power into the Space Station's main generators. You are wearing a lightweight spacesuit with a miniature solar-cell battery pack strapped to your back. Small tubes winding over your shoulders and down your sides lead to your rebreather unit and supply oxygen and absorb carbon dioxide. Two small, chemical emergency light sticks are taped to the chest plate of your spacesuit.
You finish securing a strip of solar cell across one of the cracks in the panel, and check the pressure gauge set in the neckpiece of the helmet. The silhouette of your partner, Grace Armentrout, floats nearby in the darkness of space like a winged angel. She is adjusting another strip of solar panel farther down the row of defective cells.
Grace Armentrout was... odd. When you came in together off the transport from Houston last Wednesday, a newspaper photographer snapped a picture of the two of you as he would have photographed any pair of misfits; Grace an almost too-obvious science geek with curly red hair cut mannishly short, dorky horn-rimmed glasses, freckles that looked as if they had been slapped onto her skin with a broad brush, pale skin and heavy thighs, dressed in a faded tee shirt that bore the handwritten message KEEP IT REAL.
And then there was yourself, tall, thin, nervous, with long hair held back by a length of rubber bands and a drawn, haggard face. A face made even more haggard by the realization that your partner for the next two years would be Grace, and she looked as if she would have no social life whatsoever back in the world.
This assumption turned out to be correct and you confirmed it during your first days sharing the orbital module, only your second time living in such cramped quarters. Grace played chess on the NASA-ISC laptop constantly, was forever telling you about the articles she'd written for Science Digest or Science News. The day before yesterday she spent the whole goddam shift explaining something called "M-Theory." While you nodded dumbly through her words, inside you could feel tears rolling down your cheeks.
If you thought it couldn't get worse, you soon discovered Grace Armentrout is also an anime freak. It came to a head after you shared dinner one night, you sat together in the galley with the two plastic bowls of freeze-dried gloop in front of you. Grace then suddenly began to babble on and on about some weird anime film called 'Akira' and her favorite 'Dragon Ball' and proceeded to flood your brain with words and terms you did not understand.
If it wasn't bad enough to learn that she was a science geek, and a anime weeb, then it became clear she was a big pervert as well. At first you had been shocked to find Grace masturbating on her bunk, late in the evenings before sleeping. At first she hid under the sheets as she did so, but she soon started to do it openly. Her hand would slide beneath the waistband of her pajama bottoms, and you could tell from the look on her face what she was doing.
You turn your attention back to the panel and continue fixing the solar cells. You are almost done. A few more strips and the job will be finished. You reach down to the tool belt secured around your waist, and fumble through the various screwdrivers, wrenches and pliers. As you search, your eyes flick past the silhouette of your partner, Grace.
Hey, what the hell is that space suit?
Instead of the bulky, clumsy suits worn by astronauts, Grace is wearing a white tight fitting suit. Even from this distance you can see her ample cleavage, and alluring feminine curves of her body. When did the NASA make such an improvement on the design of the space suit?
Grace already noticed that you're checking her out, she smiles and floats in space.
"Hmm, I forgot you were here David..." Grace says playfully. "It was so nice out here in the open, how long have you been staring at me?"
Behind her helmet, Grace is smiling, and her face is flushed. A strand of loose copper hair dances inside her helmet. A sweatdrop forms in the crook of her brow and slides down her cheek.
"Me? Well, ah--I was just... checking your repairs. Can't risk solar failure now, can we? By the way, why are you wearing that white suit??"
"Why David? You don't like my new suit? I got it fitted, custom made by the tailor, do you know he had worked with Sir David Attenborough before?"
Grace comes closer and checks on the solar panel right next to you. Your heartbeat quickens as the attractive space girl leans over, revealing a sight of her voluptuous cleavage in white fabric. Grace gives you a cheeky smile.
"It has some neat features that the old standard suits lacked," says Grace matter-of-factly.
"Like what?"
"Well," she says, showing you a gauge set just above her left breast, "this is the ambient temperature display. Much simpler than the ones built into the regular spacesuits, isn't it?"
"Uh, sure..." you say.
"And this gauge," Grace continues, pointing at a second gauge set below and a little to the right of the first, "measures the humidity in the suit. Also simple, but if the humidity gets too high you might begin to have difficulty seeing through the visor. It will fog up, you understand. The idea is to take the excess water and put it in the recycling tank, here."
She puts her hand behind her back, just to the side of her firm buttocks. This movement causes Grace's breasts to strain against the suit.
"Finally," Grace continues, "there's the..." She bites her lip a bit uncertainly, as if what she has to say is unimportant.
"Oh go ahead, Armentrout, what's the final feature," you ask a little harshly. "A fucking bomb launcher?"
"Well, it's something like that." She leans closer to you, and you can hear her voice whispering through the radio communicator. "It has an internal environment... for male sexual relief."
"F-for what?" you grunt, shocked by what she has just said.
She smiles. "Do you want to know how it works, David?"
You stare at her open-mouthed as she goes through the very interesting function of the private section of the suit.
"To access the male sexual relief compartment," Grace explains in technical language, "one must unfasten the zip at the groin, located here--" she points to her crotch, your heartbeat quickens once again--"and slip one's hand inside. A retractable tube will be used as some sort of bridge, a connection between the female and male suits, being able to accommodate any penis regardless of size, and guide it safely within my suit, towards my genitals. Here--" Grace continues, patting her crotch as if she's feeling it. "that way, you can insert your erect penis inside me."
Your pants starts getting tight.
"With this device, you can get sexual release without suffering negative effects of a vacuum, it will greatly relieve the build-up of male tension that inevitably results from living in these isolated surroundings," She continues with her calm lecturing. You notice her lips forming into a smile, the corner of her lips twitch.
"Are you getting hard right now?" Grace suddenly asks.
You become stunned for a minute, you feel a raging hard erection under your space suit. It throbs wildly in its confined space. You cough a couple of times, trying to find a way out of this.
"That's not possible Grace, my suit doesn't allows for external intercourse, because..."
"That's true David, but I took the liberty to make improvements to yours as well. Now it's got the same capabilities as mine, at least on this part anyways!" Grace chuckles merrily. "While you were asleep, I slipped inside your quarters and made modifications to it. Ha ha! A port has been added to your crotch section, which allows connection with the retractable tube of my suit."
Oh no...
"...Right here." Grace continues, she places her hand over the bulging protrusion on your crotch. You groan with annoyance as she feels on you and laughs again. You curse at yourself.
Dammit Dave! Now it looks like you can't say no to her!
"Should I...?" Grace says softly. She begins to touch the lower region of your suit; you wince and shudder.