Fair Sex, But Also Faire Sex

Scene: An amusement park. Not your average grimy park overflowing with old cigarette butts and smelling faintly of motor oil and fried food. No, this park is pristine. Birds are singing and the grass is barely even trampled by the flocks of happy people running from rides to booths and back. Fuck realism right? This is a fantasy.

We walk hand in hand down rows of vendors and rigged "fair" games (ironic name no?). As we mosey, various attendants heckle us, trying to push us into throwing ludicrously weighted objects at other objects in the hopes of winning a comically large plush killer whale of something that would barely fit through the door of any reasonable home, let alone a car.

We continue on, resolute in our mission. Nothing will be getting in our way (except for that big clown making balloon animals and balloon hats, but we wanted a few of those anyway). As evening settles, the glow of incandescent bulbs washes everyone in a patina of days gone by, clashing spectacularly with the LEDs of phones and headlights. Around us people shout and laugh, a mighty river of bodies. We, the resolute salmon intent on our spawning grounds, continue against this current of humanity. As the seas part, I give you a quick kiss and you give my right ass cheek a gentle squeeze. It would almost be romantic if we weren't wearing gigantic ballon hats.

Thusly ensconced in our latex headgear, we venture on. There is one goal on both of our minds: the Gravitron. You know the one-It's a big ring that spins around before the floor drops out and you are held against the wall by pure centripetal acceleration. Sometimes it will tilt, throwing you into a barrel roll. At its apex you feel weightless for a moment, before succumbing to nature's laws, to come crashing down, feeling three or four times your normal weight at the bottom. Talk about an exercise in trusting the laws of physics.

Some people have zero-G fantasies-floating in space, thousands of miles away from the forces our world. I suppose there is something elegant about sex in an entirely closed system, where each movement, every luxurious thrust and grind must be exactly matched by your partner, or risk spiraling our of control. The solitude of space and the quarantine of zero-gravity could be refreshing-if not frustrating. But space-sea sounds so clinical. Spinning around in a white container, wires everywhere, not a speck of dust in sight. Imagine if some lube found its way behind a critical panel in whatever pod you are boinging in-catastrophe. No, space sex would be fun, but it should also be incredibly stressful. Sex is of the earth-ingrained in our body, as natural as dirt and often smelling as such. Sex is not a weightless zenith-it is something much heavier than that.

And that is why we are going to experiment with sex at 4 times earth's gravitational pull. Imagine: every lunge a labor, every diddle a difficulty...

Scene: skip to standing on the ride-no one wants to hear about the long line and the guy who was yelling at everybody to shuffle through the turnstile while roughly taking tickets. Turns out that for some reason the we are alone on the ride. I guess sex at a fair and voyeurism was a bit too much to ask for (check out that dangling preposition!).

As the ride starts we look at each other. Slowly we feel our bodies forced against the wall and the floor begins to descend. There is a moment of panic before we stabilize. Our bodies adjust I try and scoot over towards you. Shit-this is going to be harder than we both expected. In order to get closer I need to roll myself over. As we near each other, we need to figure our how to face each other without one of us getting squashed. The first attempt fails miserably. We each try to crouch over the other on hands and knees, but soon the force of the ride becomes too much and we collapse faces grinding into the other's crotch. It is exhausting to say the least.

I struggle my way down you body. Licking and nipping as I go. Normally I would trace a thin line down your neck, stopping to ring my tongue around your nipples. Maybe blow on them, and take one between my teeth as I run my hands up and down your frame. In our current state I find myself mashed against your breasts, gasping for breath. The sensation is different, if not overwhelming. I venture down further. Struggling against our newly imposed gravity to lay gentle kisses and licks along your inner thighs. As I near your clit my neck gives out for a moment and I find my face practically mashed against your vulva. A small snafu on my part, but I suppose if you mess with the bull you get the horns. Constantly fighting the Gravitron, I continue to run my tongue around your clit in small, slow circles, while my left hand lightly meanders around your labia. As I begin to finger you, you grab my shoulder, and ask to flip over. After a few confused seconds we reposition, this time with me on the bottom in a tried but true 69. Your neck strains as it hovers over my penis, also struggling against the lateral gravity.

There is a loud creaking, and slowly the Gravitron begins to tilt upward. Soon we are spinning vertically, being flung toward the sky, only to come down in a heart stopping circle. Luckily, this makes going down on each other easier. At the apex of our spin, we are nearly weightless, allowing for breathing tine, and minimal effort to raise our heads about the others respective genitalia. On the way down, we can succumb(s) to the sensation of added weight, letting our heads relax into a more forceful position about each other's sexes.

Again we reposition. It is time to try what we came here to do. I laboriously struggle out of my clothing as you do the same. You say that in light of the ongoing struggle for stability, we should probably not attempt any avant-garde sexual positions. I agree and soon I am positioned above you on my hands and knees. As I slide into you (assisted by a healthy dose of lubricant-we need some amount of realism here right?) I give in to my imposed weight. Drawing out is much more difficult. I must fight to pull out even slightly. We roll over and you try the same. Run of the mill thrusting sex is incredibly difficult on the Gravitron. We settle for a slow, lateral rocking motion. This way I move in and out of your vagina and you can rub your clit against the base of my penis. After minutes of rolling around in this fashion be both realize that neither one of us will ever reach orgasm in this environment. We kiss-a deep involved, if not slightly exhausted kiss, before we hear the ride operator inform us that we have one more minute. We quickly struggle into our clothes, and fall against the floor as the ride comes to a stand-still. We disembark and head for the gates.

I give your hand a squeeze as we climb into the car and begin our trek home. Reaching over you put your arm across my shoulders and raise your eyebrows. I wink back and we understand each other perfectly. Fantastical sex is worth a try, but some gentle sex at earth's intended gravity is all any of our aching limbs and imbalanced inner-ears can think about for the next few hours.

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