Zero-gravity sex: Pigs in space?

class=img_thumbleft>Slate's explainer about whether anyone has ever joined the "62-mile high club" got me wondering: Am I the only person who has pretty much fantasized about this scenario since he was 8? (To my eternal mortification, my preference became known to my mom one day when she went through the wrong drawer and came across numerous homemade comics illustrations.) Judging by a Google search, zero-grav getting-it-on has a long life in literature (yes, there really is a Wikipedia entry for everything). In movies, Barbarella winked at it; Moonraker nudged. That last link contains my answer: In last December's Outside Magazine, Michael Behar describes convincing his wife to fly in a modified Boeing 727 operated by the Zero Gravity Corporation, who, for a mere $3,750 per person, plunge the craft in a series of 10,000-foot free falls to simulate weightlessness for up to 30 seconds...

In this condition, sex would probably be mind-blowing--that is, if I could get within groping distance of my wife. G-Force One rises into another parabola, but before I can get to Ashley, a chubby Mensa dude with a knotty beard rams into my knees and sends me barreling like a bowling ball into a cluster of other passengers. I score a strike. Globs of water and M&Ms are dancing through the cabin. G-Force One climbs again, and this time Ashley throws her legs around my waist, clasping them tightly behind my back. Firmly entwined, I pull her head toward me, ramming my lips into hers like an overeager teenager. Technically, we kiss. But it's not pretty.