I was reading a Guardian article on how the companies behind space tourism, like Virgin Galactic, have affected the local municipalities of New Mexico. After bringing up classical Greek sculpture in the last post, I just couldn’t get past Virgin Galactic’s promotional image:
Right, okay, just study those space suits before you move on.
Because you gotta’ love the perky breastlets on the “feminine” spacesuit (across from Joe Orbital). Seriously? There has got to be an erotic story in there. And check out the helmet. Notice how the chin on her helmet is more pronounced than the chin on his? (The bone structure of a woman’s chin is normally more pronounced than a man’s—which is usually a good indicator as to the sex of a skull.) Whatever graphic artist mocked this up has a great sense of humor. Who wouldn’t want to run their hands over those perky, white, polycarbonate space-breasts? (Notice how there’s no “Virgin” patch on her perk—wouldn’t want to distract.) And what’s going on inside that space suit? Is it me or is there something about her posture?—like she’s about to have an orgasmic anti-gravity moment? Maybe it’s her legs—the extra crinkle under her left knee? And you thought latex was hot?
Think I’m making this stuff up? Think somebody didn’t tell the graphic artist to tit things up just a little? Then you’ve never flown Virgin Airlines.
The Erotic Writer 
I’ve always loved that iconic London pickle.
Last time I flew Virgin it was very comfortable but far less, um, exciting. I’ll have to ask my spouse what happened on her Virgin flight last month that she hasn’t told me about yet.
Best touch in the last scene: the woman taking her heels off and skipping to catch up with the rest.
Yeah, the gherkin. That cracks me up every time I see it. I mean, why beat around the bush (as it were). This building pretty much admits it.