This month's patron-funded story is "Hard Sci Fi" by S. Wolf, read by Nobilis Reed.

They say you're not a real spaceman until you've fucked a guy in zero-g.

Easy enough to screw in the habitation pod with centrifugal force plus a hunk keeping you pinned to the bed and panting. But leave the pod and things get much more difficult. For every action, an opposite reaction. For each thrust, you will deflect backwards, and coast until you smash into something. By the time you've slowed down, any number of things could happen. You could shatter a limb. Or spin out into space. Or hit the wrong bulkhead and detonate a fuel tank. Or lose your boner. Only a true astronaut can fuck while calculating Newtonian physics.

Technically, I was still a cadet when Sunglow suggested we leave the habitation pylon for some fun. But Sunglow had been an starfarer for twenty standard years and if he said you were ready, that was enough for anyone.