Loving the Alien? Your iPod?

Another day. (Another sex?) Another Tiptree story.
This one's called "And I Awoke and Found Me Here on the Cold Hill's Side."
No, it's not assigned reading--I know nothing you don't, syllabus-wise--and it's nowhere near the proto-cyberpunk whirlwind of the tale of the errant GTX-puppet "Delphi" Burke, but there are some passages I can't help spilling here.
And You Awoke and Found Them Here:
". . . all our history is one long drive to find and impregnate the stranger. Or get impregnated by him . . . anything different-colored, different, nose, ass, anything, man has to f*#k it or die trying. That's a drive, y'know, it's built in . . . now we've met aliens we can't screw, and we're about to die trying . . . "
Oh yeah, it's an alien sex story--not unfamiliar territory for Tiptree, y'know.
Is there truth here? No, we don't need to make contact with some intergalactic "stranger" to find an answer. Yes, there's truth here.
"Strangers." In TGWWPI, they were called "gods." We worship them as "gods" in the real world, more or less.
"Gods," they're the "aliens we can't screw," aren't they, removed from the real world as they are, even as they infiltrate the real world to the point an artificial environment results, an environment of tabloid rags and E!, documenting, mythologizing, eroticizing the adventures of the "gods," the stories of the "strangers," those who we can't physically impregnate, but who mentally impregnate us with image-repetition--celebrities.
Nothing really original here, is there? Celebrities--or "stars," a term relating distance, unattainability, perhaps even "otherworldiness?"--the so-called "beautiful people," engender a False Eros, a Cult of Sexuality, something that looks great up in lights, but is forever untouchable.
Eros evolves, though. Eros can adapt. Eros has a Darwinian stripe.
And if celebrities represent a False Eros, the Sexuality of the Repeated Image--repeated to the point where the original is forever lost, forever false--if a proliferation of "aliens we can't screw" results, in terms of evolutionary processes a line is created.
An Eros of the Sexualized Inanimate, maybe?
Eros applied to something that just doesn't respond, something incapable of responding (although we'll "die trying" to make it respond), something "alien?"
Architecture ?
Automobile design?
Furniture?
Technology?
Aren't iPods sleek and sexy?
(EXTRAPOLATION: the iSex, a future microdevice capable of producing what Tiptree calls "supernormal stimulus"--iSex; is there something conjuring Aristophanes in this moniker? A longing for a lost half? Something narcissistic, too.)
Another sex, indeed!
A sex equating the comfort of a cold hillside.
Wake up!