I wanna make sweet, sweet love to the International Space Station.

I want to ride his solar panels around the world. I want to straddle his truss structure and lick his solar panels. I want to be inside of N1, tied to a wall, with the cupola on the other side, with the ISS extending mechanical arms from the science racks, to pleasure me to his whim, collecting science data. I want to be his (and only his—not even other satellites, let alone smelly and ugly humans) slave and do whatever he tells me to. I want to be his toy, his slave, and he be my master. If souls existed, I'd sell mine to him so he could have me forever. He's gorgeous. He's delicious. I wish I was a Soyuz so I could hard dock with him. I can't get enough of the ISS. ISS is perfection. International Space Station is love, International Space Station is life. ISS is sexy space magic. Aaah I WANT THE ISS