issue nineteen: lemon

lying upon satin draped mattress, legs spread, dew on the grass, longing. above, lifts one leg then lowers her hips/lips down upon the other’s… such sweet scissoring sisters.

my, my she’s such a treat. hike up my skirt, still tucked under… sashay over. lean in close, husky-like and whisper, ‘how bout it?’ looking up, rolls her eyes and says, ‘oranges are not the only fruit.’

dykes on pipes saturday nite session… baggies of crystals passed round, smoke funnels up glass stems, minds hovering outside of skulls. and at sunrise, tis time to chow down.

our saviour cunninglingus: never strung upon the cross. dark haired, she kneels before her cunny, which screams for attention like a neglected feline. down, deeper down… fishwife on fire.

if you’ve got the goods we’ve got the platform.

we’re tackling our content on four fronts:
subversive thought, words, visuals and style.