Queer cult classic* Lesbian Sexting The Zine: Volume One, first published in 2015, carried in bookstores from Los Angeles’s Skylight Books to Ashville, NC’s Firestorm (basically just those two, really) to forever online is the type of work that leaves us with more questions than we have answers. Who are the mysterious definitely totally anonymous no guesses here sexters behind Lesbian Sexting the Zine? Where are they now? Do they still sext, like, 23 hours a day? Below, Autostraddle‘s exclusive interview, by text obviously, with the elusive, definitely anonymous pair. And then some BDSM-heavy lesbian sexts featuring spanking, name-calling, strap-on sex, biting, and orgasm control, obviously.

Autostraddle: Hey babe can I interview you for this thing for A+

Anonymous sexter: …Yes.

Autostraddle: We made Lesbian Sexting The Zine two years ago and sexted the sexts in it over three years ago. How has your relationship to the content changed? For me it’s embarrassing now. The first parts especially.

Anonymous sexter: Really? Oh I love reading it! It feels very sweet and new, we were just getting a handle on each other and we were so crazy about each other. We were feeling it all out, I find it very charming. What about it is embarrassing?

Autostraddle: We were just so new and young and thirsty for each other, and also so totally unaware of the fact that we were in love with each other basically immediately. Rereading it, especially as a thing that many strangers and sex partners and friends have also read, makes me cringe with how unaware we were. Gross cute feelings gross.

How has your sexting evolved since that time? Mine is less intense in quantity but I think forever stronger in content. I notice that when I’m stuck I fall back on language or scenes we sexted, which is good for keeping the conversation going but sometimes means I call it a cock when a sexting partner who isn’t you calls it a dick, or something, and I worry she’s thinking, “was that sext meant for me.” And I want to sext when I’m getting to know new sexual etc. partners, I think way more than most people.

Anonymous sexter: Mine is much less intense in quantity than with you, but I feel like my quality was high then and remains high. Is it weird to say that sexting you while I was falling in love with you taught me how to sext well? I learned my rhythms and preferences and construction because I so profoundly wanted to be good at it for you. I do sext when getting to know new partners, but yes, I think less than you do, and I sext less in general now. We sexted like, 24 hours a day in the period the zine lays out.

Autostraddle: And honestly who needs the repetitive strain?

Anonymous sexter: Do you want to talk about the zine itself? So I was making zines but this particular zine was all your idea, and the reason it looks so good is because you put a ton of work into it. Why do it at all? Why publish our sexts?

Autostraddle: We were just so super into our sexts and super into each other. And I’d made a sexting tumblr and you were making zines and it seemed obvious to make a zine of our sexts. But also, I was putting it together as we were applying for my marriage-based visa, and turning back to all these really sweet and also filthy and charged and subversive exchanges we’d had was a way to feel grounded moving forward, like even though we had to engage with our relationship in this really normative way we were and are ultimately not that. Also masturbating is great stress relief.

Should we get to the sexts now.

Anonymous sexter: Yes.

* Not really.**

** Not yet.

Day 31 9:31 AM

…I just remembered that you might still be in bed right now.

I am definitely still in bed.
Sans PJs.

This is very intriguing information.

It’s important to have all the facts.

Sans PJs, you say.
Perhaps I should be telling you about all the things I would be doing, were I in your apartment instead of mine.
You know. To prevent against the cold and hypothermia.

Oh, you should definitely be doing that.
This Hudson Bay blanket is enough to protect against Canadian winters but a naked lesbian on a Los Angeles fall morning, you don’t know what you’re dealing with!
I could expire at any moment.

Hypothermia is a leading cause of death in naked lesbians in LA. Which is why I want you to hit me so badly this morning. You know. So you can keep warm.

Fuck, if I’m hitting you, the heat might burn the house down.
And best of all, I get to feel you get warm underneath my palm.

Hypothermia is a leading cause of death in underwear-clad Canadians as well.

Tell me about your underwear. I want to picture you.

Black with white polka dots and a lace trim.

I just let out the most shuddering breath.

Well then.
[attachment redacted]

fuck wow. I don’t think I can accurately convey the sound I just made.

Something about our conversations just makes me want to take off my underwear. And by “something” I mean “everything.”

You did every step of that in the most effective way possible for making me a growling, soaking wet mess.

It’s good I took them off before you said that or they’d be ruined.

You have no idea how hard I would be hitting you after a little performance like that.

I can only imagine. With longing.

Forcing you to check your breathing, your moans, with every stroke.

Trying to be quiet and still and so so good for you and wanting to gasp and moan and writhe.

Watching with dark eyes as you shiver and warm and color.

Feeling your gaze on me, your palm on me, your grip on me, and sinking deeper.

Taking deep, hard breaths at the feel of you yielding to me, the feel of my hips pressed against yours as I hit you, relishing your tightness and give.
The look of you as you start at my strikes. The way you shudder and move.

Your hips grinding into mine. Waiting for the moment I know is coming, where you stop hitting me and start fucking me, barely able to stand the wait, but hoping it doesn’t end just quite yet.

Every muscle of mine wound at the sight and feel of you responding to my palms. Gripping the back of your neck, languishing in everything I can feel just beneath your skin.
Feeling your desire to take me in every movement, every response.

Feeling where I know there will be handprints later and being so pleased about them, about how you leave marks on me, about showing you how good I can be for you.

You’re being such a good girl, so good at taking, so good at pleasing me with how deeply you want to submit to me.
So good to want handprints. To want to remember and squirm.

Knowing how much I’m pleasing you is also making me squirm and pulse and want, even as I keep totally still.
Your hands feel so so good.
Even when they don’t.

The intensity of your desire to be hit, to give into my need to hit you, is like the best kind of drug. My body feels tight and controlled, every inch of me burning with my desire to own you.

Mine feels relaxed and soft in the face of your need to hit me. So glad of that need. So yielding for you.

Good girl. So good for me.
Mmmm… do you want to feel me inside of you?

Yes please. I really really want that.

Beg.

Please please fuck me, sir. Please let me feel you inside of me. Please let me show you how wet you’ve made me.

I love the way my fingers feel inside of you from behind, the way you respond when I curl against the walls of your pussy, the feel of you shuddering into them.
Spreading them as I slide in and out of you, growling at your wetness, my hardness, how aching my cock is for you.

Having you inside of me at last feels so sweet and so insufficient. Moving my hips with your fingers, feeling you behind me, against me, knowing how hard you are, how hard my being good has made you.

My cunt pressing against your ass while I tease you with my fingers, constantly reminding you what’s coming and how much your submission gets me off.
Pressing your hips down, suddenly, sliding the tip of my cock along your clit before fucking you, hard, filling you in one thrust.

Almost coming with your intensity.

Letting you relish me for a moment before taking deep, hard strokes into you, digging my fingertips into your hips, pulling you all the way down to my harness again and again.

Moving with you, feeling you pull me, fill me, reaching back to pull you closer, feeling every thrust in every inch of my body.

Leaning over as our hips move against each other, pressing my breasts into your back, digging my teeth into your back, reaching around to wrap my arm around your ribs, hissing with how good your body feels.

Arching so I can grab onto your shoulders and your hair, so I can taste and bite your neck.
Feeling you surrounding me and stretching me.

Fucking you harder at the added sensation, pushing you, making you take your limit.
Snarling and shuddering at how tight you are around me, how good it feels to make you take me this way.
Such a good girl.

Using my muscles to pull you in, take you deeper than I thought I could, holding you against me and holding on to you, moving with you, so glad to please you.

Come for me. I want to feel you come.

…
(Um. My body just went, “okay”)

(You have no idea how hot that is.)

(That was… a first)

(It is sorta dumb to say “you felt ready” from 2800 miles away, but: you felt ready.)
(I know we both worry that this is somehow going to become old hat but it sure hasn’t yet.)

(Not even a little)

(I cannot wait to have my mouth all over you. The thought of getting to run my teeth and tongue over your tits nearly made me come again.)

(The thought of you doing so is making me ache.)
(This thought is also making me ache: a week from now, you will be in my bed.)

These sexts first appeared in Lesbian Sexting The Zine: Volume One. Republished with permission.

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