For well over a year I was a supremely happy Liberator.com affiliate.

I was happy not only because my readers seemed to enjoy — judging by the number of purchases– Liberator’s affiliate banners, but also because I have adored every one of their products that I’ve tried. The Zeppelin? Heavenly. The Esse? Brilliant. And the Throe? If possible, I’ll take it to my grave.

So it was with extreme pleasure that I watched the dollars add up. Every time I logged into my affiliate account I imagined how much fun the items’ new owners were having and a happy jolt passed from brain to cunt.

Um. Surely I’m not the only one who gets slightly excited by this sort of thing?

Eventually enough dollars accumulated that I reached Liberator’s very high pay-out amount. Some affiliate programs issue payments at $50 or $100; Liberator requires $200 before they’ll pay. Is this because the products tend to be pretty pricey? Or because they figure that few will stick with the program long enough to earn that much? I don’t know, but since I’d reached the level without undue fuss I didn’t much worry. I gleefully clicked Liberator’s “Pay Me Now” button and waited for my miniature windfall.

Almost immediately I began to hear murmurings that all was not well in the land of water-resistant sex positioning furniture. “They’re delaying payments,” one rumor went. “The whole program is frozen,” said another, and my previous confidence began slipping. I fired off an email to the company requesting information. It went unanswered. More rumors reached my ears. Am I ever going to get paid, I wondered, realizing that by then it had been many more days than one might reasonably expect for a check to wing its way from Atlanta to the Upper Midwest. Does anyone have a number for their main office, I asked via Twitter, and Twitter once again proved itself to be capable of answering my every question.

Reader, I called them. Immediately I was connected to someone who was not, by her own admission, in charge of the program. She was, however, quite chatty. “We’re a couple months behind,” she told me frankly. “We’re paying the big guys — the ones we owe hundreds or thousands of dollars to — first. The little guys like you are seeing their payments delayed.”

Well that’s hardly fair, quoth I.

“Not much I can do about it,” she said, and that’s when I asked to speak to her boss. Of course she wasn’t around; I was encouraged to email her (I already have, I pointed out to no avail), and the conversation was over. Imagine my surprise when not even five minutes later my phone rang and on the other end I found the head of the affiliate program herself.

“Problems? In our program? Delays in payments? Of course not,” she said, and went on to explain fourteen ways to Sunday how they were just transitioning over to a new program and while payments might seem ever so slightly delayed in my perception, in reality everything was perfectly, glowingly fine. Just fine. In fact things were so fine that they’d decided to lower the pay-out amount from $200 to just $100.

Hm, I said. So might I have my check?

“Of course!” she gushed. “We’ll put it in the mail today!”

And the check did indeed arrive in the exact number of days one might expect for a missive sent from Liberator corporate headquarters. Only one problem. The check was not for two-hundred-plus dollars. Instead it was for roughly 70% of that amount.

What gives? I asked in an email to the head of the program. I earned twice the amount of your current payout, you promised to pay me, and this is what you send?

“You are so very wrong!” she said. “You earned over $200 but not all of that was eligible to be paid! You need to sell more in order to get your $200, you silly girl you!” And she continued on with an explanation I hardly heard due to a massive case of annoyance.

While I love Liberator products, I don’t love having to wonder if I’m going to get paid. Not even a little tiny bit. So how do I express my love without supporting an affiliate program which has (shall we say) issues? Here’s how:  I’m sending you to Amazon, which is the best of both worlds. You get fabulous Liberator products (if you so desire) and I get paid.

Doesn’t get much better than that.

————

Sending a big wet kiss and my thanks to Bacchus from ErosBlog who provided invaluable advice on the topic of affiliate programs and their foibles.

————

Read more below the cut… Continue reading »

 

This house is located on an island called Elliðaey near Vestmannaeyjar, a small archipelago off the south coast of Iceland. The house was given to singer, Bjork from her motherland as a “Thank You” for putting Iceland on the international map. Other images here and here.

Mar 052010
 

He was rooting around in his pants with the dedication of a mechanic working loose a recalcitrant spark plug. Son, I asked. What is the issue?

“My penis!” he cried. “It’s giving me troubles!”

Get used to it, I thought. Buddy, you’d better get used to it.

——

If you haven’t already taken Heather Corinna’s Survey on Casual Sex, please do. Thank you very much!

 

Heather Corinna is doing a large study on multigenerational experiences with and attitudes about casual sex. The data will ideally be used for publication, but answers are completely anonymous and will only be used anonymously.

There’s a lot of buzz now about “hooking up,” the newest term for casual sex, though casual sex isn’t new at all — nor does it only belong to the current generation, despite often being presented that way. Unlike most of the buzz out there, she’s not interested in telling anyone how to have sex, warning people off any given kind of sex or in presenting any one kind of sex as “the best way.” She’s just looking for what’s real, both in sexual attitudes and experiences among a diverse array of ages, genders and sexual identities, races and sexual ideologies/constructions. The only requirements for participating in this study are being over the age of 16, and having had some kind of sexual partnership before, even if none has been casual.  The study will take around twenty minutes.

She would like the study to show as diverse an array of people as possible, especially since so often media representations or cultural conversations about casual sex are usually only about heterosexual white women or about gay men. She particularly wants to be sure LGBT people, people of color, those over 45 and social conservatives are adequately represented, so please share this link with your networks after you take the survey yourself, especially if your networks include people in any or all of those groups.

http://www.surveymonkey.com/s/S97WR6H

If you don’t know who Heather is, she’s been working in human sexuality for around 12 years. She is the founder and executive director for Scarleteen.com, does sex education outreach at youth shelters and women’s clinics in Seattle, and has been a sex columnist and writer online for sites like The Guardian and RH Reality Check. She has also been published in a handful of anthologies and is the author of S.E.X.: The All-You-Need-to-Know-Progressive Sexuality Guide to Get You Through High School and College (DaCapo Press).  If you have any questions, you can contact Heather at hcorinna@mac.com

 

You know what happens when you’re having sex on your back, folded in half with your head over the side of the bed and your partner thrusts really hard and you jerk yourself back up on the bed because you don’t want to fall on your head? Right, you strain your shoulder.

*ow*

——

You know what happens when you spend three years chucking junk into a storage closet without ever cleaning it out? Right, it turns into a disaster area.

The storage closet that is my web host was so messy that I’ve taken some time over the past few days to do a thorough cleaning. Change is good, right? Right. Change is good. This change may cause some continued weirdness as I sort things out, so DO NOT PANIC if things are a little off.

——

You know what happens when you start a pornsite based around strap-on sex? Right, it’s super-hot.

Want to see exactly how hot? FurryGirl is giving away a one-month membership to Cocksexual.com to someone who leaves a comment below describing in 200 or fewer words a strap-on experience they’ve either had or they’d like to have. Make sure to enter a working email address (visible only to me) so that I can contact the winner, who will be chosen by random draw at some point after the contest ends on Saturday, March 6th at 12:01am.

——

You know what happens now? I’m going to baby my shoulder while deleting more files and YOU’RE going to go check out Cocksexual and then leave a comment below.

Have at it!

 

What’s sticking in my craw is that this is Washington D.C. we’re talking about.  Gay Marriage: now legal in the Capitol city of a nation that foisted “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” legislation onto its gay soldiers and the Defense of Marriage Act onto its gay citizens.  That a gay person can actually get married at the birthplace of so much  legalized oppression smacks of love amid the ruins, only much less romantic.  The idea that a gay couple can legally wed at such a place seems as preposterous as the idea that a lifelong commitment can begin at a drive through wedding chapel in Las Vegas.  The cultural dissonance is almost deafening.

The DC Irony casts into indisputable relief the fact that this contradictory legal-here-but-not-there/legal-for-a-limited-time-only, crazy-quilt state of affairs is absolutely intolerable.  A gay couple wed in D.C. (or Iowa, or Massachusetts, or Vermont, or Connecticut, or New Hampshire) has quite a bit in common with a Confederate Money Millionaire.  We can’t allow ourselves to be placated by the pretend rights put forward by state or local governments.  While it’s wonderful that small enclaves of equal rights do exist, it can’t be ignored that those rights are limited in scope and are held hostage by the questionable “tolerance” of the voting majority.
The D.C. Irony

Mar 032010
 

***note: there may be weirdness here over the next 24 hours as i
make some updates. capital letters should also be
re-enabled at a point very soon.***

In a perfect world I’d make the transition from mother to sexpot in the exact amount of time it takes to wave at the bus, rip off my clothes and arrange myself provocatively upon the bed.

In the real world, however, inertia rules. Too many tasks — just like dirty clothes, mushrooms and fleas — breed more of the same; even when faced with my partner (whose path must surely have crossed that of the bus), even when he kisses me while shutting the door, even when I breathe in his scent of clean and smoke and barely subdued sex I find it nearly impossible to let go of the thousand bits of work that weigh on my mind so that my body for two brief hours can be allowed to take over.

But moments later I’m on the bed, as provocatively positioned as I can get without giving the impression of trying too hard. Even then guilt whispers that I really should be working instead of doing something so self-indulgent as watching this gorgeous man strip. Finally he is down to his shorts, so tight that his dedication to the scene is in no doubt.

Drawn in, I trace my fingernails down and around the generous curves; I kiss through the thin fabric as he grabs a handful of my hair and tugs down his waistband. His cock leaps free. “Get Daddy hard so he can fuck his little girl,” he growls, and I begin to do my level best.

Transition made.

Mar 022010
 

Imagine for the sake of argument that you live across the street from a large apartment building which for the past (let’s just say) six years or so has been afflicted with an extraordinary number of fires.

Luckily, the scope of the fires is small, or at least as small as can be expected from something as inherently dangerous as flames and burning wood. In no small part the damage has been kept to a minimum because of the efforts of the neighbors, who have rushed in time and again at the first sign of smoke. “Let us call the fire department,” they murmur to each other, and within moments uniformed defenders do what they can to bring people and property to safety.

There’s no one single action that even if palatable enough to be embraced by all in the building would guarantee that the fires would stop. None of the fires are anyone’s fault; or perhaps they are everyone’s fault. But fault or no, so many fires eventually wear everyone down. The firefighters get antsy and wonder how much of their time can or should be spent on only one building. The neighbors tire of too-frequent wakings. Compassion, in short, begins to run thin.

I try studiously to live in the realm of what is, not what should be or what I wish could be. While I have no plans to change my stance on reproductive freedom (in all its forms), lately I’m having a hard time not wishing that things would have gone very differently for my children’s mother.

Because these constant fires? They are wearing me out. They are wearing everybody out.

 

My eldest is a bit too young to have reached this phase yet, so would anyone else care to provide words of wisdom for the parent who last week sent me this missive:

I have an adolescent daughter – precocious, cute, and too smart for her own good. She’s been taught the mechanics of sexuality and was even in the delivery room watching her little brother being born. She’s been given a primer on masturbation by her mother. Boys have discovered her; she knows why, and has kept most of them at arms length.

But she is the exact demographic for every teen vampire novel. While I have no hope of derailing her notions of true love that lasts for eternity (literally) I have a small issue with her awareness of the connection between vampirism and sex (and her own sexuality). In and of itself, I get the fetish – but I just don’t want that being the original one shaping her own understanding of mature coupling.

I would rather she be reading something more explicit but more honest about the emotions and interactions of the characters. I worry that this new version of Harlequin Romance for teens creates an expectation that reality just can’t meet.

Thoughts? Advice? Suggestions for alternative reading material?

Leave them in the comments below.

Find Me Here



Receive Updates Via Email

Enter your email address:

Delivered by FeedBurner