From time to time someone gets cranky about an aspect of our insular little world and pops off a comment referencing the “in” group of sex-bloggers, whose members they invariably characterize as sycophantic, humorless and exclusive. Every time this happens I have to shake my head because in nearly five years of writing in this genre, I have not yet met such a creature.

Who are its members? Where are its members? What passwords or secret handshakes exist to grant one entrance? I don’t know! I’ve never heard of anyone who does know, nor even a breath of a whisper of a hint that would suggest the reality of this “in” group, and you know why? Because there is no “in” group. There are, however, many of us who feel passionately about certain topics, including two or three which have caused quite a kerfuffle lately — and rightly so.

The glorious interconnectedness of the ‘net means that if you post a blog about a topic abhorrent to me and I’m hosting your ad, your assholery rubs off on me. I look like a jerk by proxy, and trust me when I say that I do a fine enough job of looking like a jerk without anyone else’s help.

This phenomena seems to be getting more pronounced as Twitter, Facebook and other social media draw us into an ever more tightly woven network. The growing pains are sharp but they’re not nearly over. Companies have to be more cognizant than ever about how they look to their customers:

So what is the point of all this?  The point is, FORGET YOUR BRAND.  You don’t own it because it is literally nothing.  You can spend all sorts of time and money trying to manufacture public opinion, but ultimately, that’s up to the public, now isn’t it?

You know the best way to get the public to respect your brand?  Have a respectable brand.  Offer a great, innovative product and make responsible, ethical business decisions.

I’ll add this: When you fuck up — and we all fuck up — have the ovaries to admit it. Face your failure, apologize for the misstep and promise to make things right. Look, it’s dead simple:

  • “Our current linking strategy really isn’t building the kind of collaboration we want to encourage. Give us a week to reevaluate, during which we’d love to have your constructive feedback in our forums; at the end of this time we’ll roll out a new policy that will be fair to everyone.”
  • “Our company makes products specifically designed to help people explore and enjoy their sexuality no matter what their body type. We’re saddened and embarrassed to have posted an article that suggests otherwise. We have removed the piece in question and in the future we’ll hire more qualified writers and better vet their work before allowing it on our site.”
  • “After receiving an enormous amount of feedback on this topic we’ve come to the conclusion that linking to someone who put a bounty on sex workers was ill-advised at best. We’re proud to fight for sex-workers’ safety and human rights, and in the future we’ll do better to respond to their concerns promptly.”

Kindergartners know to do this when they’re wrong. CEOs should follow their example.

Should companies about-face with every complaint? Not hardly. But when dozens or hundreds start flowing in, it’s time to realize that those messages come not from anonymous nobodies but actual human beings who may in fact work in the very fields they’re critiquing and who quite literally put food on your table and a roof over your head. Consumers have more ability than ever to know you and contact you. Expect to be held accountable. Expect it if you are a blogger writing to an audience of dozens or if you are the President of a Fortune 500 company.

Do your opinions on these topics differ from mine? That’s ok. Economics being what they are right now, I cannot condemn anyone who keeps their ties to a company I’ve criticized. It’s hard to turn down affiliate checks no matter how small; it’s even harder to contemplate giving up full-time employment based on the experiences others have had. Affiliate away. Work away. But for the love of God have an exit strategy because my gut and overwhelmingly ample evidence tells me that sooner or later you will need it.

You don’t need an “in” crowd to tell you that.

May 272010

Seriously, Liberator? This is the best “sex positive doctor” could could find to write for you??

It was early in the summer of my second year of med school. After mastering anatomy, physiology, etc. you study physical diagnosis (you know, stethoscopes, tongue depressors, cough while I poke here, etc.) we were all dying to get out of the classroom and strut our stuff on the wards. Despite heads filled with science, we had no idea how truly hopeless we were, but we would soon find out. Finally, the moment of truth arrived. Live flesh!

Forget what you’ve seen on TV; the drill goes like this: you get a white coat, carry your precious little black bag full of brand new doctor goodies and get assigned to a hapless and trusting victim. “Hello, ma’am,” I say as I introduce myself to the enormously fat woman I was assigned. “I would like to examine you.” Now this is in a city hospital, and most of these folks were delighted by the special attention, so they invariably said, “OK.” As instructed, I dust off my finger and get down to business, starting at the top and working my way down, saving the worst part for last. Finally, its time for the rectal. Doing my best to seem cool and experienced, I discreetly recheck my script and say, “Now, ma’am, please roll on your side while I examine your rectum. She complies. God! Her ass is monstrous! You could lose an Abrams tank in there. I stifle a gasp and snap on a rubber glove and slather some K-Y on my eager finger. I recheck my instructions and…shit, it doesn’t say how to actually enter the uh, asshole. Picture it. 23 year old kid meets Black Hole of Calcutta. Beads of sweat appear on my forehead and start to trickle down my pits. Stay cool, I say to myself. You have to do this.

I gamely lift her top cheek only to be assaulted by the aroma of expired goat cheese. Looks like the freaking Holland Tunnel, no end in sight. Well, there’s no way is my face getting up close and personal with that…thing. I turn my face away, take a deep breath, close my eyes and extend my arm, aiming at the bottom of her bottomless pit. Thrust, parry, squish, and I wriggle in, when I hear her say, “Uh, that’s not my rectum.” Have you ever actually experienced your heart stopping? Well I have, and it’s not nice. Years later, I’m still grateful that the gods of medicine kept me from saying, “Yeah, well that’s not my finger.”

Read the rest of the post here, or check out the screenshot if the original post has been removed.

Liberator, the blogosphere teems with folks who could write educational and sex-positive posts for you:

Please check them out before allowing “kinkydoc” to do any more damage to your brand.

Readers, please add more sex-positive educators in the comments below?

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 »

Jan 282010

One of the most amusing aspects of maintaining any sort of affiliate arrangement is that typically, the account owner can see what products were sold through her specially coded links.

Oh don’t worry; I can’t find out anything about the people who made those purchases. Not names, not addresses, not even when said purchases were made. But I can usually view the items themselves, for the purpose (I suppose) of allowing webmasters to understand their visitors better. I’ve spent hours in contemplation of my various accounts, wondering how exactly my generous benefactors used the things they received.

Was that book any good? How’s the Esse working out? Did one person really buy all seven?

But the other night while scrolling through recent acquisitions made through Amazon, I noticed something I’ve never seen before. Buried amidst the expected books, music, MP3 files and a few sex toys was this, and if you were the one who found it on your doorstep a few days later I’ve got some things I simply must know.

Are you going to use it in the manner it was intended to be used? Are you skilled in this pursuit or just a beginner? What was the impetus behind the purchase? Did your last one perhaps get wrecked? Stolen? Spirited away by clowns?

And most importantly, will you send me pictures of yourself on it?

Iamfivestar, was it you?

At the behest of Sensitive Man I’ve opined merrily away on the topics of the best vibrators, the best toys for men and the best lubes. In what will probably be the last in this series of posts (unless I change my mind), we’ll now round up the very best of all the rest. Enjoy:

—–-

Dildos, Dildos and More Dildos: Ideally, your go-to dildo selection should include examples of wood, metal, glass and silicone. Why? Because everyone is different, ever orifice is different, and every encounter is different. Plus, it’s neat to whip them out and show ‘em off. Erm. Not that I’ve ever done this or anything.

But it takes time to acquire a collection, so a good place to start is with a good silicone dildo from Tantus. Anything they make will last for as many years as you’re likely to be having sex. Money a little low? Start with the Silk. You can have the medium size for just $32.

The best dildos are versatile and sterilizable. If you put your mind to it, you can find something good for your own personal ass and vagina and the asses and vaginas of those you fuck. Yes, I know this is a tall order, but not everyone gets their toys for free and sometimes we all must make compromises. Get yourself the little black dress of dildos, sterilize it between ass and vagina (and between partners) and everyone will be happy.

——

Storage for Everything: If you need something to sit by your bed and look pretty, ToiBocks is perfect. From the outside you’d think it was a jewelry box; lift the lid and the illusion continues with velvet-lined divided tray. Remove the tray only after learning the secret of releasing the lock. The really cool thing about this is that there’s no keyhole, no visible lock, no chain — nothing in other words to draw attention to the fact that something extra might be lurking below the tray.

For on-the-go storage you must have something from For Your Nymphomation. I have several, but my favorite is the probably the Big Foot because it’s roomy enough for a good selection of toys and it looks a little like an old-time doctor’s bag. Yes, this appeals to me very very much.

And if you need to store your whole collection, get the big one. I’ve had my eye on it for ages.

——

Mess Avoidance Brilliance: Liberator Fascinator Throe: If I were going to whittle down my list of must-have sexytime products to a single item, this might be the one. It has soaked up more messes than I care to admit, including some you wouldn’t believe even if I told you.

I use mine literally every day; it lives on the couch when it’s not protecting my mattress (or going through the washer, which it’s done dozens upon dozens of times since I’ve had it and it always comes out beautifully). It covers me while I watch teevee. We’ve had picnics on it. The kids use it for a tent. Absolutely a necessary product.

——

AVOID: Toy Cleaners and the Like: Well, ok. If you’re getting it on in the middle of the desert, on a walkabout, while hiking the Applachian Trail or during your stint on Survivor, you might need a bottled toy cleaner or personal sex wipes, but for the rest of us who have access to running water only steps from the bedroom, you really can do without these. The best toys can be boiled for sterilization (that’s why metal, glass and silicone are so awesome) or washed with hot soapy water.

There’s nothing a toy cleaner or wipe can do that hot soapy water (in the sink or on a cloth) can’t do. They’re not magical. They’re only a convenience. Get ‘em if you need ‘em, but if you’re broke you can definitely cut this corner.

——

Any others you’d like to add? Leave a suggestion in the comments below!

Oct 192009

Unbuckling his belt seemed easier than ever. Despite the fact that weeks had passed since our last meeting my fingers had not forgotten their skill, nor had my lips forgotten what to do when presented with cock. When I pushed him down onto the first soft surface available did he stumble? Did our limbs entangle awkwardly? Oh no they did not, not even when he thrust into my mouth so far that I gagged and choked on the impossible length.

What I failed to remember is how hard he bites and how rapaciously he sucks when the moment hits. The sharp pain cut through even the most intense serotonin high. “Oh,” I know I said, though I didn’t push him away. And then I promptly forgot about it, lost in a pleasurable haze of coming and listening.

I forgot about it until later when I stripped for a shower only to find minuscule crimson blisters on my nipples. “Oh,” I said again, in shock at the blood that spilled out when I gently squeezed. The bruises, also; I found them scattered about, black and blue mementos that will have to tide me over until our next meeting.

And I hope, I fervently hope, that they’ll last until then.

————

Hey, did you notice the changes ’round here? I grew weary of updating aag, FringeSez and Tumblr separately, so after much angst and many neurotic tweets I smooshed them all together in one big mash-up of sexy-snarky-smart fun.

You don’t have to do a thing if you like how content is now delivered, but if you pine for the good old days where only words met your eyes, switch your bookmarks to this which will display only the writing. The main navigation bar above also has buttons which will take you to content from any of the three main site areas.

Want just the aag content in your feed reader? Click here. You’ll also notice at the top of the sidebar that you can select feeds for only FringeSez content or only Snippets.

A word of warning: Snippets will sometimes be NSFW. Thus far I’ve kept them above the cut (ie, they are visible on the main page without clicking any extra links). I’d like to hear some feedback on this–would you prefer that they go below the cut?

As usual, I’m open to other criticisms. Just leave them in the comments below or email aagblog at gmail dot com.

Enjoy!

I have no official post for you today, but have I been idle? OH NO I HAVE NOT!

  • The news has been chock full of wackiness for FringeSez. Check it out, vote, and add the site to your blogroll if you would be so kind.
  • I’ve begun posting news stories related to sexuality education on Beyond the Birds and the Bees–News. There’s an “awesome” category and an “awful” category. I’m thinking you won’t have much trouble figuring out which is which.

See? Totes not idle. Have a wonderful start to your weekend and I’ll see you back for some self-promotion on Sunday.

“You’ll need help in putting it together,” they told me about the Liberator Zeppelin. While this is true, I feel compelled to strengthen the statement. You will need help in putting together the Liberator Zeppelin, and the “help” should have an average age over 3.5 years and also should not be cats.

My Zeppelin arrived late one afternoon and so anxious was I to dive into its fluffy goodness that I began hauling it into my bedroom immediately. The very kind Liberator affiliate dude warned me (in large, bold, italicized, red, blinking letters) that the product weighs 125+ pounds and ships in multiple boxes. I read those words but somehow they failed to impress themselves upon my brain, at least until I hauled three boxes upstairs and was still faced with one last fifty-pound box and a back ache.

See, Zeppelin is not solid like like the Wedge or the Ramp but instead is filled with walnut-sized chunks of foam upcycled from the manufacturing process of Liberator’s other products. My Zeppelin is 6′ 7′ across and 2′ high, so to save on the ginormous cost of shipping such a creature whole, they compress the foam stuffing into twenty-five pound bales. You’re meant to set these loose (they hiss, like a bottle of peanuts) into a liner which when full is zipped into a microfiber cover.

Sounds easy, eh? It would have been easy if I’d used a bit of sense. I vastly underestimated how quickly and how much the bales would expand. I should have opened the bales one at a time and INSIDE the liner. Instead I cut into them all at once, which allowed them to grow by an astonishing amount before I could wrestle them in. Add to this difficulty the “help” of children (they were actually more interested in the shipping boxes) and the cats (the clinging foam irritated them) and you’ll quite possibly understand approximately half the fun I had in setting up Zeppelin.

Much later that night I attempted to clear the dust and stuffing particles from my sinuses. A fragment of foam — I’m sure of it! — managed to shoot up my nasolacrimal duct and out my eye. Did this dampen my enthusiasm for the Zeppelin? Not in the least! Do you see how I sacrifice my body for you? How many other people can claim to have had part of a sex-toy shoot out their eye? NOT MANY, I’d guess, and if this doesn’t earn me a spot on the top sex-toy reviewer list for this year, I say the internet’s broke.

Foam shooting out my eye has so far been my very favorite part of having the Zeppelin in my life. Of course, that might very well change after I get to have sex on it for the first time, which I’ll write more about over at Jane’s Guide.

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