I used to live a fairly ordered life. Then I became a webmistress, and although my document files and computers are always organized, I can hardly say the same for my office. Since I began reviewing adult products my work has encroached into my bedroom, my bathroom, and on many occasions has been found on my kitchen table.I used to live a fairly ordered life. Then I became a webmistress, and although my document files and computers are always organized, I can hardly say the same for my office. Since I began reviewing adult products my work has encroached into my bedroom, my bathroom, and on many occasions has been found on my kitchen table. I try to be organized, I really do. I try to be methodical, but it’s just not me, and it’s hard to file a sex toy anyway. I mean, where exactly do you put it? Most won’t fit in my filing cabinet and my amassed collection of lubes, knowing my luck, would decide to explode or leak, which might solve the squeaking drawer problem but imagine trying to clean up silicone lube that can stay slippery for 10 years!

The closest to organized I’ve ever come is two huge storage bins in my office, one marked to review and the other marked reviewed with a huge smiley on the sticker. Of course I still have two shoeboxes full of lube samples under my desk, and a few bottles scattered around the bedroom, and on the top shelf in the bathroom. I learned the hard way to always keep lubes on the top shelf of the bathroom after my youngest decided to try Mummies new shampoo. All I can say is Probe is definitely not a substitute for shampoo, or even a good conditioner.

My job is full of hidden dangers that many don’t appreciate, and this is especially true because I have kids. I reviewed some body jewelry last Christmas, clip on nipple rings and the like, and my daughter mistook them for Xmas ornaments. Before I could say anything they were dully placed on the tree with a ceremony fit for the queen, and there they stayed throughout the holiday period.

Then there was the case of the disappearing condoms. I bought a bunch for samples and stored them where I thought they were safe, but they simply kept disappearing. My youngest again solved the problem when she told me that she loved my bubblegum. Now I hate bubblegum, so I asked her to show me. Sure enough I soon discovered, to my horror, exactly where my condoms had disappeared too. Apparently the strawberry ones are particularly tasty to a then five year-old. I hasten to add that she didn’t swallow them, instead spitting them into the nearest bin.

I also have to contend with the fact that I work from home and can often be found photographing anything from a bright blue plastic vibe to a Pyrex glass dildo, and people round here tend to have not heard of the custom of knocking before entering. I have one rather prudish friend that is especially good at this. She also has a knack for knowing exactly when I’ll have something particularly sinful cooking on the table.

There are times when I swear the FedEx guy knows what I do for a living. There are times when I’m tempted to invite him in for a quick try-out, but so far I’ve resisted the urge. Something about screwing the mailman just doesn’t seem right, and he does such a good job of bringing me my goodies… apart from the time I lost a consignment of lube samples. Have you ever tried to ring FedEx and explain that a parcel containing several bottles of personal lubricant is missing? My advise is don’t even go there. I did get my parcel delivered eventually and it turned out the tasty FedEx guy had hidden it so well outside my apartment only he would have been able to find it again. Maybe he had a hidden agenda, ummmm…

Then there was the time I caught my son and Hubby happily trying to take my latest review piece, the Audi-oh, to bits on the infamous kitchen table. As I screamed at them from across the room they both exclaimed they just wanted to know how it worked.

Over all though, I love what I do for a living now and wouldn’t change it for the world. Despite the odd mishap, I get to test-drive some great toys. Of course there are also a plethora of duds as well, and they get consigned to the box in the bedroom marked for duds. The most memorable dud was probably a toy called the Triple Balls. Take three large plastic balls with weights inside and insert them, then go about your normal business was the idea. The only problem was every time I moved they clanked. I swear I could hear them. Even if no one else could, I did. I might as well have put cannonballs inside myself, because with each minute movement I made, it sounded as though there was a small explosion occurring inside me. And I’m sorry, but shopping that day was so not fun. Needless to say, their review was less than favorable.

Many people think my job is just fun and games. Personally, I think I should get danger money. Never mind the cannonballs, there was the time I almost killed myself when testing a waterproof vibe and a new silicone lube in the shower, definitely a powerful combination. In fact so powerful I lost my footing on the slippery tub floor at the most important moment and almost spilt my head open on the side of the bath. A headache ensued and not one orgasm was had.

So next time you read a sex toy review, spare a thought for the reviewer who has probably lost some sweat, tears, and occasionally her dignity to bring you good, honest, and down to earth reviews.

Jenne is the founder and webmistress of clitical.com and sex-toys-reviews.com. She has been reviewing sex toys for the past 3 years as well as writing for both her sites.