The Fifty-five Year Old Virgins

So, Mrs Edge and a bunch of her friends were going out to some local production of “Le Wicked Miz Cats” or something that I didn’t have much interest in seeing. She invited them over for dinner and drinks beforehand, with the suggestion that if I cleaned the kitchen afterwards, then it might bode well for me getting some kind of treat later on. And it worked out pretty well for both of us, actually.

But I’m sure that nobody is really interested in that kind of thing. Besides, that’s not the point of this post.

So, I joined them for dinner; partly because I was hungry, and partly because it was actually in the dining room. Yes, the dining room. When the aliens land and start looking at middle-class American homes, they are going to wonder about the shrine that many people have which only is used for religious feasts several times a year. “The inhabitants of this house must have been particularly devout practitioners; several of the younger inhabitants appeared to have shared a room, although there was plenty of space at the other end of the house which appeared to be reserved for the household temple of feasts.”

Anyway, her friends — all 50+ year old women who are no longer married — were talking about dating, and several of them complained that “It’s like men are only after one thing.” I tried to just smile and nod, hoping to get out of this alive, when one of them started talking about her plan to make any potential suitor wait at least 3 months before she’d get into bed with him. To my surprise, several other women agreed enthusiastically with her.

This caused an involuntary reaction, and I began coughing up some linguini. Eyes turned toward me. Too late, I was going to have to join the conversation.

“So, Tom; you’re a sensible kind of guy. What do you think of that idea?”

I started saying that I had known several of these women since we were in our twenties, and there’s no way in hell that any of them would have waited three weeks, let alone three months. I added, “Besides, you’re all fifty-plus years old, and the guys that you’re going to meet are other fifty year old guys who are most likely starved for affection. What do you think that you have to offer that’s worth waiting for?”

The sudden sharp connection between my shin and Mrs Edge’s pump reminded me that I was now crossing out of “sensible” into “too blunt” territory, so I quickly got up to fetch more wine.  When I got back, they were complaining that they were tired of the men who only seemed to be after one thing, and how they were going to be much more careful in who they dated.

It’s worth noting that out of these women, all of them were recently divorced, and have had at least two marriages in the previous fifteen years – except for one who was newly into her third, or possibly fourth marriage.  Interestingly, all of them agreed that making the guy wait some (in my opinion) inordinately long amount of time was the appropriate strategy.

I’ve since asked several other older friends about this, and I have to admit that I’m a bit startled to find that most of them agreed with this approach. Maybe I’m just thinking about it wrong, but I can’t help but imagine that if I were 50+ and single, I wouldn’t want to waste a quarter of a year just to see if a potential partner was sexually compatible with me; although to be fair, I’m pretty certain that most of the women in my social circle would not make the rankings (and wouldn’t come close to Mrs Edge, anyway).

So, since we have a number of more mature readers here, can any of you give me some insight as to this mindset? I mean, I can understand waiting when you’re 20. But after two or three children and a couple of husbands, what the heck are you holding out for? And guys? What do you think of this approach?


And thinking about something wicked …

Danica Collins. So hot right now...

… allows the incomparable Danica Collins to once again grace our pages.

If they are healthy, do they still count as cookies?

Once again, Jz rallies the troops to show off their boobies  culinary skills in search of goodies tasty holiday tushie treats. And since you know that I’m all about that bass healthy living, I’m putting up a recipe for, well, they’re not exactly cookies; they are more like energy bars for when you’re out road cycling. But they are tasty, and they have peanut butter and chocolate, so I’m submitting my entry.

First, the ingredients:

  • 2/3  –  1/2 cup of oats. Better if you use the old-style rolled oats.
  • 1 teaspoon of baking soda. Note to newbs: baking soda and baking powder are not the same thing. Don’t ask me how I know this.
  • 1 large brown egg. Why brown? Because that’s what I usually buy. No reason, but it drives my wife crazy.
  • 1 cup natural peanut butter. I buy the big jars of Kirkland brand at Costco, because it’s just ground peanuts and salt. Pour off some oil, don’t stir it in, or else it will be too loose.
  • 1/3 cup of brown sugar. How come she dance so good, anyway?
  • 2/3 cup of chocolate bits. I like the Ghirardelli dark chocolate, but that big yellow bag of Hersey’s that you’ve got stashed in the back of the pantry for emergencies will work just fine.
  • 1 small package of sweetened coconut flakes.
  • Pinch of cinnamon or nutmeg. Not essential, but it’s the holiday season, so…

Now, for the setup:

First, mix the baking powder soda in with the oats. If you want cinnamon or nutmeg, mix in around 1/4 to 1/2 teaspoon, depending upon how much you like that sort of thing. In a second bowl, mix up the brown egg (sans shell), then add the peanut butter, then mix in the brown sugar. When it’s feeling like wet, brown cement, slowly mix in the oats and baking powder soda. This should eventually be as difficult as mixing up a batch of driveway sealer, so use a big-ass wooden spoon with a heavy handle (unless you’ve got a heavy duty Kitchen-Aide). Then add 1/2 cup of chocolate bits. I know I said to measure out 2/3 cup in the ingredients, but seriously – we all know that you’re going to pick at them while you’re cooking, so I factored that in.

If you’re in New England or points north of the Mason Dixon line, set the bowl outside for an hour. For those of you elsewhere, put it in the fridge for a half hour to chill. Oh, and now would be a good time to preheat the oven to 350º if you’re planning on baking and not just eating the asphalt dough.

Now for the cooking part:

Did you preheat your oven to 350º while the mix was chilling? Why not?

Okay, get a couple of cookie sheets and some of this stuff called parchment paper. It looks like waxed paper, but trust me – they are not the same thing. Again, don’t ask me how I know this.

Put about 2 tablespooons of the asphalt cookie mix onto the paper. You can roll them up into balls, or (my preference) roll them out like fat blunts cigars. The long shape is better for carrying on bike rides, but cookies are more traditional. Space them out on the sheet, like with 2 inches or so between them, and put them in the now-preheated oven. Bake these things for about 8 to 10 minutes. The peanut butter will keep them somewhat soft and chewy, but you could probably get them crispy if you left them in a lot longer. Again, the idea was to have a home-made energy bar for a bike ride.

Once out of the oven, let them cool for 5 minutes and if you’re so inclined, you might want to roll them in coconut flakes. Normally I would wrap these in wax paper and put them in baggies for my ride, but you’ll want to arrange them nicely on some doilies. Or freeze them until a few days after Xmas when everybody is gone and you can eat them yourself.

And while I’m thinking about something tasty in the kitchen… Danica Collins would like to help you whip up a batch

And if you’re in the mood for more traditional cookies, take some time to check out the rest of the swappers:

Little Monkey (a private blog, so the recipe is posted here, as well)
Tom Allen (you are here already!)

Can we talk about fantasies?

Mrs. Edge and I have been re-evaluating our relationship lately. Nothing major or earth-shattering; we’ve just been spending more time talking about what kinds of things work or don’t work for us, and more importantly, why they do or don’t work.

Over the course of the last few months, I found myself trying to get her to understand what actually turns me on about some of my fantasies, and why I don’t need to act them out verbatim, as a script – something that she used to think I was asking for. And in talking about fantasies, I realized that there is a very common trope in femdomme related fantasy-land:  the woman who goes from Vanilla to Cruella overnight, and discovers that it’s her preference.

The stories usually go something like this: A guy is getting bored in his relationship, and spends more time masturbating to porn, and less time romancing his partner. She notices his lack of interest and becomes upset (alternately, she thinks he’s having an affair), and then begins to snoop. She then finds his secret porn stash, or browser history that he forgot to erase, or his links to FetBook, or whatever, and thinks to herself “If he wants a cruel bitch to dominate him, that’s exactly what he’s going to get, the bastard!”

The unsuspecting guy then comes home to find his partner dressed in a leather jumpsuit, dangling cuffs from one hand and swinging a crop with the other. Or Ms. Vanilla suggests a little light bondage one evening, and after he’s securely tied down, she changes into her newly bought Dominatrix outfit and then…

The stories usually end with the couple enjoying their new life, generally with the woman totally comfortable with her new role, and the guy expressing some kind of “Be careful what you wish for” ending.

Now, I know you’ve seen those stories out there. Chastity oriented tales end with the guy in longer lockups than he ever anticipated. BDSM fantasies end up with the guy being whipped, pegged, kept as a slave, whatever.

So, I was trying to explain to Mrs. Edge both these are such common tropes, and what men found so appealing about those sudden transformation stories. The only thing I could come up with is that they are in some ways a tale not so much about her gaining power as about his loss of it. But still, I’m at a loss to explain why it’s such a common theme, so I’m asking you, the kink brain trust, for some help in understanding this.


And while I’m thinking about dominant wives…


I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t mind too much if I came home to find Mrs. Edge dressed like this…

The Beginnings of Sex

So, apparently my generation didn’t actually invent sex after all.

From a recent IO9 article:

Scientists from Flinders University in Australia say they have identified the first example of penetrative sex in evolution. And wow, was it ever weird.

Weird sex? Count me in.

The new study, which now appears in the journal Nature, describes the copulation technique of an ancient, armored fish called placoderms that lived about 385 million years ago in Scotland. Placoderms, a primitive jawed vertebrate, are the earliest vertebrate ancestors of humans. The study’s lead author, John Long, discovered the mating abilities when he stumbled across a single fossil bone in an Estonian collection.

Scotland. I don’t know why I find that so amusing…

Note: If you do not believe in evolution, then perhaps now is a good time to jump to another blog.

The male member of the species, Microbrachius dicki (yes, really), evolved bony L-shaped genital limbs called claspers that transferred sperm to females; in turn, females developed small paired bones that locked the male organs in place for mating. It’s considered the first example of a reproductive technique in fish that doesn’t involve spawning, and the first use of internal fertilization and copulation as a reproductive strategy known in the fossil record. (italics added)

Reproductive Strategy would make a great name for an indie band.

“The very first act of copulation was done sideways, square-dance style. The little arms are very useful to link the male and female together, so the male can get this large L-shaped sexual organ into position to dock with the female’s genital plates, which are very rough like cheese graters. They act like Velcro, locking the male organ into position to transfer sperm.”

I’ve been locked down with Velcro before, and it ended up pretty much the same way.

There’s a video that shows how this likely was accomplished. The fish mating, not me in bondage, that is.


Interestingly, this copulation technique did not last. As fish evolved they reverted back to spawning. It took another few million years for copulation to return, reappearing in ancestors of sharks and rays.

So, intercourse evolved in fish – which were primarily the only vertebrae at the time – but not being able to find a comfortable position, they eventually gave up. I’m sure there’s a lesson here for us.


I don’t think that there are any pictures of me in Velcro bondage, but here’s a nice shot of London Andrews to remind us of why we’re glad that things evolved the way they have.



Should You Cut Your Testicles Off to Live Longer?

And in a fantastic example of Betteridge’s Law, Psychology Today offers up this ballsy headline:

Should You Cut Your Testicles Off to Live Longer? | Psychology Today.

The maxim known as Betteridge’s Law states that “Any headline asking a question can generally be answered by the word ‘No'”. But before we jump too hastily to conclusions, consider this:

Genetic studies […] with mice show that having a diminished growth hormone production (or reception) seems to increase longevity. Having stunted growth increases longevity.

Not convinced? Let’s look at some research.

The Cumming Manuscript Collection of the New York Academy of Medicine Library contains more than 1200 references, abstracts, and documents concerning the early history of human castration. (italics added)

While some observations showed evidence that castrated men tended to die earlier, other evidence shows that given the proper circumstances, it has quite the opposite effect.

[D]uring Chosun Dynasty between 14th to early 20th centuries Korean eunuchs lived 14 to 19 years longer than other (intact) men. Researchers were able to identify 81 eunuchs, who were castrated as boys, and determined that they lived to an average age of 70, significantly longer than other men of similar social status. Three of the eunuchs lived to 100. This is a centenarian rate that’s far higher than would be expected today.

I’ll let you go read the article, because it’s longer and fairly well written (if that sort of ting interests you). I’ll leave you with this, which may be of interest to more of the typical readers of this blog:

George Davey Smith from Department of Social Medicine, University of Bristol, England, and his colleagues interviewed nearly 1,000 men in six small villages about their sexual frequency, then followed up on their death records ten years later. The authors determined that men who had two or more orgasms a week had died at a rate half that of the men who had orgasms less than once a month. And importantly there was a dose effect, where the more times these men had orgasms the longer they lived. (italics added)



I don’t really want to think about having my own testicles removed, but apparently it’s not off the table for other people.