In Praise of the Post-Coital Snack

Eating after sex has a special place in my heart

I squinted at the ingredient list on the side of the plastic tub of whipped cream. If I was going to get my boyfriend to lick it off my nipples, I had to make sure it was dairy-free.

Plus, I wasn’t sure how vegans felt about having dairy products on their dicks, so I had to play it safe.

I was young, so I was trying all the cheesy stuff I’d heard about or seen in movies. Licking whipped cream off each other was next on the list.

We took turns smearing whipped cream on each other and then licking it off, but it really wasn’t as sexy as I thought it would be.

It felt cold on my skin and I kept wanting to make sure that he actually licked all of it so I wouldn’t just be sticky afterward. And it’s not a flavor that paired all that well with the taste of cock.

We still had plenty of whipped cream left after we were done. It seemed a shame to waste it, so we sat in bed naked, eating what was left in the bowl.

We didn’t repeat the whipped cream sex play. But as I licked my fingers clean, I knew I was on to something.

Home Cooking

I know it’s going to sound basic as hell, but one of the things that impressed me about my husband when I met him is that he cooked for me.

I was only 18, so most of the guys I had been with before either didn’t have a place of their own or weren’t exactly the responsible type. I suspect that most of them wouldn’t have been able to make a pot of Kraft Dinner if they tried.

But Mr. Austin had a little bachelor’s apartment in his parents’ basement. It wasn’t much, but it had a tiny kitchen and he’d offer to cook for me whenever I was over.

There were so many things about him that made it feel like it was my first adult relationship, and watching him keep busy in the kitchen was definitely part of it.

His meals were really simple single-guy fare. Fusilli pasta and jarred sauce. Instant ramen noodles cooked with fresh veggies. Frozen hash browns with spring onion and veggie weiner slices. Not the most impressive dishes, but they made me feel satisfied and cared for.

I loved the little domestic situation we had. We only ever interrupted it to go to parties. We’d spend hours mingling while I drank (Mr. Austin abstained at the time), but there was never anything to eat and rarely any opportunity to fuck, so by the time we got back to our cozy little basement, we were both really hungry and horny.

We took care of whichever need felt strongest first. Sometimes, Mr. Austin would whip up his budget one-pot noodle and veggie dish and we’d eat it while watching a movie — and then ignore the second half of the movie because we had other business to attend to.

But I always preferred it the other way around — when we’d fuck and then eat. Sex on an empty stomach isn’t ideal, but the hefty dose of feel-good hormones that pumped through me after an orgasm made the food taste so much better.

Why Don’t You Go Make Us a Sandwich?

There’s a stale joke about men asking their wives or girlfriends to make them a sandwich right after sex.

I’m that man.

Having sex takes a lot of energy and it usually leaves me feeling a bit hungry. But I don’t usually ask for a sandwich.

Sometimes, I’ll ask Mr. Austin to whip up a full meal and we’ll eat it in bed while watching standup comedy or YouTube videos (a blissful scenario we can only enjoy when all of our kids are in bed).

But most of the time, we’ll just have a snack. He’ll make a light dessert or some toast.

The holy grail, though, is microwaved leftover pizza.

(It would be delivery, but none of the pizza places in this small town has a decent vegan option.)

Snacking after sex is a really intimate experience. We’ll hang out half-dressed, just eating and talking about whatever, with the white noise from the baby monitor drowning out everything outside our bedroom.

It’s the closest I come to feeling like I did back when we were spending all day in bed in his old apartment, living as if we were the only two people in the world.

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