The morning after, he wanted to meditate. “Do you mind?” he asked, AirPods already nestled into his ears. “Not at all,” I replied by default. “It’s just something I have to do every day,” he added, lying back on the bed and closing his eyes. “You should try it.” Following instructions, I lay in silence for 10 minutes pretending to meditate, wondering why the man I’d just slept with was humming beside me and if I’d ever see him again.
The interactions we have after sex are weird. More so when that sex is with a stranger. Hence why it makes for great storytelling, as demonstrated in London’s buzziest new play, Conversations After Sex, which tells the story of one thirty-something woman’s life through vignettes following sporadic sexual encounters with a revolving cast of men. There’s the daytime drunk lad whose mother is dying. The Brazilian gent who has slept with all of his neighbours. And the man who refuses to tell her his name.
