So We Tried Those Viral Tiktok ‘Sex Chocolates’


    So We Tried Those Viral Tiktok ‘Sex Chocolates’

    I did not want to be “that guy,” the person who overdoses on sex chocolates and ends up in some kind of apocalyptic horniness fugue state. To that end, I drank about five teaspoons of white wine and ate two sex chocolates. The man I am dating, whom I will call Passion Flower here for purposes of anonymity, did the same. Passion Flower and I ate amaretto and birthday cake flavor Sextz. They weren’t bad—similar to a milk buttercream from See’s Candy, but with a mild vending-machine-style staleness.

    What happened next is not, I think, what the makers of Sextz intended. The rest of the evening was spent like this: One of us would stop and say to the other, “Are you feeling anything from the chocolates?” And the other would say, “Not really.” And then we would both freeze in horror and quickly say something like, “No, no—I mean—I’m glad this is happening! I don’t think the chocolates are…but this is still soooo nice.” Shakespeare could not have written such crisp dialogue! If you haven’t paused sex to say, “Just checking—are you mad at me?” try it! Spice things up! The chocolates inspired huge amounts of the kind of mildly fraught communication you get when one person is trying to parallel-park and the other person is standing outside the car, shouting advice.

    The night after experiencing The Sex Chocolates, I went to a dinner party attended by six other women, and handed out the remaining chocolates. I asked the guests to try them, if they liked, and report back. Sex chocolates are a great conversation starter—it was like I had gifted every woman a Sea Monkey kit or a crisp $2 bill. But weeks passed, and no women reported back. I fretted. Were they on chocolate-fueled sex benders? Had I overestimated my friend’s friends’ interests in having their sexual exploits recorded in detail on a popular website?

    After 28 days—the length of two cacao harvesting seasons!—I issued a sensitive reminder to the group text (“DID ANYONE TRY THEIR SEX CHOCOLATES?”). One response came back. “The sex was great but tbh we both forgot we had taken them until afterward,” wrote a woman, who I will refer to as Ginkgo Biloba. To her this was ideal. “We decided we were going to have a night of hedonistic activities,” she said. She and her partner threw back the chocolates, and then went straight to a cheese store, she said, which they followed up with wine. The chocolates had an effect, even if it wasn’t chemical. They set a vibe of outrageous consumption.

    Did ingredients in the chocolates add oxygen to the furnace of desire? Unclear. Was it kind of fun to eat something called “sex chocolates”? Yes, yes, it was. When I was growing up in the bleak years of sexist magazine sex writing in the 2000s, sex tips were tricky and skill-based: Open your mouth wider! Move it faster! Treat your man’s body parts like a wind instrument!

    Sex chocolates provide a pleasant respite from all that work. Open your mouth wider, they coax (to eat the chocolate). Move it faster, they whisper (because the chocolate has caffeine in it). Treat the chocolate like a wind instrument (because you are a fun, zany gal!). Sex chocolates do not have the instant arousal factor of, say, having sex on the sun-warmed bow of a yacht at golden hour, or even of sex while slightly drunk. 

    But they do work as a gateway drug to talking, cheese eating, and general trying-something-new togetherness. At the end of the day, sex chocolates are made out of chocolate. Having them around makes you think about sex, talk about sex, and plan to have sex. It’s not an orgy. But why bite off more than you can chew?

    Jenny Singer is a staff writer for Glamour. You can follow her on Twitter.

    Published at Fri, 05 Nov 2021 17:44:07 +0000

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