I tweeted the other day about whether or not to include something awkward-but-real in a sex scene in Futa Centaur 2 (ok, talking about realism in an erotic romance between a futanari centaur and a human might seem to be stretching the bounds of “realism” a bit, I admit). The ensuing conversation was interesting, and most responses were in the affirmative.

Because, the thing is: most sex scenes in erotica/romance aren’t particularly “realistic” (even when they don’t involve half-horse-half-human dick-girls!) – and there’s no reason they should. This is, after all, fantasy.

But, sometimes a bit of realism with sex and all it’s awkward, squishy bits can be fun. One of my favourite literary sex scenes is from Ben Elton’s This Other Eden:

It is an irony which only movie stars can truly appreciate that sex is not like in the movies. Here were two international icons of popular entertainment, who had delivered more sensational sauce in their time than Mr Heinz and yet, when it came to actually having it off for real, they were as dodgy as anybody else.

‘Your arm’s on my hair,’ Krystal said gently. ‘It’s pulling my hair.’

Max whispered an apology and shifted, making them both yelp loudly because their skin had got stuck together and it hurt when Max moved his arm. Returning to the business at hand, Max placed his mouth gently on Krystal’s and began to tease her tongue with his. Moments later, like all couples, they had to stop for a moment to fish the hair out of their mouths…He and Krystal returned to their embrace. There was another yelp.

‘Do you think perhaps you could take your watch off?’ Krystal inquired. ‘It’s in danger of amputating one of my buttocks.’

…with one smooth, gentle motion, he entered her.

Except of course he didn’t. That was what he did in the movies. In the movies, one lover can gently enter another without so much as a guiding hand; without even breaking the embrace, they just slide in. This is, of course, virtually impossible. For a penis to simply glide into a vagina, whilst the lovers involved continue a passionate embrace, would actually require a funnel. In real life, people have to probe a bit.

‘Almost,’ Krystal breathed. ‘Down a bit, that’s it, nearly, no, up a bit, yes, a bit more, nearly … No! Not there! Get out of there!’

Max jerked back like a startled rabbit.

‘Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!’ he gasped.

The misunderstanding over, Krystal guided Max to the correct orifice and they began, finally, to make love. And it was good. She gasped, he gasped, they both gasped. Then they squelched.

It was the old problem. When a man is on top of a woman and the sweat begins to flow, the woman’s cleavage will often start to blow rasberries. It never happened in movies, of course. Max had pumped his body up and down on top of countless gorgeous actresses, Krystal had gasped and sweated beneath numerous bits of thespian beefcake. Yet never once had a single cleavage so much as squeaked. In the real world, however, it was a noise that had intruded on many an ecstatic moment. It’s always a difficult decision, whether to refer to it or not. Krystal always did.

‘Your chest is making my tits fart,’ she said.

…She held him tighter, and gasping and squelching away, they rushed towards climax and astonishingly it looked as if they were going to reach the tape together. Nearly. Nearly. Gasp, squelch, squelch, gasp. Sadly, at the last moment, as Krystal began to come and Max drew back for a last glorious plunge … it came out and he banged it into her thigh, bending it double and making him screech in pain.

‘Yes!’ said Krystal.

‘Ouch,’ said Max.

Ben Elton, “This Other Eden”

Obviously, as writers of erotica and romance, we mostly want to sell the fantasy. But real-life isn’t necessarily boring, and now and again it’s fun to catch our heroes and heroines being as occasionally awkward as we mortals sometimes are.