There is a sort of beauty in an awkward hookup.
Consider, as an explanation, the beginning scene of Bridesmaids (if you still haven’t seen this film, stop reading RIGHT NOW, go watch it, and then continue). In this gem of an opening moment, a carefully prepared Kristen Wigg attempts to romantify a slightly arrhythmic and universally uncomfortable sexual encounter that is somehow reminiscent of a two year old throwing a temper tantrum, or maybe an epileptic walrus learning to walk. Aside from the main issue in the scene – Kristen’s hopelessly casual “relationship”–we cringe while we watch because of the true, unabashed purity of it. This scene is awkward. Sex is awkward. And that just can’t be helped.
Now granted, there may be some beautiful, sonnet-spouting love-makers out there who manage to charm their way into sexual perfection; these are the people who hold the secret knowledge of what to do, and when and how to do it. Maybe they can have sex without that body-to-body slapping noise, or without too much sweat, or without giving someone like me permeating thoughts of what the hell/am I doing this right/I’m so confused/help I forgot deodorant – but if they exist, I haven’t found them yet (not for lack of trying, more for lack of suavity). And on top of that, if they exist, they are most certainly rare. Because, although I used to believe I was the only ruthlessly awkward human out there, some frank conversations I’ve had since I got to college (most of the time while hopelessly intoxicated) have taught me something important: nobody really knows what to do during sex.
No matter how experienced one partner is, there will always be a question of what the other expects. Everyone comes from a different sexual background, and has totally different experiences. What one person sees as necessary might be wtf-abnormal to another; what one person sees as romantic eye contact might come off as stalker-esque staring to the partner. This constant uncertainty, this painful ambiguity, just results in a lot of confusion–and avoidance for the next couple of months after.
I suppose you could argue for a clarifying conversation between the two consensual fornicators before the interaction begins. That would clear the table of any uncertainty, and prepare everyone involved for exactly how the procedure will – erm, proceed. But how romantic is that? For the tongue-twisted like me, bringing up sex to the person I’m going to have it with at any point before or after is just as bad as calling my mother and telling her I’m not a virgin. Totally off the table. And on top of that, who really wants to have this conversation? What if you find out the other person is a lot more experienced than you, and then you lose your confidence? Or you find out that they have a secret belly-button fetish and you cut them out before even giving it a chance? With these types of things, I’m a proponent of just jumping in once you get the go-ahead and seeing where it goes. YOLO. Besides, going too far into the details before will make it even more awkward to start, and waste a lot of time. And if you’re going for a drunken hookup, trying to sort out these details after you’ve both agreed it’s a good idea is either a) going to put everyone to sleep or b) give someone a killer headache. So that’s not going to work.
What else can you do diffuse the awkwardness? When it comes down to it, nothing. And therein lies the beauty.
Awkwardness is human. It is as essential to the human condition as sex itself. We are awkward beings. We learn through failure. And total discomfort. And embarrassment (a great teacher, because we never forget it). There is a purity in being awkward that recalls middle school and all of its prepubescent wonder – a purity that is reflected nowhere better than in sex. All of that slurping and slipping and stuttering, all of it creates a symphony of wonder, a compilation of copulative beauty. It makes it real, and human. Even if it means nothing to us, it gives us something to smile at, a taste of a flavor we’ve never had before and may never have again. Sex is a starting point and end point. It is, in essence, a reflection of everything in life. Sex, if it’s done in the proper, awkward way, is beautiful.
So the next time you flush bright red because something isn’t so smooth, or you’re lying there thinking what on earth is he doing, just remember this beauty. Don’t be ashamed, because the other person is probably just as confused as you are. In the end, awkward is what you want. Screw Titanic, or anything starring Natalie Portman. That’s just all too perfect. Props to Kristen Wigg for getting it right.