The confused impression some boys seem to have of what women really want, and vice versa. It may be true that there are things to be said in defense of romantic dishonesty, but we know better than to really believe the sweet nothings we tell each other. And we pile on the affectionate adjectives and implicit promises with jaded hands, and keep going despite our naivete having been slowly dismantled long ago. It's like a polite routine, some staple of sexual manners rearing its head because yes, we've skipped over the love that we're told should precipitate sex and yet feel we must at the very least nod in the direction of that elusive emotion.

It's all a bit silly, the false encouragement. And it's worse when one party is in it for more than the nookie and the other party has no other thought in his or her mind. Then it's deception of a very cruel sort, white lies to support myths that ought to be dissolved with gentle rejection, rather than encouraged to continue via a cocktail of subconscious cynicism and fervent hope drawn from unmistakable words.

As we get older and wiser, we learn how to read through the bullshit, to see the same trite utterances as only that and forget them. Without them, maybe it's even nicer, businesslike, wham bam, mutual satisfaction, and out the door. With them, there's some necessity to pretend it meant something, that we want to lie in each others' arms all night and make the appropriate noises about parting and sweet sorrow come morning. And the acting is awkward, if not hilarious.

When things are natural and even, such profundity doesn't come so quickly. When it's real, we take the time to think it over, wonder whether spitting it out will do us harm, spend a million restless nights trying to decide if our feelings are reciprocated.

There's no sense in faking it. We know what a night means, we knew what we were getting when we went home together. The seduction is unnecessary. Screw, shake hands, make polite and unemotional goodbyes.. Fall apart. No sense in complicating it.