Rabbit, Run

Questions: Why does it seem whenever a man picks up a prostitute in literature he A) ends up spending a lot of time with her/ends up with her? and B) tells her after ONE sexual encounter "I love you"?

We're reading Updike's Rabbit, Run and Harry "Rabbit" Angstrom, and he does this with Ruth...she laughs at him. But come on, this happens ALL the freakin' time. Take Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms, Henry tells Catherine he loves her fast (but then again she's kinda crazy on him too about love and all, so perhaps not the best example). But what's this about, men? Why? Do you really think the prostitute needs to hear this? She doesn't care, she just wants some cheap, easy money. Is there some unwritten rule in literature, that if you fuck someone you have to confess love to "make it all okay"? It's stupid.

Okay, so other than that business: Rabbit's cool -- okay he's really not, he leaves his pregnant wife and their two-year-old son for no real reason other than she asked him to buy a pack of cigarettes. But I like him (other than the whole I love you thing). Actually, really, he's a bastard jackass. But I like him, or at least I relate to him. It's strange. I don't think I've ever read a book where I'm almost exactly the same age as the main character (other than when I was a kid). But, no Rabbit's 26 and it's the first few days of Spring -- which for us was less then a month ago -- and I'm 26 too. He's unhappy with his life and where he is. I'm not overly thrilled with my life right now (though most of that is because my ankle is broken and I can't drive). So what does he do? He gets in the car and drives. He drives all night and still ends up in the same place. I wanted to do that sooooo bad when reading it. I could feel the cool Pennsylvania air streaming slowly though the windows, while songs of the 50s crooned and mixed with the slight whistle the cracked windows made. And when he stops at lovers lane, I could smell the pines, as I/We sat straining our tired eyes at the crisp map, wondering where this place could be until startled by the lovers behind us - anxious to get her home before curfew. Shoving the map aside in a wrinkled mess, and just driving again. He's moving on with his life, and so am I. So he might be a bastard, but I like him. And perhaps I'm a bastard. So, yeah.