Just read a romantic (supposedly) sex story.
What's striking is the lack of contingent (on the people involved) details. The guy is a rugby star. The girl, ummm, uhhhh, oh she's hot. They meet. He's inept, she's amused. They meet again, talk, and kiss. They write each other often. Though they converse often, we know not what about. (They both go to not-co-ed, strict boarding schools and thus can't meet much). Winter break comes. They get to see each other now. They fuck. He says he loves her. And then it says they're still together 30 years later.
For one thing, the power of these stereotypes (memes) is demonstrated. The people don't matter. They control countless lives of all different sorts. Truly amazing in a kind of morbid way.
For another, just story wise, contingent details are what give a story life. What make the characters interesting. It's rather dull when the protagonists don't have personalities -- when they are fungible not unique. Sadly, IME, this story is one of the *better* ones of the genre. Perhaps I'd have better luck with pulped dead tree format. (If that doesn't ring a bell, go read Exploitation Now already.)