Some say that we no longer have four seasons to enjoy in New Jersey.

Yes, there is summer, there sure as hell is winter, and fall is always a picturesque, pristine time to enjoy the wonders of the Garden State. But the missing season, as previously noted in this space, is spring.

It’s as if winter sticks around until mid-May: Temps can’t get anywhere near a level that doesn’t require a coat, it’s always depressing, and outdoor activities can only be found by looking at photo albums from the Hunt eight months ago.

Then just like that the jump from misery to melting happens virtually overnight: High temps in the 90s and humidity that doesn’t vanish till Halloween garb hangs in store windows.

The lack of moderation in the weather reminds me of the jump that Hobokenites seem to be making when it comes expressing physical attraction. In this context, the missing season called "moderation" parked between flirty conversations and ravishing each other like sea otters has vanished as well.

Call the phenomenon "Box Spring".

Anyway, despite what my critics characterize as an omnipotent tone regarding my obvious expertise on the topic of familiar relations between single adults, I’m here to admit that I’m a bit surprised by the trend more people are taking in terms of an expeditious route to Pleasure Town upon initial contact. Call it old fashioned, but I am amazed to see the path of least resistance growingly embraced by professional, attractive, responsible, ostensibly conservative women are taking when quickly moving from sporting a turtleneck and holding a vodka tonic to total naked and horizontal.

Yes, perhaps I’m a bit too trustworthy when hearing a girl state that she’ll make a guy "work" to be with her. I always assume that "work" may mean perhaps some kissy face after a first date or bar introduction, followed by another date that ends the same way, followed by maybe an invite back to an apartment after a third date to "hang out" (but not stay over), followed by, perhaps, a fourth date when a slumber party occurs but clothes still stay on for the most part.

To be intimate and exposed is something that I assumed took much consideration and time. Those who know me are laughing at this column right about now, but even when I was the beneficiary of such trysts, it was still staggering that a girl could be so comfortable in such a naked situation so quickly.

After all, Hoboken is supposed to be a place where the good girls…the ones who would never do such a thing…would wait until an exclusive relationship was established. But here’s a perspective that is as close to a fact as it comes: As we get older, the huge weight of the moment when it comes to sex—and especially when simply sharing a bed in a hook-up-but-no-sex scenario—has become as weightless as an I-Pod. Somewhere along the line the original ceiling for what is morally acceptable was crashed through, and once a self-imposed rule is broken, it very easy to break again…

And again…

Until it’s forgotten that there was even a rule in the first place.

And that’s just the "waiting-until-the-time-is-right" part.

The safe-sex era seems like a century ago, doesn’t it?

AIDS?

Please.

When was the last time you saw anyone where a red ribbon at an award ceremony? Fear is no longer within the thought process, particularly after two bottles of wine after midnight.

Condoms are no longer the #1 candidate for subletting a top dresser drawer, are they?

The pill, however, stands the test of time, but who can blame a girl for forgetting to take it every day for the rest of their 20s and 30s? And after beating the system so many times, like a person who drinks and drives but never gets caught, both male and female begin to think that the unexpected pregnancy thing only happens to those other irresponsible bed partners.

The sexual revolution of the 60s is alive and well again. And the conservative sexual movement that scared the nation straight no longer exists.

As Pacino said in the Devil’s Advocate, "Freedom baby…means never having to say you’re sorry."

Just slept with someone you only kinda know after a night at the Osprey or Green Rock?

No regrets, right?

Just as long no one knows that you're temping as a tramp, that all makes it okay.

Does TV have influence? If Gossip Girl and repeats of Sex and the City are programmed in the DVR, it may. The mantra on those shows, even for the most responsible characters (DH’s Teri Hatcher and SATC’s Sarah Jessica Parker), is that once a potential mate passes the smell test and ferments even a hint of chemistry, it’s breakfast for two the following morning. Time and self-proclaimed policies of "X" number of dates or meeting the parents (please) are hardly a factor.

Hoboken itself may be the same way, and much of it may be due to the fact that as rents skyrocket so does the average age makeup of the town. Invariably, getting older and acting responsible go hand-in-hand, but when it comes to intercourse, the opposite rules seem to reply as the birthdays begin to pile up.

"I used to think sex was a very big deal," an ex-girlfriend once told me. "But now I’m much more relaxed about it. It just doesn’t weigh on my conscience quite as much when it does happen with someone I’m not in love with yet."

Billy Crystal once said in When Harry Met Sally that men don’t need a time…just a place. If that’s true, and if women are thinking the same way as the opposite gender as they become more apathetic about the ramifications of taking their clothes off, watch out.

There are currently over 110 million singles in the United States. The dating industry is estimated at nearly $1.8 billion, according to a Let’s Have Lunch study, a professional dating service that studies the behaviors and attitudes of single people. Buy the stock in jdate.com now, as the singles industry is growing at an astonishing 25% clip annually as more people enjoy the wonders of casual relationships that usually end as quickly as they begin.

A recent Playboy poll on dating characteristics as it pertains to sex indicates that half of Americans (this was an international poll) expect to have sex within the first month of dating. Applying logical math to this number, and it translates into active slumber parties occurring around dates 3-5.

Do we really know a person well enough to be that intimate within 30 days?

Is this the reason why so many relationships advance so quickly in the flesh without allowing the emotional and personal intimacy to be working parallel with it, ultimately dooming the partnership because expectations have been expedited unfairly on one side or the other?

Has patience and prudent philosophies become passé, or has it been this way for the past decade?

Since I’m not an advocate of leaving open-ended questions in any story, here’s my analysis: College taught us that sharing a bed isn’t as big a deal as we thought it was in High School. The walk of shame was really the walk of fame, particularly if friends approved of the match. Give most girls credit: They are adept at keeping fuck buddies below the radar, even with their closest friends.

Hoboken is a college town in terms of applying the same theory. Socializing and boozing are essentially the same as on campus. Yes, maybe at one point staying over on a Saturday night meant a commitment was attached to it, but once that expectation was dashed by more than a few men that are career-first, freedom-second and relationships somewhere around six or seven on the charts, the hope became for women that maybe something concrete could come out of performing acts before the time was right, but after awhile, no one was holding their breath that holding hands and a Broadway show would be the result.

And if nothing more than a quick scratch of the estrogen itch came out of it, a good reputation was still kept in tact because of the "Everybody-is-doing-it-why-not-me-too?" rule of thumb.

And so, I digress…

Are the good girls still out there?

Sure.

But like warm spring days in April and May, they are becoming more few and far between…