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I love sex. I love talking about it, thinking about it, arguing about it, doing it and sometimes even watching it. But because I don't have a penis, I'm supposed to keep these thoughts to myself. Guys overly concerned with sex are "players" while girls are called sluts. I should know.

I entered high school as a wholesome princess. I was class vice president, played three sports and had a popular boyfriend and tons of friends. I went to church every week and abstained from the sins of the high school trinity -- sex, drugs and alcohol. For a while, anyway.

But as a wise professor once said, "When you're up on a pedestal, it's pretty hard to move around." And when you fall, you fall hard. Unfortunately, Psychology Prof. Stacy Sinclair's insightful words got to me about four years too late.

I didn't just fall, though. I plummeted. However you want to put it, I was no longer the pure virgin I once was. My ex-boyfriend of two years and I were waiting until marriage. We broke up. And when I was 16, I lost my virginity to another guy.

But I was Miss Goody Two Shoes. I wasn't supposed to have sex! Well, it just kind of happened. People were shocked, and they weren't about to let me forget that I had screwed up. And so began my journey toward becoming a "slut."

I managed to do a 180 on my good-girl status. As the slogan goes, "Once you pop, you can't stop." And after you've done it once, you figure, "What the hell, my virginity is gone. It's nothing special." (Not that deep down I really believed that.)

I spent a good amount of time in high school trying to use sex to find love. I know, I know, you're thinking, "Wow, you are really stupid." But it was fun. So I went through the rest of high school sleeping around, hoping to somehow find love between the sheets. Needless to say, I never did.

My senior year I started dating Ben, and we were inseparable from our first date. He had heard about my reputation (even at another high school), but it didn't drive him away. We didn't have sex on the first date, or the second, or even the third. But when we finally did, wow was it good. Who knew that it is entirely different when you are actually in love with the person? We dated for almost two years, and our sexual relationship was, in a word... colorful. After all, neither of us were exactly the boring, missionary type.

Since then, I have embraced my sexuality. Many (but not all) of my friends know me as the one who's "been there, done that" and probably have a funny story to tell about it. My roommate once referred to me as a "Jedi Master of Sex." Sounds impressive, but I'm sure some of you think that must mean that I'm a slut. Well this "slut" had a grand total of two hookups last semester, and both were ex-boyfriends. And we all know exes don't count, right? I mean, I've got to keep my number down somehow, so I go for the repeat offenders. It's all about strategy, people.

I am self-assured in my sexuality. I have sex, and I like it. I don't think porn is always bad, I know the meaning behind Britney's song "Touch of My Hand," and I've been to the "sex shop." I carry a condom in my wallet and have more beside my bed. I'm not ashamed to admit that I have a sex drive. Few girls feel confident in the bedroom -- I just feel like I know how to work with what I've got. I'm no Jenna Jameson, but I am Gretchen Noelle. And from what I've heard, she's a pretty good lay... for a slut.

Gretchen Zimmerman is a Cavalier Daily Sex Columnist. She can be reached at Gretchen@cavalierdaily.com

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