Sex writing is, at this point in the zeitgeist, the ghetto of journalistic topics. "Who am I?" begins the anonymous lady behind "Sex and the Street," the new Princeton sex column. "I'm just an ordinary girl with an extraordinary preoccupation with sex." Not so extraordinary to be preoccupied with sex: our biological drive to mate and procreate is very strong. To build your notoriety as a dude writer, it's important to have big ideas, or at least think you have them. For postmodern girls, however, it seems the fastest shortcut to getting attention is writing about sex or relationships, faux-frankly.
Hey, ladies? We did it. We broke through the glass ceiling: we're all comfortable discussing sex now. Now, if only such enlightened conversation wasn't such a poor substitute for the real thing.
If you still insist on being a sex writer, though? It's important to state and re-state that you're not a slut. (See below.) That's what makes it acceptable:
I'm not a slut. In fact, I'm not even single. I don't know everything about sex, though I'd love to say I did. I'm not a nymphomaniac, despite evidence to the contrary. I'm a Prude Gone Wild.