I’ve always made a bad girl.

I don’t mean to say that I’m bad. I’m far too responsible for that. I listen to NPR. I vote in primaries. But when it comes to femininity, to the trappings of girlhood (the shoes, the makeup, the cooking, the arcane household crafts), I just do not get it. I am not good at it. I fail to perform “girl” correctly.

It’s not as if I haven’t been trained for the job. Throughout my childhood, several family members staged interventions and crash courses on femininity, from the grandmother who told me that I could be so pretty, if only I’d try a little, to the cousins who told me that ya cain’t use big words on a guy, or he won’t like ya. My father – a check-bouncing, hard-drinking, waitress-dating guy who rode motorcycles and used the word f*ck approximately eight times in any given conversation – despaired over my failure to become, in his words, “a real lady.”

I tried. I really did. Before I knew what feminism was, I studied gender, the assumptions and behaviors and roles that were assigned to the men and women around me. I didn’t have revolutionary aims. I just wanted to know what I was missing.

This is what I picked up:

Boys are strong. Girls are gentle. Boys are brave. Girls are patient. Boys want to have fun. Girls want to have babies. Boys are attractive because of what they do. Girls are attractive because of how they look. Boys smoke, drink, and screw. Girls cook, clean, and marry. Boys pick the girls they want. Girls take the boys who pick them. Boys can’t help themselves. Girls spend their time helping.

To borrow a phrase from my dear father: f*ck that sh*t.

I decided that I could be whatever sort of girl I wanted – that I could pick and choose from the vast range of human behaviors without regard for whether they came from the “male” or “female” side of the menu.

I started with the smoking, drinking and screwing. That part seemed like the most fun.

It’s also been the most controversial. I’ve never been short of kissing partners. But to be an openly sexual girl – to take the male prerogative of choosing partners, making the first move, and viewing sex as a worthy act in and of itself – flies in the face of the idea that “ladies” are restrained, commitment-minded, and reluctant to take off their clothes without first receiving a vow of everlasting love and adoration. Some people are contemptuous; others are just plain scared.

Early on, I made the mistake of dating men who were threatened by my sexuality, or by my forthrightness, or by the fact that (as my cousins warned me) I just used too many of them big words. It offended them if I initiated sex, if I made intelligent points in conversation, or if I asked them to do what I liked in bed instead of gently submitting to their manly urges. Hell, some of them got offended if I paid for my half of a date.

But when men told me that I was “too aggressive,” or complained that I didn’t let them “take the lead,” it didn’t disturb my confidence. I just started dating different men.

The real problems have come from acquaintances: people who know my MO, but refuse to accept it. Many of these people still think in terms of boxes: the virgin and the whore, the girl you f*ck and the girl you marry, the smart girl and the sexy girl. They’re fine with a woman’s sexuality, as long as she’s using it to please a man, and as long as she knows that her job is to be wanted rather than to want. Presenting myself as a full human being, an intelligent adult who claims her right to desire on her own terms – that confuses these people. They feel the need to tell me what I’m getting wrong; they typecast me as a man-hater or a slut; they bait me or avoid me or treat me like some sort of entertaining sideshow to their own, more “normal” lives. They can’t figure out which box to put me in.

That’s fine by me. In fact, that’s the whole point: there are no boxes. There were never any boxes. We imagine them, and we shape ourselves to fit them, because we believe that we have to do so in order to be accepted. The less we do that, the less restrictive those boxes become. There is no “right” sexuality, and no “natural” way to be a girl. There are only people, and the choices they make. I make my choices moment by moment. So do the people I love.

Some girls lose their virginities to their first loves: some taller, older, handsome man (er, boy) who says I love you and kisses her neck and asks, “Baby, does this hurt?”

Other girls get drunk in basements off Jack Daniels when they’re 14, take off their shirts and find themselves straddling some younger boy on a bed in the corner of some dirty room, only to discover they are being watched by several on-lookers when they receive a swift slap on the ass.

…Or something to that effect.

Perhaps my first sexual experience has tainted my view of sexuality. I mean, how could it not? I guess some girls really do get the whole rose-petals-on-the-bed thing, but not every girl, and I’m here to tell the story of the ones who don’t.

As I’ve gotten older, I have started to respect my body a lot more than I did when I was younger. I think that the younger you are when you start having sex – the crazier, sluttier and down right dirtier things you do. If you start having sex later, you actually understand it – and your body’s responses to it – and everything makes a lot more sense.

In high school, sex was sex. I did it to say that I did, not because I particularly enjoyed it or even wanted it. This never really got me anywhere, except stuck in the sheets with senior boys who only wanted me naked, and didn’t really give a sh*t about anything that came out of my somewhat bitchy, bratty 16-year-old mouth.

Now, however, my views have slightly changed. My basic ideas about sex are as follows:

1. Monogamy is not natural. And kinda boring. I was in a relationship for 5 years, so I know how it is to be with only one person. It was amazing to be with someone I loved, but my thoughts (and his, I’m sure) about having sex with other people didn’t magically disappear when we were together. Of course, I was able to suppress my urges to ravage everyone from my math teacher to his best friend, but it didn’t make me want it from those guys any less. I think it’s human nature to desire more than one “mate”, if we’re getting scientific here. If monogamy is not your thing, then it’s not. You just have to find someone who makes you kinda forget those other people exist (love will do that to ya).

2. You love who you love. Male or female. Let’s just say that I think it’s perfectly normal to be attracted to members of the same sex. I don’t think that sexuality is as easy as “straight” or “gay”. I think that you can fall in love with – and be sexually attracted to – pretty much anyone. Love is such a subjective thing and I feel that it’s different for everybody. It can’t be defined by which body part someone hides in their panties and/or boxer briefs.

3. Love and sex can co-exist, but they don’t have to. A girl I really don’t like once said, “I’d rather have good sex than good love at this point in my life.” As much as I dislike her, this was the only semi-intelligent thing I ever heard her say. I understand that completely – sometimes, sex is what you want. Sometimes, love is what you want. Sometimes – if you’re lucky – you get them both. But most of the time, you’re lacking in one area or the other and left to use your Rabbit while you stay at home on cold, lonely Friday nights.

And sometimes you’re on the opposite end of the spectrum – lying next to a boy you love who just can’t seem to please you the way your Rabbit can. Such is life. So if what you want and need right now is sex, I don’t think you should be made ashamed to go after it. And if you’re feelin’ a relationship or don’t want to hook up with randoms? Then you shouldn’t feel ashamed to be “that girl”, either. My ex-boyfriend probably had a large influence on my thinking this way – as he thinks it’s completely okay to engage in sexual acts with multiple partners without feeling a damn thing for any of them – but what can I say? He kinda makes sense.

4. There will probably always be a double standard. I would love to deem myself a feminist, but then I’d feel like a horrible one for saying this: I just don’t think the double standard about sexuality will ever go away. Unless the stereotypes about women go away – like that they’re supposed to be beautiful, innocent, sexy and virginal all at the same time – I don’t think that the idea that men having lots of random sex = awesome and girls having lots of sex = slutty, will ever truly go away. I’ve even called girls “sluts” for doing stuff like participating in obscene public displays of affection in corners at parties and/or sleeping with a guy they just met. I guess that I do think that girls can control their urges and that guys should be the only ones out gallivanting – at least when it comes to girls other than myself, of course. And that’s probably how every other girl thinks, too.

5. Our culture is so over-sexed that it has kinda lost its meaning. I think that once upon a time, I would have never written a story like this. I wouldn’t have been able to. Sex was taboo – it was hush-hush and it was definitely not something you would discuss openly in a public forum like this. Although I think it’s interesting and exciting – it also goes to show that our society doesn’t place as much value on sex (or anything related to relationships, love, hell…even marriage!), or take it as seriously as in the past. I would love to say that I think one day chivalry and the whole “courting process” will come back – but I can’t promise that.

So basically, after re-reading this, I guess I’m a little conflicted about sex in this day and age, which I’m sure many of you are, too. We’re living in a time where sex is on the fore-front and it seems that everybody is having it and having it often – and then talking about it (or releasing videos of it!). Sex is natural: it’s beautiful and confusing and full of complication.

So, as much as I’d die for some kind of (what did I call it?) oh yeah…rose-petals-on-the-bed sorta thing, I’m not going to count on it. At least not for awhile (you know, until the guys around me are more worried about their stock portfolios than their stock of pornography, but such is life).

I’m sure there a lot of people out there who will disagree (perhaps strongly) with everything I wrote.

But this is me. And this is life.

Growing up, my knowledge on the classroom-rumoured Facts Of Life were always rather naïve; my Barbie and Ken dolls sometimes tried giving it a shot, but I could never stretch my imagination beyond yanking the trousers down/skirt up and wearing a puzzled expression as I placed one on top of the other and wondered if they were really enjoying themselves as much as the people on my mum and dad’s fifteen-rated (that’s R-rated in America) movies seemed to be.

It was only when my hormones began pumping that I finally began noticing boys in my school – one in particular – and let my mind drift off into the dangerous territory of wandering hands and possible intimacy. As it turned out, my first boyfriend was not the high school crush I had harboured for so long. However, it was new, it was exciting, and most importantly it was….actually quite a good-looking piece of apparatus. If this was The Thing that I was constantly told by parents, teachers and school nurses to stay away from, I’m afraid to say I was hooked.

Of course nothing lasts forever, especially in the way of young love. Back when I was sixteen I thought I was head over heels, but in reality I hardly knew what I was doing (though I loved every minute of it). The moment I realised my first proper relationship was over, I became stranded. I felt lost not having someone’s hand to hold, or body to keep me warm. I missed the secret smiles and endless daydreaming, I missed the butterflies in my stomach…and I missed the sexual education I was giving myself too.

By this time I was seventeen. The Internet had taught me things my mother would choke trying to explain, but I craved new experiences; I wanted to experiment.

My experimentation led me to aptly named AdamEve.com, a website dedicated to the needs of lusty human beings the world over – and no sexual partner required! From then on, I never looked back. These ‘toys’ as they were called gave me a whole new level of pleasure – and most importantly, they didn’t mind being stuffed in the back of a drawer, ignored all day then abused at 3am. They were cheap, reliable, long-lasting and – most importantly – available in every shade from skin tone to purple rainbow glitter.

Sexist remarks aside, I still see a place for men in the bedroom. A vibrator may buzz happily and light up like a spaceship, but it’ll never keep me warm at night, nor ruffle my hair until I fall asleep. The experience of making love to another person is one that can never be replicated by any form of man-made silicon. But for the price substitution of a first date, you can’t really complain!