The first week of school is always the same – full of endless introductions and overviews. Professors know how warped our minds are from the summer sunshine, and most of them very gently and slowly ease us back into the rhythm of another school year, giving us time to decide if we are really ready for such a big step in our lives. “That’s okay,” they whisper into our ears. “If it’s not for you, come back next quarter.” God, the first week of school is such a turn-on.

So, in the spirit of introductions and tender guidance, let me at least explain myself before I delve into articles involving things like rim jobs and emergency room X-ray stories. Let me at least introduce myself before I stick it in -stick the articles in, I mean….

My father kept pushing me to get more involved in school, so naturally his was the first number I dialed when I got the job.

I announced my new position as the Daily Nexus sex columnist and braced myself for his reaction. Nervous laughter over the phone eventually gave way to a timid, “Well, Nin’, how do you know anything about that?”

My mother’s reaction was less demure: “What are you going to write about, sucking your boyfriend’s dick?”

I couldn’t believe her. She knows I don’t have a boyfriend.

Eventually, however, my mother came around. She even found it in her heart to leak the news to my grandfather, which was quite an interesting conversation. Imagine trying to explain the job description of a sex columnist to your doting 80-year-old grandfather. Now, imagine listening to him offer you column ideas.

But back to my father’s original question: What do I really know?

Modesty would recommend that I coyly sidestep the question and stare back at you with innocent, virginal eyes, but I haven’t talked to Modesty since I slept with her husband Honesty, so her opinion really doesn’t matter to me anymore.

For those of you I haven’t slept with, let me clue you in: I dig boning. I mean, who doesn’t? But my love for it goes above and beyond the “Okay, I’m done, get off me now” part.

Sex fascinates me. It is a completely altered state; it makes the world disappear, and when that happens, anything goes. At first you don’t mind being called names, then you start to dig the scratching, and then, mister, you won’t ever assume a strap-on is just for girls again.

While I embrace every aspect of sex, I do take special pleasure in the awkward moments: a name mix-up, a slip off the bed, an “Uh, how do you want to do it?” conversation – not to mention forced, postcoital pillow talk about the thread count of the sheets or how many units you’re taking this quarter. Just as you are wondering why the hell this girl is talking about going to see “In Her Shoes,” she is thinking, “If I annoy him by gushing over chick flicks, maybe he will get the balls to shoo me out the door.”

If my love for sex alone doesn’t qualify me for this job, then perhaps the incredibly embarrassing anecdotes I have amassed over the years do. Looking back at the stupid things I’ve done or the irritating things I’ve had to endure, it’s a wonder I haven’t lost any love for it at all. But I have no regrets about anything and no shame to hold me back. Lucky you, huh?

Just give me a chance. I spent all summer doing the nasty in the name of research so I could have something to talk to you about.

So, now that the introduction is out of the way, I guess we’re ready for the big stuff. I mean, not straight into anal or anything, but, you know, we can ease into it.

Hey, I kind of like taking cues from professors. Your first assignment for the weekend: For the love of God, get laid.

Daily Nexus sex columnist Nina Love Anthony will one day tell her daughter, “You better not fucking forget to cup the balls.”