“Did you just finish?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Cool. Just checking.”

OK, that was an anticlimactic ending to my middle-of-the-night screw session with my ex-boyfriend-turned-fuck-buddy a few days ago, but it really was the end of it. I don’t think I’m usually the type to have grand reflections on life during such moments, but somehow it hit me, as he jumped off the bed to throw away the condom, that another finishing was near. My job as “that girl” was almost over. Wow.

You know those situations where you meet someone, have a pretty immediate attraction to them, spend weeks flirting with them in the hope of eventually ending up in bed with them and once you finally do, it’s as awesome as you thought it would be yet over before you’re done marveling at the oral miracle they gave you 45 minutes ago? Well, this is pretty much what writing this column has been for me.

My column and I were introduced to each other by a floormate upon my arrival at Cal in the spring of freshman year. I became resolute to become one with it the following year as the (in)famous Mustafa’s inflammatory and oft-misunderstood style cast a spell on me. I played hard-to-get during my junior year as I often ignored it and finally sealed the deal my senior year as I made it a sexy offer it couldn’t refuse.

And now it’s the morning after — the main event is over, yet the goodbyes remain to be said.

Cue sappy reflection about being the SOT girl — sorry guys, I have to write at least a little bit of cheese.

While the column brought me many positive reactions — classmates and friends all found it “so cool” that I wrote it, and dudes have been intrigued by it — it also forced me to have thicker skin and wrestle with the fact that readers who don’t know me will pretty much always get an incomplete and skewed perception of me.

For example, I’ve often been called reckless, unsafe and an advocate of unhealthy practices — thanks, drunk sex op-ed. But the funny thing is that I’m actually a huge proponent of sexual education and safe sex. I have condoms in all my purses (I once had to pass up a library hookup because neither one of us had one), evangelize all my favorite brands to my friends and almost had a heart attack when a former whatever-he-was asked me what HPV is. I just never wrote about these things because, let’s face it — they’ve been done before.

Nor am I claiming that anything I’ve written this semester is really all that new. I mean, this column alone has been around for 15 years — never mind how long other columns have been around.

I recently did some research on the history of SOT, and let me tell you — many greater writers have come before me. The original, a then-senior by the name of Laura Lambert, paved the latex-protected and lubed-up road for the rest of us. She mixed education, humor and very-longand-very-hyphenated-words — clearly an enduring style. A couple of her successors, Jenn Schindel and Francisco Ramirez, braved a range of topics from rimming to queefs and everything in between — and you thought I was “provocative.” Schindel went on to write a legendary fisting column (trust me, you should read it), and Ramirez now contributes to MTV’s awardwinning Staying Alive campaign.

I could go on, but I think you get the picture. I am just a humble amateur trying to write up a few laughs every week about a topic my predecessors and I believe should be openly discussed.

So as I stumble around my ex’s room, looking for my thong and T-shirt and thinking about all this sappy OMG-myreign-as-the-sex-columnist-is-almost-over stuff, something else also hits me. Fuck, I only have a couple more weeks of his yummy oral skills, perfectly shaped dick and willingness to do whatever I want. I really need to capitalize on that.

I should probably also maximize on my other available resources. As I’ve said before, sharing the love is what it’s all about. The rest of my rotation is just as deserving of the opportunity to have backarching and toe-curling sex, to give me an awesome licking down there (no tongue alphabet of course), to get an ab-fab blow job from me and to engage in “reckless,” drunk monkey business with me — maybe even during my crimson week. After all, I go to Berkeley, and egalitarianism and equality of opportunity is what we preach here — well, the Occupy folks at least.

And hell, I’m about to graduate, so if you think you can impress and keep up with me, holla at your girl! Assuming your dick is of the golden ratio and I deem you attractive and popular enough for me to be seen with you, I’ll take you home for some nonstarfish fucking. Why not be the slut most of you already think I am?