"You're here for sex, correct?" said a friendly voice.

I laughed. The voice belonged to Mr. Schon. He was my health teacher last year. This year, as a senior, I decided to take his sex ed class for a semester elective.

As soon as we all took our seats, Mr. Schon quickly pointed out that our course will be referred to as "sexuality ed," rather than simply "sex ed." He asked for a volunteer to explain the distinction. Being a natural show-off and know-it-all, I raised my hand.

" 'Sex' usually refers to just an act, whereas the term 'sexuality' encompasses the act and related issues, right?"

He smiled and nodded, yes.

All grades at my high school have sex ed as part of the quarter-long health classes. Freshman year, it was all very cut and dry—who puts what where and the possible consequences of such an action. We watched a video that featured a slew of uneducated teenagers making statements like, "My boyfriend and I don't use condoms; he just pulls out. We've been OK so far." (I hope someone told them that gambling under the age of 18 is illegal.)

These films were always boring, and most people spent more time mocking the dated hairstyles than paying attention to what the teenagers said.

Afterward, the teacher dispelled myths contained in the films, plus any others we heard. For instance, everyone has heard, at least once, that you can't get pregnant if you do it standing up. The teacher also gave us information about various methods of protection and stressed—bold, italicized, and underlined!—abstinence as the only 100-percent effective method of protecting yourself against pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases (STDs).

Then the teacher reviewed other topics related to our physical and mental well-being, like diet and nutrition and saying no to drugs.

Though the course was technically comprehensive—because it discussed abstinence plus contraceptives and pregnancy options—it still left a lot of bases uncovered.

Junior year health class was radically different. It was closer to "sexuality ed" than mere "sex ed." We went beyond just talking about "the act." We dealt with dating and relationships, gender roles, and society's impact on sexual behavior. We never used a textbook—I'm not even sure if we had one. The class was strictly discussion-led, which was great. I learned more that way, because we had an excellent group dynamic.

Conversations began in a variety of ways. Sometimes my teacher proposed a topic for discussion; other days, we used the question box. Each of us wrote down whatever questions we had and dropped them, unsigned, into the box. Then our teacher read them aloud, and class responded.

Sometimes the questions would have clear-cut answers, and sometimes they'd be more open-ended, such as, "How does the group view same-sex relationships?" or "Do you think it's OK for girls to masturbate?"

It was great because we got answers to important questions that, normally, we'd be too embarrassed to ask aloud.

We occasionally watched videos. To introduce the topic of rape, we watched an Oprah show about the scores of untested rape kits across the country. We talked about issues that rape survivors face, including the idea that thousands of women, after watching this Oprah show, just realized that their attackers might never be caught. I thought it was great that guys as well as girls had to hear rape victims' stories.

Open dialogue between the sexes about sex-related issues is incredibly important, because it leads to a greater respect for one another and our individual decisions. Just getting people to think about why they do the things they do is a huge step in the right direction.

Comprehensive sexuality education is important to me because it introduced aspects of sex that I'd never considered before. It led me to rethink a lot of the messages I receive from my parents, peers, and the media. It also gave me the knowledge I need to make decisions for myself—rather than make decisions someone else tells me to make.

I like that the voice in my head that tells me what to do is my own. (And right now, it's telling me to remain a virgin until I fall in love.)

-Acacia Stevens, 16, of Edison, NJ, is an editor for SEX, ETC., the national newsletter and Web site written by teens, for teens, on sexual health issues, published by the Network for Family Life Education at Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey.

 Visit SEX, ETC. at www.sxetc.org