I was six when a man first touched me. I didn't speak up until I was an adult
A SUMMER AT AUNT AMY
I took an excited sip of my after-school Coke before clacking away on my clunky keyboard. I pushed myself back from the computer desk, traveling a few feet in my roller chair before coming to a stop. When it comes to sex, the internet underscores the gap between what young people want to know and experience, and what adults are comfortable with them knowing and experiencing. On that front, parents often falter, while the internet always delivers. Those early chatrooms were a virtual landscape dominated by the graphic and sometimes alarming desires of boys and men, but they were also the source of the first inklings of my own insistent desire. The internet introduced me to a thrilling world of possibility, the fact of sex as not just a biological event but a broader social phenomenon, one filled with play and creativity. My dad, a computer programmer at a startup in Berkeley, brought us online at the beginning of the internet boom—and just as I slid toward puberty.