I had no sense that the currency of my early experience would be radically devalued with oversaturation. By age fifteen, wrung dry of my secret knowledge, I collided with an impenetrable obstacle. The girls wanted it to mean something. They wanted to count on me. They wanted me to confide in them. Sex wasn’t enough anymore. They wanted love. I felt like a runner who discovers he is not, in fact, racing in a marathon—it’s a triathlon, and not only did he forget to bring his bicycle but he never learned to swim.
