Imagine: An 11 y.o. boy, an industrial sized jar of petroleum jelly, and the recent self-discovery of his sexual organ.

The boy locks himself in the bathroom, naked and curious, exploring his maturing body using the jelly as an artistic medium. He sees his well toned figure in the full length mirror attached to the back of the bathroom door. He approaches his reflection,“well, hello there!”

Later, he is lying in his basement room trembling again, but this time reading a Stephen King novel.

Soon, raging footsteps from above travel west to east towards the top of the basement stairs. The basketball court stomps travel down and soon his bedroom door slams open.

His father grabs him, screaming and yelling religious idealogical admonishments, and drags him to the scene of the crime.

The preacher, red with rage, points to the mirror. The steam from his post work shower hung like a cloud. All was blurred except for the mirrored imprint of the young boys sexual form, like an anatomically correct grease angel.