Chapter 1
The sound of deep heaving breaths. Moist flesh flapping accompaniment. Someone is beating off. A pause as the someone turns the page of a magazine. The beating off
resumes at a quickened pace. The squeaking of bed springs joins in. Another page
is turned. Feverish thumping until a male voice lets out a quiet moan. The breathing gradually slows to normal and lets out a relieved sigh of finality. My name... is Ron.
Ron Stoppable, 16, stares up at the ceiling. He's glassy eyed from the exertion...
...sprawled on the bed, trousers around his ankles, a well thumbed issue of Penthouse covers his privates. My last name, which I loath, is Stoppable. Ron pulls up his
trousers and leaps off the bed. He pulls the drawer under his mattress out. The next
thing you should know about me is that I am obsessed with sex. A view of the drawer reveals it to be filled with neatly filed issues of Penthouse and Hustler. He puts the
most recently utilized magazine in its place. Lately, I have become morbidly aware
of my penis. Ron posing in front of the mirror, pants around his ankles again. He looks at himself from various angles. Once a remote region accessed indifferently for
micturition, it has developed overnight into a gaudy Las Vegas of the body. The pulsing
neon sign outside the club reads: RON'S PENIS. A star-studded floor show. Drunken Conventioneers make out with strippers. A leopard leaps through a burning hoop on
stage. Ron typing on an obsolete PC. I am entering the tenth grade at St. Vitus
Academy, which, I am told, is the most rigorous prep school in the East Bay. Hopefully I will be invited to join Miss Go's English Literature class. A view of the books and
CDs on his shelf. I am a voracious reader and listen to Frank Sinatra. So needless to
say, I am still a virgin. The curser on the monitor as he types the words - still a virgin. He pauses in thought, then continues. I have yet to hold hands with a girl, let alone
have my winkie up her wendell. An airplane aisle, past Passengers sleeping and
chatting. I am an only child except for my big sister Britna, who has left the bosom of her family to sling hash at 35,000 feet. We reach the end of the aisle, where a
buxom twentysomething, Britna Stoppable serves a beverage. Liver frying in a pan.
Adrena Stoppable, 43, cooks and puffs on a cigarette at the same time. Mom gives driver's tests at the Department of Motor Vehicles. Ron sits at the kitchen table reading
the paper. He watches with nausea as Adrena piles liver onto his plate. She
used to keep Dad up to date on all the motor statutes he was violating. This is one of the reasons they got divorced. Phillipe, early 40's, saunters in wearing a truckers do
it in overdrive shirt and boxers. His gut hangs over the elastic, but he is
completely devoid of an ass. Mom's boyfriend, Phillipe is a long distance trucker, though his ultimate ambition is to be on state disability. Phillipe absently smacks Adrena's
butt. Waddles over to the breakfast table. He snatches the Funnies from the
paper in Ron's hands. I've been struggling to think of a commendable thing to say about Phillipe. Phillipe gives an asinine chuckle at the cartoon. Ron glares. No luck. His
grey matter registers at cretin and the needle doesn't budge.