For the most part I honor my mother and father, even though they sometimes get on my absolute last nerve.
They have consistently provided my brother Michael and I a nice home to live in, clean clothes to wear, good food to eat (my mom's a hella cook!), a large latitude to chose and hang with friends of our choice – so long as those friends are not total assholes.
Over the past month or so... their demeanor has changed quite a bit, saying many, many times that a change was about to happen, yet, at the same time they would not tell us what that change consisted of... this was one of those few and far between opportunities for them to end up on my last nerve.
Spring had turned to summer, school was out, the local swimming pool was the 'in' place to be, mainly because our home did not have central air conditioning, and besides it was the place where our friends hung out.
No, our life was not totally fun-filled, carefree to do as we wanted to do every minute of every day. We had jobs, many of them, because you see we mowed yards that provided spending money to save or use. Yes, they made us save fifty percent of all earnings. On a good week we would pull in a little over $100.00, which we split evenly.
You may be wondering who 'our' and 'we' are... I'm Jared. Michael is my brother. We're identical twins, 13, almost 14 years old. And, if I may say so, although this might sound conceited as all hell... we are attractive... well, at least we attract the 'babes' all over town. With white blond bushy hair, blue eyes, chiseled noses, full lips, nice smiles, decent outgoing personalities (we think so), 'somewhat' athletic bodies, well placed and right sized ears, decent sets of pubes, and other such attributes, we had no problems with the opposite sex, and of late even the same sex.
On that front, while I do not consider myself gay, my brother Michael is confirmed gay, even though he's not out of the closet, so to speak... I mean, get real... how can someone be in the closet when they are Mr. Popular, as he is. I don't get it, but I guess I'm not supposed to get it, and it's okay, I love him with all my heart, and I would defend him to the death of me, as would he for me.
Sure, since we bunk in the same room, we've masturbated in each others' company, on a very regular basis, and I've allowed Michael to give me 'that' moment, more than once. He's very good... almost a natural, so to speak, and I often tell him that with his good personality and abilities to pleasure people of the same sex he's sure to land himself a good boyfriend. He wonders when that will be. I just tell him when the right guy comes along, he'll know it.
As usual, even though we have separate beds, we usually end up sleeping with the other.
"That" morning was no different.
Vaguely, I recall having a really great dream, thinking about babes and him, when jolts of pleasure overtook my body. Immediately, I reacted by powerfully humping the bed, and in the process, woke myself up. It's hard to be startled and totally engrossed in pleasure all at the same time, though not entirely impossible. Once the passion subsided I got this intuitive thought that maybe we weren't alone.
And, no, Michael didn't do anything to or for me. He doesn't do anything when we're asleep. Neither of us think that would be right. The jury was still out for me. I thought of girls, yet, I liked his mouth taking care of bringing me pleasure... I knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that when he got a boyfriend, the boyfriend would be a very happy one, and not just sexually, because you see Michael is a great person. Other than his great looks, he's down to earth, unassuming, warm, gentle yet passionate. When you are loved by him then you are loved by him – forever.
Okay, back to the present. My belly and the bed were wet hombres... sticky wet, you know the kind, yes?
What 'really' woke me up was the sound of muffled giggles coming from within our room. And since Michael's butt was against mine, I knew those muffles weren't coming from him.
As the fog cleared away, quickly, I will add, I turned onto my back and looked toward the door. It was wide open. We never sleep with the door open.
Meanwhile, Michael turned onto his back with his arm wide out and clipped my head with his elbow. It was just a glancing blow, no harm was done, though I did graze his hairless armpit with the tips of my fingers... he hates to be tickled. I told you that I love him with all my heart, yet, that doesn't mean that I am not ornery, at times. You see, we like to pull practical jokes on each other, and to our parents when we can or think we can get away with it.
Without even thinking, I rolled into him, and began tickling with earnest. Meanwhile, he began fighting back, somewhat, but, then, he pushed away saying something along the lines that I was wet and sticky from dude juice.
He then jumped on my chest and belly, began tickling me with honest sincerity, and then rolled off, pulled the sheet over the top of us, and that was when I saw mom and dad giggling hysterically at our antics.
What were they doing in our room, and why were they laughing, there was nothing to be laughing about, was there? I didn't think so.
Dad consistently said that the door to our room was to be closed, so that in the event of a house fire we would not be subjected to heat and smoke, if only for a little while, long enough for us to react and find our way to safety. That, and they'd said, more than once, that we should have our privacy, and that they would always respect our privacy, interrupting it only in the case of fire, sickness, death or destruction.
They then walked into the short section of our L shaped room. Dad told mom, "Our boys are quite normal, Norma. I'll explain later... meanwhile, boys it's time to get up. The 'changes day' has arrived. Up and at 'em."
Now, one thing I need to add here is: we sleep naked. Pajamas, and even boxer shorts, were only good for getting all tangled up in, so long ago, we'd made the choice (after all, mom and dad, largely, gave us freedom of choice, so long as our choice did not hurt or harm someone, including ourselves), to not wear anything. We're guys, right? Yup.
Rolling over onto my side, facing Michael's back, I noticed a large box next to mom and dad. I wondered what the hell that box was for? Were we being evicted... but why? Were we changing rooms, or God forbid were we being forced into separate rooms? What, pray tell, were they doing?
While being naked was not a big deal around our house... it was largely confined to going to or from the bathroom, and even then, I'd cover my front side, because it was usually erect despite my best efforts at keeping it tamed. Yeah, dad had given me then Michael 'the talk' about our changing bodies and what it meant in the long-haul.
I was in no position to get up out of bed, and by the way Michael was lying, neither was he. You know... the morning wood thing.
"Come on boys, get up, you have 30 seconds..." Mom said.
"Mom, give us a minute. Leave, so we can get up and dressed, puhleeze." Michael said with sleep filled voice.
Did I mention that morning, just before getting out of bed, was Michael's favorite time to relieve his needs?
I didn't think so...
"Fair enough. You have 5 minutes. Come on, honey." Dad said.
They exited the room and closed the door behind them.
Since we were on a strict timetable, Michael then I got up and headed into the bathroom, a bathroom we shared with the 'rents. As our streams joined at the toilet bowl, I said, "I wonder what's going on around here? Why were they in our room, and what the fuck is that box... I mean, what the fuck's in it?"
"I don't know. You know that when dad says '5 minutes' he usually means 15-20 minutes... dude, I need to rub this thing off..."
I finished, shook well then headed to the sink and got the toothpaste and toothbrushes ready to use while Michael sat on the open toilet lid and began furiously taking care of business of the frontal variety.
After a few whimpers indicating his arrival he got up, flushed and joined me at the sink where we finished up with that chore then got into the shower and quickly took care of that matter. After drying off, mostly, we exited, only to find mom and dad going through our dressers, tossing certain, maybe all of our clothing apparel into the box.
"What are you doing?" Michael asked, clearly annoyed.
Mom looked up, "Your wardrobe is changing."
"What do you mean 'our wardrobe is changing'?" I asked clearly perplexed, and somewhat annoyed myself since they are the ones who purchased our clothes.
Dad, the strong one in the family, snickered and then effortlessly picked up the box and carried it from our room, while mom began unwrapping packages from the local Kohl's store; you know those brown-gray sacks that has the store name clearly written across the front.
Now, things were getting perplexing... not 4 months ago they bought all new clothes for our growing bodies..., you know, those times when shoulders broaden, hips fill out, thighs get larger, butt's fill out toward that bubble butt appearance, which Michael likes all too much, and baby fat gets taken away... yeah, that kind of stuff.
Mom proudly displayed a tiny little white piece of cloth for us to see.
Michael, clearly perplexed, asked, "What's that?"
Mom's answer, cryptic to the maximum, was, "Things are changing around here." She then giggled, and continued, "Boy are things changing... oh my..." She then put her hands and wrists through, what were those? Leg openings? No way. Never in a million years...
She then tossed the tiny piece of cloth toward Michael, saying, "Put them on. I need to see if they are the right size."
Having no choice, Michael caught them, and then put his own hands through the tight elastic band, spread them, then, mortified, looked at mom and said, "You are kidding, right?"
Let me back up a bit... first of all, our choice of clothing was baggy shorts and over sized t-shirts, ankle socks, flip flop moccasins, and no underwear, or, if we wore underwear then they had always been boxers, big boxers, loose, so the jangles freely jingled, like a pendulum.
I looked to mom... she wasn't kidding, not for a second, although she did have an amused smile on her face. I said, "Mom, you have to be out of your mind... I'll never, ever wear anything like those!"
"Oh son, would you stop being a ninny... these things are the 'in thing', starting today. Put them on."
With that said she tossed me a black piece of material, which I caught, and like Michael did, examined them carefully, looking for more than what appeared to be the case.
"These aren't even briefs..." I whined, to no avail.
She folded her arms... oh no, that was the signal that the matter was no longer open for discussion.
Michael turned to look into my eyes... his were filled with dread, and confusion.
Since I was 7 minutes older than he, I turned around so that mom wouldn't see my family tree, dropped the towel to the floor, and then worked my legs into those tiny little openings. Thank God, I guess, that was not one of my more 'profound' religious moments, in fact, I was thinking along the lines of 'goddamn', but I shall not digress.
With some difficulty, those skimpy pieces of thread did make it past my widening hips and burgeoning tool, to the point where they sat comfortably, where, I supposed, they belonged. Clearly, the outline of that which designates me male was readily apparent, and on display. Not only that, but three, no, make it four strands of pubes stood out above the low riding... what do you call them? Briefs? No. Briefs rode high on the hips... unless, of course, if you were lowering them, or if you were playing around – you know, like playing 'grab-ass', or something.
Thinking that maybe another whine was in order, I turned around after bunching up the towel to cover 'that', I said, "You know I don't wear things like this... you know, the Christianity, stuff."
"The church is changing, Jared, and you know it. No longer do they consider boys pleasuring themselves as 'sinful'." Mom said smugly, and definitely parentally.
She was right, there. Recently, a special sermon was given, by Pastor John, to the boys about our age, perhaps a little younger, too, where he said that "God" had said to him to relax the hell fire and brimstone speeches about dudes whacking their willies, that, because of hormonal changes the boy has no control over, it was suddenly okay to work with those urges. Of course, we didn't mention the fact that we'd lived in sin for about a year and a half before his change of heart. But that's beside the point, right? Yup.
Turning away from mom, since she appeared to have stopped speaking, I said to Michael, "They're not too bad... go ahead, try them on."
Like me, he turned away from mom, dropped his towel, and worked those threads up and over his hips and that which designates him as male. He was still a bit pudgy, but not overly so... just full, but not to extremes. Other than that, about the only thing that was obvious was the ridge surrounding the corona of his able and always willing dick.
We then heard another package opening. Michael shrugged his shoulders, then we turned toward mom, only to see her pulling yet another item from the sack.
She tore the package open then thrust it in my hand. It looked like a pair of shorts… I mean it had a zipper and a button on one side. I opened them up and stuck my entire arm through the holes… leg openings, I guessed.
Incredulously, I said to her, "No friggin way. I'll not be caught in something like these, never!"
She then gave me the most sinister look ever seen on her pretty face... it was that 'look' that tells you to never, ever question the meaning behind that which resides behind those eyeballs. Michael took them out of my hands and allowed them to drop to the floor. In a brazen moment of defiance, he said to her, "There is no way we're going to wear something like 'that'… they're indecent."
Oh shit, he was like totally defying her... he hadn't seen that look that she was wearing as often as I had seen... you see, I'm more the more of a rebel in the family, though I think I'm just a Tom Sawyer kind of dude...
Mom smiled... oh no... then she grabbed another pair, an orange pair, and tossed them to me. Seeing the look in her eyes and the expression on her face, I caught them, held them out, looked at them very carefully, ran my hands through what I thought were leg openings, and about died, right there on the spot. But, maybe death was an overstatement... or some such thing. I wasn't sure.
Since Michael had attempted, and utterly failed, at convincing her that those shorts were not for us, slowly, deliberately, quaking at every possible opportunity, I put them on my legs and drew them up to where they rested at about the same level as the underwear.
Damn, they were tight, yet the waistband was somewhat stretchy, so they closed adequately. I looked down and carefully appraised them...
Now, mind you, the boxers I'd worn since I'd cared about clothes, were usually about mid-thigh, but these were nowhere even close to there, instead, they fell to more than 2.5 inches past that little budge of my manhood. Quickly, almost mortified, I ran my hand around to the back... I was sure that a good chunk of my butt cheeks were on full display... close, but not quite. If I ran my finger up and found that the bare flesh was very present... if I sat down then all sense of dignity would definitely be - fucked.
Michael followed my lead. Once they were snapped he went into our bathroom, screamed bloody murder, actually he screamed mortification... though I was thinking along the same lines, I didn't say anything, but, I did shoot mom a look a look telling her that I was none too pleased that she would cause my brother, my flesh and blood, to – panic, of sorts... from the shorts... this was all a joke, right? Nah, it was no time to be joking around... or was it? Were mom and dad getting back at us for the little practical jokes we'd played on them? Banish the thought. I prayed, "God, please, let this be a joke!"
Michel returned. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face was nearly hanging off the supporting bones, but not quite.
Being ever the supporter in our family, I said to Michael, "These aren't too bad, really. We can just wear them around the house..." To mom I said, "Okay, you've seen us in these little pieces of thread, the joke is over, you got us, now, if you'll excuse us we need to get dressed. We're supposed to meet our friends at the mall in 45 minutes, thanks for waking us up, I forgot to set the alarm last night."
I walked to my dresser, opened a drawer, only to find it completely void of all clothing. Mom snickered, once again... she was getting in a habit of doing that, especially that morning. Mom and dad had always taught us to not create situations where fun and excitement was at another person's expense... and here she was going against the cardinal rule in our home.
Mortified, stupefied, I turned to her and said, "Mom, the joke's over."
"You're right, honey. As much as I would like to say this was a joke, it is no joke." She was serious, dead serious.
Then the look on her face told me that she wasn't quite finished – yet. Oh no. How could it get any worse than it was right then and there?
Next, she reached into the bag and began tearing away those plastic films that cover clothing items. She handed me a red piece of cloth that looked something like a t-shirt, yet it was way too small for me. I unfolded it... yes it appeared to be a t-shirt, at least the top did.
She said, "You like baggy shirts so please put it on to see if it fits."
Once again, the expression on her face told me to not argue, so I did as she said to do. She then handed Michael a shirt... he was quickly learning 'the look' so he didn't hesitate to put it on. The damn thing came only down to the edge of the rib cage, leaving our entire bellies and backs to the wind, so to speak.
The shirts weren't all that bad, really. They could have been worse, I suppose. I don't know how, but they could have been worse.
I started to say, okay, the joke is over, but then dad entered the room... I couldn't believe it: he was wearing, what looked to be a tennis player outfit... you know, the short white shorts, the short white t-shirt with a collar, long socks (that looked dorky, no matter how you cut it), and white tennis shoes. Dad wearing shit like that? Never. Not in a million years did I ever think he would do something like that – but there he was... looking like a fucking tennis player. All he needed was the racket and sweat bands for the wrists and forehead.
Without saying another word, mom and dad finished removing the clothing from the packages and storing them neatly in the drawers.
Michael looked at me, I looked into his eyes, and between us we sent messages of 'oh fuck' to each other. The clothes we were wearing and what they were putting away was totally retarded. Yet, all we could do is stand there and watch. During those dazed moments of silence, my mind went and determined that the box that dad had carried out was our old clothes.
Another thought crossed my mind – was this okay for Michael? You know... seeing skimpily clad young guys... the new clothes certainly didn't leave much to the imagination... I vowed to talk to him later... maybe he'd instigated this 'joke', yes?
But if he did instigate this joke then why had he screamed?
He's good, really good... but not 'that' good. He would never do anything like it.
The only thing we were permitted to wear, of our old clothing, was our socks and tennis shoes. Other than them we were on our own with the new stuff... but then again, I thought the joke was in good taste, and reminded me that definitely the parents were in charge. Okay, the joke was over.
It hadn't even begun.
I went to our clothes closet, looked all around for a pair of jeans to put on … you know the baggy ones that I'd told you about earlier... there were none to be found. Not even a fur ball to lead someone to think that maybe they 'had' been there.
When I exited, Michael was putting on his tennis shoes. Dad held my pair, then handed them to me, and, by the look on his face, I needed to follow Michael's lead.
I sat down on the floor, brought my leg up, and immediately noticed that my shorts had ridden up -and- the coup de grace was seeing the outline of my nut just inside the hem of the flimsy fabric. Two little pubic hairs stuck out from the leg band of my underwear... surely not. I reminded myself to never do 'that' again, ever. I had an image to protect, after all. And that image was not seeing, nor having seen, that part of my maleness.
When I changed directions toward my other foot, not only was my ball outline seen, it had slipped out of my shorts and underwear, clearly, for all to see, if they were looking. I don't know if they would be looking, at all, but the fact was that I was looking. As soon as the lace was tied, I quickly got up, went into the walk-in closet, and arranged my bits so that 'that' would not happen, again.
Michael was having the same little problem... only thing different, though, was that his entire testicular sac was on display for all to see.
Although he was silent, the mortification was not disguised. He looked up and into my eyes. They were somewhat terror stricken; yet, I saw a small semblance of acceptance in them. I could only imagine what was going through his brain, the thoughts he was having, about, perhaps, the same sex agreement he'd come to know and accept about himself, you know... being gay.
With his shoes tied, he stood up, rearranged his package, reached around just as I'd done, checked out his butt to make sure it wasn't on full display, turned to me and said, "This isn't too bad, I guess. Mom, dad, we've gotten the point, now where are our clothes? We need to be at the mall in a few minutes, would you please take us? We can walk home, but we won't make it in time if we have to walk there..."
Mom and dad took stock of our appearance, smiled, and then dad said, "Boys, the dress code changed overnight. Because of the public outrage at seeing young boys, young men parading around with their butts hanging out for all to see, the dress code changed, and the change has been mandated by congressional action. In other words, baggy shorts, t-shirts, and the like are no longer permitted in public, and since they are not permitted in public, then they are no longer tolerated in our home... after all, we are teaching you boys to be good citizens, and to follow the rules and regulations placed on us."
Mom said, to rub salt in the wound, "This is global, Jared. Now, being that we are a civic minded family, we are preparing to ship your old clothes off to Africa for those less fortunate than we are. A big clothing drive is going on at church, as we speak. And yes, I'll drop you off at the mall, are you ready to go?"
The joke wasn't over... not by a long shot. This was getting ruthless. I could not come up with a 'come-back'... they were smart... and they knew it.
Thankfully, dad parks the car in the garage, so we didn't have to publicly prance around so that the neighborhood could see the prank our parents were reigning down on our not so innocent (don't tell them I said that) young minds.
Oh, I need to add another twist to their joke... from the last sack mom pulled out two pair of those string like things... I think they are called bikinis, or some such thing. The material felt something like that which is used to make swimsuits, but I wasn't sure. Yet, Michael was sure... he balled up his fist and placed it into the little pouch, whined for a moment then passed them to me. I said, "No way."
Michael smiled, "Yes way... kewl. Hotness, dude, hotness! Oh shit..." He couldn't finish his thought, cuz he froze up, wrapped his arm around my waist for support. I felt him tremble... I didn't know what to say... so I put my arm around his shoulder and squeezed firmly.
"Son, don't go nuclear on us... we've been wondering when you would accept yourself as we do."
"Yes, really." Mom said, walked to us, then drew us into a hug.
Meanwhile, I wondered if she thought I was gay, too. Like I said earlier, the jury was still out... I just liked the sexual feelings produced by someone else doing it 'for' me, not to me. Okay, I'm not going to get all philosophical and stuff, not now; there's time for that another time.
I quipped, "Dad, you know that we'll be arrested for indecent exposure, right? Is that what you want?"
Michael piped up, "Yeah, we're going to be arrested and put in jail... I can just see it now..."
"Oh contrariwise, contrariwise, you would be spending time in juvenile if you were caught wearing those old clothes in public, and likely you would feel the wrath of belt on your bare butt here at home."
I shot back, "Dad, you've never whipped us! Ever. Even when..."
Mom said casually, "But that was then, now is now. Are you ready to go?"
Without saying a word, we, Michael and I headed to our room, retrieved money from the stash, put it in our wallets, then remembered that we had no pockets, so, using a trick dad taught us from his Army days, stuck the cash in our socks... but that would mean that we'd have to bend over to retrieve it, thus, probably, most likely, showing our butts, or at least parts of them... the thought of that was, what, overwhelming? Yup, overwhelming.
Then Michael bent over. The outline of his butt crack was clearly evident, the band of his underwear was on full display, and well there was even a separation of the two garments which showed the underneath side of his – balls. NO.. this was too much! I turned around and saw that mom and dad were no longer standing in the doorway. Half shrieking, half hissing, I said to Michael, "Don't do that! Everything's on display, bro. Geezus. This joke's going too far, dude."
"Yeah, well, maybe I'll get to see some ass, too. Now that I'm out, I guess there's no trouble checking other guys out, now is there?" The way he said it, so confident, put my worst fears to rest, somewhat.
But what did he mean by saying he'd be checking the guys out? Like this... like we were dressed... retarded like? Maybe he knew something I didn't. "What do you mean? You'll be checking the other guys out? They don't know anything about this... this is a joke going very, very, very bad!"
"You heard them... something about the dress code changing! Come on, let's go, the guys are waiting for us."
Off to the guillotine. The plastic seats in the vehicle… if you moved around just right, not intentionally mind you, with contact with bare skin sounded so much like a fart, you know, the loud flappy kind... I reminded myself to retrieve towels so that it didn't happen again. Michael, meanwhile, found it quite funny, and was soon laughing his head off his shoulders, as he continuously and constantly continued the noises, until dad said, "Not in the car... if you need to do that then please open the windows."
Poor excuse for a joke at that period of time, yet, much to my dismay, I found myself chuckling, too. Damn.
As we passed the pool on the way to the mall, I quickly glanced toward it, and was shocked and appalled to see the skimpy swimsuits were all that the guys were wearing, and well, the girls, they were wearing nothing more than strings and tips of material to cover their brown rings that circled around their nipples... hmmm... this could possibly work out just fine. Michael, meanwhile, was gawking toward the pool... I thought his head was going to swivel off his neck. He had his tongue wagging nearly completely out of his mouth. I flicked it with my fingers, which earned me a birdie.
Immediately, though, he began tugging on the skimpy shorts, trying to pull them down over his tool, which, by then, had arisen to such a state that caused the head of his dick to pass down and past the short flimsy material.
Now, that I laughed at. I found it totally amusing, which earned me a smack up the side of my head, and a whisper saying, "It ain't funny, asshole!"
Now, I don't know about you, but his latest comment cracked me up even more.
He got the last laugh, though. He quickly reached down to the front of my underwear and grabbed my nut. I saw that it had worked its way out of the short skimpy underwear, and into full view.
The joke was over... we arrived at the mall, and since we were double parked, we knew it was then or never. I leaned back, splayed my legs out, which cracked Michael up even more, and then packed my male glands into their accommodating place, specifically, inside my underwear. Michael did likewise. Dad was looking through the rear-view mirror wondering what was taking us so long, because normally we were out of the car before it had even stopped.
I promised to keep my legs closed, and to never lean over or sit down without some grace about it, ever again.
We met our friends at the food court. They too were attired in the same skimpy outfits. Some of the guys were sitting with their legs open, and damn, you could see just about everything they had, and then some, stuff that wasn't supposed to be seen, ever, not in public anyway.
I took off for the window of the pizza place, bought a large pan pizza for all to share, even though they already had food, while Michael went to the place that sold smoothies.
The table was full so that meant I had to spread my legs in order to fit under the table. I knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt that I, too, was on full display... how did I know that, you ask? Because I felt the air traveling 'up there'... that's how! Damn it.
We ate and chatted about this and that, and everything... not once mentioning the change in dress code, not until we saw a dude of maybe 15 or so sauntering across the promenade -wearing- low hanging long shorts, a baggy shirt, and a smug smile on his face... how the fuck? Why... when we had to wear 'this'!"
Ahhh... but, we found out just how strict the dress code was, and just how strongly it would be enforced!
Two uniformed officers, one on each side, quickly subdued the guy, and placed him in handcuffs. Eric, my best friend, said, "Damn, dude, I guess he didn't know that long, hanging shorts were outlawed!"
~~~ The End ~~~
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead