Peanut Butter

by Ivor Slipper

Terry hated peanut butter. The one time he'd been forced to eat some on a sandwich when he was about four years old, he'd heaved and heaved before throwing up all over the dining room table. His father, who'd forced him to try it, wasn't happy. His mother sympathised and cuddled him.

From that point on Terry loathed and detested the smell of the stuff. His father loved it, perhaps unsurprisingly as he was American. His mother though was English and currently they were living in England where his father was an executive for the UK subsidiary of an American company. They had been married for several years and Terry had been a late arrival, probably due to an accident, but that didn't stop his mother loving him deeply as her youngest son. He was ten years younger than his sister, Eleanor and fourteen years younger than his brother, Robert. Due to the big differences in their ages there was not too much of a relationship between him and his older siblings, especially his brother.

When he was about nine years old he discovered that he and his mother liked something that his father apparently detested as much as he hated peanut butter. That was dressed crab, which admittedly did have a strong smell and taste but ones which he and his mother loved. The family thus came to an agreement. His father could eat peanut butter, but only if they ate dressed crab at the same time – and vice versa. It didn't happen often, but at least it removed one bone of contention in the household.

In due course Terry became a teenager. His hormones kicked in; he grew several inches taller; his voice broke; he started to grow hair – on several parts of his body. All of these he was pleased about, but the most pleasing thing was the fact that his prick grew bigger and he enjoyed helping it grow. He considered the best night of his life was the one on which he was rubbing it and the pleasurable feelings he usually experienced while doing so became almost unbearable. Those feelings were relieved immensely when drops of a whitish coloured liquid emerged from the hole through which urine usually flowed. He'd heard about this liquid, officially called semen, in his sex education classes in school. However, they had concentrated on reproduction and especially how to avoid it happening when having sex with a female. Very little had been said about what Terry quickly discovered, were the pleasures to be gained from masturbation.

It was more or less at the same time that he realised he had virtually no interest in girls. Although his parents had sent him to a public school, it was as a day boy and not a boarder. Thus, he did not have any of the encounters with other boys that might have happened had he slept in a dorm with other boys. Instead he had to listen and feign interest when his schoolfriends compared notes on the girls who also attended the school. He looked forward to PE lessons and games when he could take surreptitious glances at other boys equipment as well as admire behinds, which always looked so much better in a jockstrap than they did even in boxer briefs.

His knowledge of things was also advanced once he plucked up the courage to visit online story sites. His father had placed some sort of block on his laptop which was intended to restrict the sites he could visit. Terry was very much into computers, so quite quickly found a way round the block. He was soon visiting gay story sites which although supposedly only for those over eighteen could easily be viewed by anyone. Reading gay stories while masturbating gave him double the pleasure. He made sure he always deleted his browser history last thing at night and also rarely visited gay porn sites. He'd heard from a friend at school that while visiting one such site his computer had been infested with a virus that stopped it working properly. The friend had no choice to confess what he'd been doing to his father, which resulted in a grounding and a loss of his computer other than for schoolwork. Terry decided it was better to be safe than sorry and to stick with drawing his own mental pictures.

Life continued happily for Terry until he had recently turned sixteen. One day his father announced that his company were promoting him and he was being transferred to their head office in the USA. Terry wasn't very keen on the idea; his mother even less so as she knew what that meant. The head office was located in Atlanta, Georgia. Terry, like most youngsters of his age, had little knowledge of geography. In fact when he first heard they were going to Georgia he had expressed amazement at the fact they were moving to Russia! His father quickly put him straight on that. Mind you, his relief at knowing he was only having to move to the USA, quickly diminished when some online research revealed that Georgia was known as 'The Peanut State'! He felt sure that living there he would constantly be assailed by the loathsome smell of peanut butter.

His father's new job was to start on the first day of the new year. Consequently, Christmas didn't really happen as they were busy packing – although most of that was done by professionals – and then moving to the US and settling into their new home. This proved to be much bigger and more luxurious than they one they'd had in London. Terry liked that because he now had a much bigger bedroom complete with a large en suite that had both a shower and bath. What he didn't like, and hadn't been prepared for, was the difference in climate between London and Atlanta. Once again his lack of geographical knowledge had let him down and he very soon realised he should have paid more attention to what his parents had told him. He definitely wasn't going to need the sweaters and skinny jeans he'd been wearing for the London winter. Indeed an early visit to the shops was required to equip him with a supply of shorts, polo shorts and sneakers - as he soon discovered trainers were called. The house was of course fully air conditioned and also had a pool outside. Terry enjoyed swimming and the idea of swimming in December had much appeal. It wasn't long before he'd donned his speedos and tested out the water.

But the downside soon came. He knew he was going to have to go to school. From what little interaction he'd had with the locals, he'd found them extremely hard to understand. He'd heard plenty of American accents on TV and dvds, but what was being spoken here seemed nothing like that. Then there was also the question of how would his education compare to that of a class of locals? Would he look like an idiot, or a genius? Neither had much appeal. As almost certainly the lone British boy he was going to stand out and Terry had never much liked standing out.

He was even more worried when his father told him he'd been enrolled in a private school, not a public one. That was until his father explained that in the US public schools were where the common children went as opposed to the elite in England. His worries increased again when his father told him they would need to get him a uniform. From what he'd read in stories he had gained the impression that kids here went to school wearing what they liked. That was the one thing he had fancied about school here. No more of the stipulated uniform – navy blazer, white shirt, striped tie (colour of stripe depending on what house a pupil was in) dark grey long trousers, black socks and black leather shoes with laces, except by special dispensation; definitely no trainers. When though his mother took him to the recommended store to acquire the specified uniform, he ended up being pleasantly surprised. Khaki dress short pants, light blue polo shirt, white socks and sneakers which had to be predominantly white. That was all a relief, although when he thought about the climate, there was no real alternative.

It was with some trepidation he set off for school the first morning. His mother drove him there telling him to report to the Principal's office. Once he'd found his way there a young woman told him to take a seat and wait. The Principal duly emerged and led Terry into his own well appointed and carpeted office. Brief introductions followed before Mr Collins informed Terry that he'd arranged for one of his new classmates to act as a mentor in order to smooth his settling into the new environment. Almost as soon as he'd said that there was a knock on the door, Mr Collins told whoever it was to come in. The door opened and Terry saw what was almost his dream boy.

The boy walked in. He was over six foot tall and well built. He was wearing the regulation school clothes and the parts of his skin that were visible were nicely tanned. His face showed no signs of acne, blue eyes sparkled and there was a hint of a smile on his face. His hair was blond, centre parted and with bangs hanging down his forehead on each side.

"Thank you for coming, Harlan," said the Principal. "This is Terence Hawkins, our new arrival from England I was telling you about." Turning to Terry, he continued, "Terence, this is Harlan Carter the 4th who I have asked to mentor you."

Harlan extended his right hand towards Terry, saying, "Welcome to the Brooks Academy – the best school in Atlanta, Georgia even."

Terry had been thinking about the name of this boy. 'The 4th'? Was he some sort of royalty, like British kings? He didn't want to appear a complete idiot on his first day and first meeting with the boy, so made no comment, but recovered his senses in time to extend his own hand for the offered handshake.

"Pleased to meet you, Harlan. Thank you for agreeing to mentor me. I'll try not to be too much of a pain. And please call me Terry – all my friends do."

"Well sure," Harlan drawled, "I'm sure we're gonna get on well together."

The Principal then dismissed the pair having given Harlan instructions to show Terry round the school and its facilities. Harlan took his time doing that and Terry suspected he was glad to be out of class. Indeed it was lunchtime by the time the tour finished. What Terry had seen of the school and its facilities had made a good impression, many of the facilities being superior to the school he had attended in London. He was even more impressed by the cafeteria and the food it served. He was also introduced to several of Harlan's friends and classmates, but he had a struggle to follow what they were talking about so mainly sat and listened, trying to get attuned to the accents. Classes followed and it appeared he had been put on the same syllabus as Harlan as they were together all afternoon.

When classes finished Harlan invited Terry to come home with him. Terry wondered how they were going to get there, but didn't ask and simply followed Harlan as he walked into the car park. He nearly fell over backwards when Harlan stopped at a red Mazda MX5 and told Terry to get in. He of course, made the mistake of opening the driver's door which produced a big laugh from Harlan. Terry tried to cover up his goof by explaining that he was amazed to find Harlan was allowed to drive as that wasn't possible in England until one was eighteen. That was when he found out Harlan was nearly seventeen and had been driving since his sixteenth birthday. Thus he was now permitted to carry one passenger.

For Terry a rather scary drive ensued until they arrived at their destination. Terry had thought the house his parents were renting was large, but it paled in comparison with the mansion they'd arrived at. They went in and he was introduced to Harlan's mom, Darlene. Naturally she was very well dressed and made up, but was now past the first flush of youth. He also met the maid, Rachel and the cook, Martha. Both were black and he suspected Rachel might well be Martha's daughter. Then Harlan took him up to see his room, although that was an understatement as he appeared to have almost a wing of the house for his own use. A very large bedroom with full en suite facilities and Terry was a little surprised when Harlan pointed out that those facilities were shared by an adjoining and equally large second bedroom. He also had his own lounge with TV, while a computer with a separate large screen monitor stood on a desk. Terry presumed this was where Harlan did any homework he had. Yet another room doubled as a sort of home theatre and games room. It was almost too much to take in.

They walked back into Harlan's bedroom. Terry was wondering how he was going to get home when Harlan suddenly said,

"Hey, I haven't shown you the pools yet. You do swim?"

Terry thought his ears must be deceiving him. "Pools, as in more than one?"

"Hell, yeah. There's an indoor one and a larger one outdoor. Do you want to try the indoor one?"

"Well, I'd like to but I haven't got my swimming trunks."

"Don't worry about that, we can skinny dip. Mom never comes near the pool."

Terry hoped his excitement at the thought of skinny dipping with Harlan wasn't showing, but feared it would come the actual event.

"Er, well... a dip does sound nice as it is quite warm today."

"Hell, Terry this is cool boy. You wait 'til summer comes! Is that a 'yes' then?"

Terry nodded and Harlan led the way down the stairs and to the room that contained the pool. Terry was, to use his local term, gobsmacked, as while it wasn't an Olympic size pool it was about twenty five metres long. Harlan quickly stripped off his clothes. Terry was torn between undressing himself and watching what emerged, but Harlan made no attempt to hide his assets. Terry had previously only had glimpses of hidden treasures and couldn't help responding to what was displayed – a firm muscled ass, a light coloured bush, which was not too thick and a prick that looked to be of a good size even when limp. Even more surprising to Terry was the fact that no tan lines were visible. Terry felt quite ashamed of his tan from last summer in Croatia and the fact that it ended where his trunks had been.

Harlan wasted little time in jumping into the pool and Terry quickly followed. The water was pleasantly warm and the pair swam a few lengths, almost as if sizing up each other. In ability they seemed about equal. Terry was enjoying the new experience of swimming nude but after a few minutes stopped and stood at the shallower end. Harlan swam toward him and then dived to go under Terry's legs. Terry thought Harlan did more than just brush his legs on the way through, but dismissed the idea. However, he couldn't dismiss it when he felt two hands round his buttocks and he was lifted out of he water before being thrown back. When Terry surfaced he looked at Harlan and felt sure an invitation had been made, so dived to go through the other boy's legs. The game was on and for several minutes they played with the touching becoming more and more definite until it could be classed as holding. After that some time was spent cannon balling and other games. When they eventually emerged from the pool both were erect. Terry saw that both their pricks were of similar size, but Harlan's had an intriguing forward bend to it.

After drying off they sat by the pool for a while just talking and getting to know a little more about each other. Finally they dressed and Harlan drove Terry home. On arriving there Terry persuaded him to come in and meet his mother, who was very impressed with his manners and thus readily agreed when Harlan asked if Terry could come for a sleepover on the Friday night.

Terry could hardly wait for that, but before then something interesting happened during school lunch break on Thursday. While some of the boys at Harlan's table ate the food available in the cafeteria, others brought their own. That day Beau Mallory, who was sitting opposite Harlan with Terry on Harlan's left, opened up his sandwich box. Terry immediately got the smell of peanut butter and grimaced.

"What's up with your brain today, Beau?" asked Harlan, "You know I'm allergic to peanuts."

"Yeah, but it's not like they'll kill you. They just bring you out in hives" Beau replied laughing and started to eat his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"Well, just don't even breathe in my direction. I'm not taking any chances."

Terry thought it hilarious that Harlan was allergic to peanuts because of some of the things Harlan had told him during their conversation the other night. He'd revealed that the family had made its money from growing peanuts! Apparently Harlan I had started the family farm in a fairly small way. Harlan II had expanded the business considerably while under Harlan III it had developed and become one of the biggest producers in the state. So much so that III had accepted an offer from a multi national corporation and sold the family firm and farms to them. Harlan had told him the name of the corporation, PK or some such initials, but Terry hadn't been paying sufficient attention to recall such a minor detail. Looking at Harlan playing with his foreskin while lying on the lounger by the poolside, had been somewhat of a distraction. Apparently, the deal had included an vice presidency for III and he now had an office and a personal assistant at their office in the business quarter. When Harlan had mentioned the 'personal assistant', Terry was sure it was accompanied by a wink.

As they walked from the cafeteria to their first class after lunch, Terry commented to Harlan that he found it amusing the heir to the peanut based fortune should be allergic to them. He also added that he hated the smell of peanut butter himself, which Harlan found amusing, saying that he rather liked it.

Terry accompanied Harlan home on Friday which was when he met his father. Harlan III was a couple of inches taller than his son, although Harlan probably had some more growing to do. However, we was starting to lose his hair and also produce a paunch, which as he was already well built, would quickly become obvious unless action was taken. Terry was introduced to Harlan's father and noticed how Harlan referred to him as 'sir', which he quickly copied.

Father was cooking the meal that night on the massive barbecue in the paved area outside the house. By the size of the t-bone steak he was served Terry could easily understand how one could put on weight, even if one didn't eat the French fries, as Terry had already learned chips were called, that came from the kitchen. Harlan III ate the steak, a good quantity of French fries plus some green salad as well as consuming what appeared to be most of a bottle of wine. Terry could see further expansion of that waistline was inevitable.

Terry had been warned to bring his swimming trunks with him and this evening they made use of the outside pool. Because of the audience there were no obvious touching games played, but Harlan, who to Terry's eyes filled his speedo magnificently, did manage to get in a few passing touches when some horseplay did occur.

After a while, tiring of their swimming, they got out of the pool, dried off and without bothering to get dressed, but simply throwing on a bathrobe, went back into the house. They went upstairs to what Terry considered to be Harlan's 'wing' of the house because his parents definitely slept in another part. He had no idea if they slept separately or together, the fact they were nowhere close was all that mattered. Ever since the invitation for a sleepover had been issued Terry had been wondering what Harlan might have in mind. He'd never had a sleepover as such things didn't seem to happen back home. Apart from two mutual masturbation sessions while on holiday last year with a very forward German boy, he also had no real experience, other than what he'd read. But he had read a lot and in many of the US based stories the word 'sleepover' appeared to be a euphemism for sex. Was fiction going to turn into fact?

When they first arrived Harlan had told Rachel to take Terry's bag and backpack up to his bedroom. Terry has assumed that to be the guest bedroom rather than Harlan's own. However, Harlan walked past the door to the guest room with Terry following a step or two behind, and arrived at the door of his own room.

He put his hand on the handle and looked over his shoulder at Terry, "Do you want to come in. I think we need to have a little talk."

Harlan led the way into the room, taking off his bathrobe and tossing it on the floor as he did. He then started to slide his speedo down his legs, stepped out of it and sat on the bed. Terry did the only thing he could, other than fleeing the room, and was quickly sitting naked on the bed next to Harlan.

"Why don't we get comfortable?" Harlan asked, standing up, walking round the bed and lying down on the far side. Terry decided he could scarcely remain sitting on the edge, so ended up lying next to Harlan.

Harlan adjusted his position so that he was lying on his back with his hands behind his head which was on the pillow. Terry decided to lie on his side, facing Harlan. That way he could look at him and enjoy watching his dick.

"Terry, I'm going to say things and tell you things that must never go outside this room. If they do I'll make your life in Atlanta such a misery that you'll be pleading for your parents to send you back to England. But, I have a feeling we can both benefit from an arrangement."

Harlan stopped. Terry wasn't sure if this was just a pause while Harlan gathered his thoughts, or if he was expected to say anything. He decided the latter applied, "I'm listening," he said.

Now Harlan rolled onto his side so he was facing Terry.

"You didn't object when we were playing around in the pool - in fact you joined in. I don't know if you're gay, I'm not, but I can't get any."

Terry grunted. He suspected he knew where this was going, but he wanted Harlan to be a little clearer.

"I used to play around with Beau and Johnny and a couple of the others when we were younger; mutuals and circle jerks, but we stopped all that deciding it was gay. We couldn't afford to be tagged as gays. Trouble is, all of the girls round here have signed the pledge..."

"Pledge, what's that?" Terry interrupted.

"The no sex before marriage pledge. They just won't do anything to help a guy out. Do they do that in England?"

"Don't think so, not from what I've heard." Terry had heard no such thing, but wasn't about to admit his ignorance on such matters.

"Well, I'm definitely not gay, but I need some action, other than wiping the greasy pole. Gotta keep that working – after all I'm supposed to produce five."

"Five kids!" exclaimed Terry, sounding horrified, "Why that many?"

Harlan started a laugh which grew and grew until it became a full throated roar as he rolled around on the bed. Tears began to run down his face he was laughing so much. Eventually he recovered enough to speak.

"Not five kids – jeeze that would be awful. No, number five."

The light dawned for Terry. The Carters evidently considered themselves a dynasty.

"Ah, you mean like the Queen produced all those kids and Diana produced an heir and a spare."

"That's it. Someone to follow on from King Charles. What number will he be?"

"He should be the third," Terry said, "although there was some talk about him becoming George the seventh."

"Eh? How can that be? His name's Charles."

"Apparently there is no rule that he has to use his own name and can choose another. That would be to honour his grandfather."

"That seems a weird idea. Anyway, I have to produce a heir – and perhaps a spare would be a good idea," said Harlan with a laugh. "I might get to like the idea of actually making something with my jizz."

He laughed heartily again at the thought and Terry joined him, drawing his own mental picture and trying to decide if the idea had any appeal to him.

"So, to get back to where we were. Reckon you'll not be staying in the US but going back to England for univ or when you father finishes here, so anything we do is just for fun and with no chance of a long term relationship. Agreed?"

Only having recently arrived. Terry hadn't given any thought to going back to the UK. He thought his father's job was supposed to be permanent, but he'd already got the impression his mother wasn't too happy at being here and was missing her friends and social activities. He'd also quickly decided that Georgia wasn't the place for him to live permanently. Alternating between living indoors with continual twenty four hour air conditioning and stepping outside into a sweat box – which apparently got much worse than at present – had little appeal. So what Harlan was suggesting sounded good.

"Yeah, that could be fun for as long as it lasts," Terry said with a smile while looking into Harlan's eyes and sliding his own foreskin back and forth.

"Right," said Harlan copying Terry's actions, "but we need some rules. Nobody else is to know what we're doing; no kissing and no hickeys! Other than that we have fun."

"Yeah, it'll be like friends with benefits," Terry responded, using a phrase he'd seen in several online stories.

Harlan chuckled, "One friend but lots of benefits, eh Terry?" Now he rolled onto his back, Terry did the same and very quickly found Harlan's hand replacing his own on his prick. His prick instantly responded and he quickly returned the favour. Their first mutual session did not take long to produce results. Another couple happened during the night before they went to sleep. When Terry awoke it was light and he made to get out of bed in order to go back to his own room. His movements wakened Harlan who asked him what he was doing. When Terry had explained, Harlan said he could if he wanted go back to his room and make it look as if he'd slept in his own bed, but the only person who'd know he hadn't would be Rachel and she wouldn't say anything

to anyone other than probably Martha – and she definitely wouldn't tell anyone else. Terry decided though that he wasn't quite ready to make it clear he wasn't sleeping in his own bed, so went back there to make it look used.

Very soon Terry was spending every weekend with the Carters as well as at least one night during the week and not even pretending to make it look as if he was sleeping in the guest bed. The excuse they used to anyone who asked was that Harlan was helping Terry with his studies of American History, about which Terry knew zilch.

However, not only did his knowledge of American History improve, so did his sexual experience grow. It wasn't long before Terry found out that the slightly curved shape of Harlan's dick (as he was now referring to pricks) was ideal for giving blow jobs while Harlan appeared to have little trouble in servicing his. He also found that Harlan's 'no kissing' edict only applied to his mouth and face after the first time he forgot about it and kissed one of his nipples. Harlan was eager for more of that and enjoyed having them tweaked, even bitten lightly. Terry was anxious to please, as indeed was Harlan, and much touching, stroking and licking took place on body parts other than dicks.

Meanwhile Terry began to strike up a relationship, albeit of a totally different kind, with Martha. He found he was enjoying the food she cooked and he still harboured thoughts of becoming a chef. As a result he started to talk to her, asking questions about ingredients and cooking methods. To Martha such interest came as something totally new and she invited Terry into her kitchen to explain and demonstrate. One day she confided in him that she had never seen the young master as happy as he had become since Terry had arrived on the scene. She also let slip the fact that she had wet nursed him as a baby which made him realise that Harlan meant a lot to her.

One evening when Terry came into Harlan's bedroom from the bathroom it was to find Harlan lying naked, face down on the bed. Terry was also naked and quickly grew at the sight of the two firm mounds before him. An idea came to him, one he'd read about and now decided to try. He felt confident that if Harlan didn't like what he was about to do he'd simply tell him to stop rather than throw a fit. He climbed onto the bed, moved into position and after spreading Harlan's butt cheeks to allow access, began to lick into the now visible cleft. Harlan had just showered so Terry knew he would be clean, even so he feared there would be a residual smell or taste, but anything his senses found was acceptable – even enjoyable. Harlan let out a little whimper as he felt the wetness and as Terry continued the whimpers increased. He raised his butt from the bed to allow Terry greater access which also gave him the opportunity to stroke Harlan's dick. The whimpers became groans of pleasure until Harlan exploded as Terry milked him.

Terry wondered if Harlan would reciprocate. Until now they had each done the same things to each other, but would this be a bit too gay for Harlan? His answer came on the next night they spent together. Harlan told him to kneel on the bed before taking a tube from his night-stand and squeezing a quantity of its contents onto his fingers. Then, spreading Terry's cheeks he proceeded to stroke down into the cleft and around his hole. This continued for some time. Terry was enjoying the feelings he was experiencing and his enjoyment showed visibly in his engorged dick as well as orally in the sounds he was making. However, he wasn't quite expecting one of Harlan's fingers to press down and then enter his hole. He grunted. Harlan stopped, but didn't withdraw the finger and instead asked if Terry was in pain. Terry admitted to himself that the entry had hurt, but he was now enjoying the feeling he was experiencing, so told Harlan to carry on. Over the next few minutes Harlan slowly pushed his finger deeper and gave Terry sensations he'd never expected, topped only when the finger located his prostate causing him to give a shout of joy while shooting what he felt sure was the biggest load he had ever shot.

Afterwards they spooned together with Harlan's dick nestled in Terry's still damp crack while his hand gently rubbed his dick. Terry lay there wondering – would Harlan want Terry to do that to him. Somehow he had the feeling that Harlan wouldn't want to be a bottom, but he might like to be a top. He thought Harlan could probably justify that to himself as a sort of trial run for marital sex, rather than just a gay activity. As for himself that little experience had more or less convinced him that he was a bottom - and he wanted more! The only question was how might he get it?

A possible solution presented itself a couple of days later. Harlan's birthday was the following week. He had invited his friends from school to come over for a party. Terry knew this would basically be a pool party, but he had an idea which he discussed with Martha who gave it her enthusiastic support. When Terry saw the result in the kitchen on the afternoon of the party it exceeded his wildest dreams – Martha had excelled herself!

There on a platter was what she informed him was a chocolate sponge about a foot long. However, it was covered in buttercream icing which she had produced in the colour of a peanut shell. The icing even had the ridges and external marks that were normally visible on a shell. Furthermore she had somehow balanced one end of it on what could be taken for a couple of balls.

"Martha," he exclaimed on seeing it, "its fantastic! Just like the real thing."

"Why, thank you, Master Terry. And like you asked, I've had Rachel put a container of the left over buttercream in the fridge in your bedroom, so you can enjoy it later."

Terry was sure she winked at him when she said that. It made him wonder if she actually had an idea of how he hoped the cream would be enjoyed. It would certainly be fun to lick it off each others dicks, but maybe Harlan might like the idea of using it as a lubricant before adding his own cream to it. If he did, that would definitely be an extra birthday present for him as well as being a gift for himself. There was just one thing left to do – place a cherry on his pillow.

Talk about this story on our forum

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