(C)Tooluser February 2011
This story is fiction, and any resemblance to real people or places is entirely coincidental.
As always, comments and encouragement welcome, please email me at
Hope you like it, anyway.
Vibration thrummed against Bill’s skull, as insistent and unwelcome as a dentist’s grinder. His head hurt. The sticky steering wheel hummed beneath his hands, and gradually the realization that the pick-up’s engine was running penetrated his fuddled consciousness: he must’ve started the engine and then passed out. Driving in this state was stupid: dangerous. He should phone for an ambulance.
Bill pushed himself back, wincing, until he leaned against the seat. He lolled his head against the headrest, biting his lip against the sudden stabbing pain in his ear. From where he was parked, he could see the house, standing square and unremarkable in the street, and his muddled thinking dredged up surprise that it looked the same as ever. The front door was closed, the paneling gleaming gold beneath the yellow street lighting, the shadows flat blackness. He imagined himself walking up that path, picking up the phone, calling for help. He didn’t believe it.
He reached to turn off the ignition and felt a wave of shame as he saw how his hand shook. He withdrew it and gripped the steering wheel again, hard; his fingers digging into the vinyl padding, oddly reassured by the thrumming of the engine. It seemed to dispel some of the tingling numbness he felt. Deep down inside himself he was aware of an ache like granite in his stomach: he swallowed in a dry throat.
He reached for the stick-shift, hissing as the movement pulled at the wound in his side, and jammed the pick-up into gear. Damned if he’d phone for an ambulance: he’d drive to the hospital. He tried to tell himself it was to save the cost, but he didn’t believe that either.
At this time of night, the suburban streets were quiet, which was just as well: he’d hardly driven a mile before his vision blurred and he pulled over, setting the parking brake with shaking hands, feeling the hot tears spilling down his cheeks. The sob tore its way up from deep in the center of himself; shame pouring in like sand into a collapsing mineshaft. The stabbing pain from the wound in his side wasn’t enough: Bill fought the urge to put his fist through a window; to smash his head against the doorframe; craving distraction from his thoughts.
They’d know. He’d watched enough of the site Health and Safety films to know about hospital admission procedures. They’d know this for an assault the moment he stepped through the door. He didn’t know, though he suspected, that the glass in his side would add “...with a deadly weapon.” That would mean the police: he could hear the questions now:
“Recognize your assailant, would you, sir?” The patrolman would say. “Overpowered you, did he?”
“Uh, no. I’ve been married to her for twenty years.”
“Really? Strong then, your wife?” The grinning, merry face. Or worse: the cool look; the glance away. “An athlete, perhaps?” he’d swallow, trying to keep a straight face. “From Eastern Europe, perhaps? Could you describe her?”
“Older than me; six or seven inches shorter, and about eighty pounds lighter.”
“Awww. She pattered on your big, strong chest with her little fists. That must’ve really hurt, big guy. Come on, now. She must’ve been mighty provoked, to try anything at all against a guy who could fucking break her in half if he got pissed. Level with me, pal. What did you do to her?”
“Well, so maybe you’re not a total wuss. But that’s the way it is, pal: you got caught. Next time you get some, be more discreet, huh? Meantime, take your lumps and pray she doesn’t divorce you. Believe me, big boy: that’ll hurt.”
Bill heaved in breath against the pain in his side: enough for the bitter ghost of a laugh. Just because Mary was wrong didn’t make him guiltless: she’d accused him of an affair between two mature, consenting adults, when actually he was guilty -
He breathed out, fingers squeezing the steering wheel, staring at the dark trees beyond the windshield glass. Was guilt the right word? He wasn’t even sure of that. Oh, a court would have no doubt, but he, himself – no.
He rejoiced in the boy’s touch. Every glimpse of Shayne was a pleasure; a gift. Not only the joy you might get from a living work of art: the sheer pleasure of beauty; the appreciation of perfection, but also his energy; his generosity; his quick-witted, cheeky charm. His trust.
All of that joy was safe. Bill smiled, watching his clean, newly manicured fingers stroking the dimpled vinyl of the steering wheel, feeling a little warmth stealing back into himself at the thought of Shayne, this minute safe and sleeping sound; the crisp cotton sheet tugged close up around his ears, a stray lock of gold hair brushing his flushed, sleeping cheek. Even sitting here it felt good to have a living, breathing presence warming the empty chill of Jay’s room again. An undeserved blessing: as though Bill had managed to make a wish come true by stealth.
It had been stupid to take Shayne to Chez Amis: stupid and selfish. It was exactly the kind of restaurant that Jay would have loved – at least, the Jay of Shayne’s age. The Jay who was just his outgoing, art-loving son. Who would become Mary’s darling: hungry for culture and later obsessed with ballet, but at age ten just enjoying singing along to his “happy movies”: South Pacific; Easter Parade; Some Like it Hot. Jay had known all of the songs and quite a lot of the dialog. Mary had disapproved of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, saying it was too salacious, and the language in Bridget Jones’ Diary had brought her swiftly across the room to stab the Eject button, silencing the actress in mid-curse. Jay hadn’t been allowed to choose a movie for some time after that, but had seemed equally content with Mary’s choice of toga-and-sandal Bible epics.
Well, he’d learned his lesson tonight: Shayne was not some second chance to re-live the best of his time with Jay.
The best of his time. Bill drew in a shaking breath, appalled and relieved at finally admitting it to himself: no matter what he did, Jay might never speak to him again. Those memories might really be all he would ever have.
He stared at the blurring tree shadows, and finally drew another, shaking breath. Stabbing pain reminded him that if he didn’t take steps to fix this situation now, there might be no chance; no choice for Jay to make.
Bill reached up, fumbled at the cabin light and clicked it on. He looked down at his rented white tux: ruined. Beneath his ribs the right hand side of the dress shirt was wet with blood; ragged where the fragile vase had splintered. The wounds hurt him with every breath, and still oozed dark, sullen blood. His white pants-leg was soaked and red, and his jacket was bloodier than a butcher’s wrapping paper.
Bill smiled. Despite all the safety codes, construction sites were still dangerous places. The first thing witnesses to an accident learned was that it only took a little blood to make a helluva mess. Briefly he wondered if Mary was all right: Blood made her faint dead away. If she’d witnessed the accident she’d still be out cold.
The last time they’d been in casualty had been when she’d cut her finger peeling vegetables, furious after one of their rows. Pacing the yard outside, he’d heard the bang but ignored it; too angry for curiosity, and it was only the fright in Jay’s voice as he yelled her name that had brought him running. Mary had smacked her head on the counter as she fell, and they’d done the full ambulance-casualty thing. Had answered the questions, himself and Jay tumbling over each other in their eagerness to help, and perhaps said too much. Even now Bill could recall the intern’s quiet gaze moving from his wife’s bruised face to Bill’s big knuckles and back again, carefully empty of speculation.
Well, that wasn’t happening again. Bill popped the door and climbed out on shaky legs. He always kept a spare work-shirt in the cab to change into if he went to a bar after shift with his buddies. Plaid wasn’t exactly ideal with white tuxedo pants, and he found his mouth twisting into a smile as he imagined Jay’s comments – in fact, the boy would probably have dragged him away from the rental rail in the first place and gotten him something neat in black instead of this stupid wedding-cake of a suit. Bill would have bitched about it, but would have made him look like he’d been born with a million dollars up his ass, instead of just being a construction bum with no idea how to dress right. Still, Shayne had seemed to like it. Bill felt a peculiar shudder in his chest as he recalled the start of the evening: the kid’s eyes had just lit up. In that fraction of a second Bill had called every dollar well spent.
Bill eased the white tuxedo jacket off and folded it with the worst of the blood inside; dropped it behind the back of the bench seat out of sight. His spare shirt was right there, but difficult to reach: he could feel the glass in his wounds and wanted neither to open them again by incautious stretching, nor push the splinters any deeper where they might do serious harm. Leaning stiffly against the pick-up’s side and bracing himself against the door, he reached in, off balance, his side on fire. He could see the crumpled cotton, and just brush it with his fingertips. He adjusted his position, stretching that little extra distance and fearing where this movement might be pushing those glass splinters. He managed in the end to get a grip on a sleeve between just the tips of his middle and ring finger; an anxious, cold-sweating eternity later he had the warm cloth in his hand. He took off his dress-shirt and folded it into a pad before carefully donning the plaid one. Then, finally feeling less like an extra in a slasher movie, Bill drove off in search of an all night drugstore.
* * *
Except for havin’ carpet, the room where Mary had put me was kinda like mine at home – didn’t have no drapes at the windows – so I got woke up by the sun, same as usual. I’d heard all the crashin’ and bashin’ when Bill come home, so I figured they’d both be sleepin’ it off and right now was a good time to bail.
I snuck downstairs tippy-toe, but my sneakers weren’t by the front door. I nearly run anyhow, but then I recalled as how the path outside was all pointy little rocks. Made a nice, kinda crunch-crunch sound when you walked on it but I figured it’d gotta hurt in bare feet. Besides, them sneakers was new, and I liked ‘em.
So I looked in the front room, cussin’ whichever of ‘em had chucked my sneakers at the other one – Mom ‘n’ Pop’ll use ‘most anything what comes to hand when they’re arguin’ - but couldn’t find nothin’, so I went down the hall to look in the kitchen.
I was so certain-sure Bill ‘n’ Mary was, like I said, sleepin’ it off, that I was lookin’ all around at the floor and the corners of the hall, and I didn’t see Dragon Lady Mary until I was well inside the kitchen door.
She had all cups and plates ‘n’ stuff stacked on the counter and she was scrubbin’ at the inside of a empty cupboard with a little brush. The whole kitchen was real shiny and smelled kinda strong like the shower block at the trailer park after the janitor done givin’ it that extra clean at the end of the month.
I guess I musta stood there a while, figurin’ - too long, anyhow: she kinda twitched and turned around real sudden, her mouth open like she was gonna say somethin’. She didn’t though; just shut her eyes real tight, and I seen her knuckles go white as she was grippin’ on that little brush and she breathed so funny the little silver cross at her neck jumped.
Then it was like she flicked a switch inside of her head or somethin’. I don’t reckon Dragon Lady smiles so much – she ain’t no good at it, anyhow. Before when she smiled it had been just kind of a little bit, and more in her voice than in her face. Now it were as cheerful as a whore’s hello – and meant about as much, too.
She said did I want oatmeal or granola, and as she crossed to the fridge I seen she was walkin’ kinda stiff and I got the green meanies real bad. I sure wish Bill had been fuckin’ me so hard all night I was walkin’ funny. It come on me real sudden about how me ‘n’ Bill was over – not just him playin’ that mean joke, but afterwards not lookin’ for me after or carin’ or nothin’. Just drinkin’ a skinful and then comin’ home and fuckin’ his old lady. All the stuff what Raylene said about rememberin’ I was just a hole for Bill to stick his dick in just come back real loud, and if she’d a been there I’d’ve bent over so my smart Sis could kick my ass good for me bein’ so stupid.
I knew I was gonna bust out cryin’ any second so I said real quick could I go shower before eatin’, and she said sure on account of how Cleanliness was next to Godliness. I didn’t say as how that explained the world bein’ such a shithole, with a whole lot of Heaven spendin’ time strokin’ theirselves with their fingers up their uhu’s, but I sure thought it.
I was half way up the stairs afore the nickel dropped and I come over all funny. It weren’t just Mary’s bedroom what I was gonna go through, but Bill’s too! I got all tingly-sweaty: kinda half hopin’ I’d get to see Bill all sprawled bare all over the bed, and I tried to think of somethin’ mean to say, but my heart was poundin’ in my ears and I knew I’d stand there like a grinnin’ dumb-ass and do just whatever he wanted, you know? Like fixin’ him food or bringin’ him beer or any kind of sexin’ business what he wanted. It was over for Bill, I guess, but it weren’t over for me – and I could just hear what kind of dumb Raylene would call that!
Well, all of that thinkin’ and hopin’ was kind of a waste – weren’t nobody in the room and the bed was all fixed up neat. I felt all hot and kind of dumb, an’ I near fell over, trying so hard to kick my own ass as I told myself how stupid I was.
Anyhow, I felt better the second I was inside Dragon Lady Mary’s pretty bathroom, just like I knowed I would be. I looked at the door, and sure enough the inside handle had a button on it just like ours at home, so even though when I was washin’ last night she hadn’t seemed to figure out I was a guy, I pushed it. I still felt kinda sad, and my breathin’ weren’t so good but I figured it didn’t matter now Mary couldn’t come in and see and start askin’.
I took that plaid furry cotton suit off and opened up that big gold and glass shower cubicle. It was real neat – just like the one in “Foxy Boxing Suds-Off.” That’s one of Red’s favorite movies an’ it’s real funny the way the ladies’ boobies all squash against the glass while that linebacker’s fuckin’ ‘em. Of course I wish we got to see a whole lot more of him – basically it’s just his dick and sometimes his arm or somethin’, but all nice and shiny-sudsy which was real tingle-makin’ for me.
Well, I worked the dial and got the water all nice and warm. There was two bottles on a little shelf in there. One looked like it had more of that pink yuk what Mary had put in the bath, so I opened the other one with kind of greeny stuff in it.
The minute I smelled it, it was like Bill was right there with me. When we was in the pod together, I recalled this smell on him: kind of warm and a little bit spicy. I was so dumb I never thought on how Bill showered right here every day, all bare and furry and nice.
I squirted some of the green soap stuff on me and spread it down over my chest and tummy, trying to pretend how it was Bill spreadin’ it on me. I tried not to think about me bein’ all smooth, ‘stead of furry like Bill, but it felt nice anyhow as I rubbed it around over my nipples an’ chest like I wish he would. Thinkin’ about Bill I already popped a stiffie, just like every time, and the slippery stuff felt that kind of chilly-cold and nice on my hard bare dickie. I’d really like it if he’d touch it, or suck it again like he done after the pod, but of course I’d never make him do pervert faggy-stuff. So I guess it’s lucky my dickie ain’t all big like Bill’s or maybe it’d make him want to.
I did kind of pretend some, how it was Bill’s fingers on my dickie even though pretending how I was makin’ him be a fag was scary and kinda mean. So after a while I slicked up a couple of my fingers and spread some more on my uhu. I like how that’s all smooth, and my fingers go up inside real easy now. I was wishin’ I had my rubber dickie so I could really pretend Bill was in here fuckin’ me. I’ve learned as how I can hug it with my inside-muscles – the ones what make your dickie bob up and down? - and I reckon it’s gotta feel real nice for the guy.
I’d done all that learnin’ for Bill, but if he didn’t want to be my buddy no more – and suddenly my heart understood what Mom meant when she said about a guy “movin’ on” like she said to me one time when I was real little. She was sittin’ wearing them black stockings and that kinda sparkly underwear she used to dance and sing in, and she just talked while I was sittin’ on the floor, playin’: starin’ the while into that big mirror with light bulbs all around it, while the rest of her lit and smoked cigarettes like it was workin’ all by itself.
I sniffed and took my fingers off of my dickie to wipe my nose – well, if he didn’t want my little uhu, I just bet I could find a guy what did!
I recalled that big guy what I’d took a delivery to. I ain’t never thought about goin’ with a black guy before. Pop had always said how they was like animals, and while I know some folks do fuck with animals I don’t cotton to that. But now Duke said about ‘em bein’ fine to work with and even bruthas – that was a nice, fine and warmin’ thought.
That guy – yeah, Harmony, that was his name, I’d sure like to show him my new trick with my uhu! I thought of him all big and warm around me, doin’ me real slow, and smilin’ while he said as how he liked me, that dark, sweet voice of his all tickly-growly in my ear.
Red’s got some other movies, mostly black ladies an’ white guys, but one time it’s the other way around, so I could just picture what it’d look like with Harmony’s black dick stretchin’ my li’l pink ‘n’ white ass; and I knowed he was big – near fell down them stairs with lookin’!
Yeah, it’d be just like in Red’s movie: all kind of shiny-dark with him bein’ so lusty an’ eager, and me teasin’ an’ lickin’ on that nice wide mushroom head, ‘n’ lookin’ up at him, askin’ with my eyes to please shoot over my tongue so the fuckin’ after’ll be a real lonnngie – but, but: yeah! He’s too excited what with me havin’ told him all about my practicin’ so he says he’ll do me twice and anyhow he ain’t movin’ on so we got plenty time!
Yeah – he’d go real slow, an’ I’d try not to be too wriggly-giggly and squealin’ - pisses Duke off, anyhow. Couple times he’s had to tell me to hush my fool mouth. Only, I think he kind of does like it too: fucks me harder’n a tour in the Marines. I’m still studyin’ on that.
Anyhow, with Harmonly I wouldn’t haveta be so careful about – you know – joinin’ in. I hurt Duke real bad – you know, in his heart? - when he mistook, an’ figured it was me sayin’ he couldn’t fuck me proper on account of his leg. Worsest kind of cold charity is tellin’ a guy he’s lesser’n what he is.
But Harmony wouldn’t mind me humpin’ back on his hard, wide meat and squirmin’ as I’m feelin’ him goin’ in and just stuffin’ all my insides real tight. He’d know to just do it harder, ‘n’ more; holdin’ me tight with them big arms ‘til he’s in balls-deep and I can feel his guy hairyness scratchin’ against my smooth asscheeks. An’ he’d be nice and let me reach back so I can feel my uhu all wide around him – cain’t figure if black guys’ll feel different or just the same? Real hard, anyhow and with all that guy-power just coiled up like springs or maybe horses at the start of a race. Duke gets all kind of trembly just like that if I play with his balls and say about his big dick makin’ all them nice feelings inside of my ass, and Duke calls me his little fag, only he says it real nice.
Anyhow, with Harmony I wouldn’t have ta think about no bad leg, and ’cept for his guy-hairyness, he’d be all smooth like that guy in the movie: all shiny, and we’d be slippery-sweaty together with his heat all around me and we’d be like that dark ‘n’ light ice-cream all swirled ‘n’ folded together. He’d be groanin’ as I’m doin’ my special uhu cuddlin’ on his big hard dick all up inside of me, and growlin’ in my ear how as it’s the most special tight fuck what he ever had and I’m a real smart li’l boy.
I kinda fell back against the tile wall, with my fingers jammed as far inside my uhu as I could make ‘em, rubbin’ on my dink as I thought on Harmony sayin’ nice things, that deep voice o’ his goin’ kind of shaky-rough an’ jerky the closer he was to gettin’ his nut, sayin’ how I’m so smart at pleasurin’ him good, an’ I do it juuust right as he starts nuttin’ and he does that kinda high whimperin’ moan like Duke done that time, an’ Harmony’s barebackin’ me like Duke even though he ain’t fam’ly – pretendin’s okay – so as I can count the squirts as I’m workin’ all that nice big hard dick with my uhu, an’ Harmony he’s doin’ that huggin’ what pushes every last hot, throbbin’ fraction of that hard guy-meat up inside of me as he’s cummin’, his heart drum-beatin’ next my ear.
Maan, I got the squeakles and the jello-knees real bad as the tinglies come over me, and I slipped my fingers out my uhu just like he’d stayed until he’d gone soft inside me like that time Duke passed out and I laid there under his heaviness all safe from Pop, feelin’ all Duke’s nice juices what he squirted in me oozin’ out around his dick and ticklin’ my balls as they run down. Only I pretended as how Harmony done cuddlin’ and said nice stuff about him likin’ me an’ how he weren’t gonna move on.
Stupid dumb little shit! Only took that one bit of dumb thinkin’ and all of a sudden it ain’t the warm of Harmony or Duke there with me but the freezin’ cold of Bill not there, and I’m suckin’ in one of them long breaths as I’m curlin’ up over the hurtin’ in my inside, and I gotta stuff my slimy, soapy fingers in my mouth or I just know I’m gonna howl like a lost dawg.
I kinda slumped down in there onto my side with the shower goin’ like the whole world pissin’ on me; suckin’ in slimy-sobbin’ breaths and huggin’ my knees; shakin’ like I got the fever and tryin’ not to make them awful sounds like Raylene usedta in the dark.
I sneezed and I coughed up snot and just for a second I was real scared my breathin’ was broke: I kinda tried to breathe in and out both at the same durn time, an’ the taste of soap was like to the worst time with Pop when he said kill or cure he’d fix my blasphemin’ mouth.
I twisted over like a fish on a hook, chokin’ and feelin his fingers diggin’ into the back of my head as he twisted my head up outta that washtub and spewed everthing I ate for four days as I looked at that sad little heap what used to be a puppy.
I calmed down some, kneelin’ there amongst my chunks, and wiped my face with a cold, wet-sweaty hand. Got the shakes again as I cleaned up and got to figurin’. I ain’t done this movin’ on thing afore, so it’s only sense I’m gonna mess up first time. Way I see it, Bill’s movin’ on and I’m stuck on him so of course it’s gonna hurt – kind of like that kid what got drug on a rope behind that pick-up, ’cept Bill ain’t doin’ it to be mean.
Guess I should-a known it for trouble when Bill said in the pod about not hurtin’ me, like it was real important to him. I kinda heard it with my heart, and what the hell use is that? Ain’t nobody listens with their heart I ever heard tell of. Anyhow, I’m the fag, and it’s okay to hurt fags – everybody says so! It’s kinda scary Bill not knowin’ about that.
Only way I can figure it is maybe Bill’s got a hitch in his thinkin’, kind of like Duke’s leg gives him a hitch in his walk. I ain’t gonna say: just the thought of hurtin’ Bill deep in his heart like I hurt Duke the times I bin stupid about his leg is like a sticky, creepin’ cold I ain’t so sure I could feel for long and want ta go on livin’.
So I ain’t gonna say nuthin’ ‘til I got all this figured out: pretendin’ about Harmony’s a whole lot safer.
I like that warm, muscly safeness. I been thinkin’ on it a whole lot: a guy who’s big around you as well as in ya real deep, and I know it sounds real freaky, but doin’ it kind of like that fry-clerk Lee when he done that huggy-nice in the lot just on account of me bein’ cryin’ and upset. I mean, he didn’t have ta, and he just, like, give it me, that huggin’: not tradin’. I’m still chewin’ on that.
See, I know the rules for the Business: Give ‘n’ get; Get ‘n’ run; give ‘n’ welsch. Last two ‘re one time, right? So I figured Bill ‘n’ me could do give ‘n’ get?
But Bill ain’t gettin’! He’s doin’ some weirdo other kind of a different thing and I ain’t figured it!
I stood up and showered off; glarin’ at that glass and wishin’ it did have a wierdo bangin’ on it, only with my luck he’d speak fuckin’ Polack or somethin’.
You can just bet I cleaned up Mary’s bathroom so it was all pretty again; only I would of done anyway with it bein’ her special place. When I opened the door there was my clothes all folded, with a brand new pair of sneakers exactly like mine on top. Only they wasn’t new – if you looked underneath, it showed they’d been worn and no store would of took ‘em back.
I don’t get as how Mary’s so smart and so dumb. I mean, just listen to her talkin’ and you know she’s smart, but if you got a magic power like vanishin’ stuff away it’s kind of dumb to show it off by doin’ it on the dirt on someone’s sneakers. They really did look like they was brand new, ’cept for a brown bloodstain under one of the end tabs.
My clothes was all clean and pressed, and my undershorts what I’d dumped behind the tub was there too. Plus there was a extra T-shirt: it had red, curly writing on, and I spelled it out: F-A-M-E. Didn’t mean nothin’ to me, but when I tried it on, it would of fit if I was a skater kid.
Still, I figured the sight of my pits wouldn’t be no treat for Dragon Lady so I kept it on instead of the Spandex and went downstairs to give her back the furry suit.
Mary didn’t say nothin’ about how long I been showerin’, just said again about granola or oatmeal. She did look at my red eyes though, and I said “soap.” Her face was kinda gray, and she had these dark marks under her eyes and looked tireder ‘n’ a Mafia gravedigger, but she looked at me and her eyes kind of done a salute.
Turns out granola’s this stuff like I seen in the bottom of a pet rat’s cage one time, an’ it takes a whole lot of chewin’. No way was I gonna piss off a witch what could read your brain with X-rays and magic stuff clean, so I ate pretty much all of it, only hidin’ the little wrinkled black rat turds under the spoon.
She gimme a tall glass of milk and a cookie. When I just looked at it she said it was okay: it was just a cookie, not a be-a-good-boy-and-you’ll-get-another-cookie kind of a cookie.
I said oh, and did she ever play poker? And when she said as how she used to, I said as how in that case I was just gonna pick up my build-up winnin’s and fold, and I swear the corner of her mouth smiled, just kind of a little twitch for a second.
After I finished, she said as how I better take my winnin’ ways back home, and oh, maybe milk mustaches weren’t in fashion no more.
See? I do fit in porny bits if you ask nice. :o) Though I hope you’ll forgive the sudden curve, after all, Shayne is a boy in trouble.
As always, thoughts, wishes and encouragement warmly welcomed. Flames ignored.
Please mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org