SC-Epilogue, Part 3c

Update from Nick (Aug 3 at 4:30 PM): The original version of this part followed a bonus scene (that you'll read in a moment). I thought the scene with Paul talking about the get-together made it clear that the camp was changing, but I was wrong. Clearly.

So... I spent a couple of hours editing and revising the bonus scene to include it here, as a regular scene. As a result, I moved the last two scenes of the original Part 3c to Part 4a. You'll (re)read them next week.

Until then, here's a revised version of Part 3c, with the bonus scene included. This version should make everything clear. Sorry for the confusion. Completely my fault.

P.S. - The new scene hasn't been through my regular editing and proofreading process. So apologies in advance if you spot any typos. Please let me know and I'll fix them ASAP.

✧ ✧ ✧

Dec 1994 – Nov 1995

✧ ✧ ✧

Susan and I spent most of Saturday walking the camp and talking business. She’d become a regular tycoon over the past decade. She’d expanded her hotel and real estate empire, of course, but she’d made even more money in the stock market. She’d invested in computer and tech companies based on her son Doug’s advice, and her investments had paid off, big time. She’d reinvested the profits, and her net worth had snowballed from there.

The camp itself was a different story. It hadn’t changed much at all, not since Trip and I had done the last major renovation back in the mid-eighties. A local contractor had built six more bungalows at the Retreat, plus a fitness center and laundry, but that had been the only new construction in a decade.

At least the maintenance was up to code, although I felt a surge of anger when Susan told me about her current manager. The woman had been a plumber before her husband had accused her of being a dyke. He was a Southern Man, by God, and her very existence was a threat to his manhood. So he’d beaten her with a steel pipe and left her for dead. He’d eventually gone to prison for it, while she’d gone through a year of rehab and reconstructive surgery.

I met her myself and couldn’t decide if she was a lesbian or not. She had a butch haircut and brusque attitude, so maybe she was. Then again, maybe she was straight and blunt, and not interested in redneck assholes with fragile egos. Whatever she was, she was good at her job and loyal to Susan. And whoever she shared her bed with was lucky to have her.

Susan and I continued our tour, and she eventually brought up the camp’s future.

“The problem is,” she said, “visitors have been declining for a decade. Nudists are an aging demographic, while younger families have more options than ever.”

“No kidding. We get junk mail all the time, everything from beaches to borscht.”

“Moscow is huge these days,” Susan agreed. “Vietnam, too, if you can believe it. Even Las Vegas is becoming a family-friendly destination.”

“What about closer to home?” I asked. “I mean, what about swingers?”

“AIDS.”

I understood without an explanation. The Moral Majority had started the process, but the AIDS epidemic had been the death knell for the free-love sixties and seventies. Our own group was incredibly selective these days, and we never had sex with anyone new without protection or test results.

“Besides,” Susan continued, “online services like AOL and Prodigy make it easy for people to connect semi-anonymously. They don’t need ads in the back of magazines or traditional word-of-mouth anymore. They don’t need special venues, either. All they need is a computer and a hotel room. So we’ve seen a decline in— What’s so funny?”

“You,” I said. “Talking about swinging in marketing terms.”

“The camp is a business,” she said tartly. “I seem to recall you were part of the conversation when Trip convinced me.”

“Oh, I know! Sorry, I’m not criticizing, but I think it’s interesting how you’ve changed over the years. I mean, you’ve always been a businesswoman, but now you’re single-minded about it.”

“You’re probably right,” she admitted. Then she laughed softly. “I’m my father’s daughter.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“I remember him doing this when I was a girl, first with the mills and then with real estate. He bought all the land, but he said it was my job to develop it, so that’s what I’ve been doing. I’m sure my realtor thinks I’m angling for his job, but I’m really just a simple businesswoman.”

“There’s nothing simple about you.”

“Perhaps.”

We walked in silence for several minutes. The day was damp and cold, and the forest smelled strongly of pine, without any of the softer scents of summer.

“The camp is a business,” Susan said eventually, “and it has to change if I want it to run in the black.”

“Mmm,” I said noncommittally.

“My hospitality manager wants me to turn it into a traditional resort and put it under her control. She wants to cater to weddings and corporate events.”

I nodded and gave it some serious thought, although I came up with several benefits right away. (I’d changed over the years too.)

“You’d be able to book events year-round,” I said. “And you’d be able to offer package deals to larger groups. You could upsell them as well, depending on what kind of facilities and services you want to add.”

She gestured for me to continue.

“I’m thinking spa treatments, specifically, but local food and drink packages would also sell. You could even branch into ecotourism.”

“We thought of the spa and local options,” Susan said, “and I’ve seen the numbers. They’re promising. Ecotourism’s an interesting idea. We hadn’t thought of that.”

“I’ve been reading about it. Quite a bit, actually. I’m writing my master’s thesis on sustainable architecture. Most of the focus is on urban settings and the modern built environment, but changing suburban demographics have led to an increase in—” I broke off and laughed. “Sorry, I turn into an urban planning nerd if I don’t watch it.”

“No,” Susan said quickly, “I was following along just fine.”

“Why’m I not surprised? Anyway, back to the camp. I could design an environmentally friendly resort with tourism in mind.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to rebuild entirely,” she demurred.

“It was just a thought.”

“And I like it. A lot, as a matter of fact. But I’m not sure ecotourists would come to rural South Carolina. At least, not in the numbers we’d need to make it worthwhile.”

“You might be surprised. I mean, you’re close enough to the interstate for easy access, with two large airports within an hour’s drive. Still, you’re surrounded by thousands of acres of relatively unspoiled piedmont wilderness. People would pay good money for that kind of retreat. If you advertise and market it right, you could attract visitors from large metropolitan areas like Boston, New York, and Chicago.”

She frowned. “Why not closer, like Charlotte and Atlanta?”

“They have the same ecology, so this is old hat to them. We saw it firsthand with the people in New England. We were amazed the first time we drove up to New Hampshire and saw the fall colors, but the locals are totally blasé about it. They see it all the time, so… no big deal.”

“That makes sense,” Susan said. “And it’s a thought. But even if we don’t go that route and go more traditional instead, I’d still be able to shed the stigma of being ‘the woman who runs the nudist camp.’”

“That still bothers you?” I said in surprise.

“Being the local Jezebel? A little,” she admitted. “Sheriff Pharisee had a point, bless his black heart. I was a social pariah. I still am, to a certain degree. I haven’t had a serious threat to my business in years, but I still don’t have legitimacy. Not around here, at least.”

“That’s important to you?”

“It is. I stopped keeping score with money a few years ago. I have more than I’ll ever be able to spend in my lifetime. Now I want people to respect me. The money gives me influence, but I still have an asterisk after my name, so to speak.” She looked around and sighed as she returned to the original question. “I want to stay true to my parents’ vision, but the times, they are a-changin’.”

“So you’re back to the same choice you had ten years ago,” I said. “Is this a business or your personal estate?”

“And if it is a business, can it survive in the current market?”

“To be honest,” I said, “I don’t think so.”

“Me neither.” She fell silent and considered the future. “I don’t like my options. I think that frustrates me as much as anything. I can ‘fix’ the problem, but at what cost?”

“When do you have to decide?”

“Not immediately, but within a year. We don’t have enough reservations for next season to cover even half of our operating expenses, and the trend will only get worse in the years to come.”

I had a thought. “What if we could bring in a bunch of visitors, even for a week or two?”

“We might break even. Why? What’re you thinking?”

✧ ✧ ✧

I returned home after Granville’s funeral and talked to Christy, Wren, and Trip about a swingers’ get-together at camp. They were easy to convince, so I began making phone calls. Everyone I talked to was open to the idea, especially since it might be our last chance to enjoy the camp as we remembered it. Most of us had kids in school, so we decided on the first week in July. We could celebrate the Fourth with a bang.

“Wow, that was quick,” Susan laughed when I called to make the reservations. “I should hire you as my marketing manager.”

“Eh, it was an easy sell. Besides, it’s the least I could do.”

“Still, nine reservations is nothing to sneeze at. Oh, have you thought about Doug and Olivia?”

“No. Are they swingers too?”

“Mmm hmm. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Okay, add them to the list. What about Kirk and Dawn?”

“They’re a bit more traditional, I’m afraid. But I’ll invite them anyway. They can stay in the main camp with the normal folks.”

“You should probably call my mom and dad,” I added. “And the Coulters. Maybe some of the other couples from the old days.”

“So it’s ‘the old days’ now?” she teased.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes. And I’m one step ahead of you. I already made a note. If this is going to be the last year of the camp as we know it, we might as well go out with a bang.”

“It’s like you read my mind,” I chuckled.

✧ ✧ ✧

We returned to Boston after Thanksgiving and celebrated Susie’s first birthday. I called Erin the next day and wished her a happy birthday as well. She was thirty.

“Are you doing anything special?” I asked.

“Dinner with friends,” she said vaguely.

“Guy friends?” I hinted.

“Sorry, Mom, I have to go.”

“Ha! Sorry, couldn’t resist. You know I’m kidding, right?”

“Yeah, I know. But she’s really starting to get on my nerves.”

“Eh, it’s what she does.”

“Yeah, I know,” Erin repeated. “I’ll get married when I’m ready. I need to meet a guy first.”

I heard something in her voice but couldn’t decide what it was. She continued before I could ask.

“I’m so busy with work. I swear, Paul, you have no idea how much money is here. Palm Beach gets all the headlines, but it’s really a small pool of clients. I mean, the big-name millionaires live there, but we have way more people on this side of the state.”

“And lemme guess,” I chuckled, “they all want trusts for their money.”

“It’s the best way to shelter that kind of wealth. Speaking of which, you and Christy need to let me set one up for you. Well, several, but we’ll get to that.”

“Why? We aren’t millionaires.”

“You’re probably closer than you think,” she said. “And what happens when Christy’s grandmother dies?”

“All her money is in trusts already. We get the statements every year.”

“Yes, but you need a trust that’s tailored to your needs, and especially to the girls’. There are some serious tax implications if you don’t. I mean, what would happen to them if you died? Do you even have a will?”

“Whoa, slow down, Clarence Darrow,” I laughed.

“Darrow was a criminal attorney,” Erin said with exaggerated patience. “It’s a completely different kind of law. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know. But he was the only lawyer I could think of.”

“Whatever. You need a will.”

“For the record, we have one. Nana C.’s lawyers wrote it for us.”

“Then I need to look at it. I guarantee it has—”

“Relax,” I told her. “You can look at it later. I just called to wish you a happy birthday.”

“Yeah, sorry. And thanks.”

“Now, you said you work too much? Seriously, Er, I tried calling you at home first.” I checked my watch. “It’s after eight. What’re you still doing in the office?”

“Working, you big dork!” she laughed. “But you’re right, I need to go. I’m meeting my friend at nine.”

“I thought you said friends, plural.”

“I did,” she lied. “Friends. So, I’d better get a move on. Love you. And thanks for calling. Give Christy a hug for me. And big kisses for the girls. Okay? Love you,” she repeated. “Bye.”

The line clicked, and I stared at the receiver.

Christy stuck her head into the bedroom. “Everything okay?”

“I think so,” I said after a moment. “But… Erin’s up to something.”

“Oh? What?”

“No clue. I’m pretty sure it involves a guy, though.”

“A guy? Oh my gosh, seriously? Do I need to call her?”

“No. She’ll tell us when she’s ready.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” I said.

“Okay. In the meantime, I know three little girls who’d love some princess time.”

“Sounds good. Does the queen need some attention later?”

“She might,” Christy said coyly.

“Good. ’Cause I’m in the mood all of a sudden.”

“Then you’d better hurry up and get the girls to sleep.”

“Yes, your highness!”

✧ ✧ ✧

A week after New Year’s, we survived the biggest nor’easter in years. The storm dumped eighteen inches of snow on Boston, although we were luckier than most. Some places received nearly four feet. Then the weather turned warm, and torrential rain washed away the snow like it had never been there.

Trip and I returned to school, and the weeks passed in a blur. We celebrated Emily’s fourth birthday in February, but I barely had time for anything else. March and April were the same, a rush of classes and work. Christy spent a week editing and typing up my master’s thesis. Trip tried to get her to do the same for his business case study, but she said she was too busy.

“He can hire someone,” she said. “They can afford it. Maybe some poor undergrad.”

“Yeah, but you know Trip,” I chuckled. “He’s… um… frugal.”

“He’s cheap, you mean. Besides, I already watch their kids. What else do they want me to do?”

“Fair enough.” I shrugged. “He’ll probably get one of Wren’s interns to do it.”

“Ugh! Don’t get me started on her, either,” Christy said.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know!”

✧ ✧ ✧

In May we began planning our next career move. Trip wanted to move back to Atlanta and start a design company, and I was all for it. Christy was too, which left Wren as the lone holdout.

In true Wren fashion, she’d been promoted twice at the sporting goods company, to the point where she currently managed an entire team of PR specialists who handled athlete endorsements, product placement, and sponsorship opportunities. Her salary had grown accordingly, and she was on track for a director’s job in a few years.

“Why do you always do this to me?” she accused Trip.

“Babe! I swear, I’m not doing it on purpose!”

“Just when I get settled in a job and see a real opportunity for advancement,” she huffed.

“You always knew this was a two-year gig,” he said. “We’re here for school, that’s it.”

“What about me? What about my ‘gig’?”

“What about mine?” Christy said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wren snapped. Then she heard herself and softened her tone. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m just upset that—”

“I know why you’re upset,” Christy said, “but at least you have a job. What about me?”

“But… the kids’re your job. I thought you liked being a stay-at-home mom.”

“Since you asked… I don’t. I do it because I don’t have a choice.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“What good would it’ve done?” Christy griped. “You work all the time. Paul and Trip are in school. And I’m the one who’s stuck with the kids all day. I don’t have a studio! I don’t have a job! I don’t have anything! And I’m tired of you complaining about your life and your career! What about me and mine? Ugh!”

We sat in stunned silence.

“I don’t think you understand what it’s like for me,” Christy continued in a tone that was only slightly calmer. “You leave for work every day and don’t think twice about the kids—”

“I do too!” Wren cried.

“No, you don’t,” Christy said implacably. “You have a job and people under you and a million things to keep you occupied. You even bring work home with you. I’m surprised you aren’t on your phone right now!”

Almost on cue, Wren jumped as if she’d been stung by a wasp. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her buzzing phone. It was new, one of the little ones that closed like a clamshell. She opened it and stared at the incoming number. She agonized for a moment but then closed it. The phone buzzed rhythmically until the call went to voicemail.

Christy crossed her arms and made her point without a word.

“What?” Wren said. “My job’s important.” It sounded like a cop-out, even to her.

“More important than your children?” Christy shot back. “Missy calls me ‘Mommy’ half the time.”

Wren slumped as her defenses crumbled.

“Mmm hmm,” Christy said. “Don’t get me wrong,” she added, “I love them both, but they’re your children.”

“What do you want from me? We can hire a nanny again—”

“That isn’t the point!”

“She’s right, babe,” Trip said.

Wren stiffened with anger. “I don’t need you piling on too,” she snapped. “You’re the problem here! My career always takes a back seat to yours!”

“At least you have one!” Christy shouted.

“Is everything okay?” a young voice asked.

Four heads turned. Davis stood at the bottom of the stairs.

Christy answered automatically, before Wren could.

“It’s fine, honey,” she said. “We’re just having a grown-up discussion.”

“I heard shouting.”

“It’s all right,” she assured him. “Go back upstairs. Tell the girls we need to leave soon. Start cleaning up, please.”

He nodded but then frowned. “I thought I heard Susie.”

Christy smiled, a look so full of affection that it was a dagger to Wren’s heart. She hadn’t meant it to be, but the blade had struck home and cut deep. Even Trip noticed.

“Will you look in on her?” Christy said to the boy.

“Okay.” He belatedly looked at his own mother. “Mom? Are you okay?”

Wren wiped her cheeks and forced a smile. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Go upstairs and check on Susie.”

He nodded uncertainly and looked to Christy.

“Go on,” she told him. “We’ll be up soon.”

He turned and climbed the stairs.

Trip and I shared a look, but we both knew better than to say anything.

Wren buried her face in her hands. “I’m a horrible mother.”

“No, you aren’t.” Christy said gently. “You’re a good mother. But you need to spend more time with them.”

“What about my job?”

“Which is more important?”

“Easy for you to say,” Wren snapped. “You don’t—” She swallowed and looked even guiltier than before.

“Yes?” Christy said. “You were saying?”

“So… what?” Wren said. “I can’t have a career and be a mother too?”

“You’re doing great, babe,” Trip said.

“Did you just see what happened?” she moaned. She gestured at the space where Davis had been. “My own son! But she’s more of a mother than I am!”

“Okay, everyone calm down,” I said. “Maybe we need to look at things from a different perspective.” I drew a breath and gathered my thoughts. “We’re out of balance. Wren spends all her time at work. Christy spends hers with the kids. Trip and I spend ours at school. We’re all doing it because we have to, but we can’t keep going like this.”

Christy shook her head in agreement.

“And moving to Atlanta is your solution?” Wren asked bitterly. “Who cares what I want?”

“That isn’t what I’m saying at all. We need to find a happy middle ground.” I glanced at Trip and said, “Maybe we stay here and start a company.”

“I want a house,” Christy said before he could reply. “I’m tired of our dingy little apartment. I want one with a studio. A real one! Not some corner of the living room. I want a pool too.”

“That’ll be expensive,” Trip said. He glanced at me for support, and I instinctively knew where he was going.

“We’d have to look out past Worcester,” I agreed.

“Or up toward Nashua. Maybe even as far as Manchester.”

Christy didn’t think in terms of money, so she didn’t even bat an eye. Wren, however, knew the cost of the housing market in Boston.

“Yeah, I get it. You don’t have to rub it in.” She glared at Trip but then sighed. “So, once again, I have to put my career on hold for you all.”

“Not for them,” Christy said, “for me. I want a career too, Wren. I put mine on hold from the beginning, when Davis was born.”

“She’s right,” Trip said.

“I know she’s right,” Wren snarled. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Balance,” I said before the argument could heat up again.

“What?” Wren scoffed. “We’re magically supposed to find it in Atlanta?”

“I think we have a better chance. It’s a big city with lots of jobs—”

“So’s Boston.”

I smiled tightly and continued, “We have family and friends there, and plenty of connections.”

“Please, Wren,” Christy added. “I want you to be happy, but not if it means I’m miserable at the same time.”

“We don’t have to decide right now,” I said. “We have a couple of months—”

“No,” Wren said, “if we’re going to do it, let’s just do it.” She held up a hand before Trip or I could reply. “Uh-uh. Don’t say a word. I’m not doing this because you convinced me. We’d still be arguing if it was just you two. I’m doing it for her. And the kids. You two can fuck off.”

Trip and I knew when to take yes for an answer.

✧ ✧ ✧

Wren eventually resigned herself to the move. She updated her resume and sent it to several headhunters. She also called the man who ran her restaurant group and warned him to expect her in Atlanta in a few months.

“He’s a good manager,” she said afterward, “but he’s too much like my father, and he doesn’t like taking orders from a woman.”

“That doesn’t bode well for him,” I said.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Why don’t you take over?” Trip suggested.

“Because I’ve been out of the business too long.”

“What? No you haven’t! We eat at restaurants all the time!”

“Sweetheart, there’s a huge difference between eating in a restaurant and running one.”

“Like reading a book versus writing one,” I agreed.

“What?” Trip said. “That’s crazy.”

“No, he’s right,” Wren said. “I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

Trip frowned at the macho-sexist reply.

“Let’s change the subject,” she continued. “When can we start talking about houses in Atlanta?”

Something in her tone warned us that she wasn’t talking about house hunting.

“Uh, babe…,” Trip said. “It might be a while before we can build something custom.”

“That’s your problem, not mine,” she said coolly. “Christy wants a house with a pool and a studio. I’ll need an office instead of a studio, but—” She gestured impatiently at me, like I was one of the people who worked for her. “Shouldn’t you write this down?”

“Absolutely,” I chuckled. Then I took out a pencil and the little Moleskine notebook I habitually carried. It had been a gift from my female friend, the only thing I’d kept from our time together.

“Hold on,” Trip said to Wren, “we haven’t agreed to anything.”

“Yes, you have. When you said we were moving to Atlanta.”

“Babe, we can’t build a new house! Not now! It’ll cost a fortune! We need that money for the new company.”

“Again,” she said, as coolly as before, “that’s your problem, not mine.”

“Dude, relax,” I told him. “You know we’re going to do this. If it makes our wives happy, it’ll be cheap at twice the price.”

He rolled his eyes, and I surreptitiously winked at Wren. Her lips compressed in a grin. We hadn’t been in cahoots before, but we were now.

✧ ✧ ✧

Trip and I graduated at the end of May, and in many ways it was the same as the first time. Our families were there and we posed for pictures. The speeches were definitely the same—do great things!—and the atmosphere was festive. Laszlo and his wife were there as well, and he was as proud as I’d ever seen him.

But it was a very different experience in other ways. I had a wife and children this time. I already had my license, plus several years of experience. I didn’t need to look for a job. Instead, I had plans to go into business for myself.

Part of me was excited about the future. But another part was sad to leave friends and professors, people I’d grown close to. I also felt a sense of loss for my female friend. We still had feelings for each other, even though our friendship had never recovered.

I searched the milling crowd and spotted her nearby. She was standing with her parents and grandparents, and her teenage brothers were horsing around in the background.

Our eyes met and she ventured a smile, but it was sad. Her expression hardened as Christy moved in front of me. Her mother noticed and asked her a question. My friend gave me a searching look before she turned away.

“Here, will you take her?”

I blinked and realized that Christy had spoken. “What?”

“Take her.” She handed me Susie, and my other daughters crowded around. “I want to take pictures for my parents,” Christy said. “Nana, you too. Move closer.”

We posed for several pictures. Christy checked the little screen on the back of the camera. It was new and digital, and she already knew how to use it better than I did.

“Who wants to see?” she asked Laurie and Emily with bright-eyed enthusiasm. She knelt, and the girls ran to her.

I looked for my friend, but she was gone forever, without even a proper goodbye.

“Who was she?” Nana C. asked quietly.

“What? Who?”

“That young woman.”

“Just a friend,” I said vaguely. “From the master’s program.”

“Ah.” She managed to convey a lifetime of experience in a single syllable.

I looked at her sideways, but she merely smiled back at me. Then her expression sobered, although she tilted her head in a gesture I was very familiar with.

“Let him who is without sin cast the first stone,” she said.

“In other words,” I said after a moment, “you understand.”

“Of course.” She sighed and patted my arm, more in compassion than disapproval. Then she looked at Christy and the older girls, and her message was clear: You made the right choice.

“I think so too,” I said aloud.

“Mmm.”

✧ ✧ ✧

To be continued…

✧ ✧ ✧

Acknowledgments

Special thanks to Big Ed Magusson.

And my team: J. Strickland • CompaniaHill • Craig • JRB • LordPerfectSteve • Miz Pattay • Orblover • Ramblin’ Joe • Steve M • Terry • Turbo

Patreon Founders & Staff: A C • Alan C • Allen B • Allen C • Andrew C • Andy W • Anhinga M • Anthony K • Aratharas • ASailor • Attaboui • Austringer C • Azri A • B&I • Bernard vdL • Beteez • Big Ed M • Bill C • Bill R • Bill R • Blackstaff • Bobby` • Bowtie • Brett E • Brian F • Brian L • Burke J • Bw99 • Byron C • c • Caleb j • CampWashington • Chandler • Charles S • Charles W • Christian S • Christopher H • Chuck I • Claymo • CompaniaHill • Corey S • Dan P • Daniel • Daniel K • Daniel M • Dave L • dave q • David H • david h • David K • David S • David Z • DeepCat • Dennis N • Dennis W • Derek D • DK • Don N • doofus67 • Doug M • DrewT • Drose • Dvjoker • Eduardo G • Edward M • Edward W • Empty J • Eunice w • Evan L • EW • Fillmore E • Ford P • Francis I • g • G.Orlando • Gary • Gary B • Gary T • George C • George G • Glenn T • Goalenator • Grant J • Greg H • greg h • Greg S • Greg S • GStoker • GuG • HobartPrime • Holoimajica • Hoppy631 • Hunter • Ian M • Isayisayisay • J • J.P. F • jack m • James P • Jamie W • Jarmo M • Jarrod L • Jay R • Jeff G • Jeff Y • Jerome S • Jfolts • Jim E • Jim E • Jim G • Jimmy M • JM • Joey L • John • john • john • John B • John G • John H • John p • John R • John S • John W • Jon C • Jonathan F • Joseph A • Joseph G • Joseph J • Joseph M • Joshua T • JV • K B • Kevin G • KEVIN J • Kiernan W • Kit M • KST • Larry C • Lars C • lcd • Les B • Luke P • Lynn B • Lynn B • MagicalGhost • Malcolm F • mark c • Mark H • Mark K • Mark r • Mark S • Mark S • Markj • Matthew H • Matthieu B • Meeeeh • Michael • Michael B • Michael F • MICHAEL P • Michael S • Michael S • Mike • Mike • Mike P • Mike S • Mike V • Mile D • Nate G • Nicholas C • Nicholas S • Nick M • NMS • NRC • Oscar U • Paco J • Parker D • Paul • Paul A • Paul B • Paul J • Paul J • Paul K • Peter C • Pollytron • Pyros • Pyrotech1 • Richard • Richard K • Rick M • RiffRaff • Ripley1982 • Rob W • Robert J • Robert K • Robert L • Robert M • Robert S • Ron J • Ron L • Roy C • Rusty H • Ryan M • Sarpedon • Scott B • Scott H • Scott L • Scott R • Sean C • Sean P • Sean S • Sebastien C • SGR • Shane • Shaun M • Simon P • Stacey K • Steve • Steve G • Steven M • Stevenator • SteveZ • Strange1 • Tal S • Tekserve • Thomas • ThrobbinRob • TK W • Tod H • Tom D • Tom H • Tom H • Tom K • Tom L • Tony L-S • Travis J • Troy C • Vosinoc • Warren K • Warshadow • Wayne P • Wayne W • Writer M • Wynder • Zalov