There were three doors. The first door had a stick figure man on the door. The second had a stick figure woman. The third had a stick figure man bendi...ng over in front of a stick figure woman. The stick figure woman was fucking the stick figure man with her giant stick figure cock. That's what I had been looking for. As I walked determinedly towards the doors, I decided I would go straight into the third door. But, my nerves got the better of me at the last second and I choked. I played it off. .If the biker lifestyle is obviously so FULL od swingers,why do they need to "meet" online??? Wouldnt you think that they would find each other in their regular meets and "rallies" and get together rides to save the whales or feed the hungry??? But---here the truth of it.They are NOT badasses,they are NOT "outlaw" bikers,they are "Fashion-Bikers," and these high dollar Harleys and "Honda-Davidsons(Japanese bikes made to LOOK like Harleys)are simply an "accessory," more like a status symbol,a. If I told anyone, Thomas would be in danger,and so far everything was my fault.That meant that I had a new problem. There was just a picture. It wasThomas and a gray background. How was I to find where this picture wastaken?This meant that the next few days I went around thinking about the photo,which bought me, relief knowing that Thomas was alive, and confused towhere he was. It was a dark secret. Every time I seen my mother cry, Iwanted to show her the picture. Every time I seen Dad leaves. The woman Amaryllis took as their High Priestess stepped forward. Her hair was a wild, crimson mane. Her deep-set hazel eyes bore straight into her prey’s. “Do you really think anyone here would be stupid enough to give their name to a fairy?”Amaryllis glanced over the other three women. Her previous escort wore her black hair long and sleek, and her sharp nose took up a good portion of her long face. To the right stood a small freckled woman with hair that resembled summertime hay. Beside her.