"No Pants Valentine" ...for those of you who've he

[ehli'schild]

We shouted and hooted. We stamped. We twenty-some rowdy girls were all deadlocked on bidding for the guy up on stage. A model or a stripper he was not, just a comedian. So what was the deal? Who the hell knew? Who the hell cared? We didn't even know where the money was going. To their struggling theatre company? The individual actors? The inhibitions and the desire to ask intelligent questions were lowered. Whether it was the performance itself, full of double-entendre and compromising positions with a central theme of pants-less-ness, or the beer we were blatantly encouraged to indulge in even while the cast was doing the same on stage, whatever it was that had gotten into us was in full "schwing."

Every woman in the room was honed in on the neat-and-proper-looking specimen on the boards. He was the last of the lot, and probably the most likely. Those of us still in the running were all riled up. He was starting to look DAMN GOOD, ala house idol Richard Roundtree. I was beginning to think I wouldn't mind some L.D. Whoever was willing to part with the most green was taking him home. The overly bleached and made-up skinny twit next to me, digging me with her sharp little elbow as she held her platinum card aloft, was not going to be the one. Not if I could help it.

Tonight I'd come out just to watch, the 'fly on the wall' mentality firmly in place. As familiar as I was with this team, knowing hilarity was always a sure thing with them, they'd outdone themselves this time. In honor, or maybe in horror, of Valentine's Day, they had twisted the subjects of love and romance into a deliciously drawn-out but energetic montage of increasing degrees of sexual tension, just like their promo's had promised: everything from kissing cousins to gender-bending to being walked in on. Toys. Animal-ass-fucking carnies. The requisite nods toward the kinky shit. And good ol' fashioned marriage, as portrayed by a real-life married couple within the group, for those of us still conscious with delicate sensitivities. Not that any of us did, or we wouldn't have been there in the first place. After that performance, anything with enough life to have a pulse was both in pain from laughing so hard, and just plain horny.

The next item on the agenda was billed as a "Man-auction." What was up for sale was a "Real live date," whatever that meant. The crowd of women who'd been virtually bullied to stand under the footlights as the actors had shown off their somewhat dubious wares had at first been hesitant and polite in their vying for buying. Maybe it was the tendency toward stark white skin, skinny legs, or male pattern baldness that had put us off. That no longer mattered. Now it was more like a mosh pit. You could almost hear the snarling and yowling, too. Oh, yes, the fur was flying. After the first eligible bachelor, who resembled a cross between a Kewpie doll and a high school gym teacher, went for $195, some of the gals were unnerved and dropped back. Most of us pressed on in our quest to buy us a MAN.

Guy #2 was a tall well-built blond, reminiscent of one of my summer adventures in a past life. In memory, I bid the bimbo on my left all the way up to $202 amidst much screaming and cheering, till finally we were both thwarted. A pudgy little girl of about nineteen with cheeks the same flaming red as her hair topped my last mark by $20 and I let her have it/him. I just hoped the money would be put to good use.

It would have been difficult to describe #3; you'd have to see it to believe it. I'll just say that between his hang-dog expression and the residual sympathy he'd built up during the show at being dumped, jilted, left with a perennial case of blueballs and then being mistaken for a goat, somehow he commanded $327. It was getting desperate in there as the women smelled pheromone-scented paydirt.

Up to a point it had been easy to get caught up in the frenzy of the show and the not-quite slave auction in front of us. When Guy #4 reappeared, I knew I'd have to be careful or there'd be no satisfaction for me, in any sense of the word. Before anyone else could get the jump, I, who'd supposedly been planning only to observe all night, yet was somehow packing more cash than I normally did over the course of a year, yelled, "Twenty bucks!" and flailed Ben Franklin over my head. Starting so low after the last round had escalated as it had was almost an insult, earning me a glare from the owner of the pair of blue-black eyes being paraded across the stage. I glared right back. It had been deliberate, as much to discourage so much 'inflation' as anything.

The broad next to me scoffed, "Fifty," and the race was on. In the next two minutes the bid had gone up five times in ten dollar increments. After a pause and a "going once," I pushed it to $150. It seemed that an electric current surged through the crowd of women around me. In two more nods it was $200. I'd fully expected the last man would go for the most. This time instead of two-to-five dollar raises at a time, we were looking at some serious cash. The little thorn in my side squealed "Two fifty," and got muttered "Bitch," at under my breath as I raised her another ten. The dark-haired piece of work above me was starting to look even better, but that was partly due to the desire to win. And the booze.

There was another delay, another "going once," and then a woman with a long blond braid kicked it up to $300. The room drew it's collective breath and let it out again when my unwanted sidekick sang out, "Three twenty-five!" By the way she was dressed I could tell she had money and she was getting off on making each bid an announcement of it. Upping her again, "Three fifty," came from the blond woman. Then seconds ticked by and I blurted, "Three sixty." I had my own set of reasons.

The chick to my side said, "cunt," louder than was strictly necessary and turned to face me. She was so serious about besting that me it was funny, or would have been if my intent wasn't so similar towards her. Every eye in the place turned back and forth between us as we traded bids like insults, five dollars at a time, just to piss each other off. It was out of control and we both knew it, but neither of us would back down. The guy we were trying to "purchase" looked decidedly uncomfortable by the time we settled on $400.

I'd had enough; I yelled, "Five hundred!" That's when she whipped out the aforementioned plastic. I was already sweating from the adrenaline rush and the press of equally hyper people around me. This didn't help matters. Her little act of yuppie-dom really hacked me off. For all I knew she had a $100K limit on that thing, and I'd already maxed out my cash advance for the day. The auctioneer had to go confer with someone; I could hardly breathe. However, I did manage to lock eyes with the guy up for sale and give him one of my famous shit-eating grins. He smirked evilly, in a vaguely insulting way, like we were all idiots.

There's nothing like a challenge to give my ambition a kick in the ass. Looking away, a new or revised plan started to come together in my mind. We all fidgeted, waiting. Finally the ringmaster came back with the pronouncement, "No checks, no credit cards, cash only." My tarty little friend swore a blue streak and flounced off somewhere while I pushed my way to the edge of the stage and thumped five hundreds down on it.

Amid more screaming and clapping, the girl running the show stuffed them into her bra along with the rest of the proceeds she'd already collected, and shoved her colleague off the platform so hard he fell right into me. He was barely taller than me and he smelled kind of rank from all his earlier contortions under hot lights. As mentioned, when he wasn't yelling, chugging some form of alcohol, or openly leering at the dancers, he seemed really quite self-deprecating and quiet. I knew the type. Just get them alone and they'd either snot you off in some variety of superiority complex, or else charm the hell out of you for no other reason than their own personal amusement. Not too hard to figure out. He tried to keep a polite distance but I made him stand there beside me, half turned in. I cocked one knee out in his direction in an open invitation to hump my leg. Narrowing my eyes at him, I looked him up and down at close range, waiting for him to say something, but he didn't. So neither did I. Then my attentions were turned back to the stage.

Their lone female performer was now attempting to auction herself off, but so far she hadn't had any bites. It was hard to believe that in a city this size there weren't at least a few audience members who were 'out.' This was good for me, though, because I had $150 left to get me through the rest of the night and home. I turned to my newest acquisition and asked him, "Do you want her?"

He stared back in disbelief and tried to recover. "You read the ads, didn't you? 'For the ladies who like ladies...?'"

I wasn't having any of it. "OK, then, do you want US?"

It was interesting watching him turn that over in his mind, but I hope he'd hurry up and answer before some dyke got her first. Taking my line of sight elsewhere, I scanned the room to see if it looked like there were any takers. Hard to say.

By now our lady thespian was getting frustrated by the lack of response. Several people were whispering to each other, but no one had opened. My date-by-dollars gave me a significant look when I glanced back at him.

"Yes?" I prodded him.

"Yeah."

"Well, then, how much?"

"Oh, fifty..." The look which accompanied that suggestion spoke miles on what he had thought of my opening bid. Considering the outcome, it was laughable.

I called out the figure and blew the woman a kiss.

"Oh, SOMEONE wants more than her share!" she retorted mockingly.

"Well, why not?" I snapped loudly. She couldn't come up with a good answer. Some of the guys in the back were cat-calling.

"I hope you know what you're getting into, honey." I had a pretty good idea.

She yelled at the room at large, "Is that it? Fifty lousy bucks? Come on, I'm worth more than that! Talk about your reverse chauvinism. Somebody bid, here!"

A couple of male voices called, "Sixty."

"Seventy."

She laughed and flipped back her longish brown hair. "Sorry, guys, not you!"

"Eighty," I shot back in spite of myself. I was rewarded with something hard being pressed against the back of my thigh and an arm sliding around my waist for leverage. My insides flipped over and dropped three floors, and I sucked in my breath through my teeth.

"Very funny! And I SEE that," she barked, glaring down at us like the wrath of God, and then cracking up again.

"Oh, come on you people. You're a bunch of pussies!"

People were staring to shuffle their feet and their programs, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the director snap his fingers at her pointedly.

"Oh all right, fine. But I'm just as good as these guys, ladies!" was her parting shot.

The obligatory "going once, going twice."

"Sold to the girl up front with the really twisted sense of humor. You know, I kinda like that..."

So I handed my last hundred over to her and she fished down her front for the change. Soon enough I pocketed the twenty and she jumped four feet to the floor to stand at my other side. Obviously I knew her name, just like I had the guy's, but she was about as forthcoming as he was (not) introduction-wise.

The gentleman who had earlier proclaimed himself the Lord of the Pants ran back out in his boxers to wrap things up, congratulating us on our refined tastes and philanthropic endeavors to help starving artists. Yeah, whatever. All very tongue-in-cheek. Speaking of which, there was some commotion behind us which turned out to be Guy #3 and his buyer aggressively exchanging spit under the first row of seats.

My two new companions had seen it, too. They did the most amazing thing then. Right in front of my face, they leaned in towards each other and kissed. Before I was done gawking at them, with lips still touching they both kissed me, too. I looked into one blue eye and one brown. Fire raced up my insides and I didn't know who to give it back to first. Both. This was out of my realm of experience, but not so very far, and I was starting to get that vertigo feeling again.

Flashbulbs were going off. It occurred to me that this might just end up in someone's scrapbook, so I broke it off and flashed my car keys.

"Let's get out of here."

First, Ms. Thing had to empty her brassiere of all the moolah and they both had to take their final bows. I was almost surprised when they wandered back to me soon after. I'd thought the whole thing was just a tremendous hoax, AKA fund raiser, not to mention rather expensive joke. I had certainly exhibited just as much self-deceiving desperation and greedy lust as the next girl, which was what they had been poking fun at the whole time.

"Well," though I, in spite of it. "Maybe I'll be getting my money's worth..."



[img]images/smiles/icon_eek.gif[/img] [img]images/smiles/icon_biggrin.gif[/img] [img]images/smiles/icon_eek.gif[/img] [img]images/smiles/icon_biggrin.gif[/img]

[Moongem]

Oh my, my, ehli's child has a devilish side!! I am up to; And good ol' fashioned marriage, as portrayed by a real-life married couple within the group, for those of us still conscious with delicate sensitivities. "Schwing"!!! Back in a bit... [img]images/smiles/icon_eek.gif[/img] ________

Before anyone else could get the jump, I, who'd supposedly been planning only to observe all night, yet was somehow packing more cash than I normally did over the course of a year, yelled, "Twenty bucks!" and flailed Ben Franklin over my head. Starting so low after the last round had escalated as it had was almost an insult, earning me a glare from the owner of the pair of blue-black eyes being paraded across the stage. I glared right back. It had been deliberate, as much to discourage so much 'inflation' as anything.

*heeheehee, what next?*

This didn't help matters. Her little act of yuppie-dom really hacked me off. For all I knew she had a $100K limit on that thing, and I'd already maxed out my cash advance for the day. The auctioneer had to go confer with someone; I could hardly breathe. However, I did manage to lock eyes with the guy up for sale and give him one of my famous shit-eating grins. He smirked evilly, in a vaguely insulting way, like we were all idiots.

*silly girl!! [img]images/smiles/icon_smile.gif[/img] *

"Oh, fifty..." The look which accompanied that suggestion spoke miles on what he had thought of my opening bid. Considering the outcome, it was laughable.

*ahhaha*

"Oh, come on you people. You're a bunch of pussies!"


[ 05-25-2002: Message edited by: Moongem ]

[ 05-25-2002: Message edited by: Moongem ]

[ 05-25-2002: Message edited by: Moongem ]

[ 05-25-2002: Message edited by: Moongem ]</p>

[Moongem]

"Well," thought I, in spite of it. "Maybe I'll be getting my money's worth..."

Haha! Aah, thanks for the diverting laugh, child!! I want to go along next time!!!! [img]images/smiles/icon_eek.gif[/img] [img]images/smiles/icon_biggrin.gif[/img]

[ehli'schild]

moongem, i knew you'd have something to say!! now THAT (like what you did in your critique) is what i mean...exactly right. i read it to my best friend over the phone when i finished it and it took almost 20 minutes b/c she was laughing so hard and then i was too. Thx thx! a gazillion! glad you got a yuck out of it.

this is one of the tamest ones i've got. can you come along next time? yeah, sure. someone's got to keep me in line!

[ 05-28-2002: Message edited by: ehli'schild ]</p>

[ehli'schild]

yeah, pam's bad. she likes it that way! [img]images/smiles/icon_biggrin.gif[/img]