Author's note: the following story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. The author wishes to express his gratitude to rozezwild for her editing to make this a better story.
I had dreaded this night for weeks. I had let myself be talked into attending a charity event by an old friend, a woman about whom I had fantasized since our college days over a decade earlier. She had decided then that we were meant to be "just friends" so I had never gotten to sample her wares as I had wanted. Still she considered me a friend and I didn't want to dispel her of that idea so I had promised to attend.
Now the night had arrived and I was sitting at a table-for-ten near the center of the huge ballroom; my friend had insisted that I sit with her and her husband and her friends, all couples except for me.. The charity turned out to be Breast Cancer Research Foundation, which was certainly a commendable endeavor but not in the mainstream of my normal interests.
The method of raising money was a ladies underwear auction. The nice thing about it was that the underwear was being modeled by local women volunteers who came out wearing the garments to be auctioned off, strutted along the raised curved stage at the front of the ballroom and then stood while the auctioneer tried to get buyers to bid and keep raising their bids.
For the first hour, most of the models had been small, slender women with very few curves ... not my cup of tea. I didn't know anyone who was shaped like that nor who could wear the garments that were being modeled, even if some of them did show off cute little bottoms and some rather long legs. Far and away the majority of bidders had been men, who apparently were bidding to purchase the garments for their wives or girlfriends. Occasionally a woman would bid but they seemed more interested in getting the prices up than in winning.
Usually the auctioneer asked for a starting bid of $100 for whatever was included, in some cases just a sexy teddy, in others panties, bra and gauzy jacket. Some of the outfits elicited spirited bidding that went up to as high as $1,000, although most of them had gone for $500 or less. I have to admit that, since I was not included in most of the table conversations nor was I really interested in the auction, I was thinking about making a donation and heading home.
But then the next woman model appeared on stage and she was different. First of all, she WAS a woman and her curves proved it. You didn't have to look twice because she had bold globes on her chest, she had a modest waist, and she had a nice round butt. She appeared to be older than most of the earlier models, possibly in her mid-thirties or early-forties, but she was a beautiful woman. Her blonde hair was pulled into a knot at the back of her head while loose strands just framed her lovely face. Her blue eyes were accentuated with a dark liner that made them stand out.
And yet, she was not the central theme that caught my eye. Rather it was the outfit she was wearing. She had on a shiny satin bra and matching thong panties of the purest purple I had ever seen, the kind of purple that reminds one of a garment fit for royalty. Over all she wore a peignoir of a purple gauzy material that hid nothing. Even the boa-like trim around the collar, cuffs and along the hem didn't detract from the woman's figure or her garments. I was immediately intrigued.
I turned to the closest auctioneer's aide standing just a few feet away and gave him a signal. Quickly he stepped to my side and bent over. He whispered in my ear, "Sir, are you sure you meant 5,000?"
I met his gaze and nodded my agreement. The aide stood just as the auctioneer asked, "Do I hear $100?"
The aide shouted, "I have 5,000."
The auctioneer looked startled and everyone in the room turned to stare at the aide, who was still standing beside me. The people at my table all gaped at me open mouthed, too surprised to say a word, until my college friend said, "Well ... all right, Eddie. Way to go. I thought you were getting bored."
I just smiled at her. The auctioneer was trying to find anyone else to bid against me but no one did and he finally closed the bidding. The aide recorded my name and bidder number to insure that I paid before I left.
Meanwhile the woman in purple had left the stage and come directly to the table, where she stopped by my chair. Holding out a dainty hand, she said, "Hi. I'm Melissa."
"Hello. I'm Ed, but Ginger and some of these folks call me Eddie."
She laughed lightly, "Well, if you'll follow me, I'll see that you get your merchandise."
Ginger, my college friend, said, "Melissa, treat him really nice and see if you can't get him to increase his donation." Then she laughed at my expense.
She headed to the left end of the ballroom where there was a hallway to some rooms behind the stage. I had a difficult time keeping my mind off her shapely rear, given the way it swayed and moved just inches in front of me as we walked. To say that it had an impact on me would have been redundant; a look at the tent in the front of my pants would have testified to that condition.
She led me into a small room that she said was her dressing room. It had a few old and scarred wooden chairs and a fold-up divider. After Melissa closed the door, she asked, "What size would you like the garments in?"
"Oh, I want the ones you are wearing, whatever size they are."
She smiled, "You want these exact ones?"
I nodded and Melissa got a knowing look on her face. She asked, "Why do you like this set?"
"Well ... I'm afraid that an honest answer might get me in trouble," I replied with a shrug.
"No, I promise. No matter what you say, just you and I will know," she said conspiratorially.
