I had arrived that night at an elegant hotel I couldn't afford and prepared to do something I never thought I would do. I stopped at the registration desk.
"Alumni Circle?"
"Ballroom D. Down the hallway and on your right," the clerk said.
I paused at the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.
There was a scattering of people. Older people stood to the left, dressed casually but expensively in slacks and sweaters. The students huddled on the right in jeans and tees or whatever they could afford. I joined them, staring at my shoes and trying to be inconspicuous.
I glanced to one side and saw a girl I recognized from English lit. She was petite with brown hair and eyes and alabaster skin. She was moderately attractive, but I had never paid much attention to her. She wore a sleeveless top and walking shorts.
Our eyes met for a moment, and we shared uncomfortable smiles.
"How about that Professor Lyman," I said, just to make conversation after standing uncomfortably for a while.
"He mumbles," she replied, and we both laughed nervously.
A handclap startled me. A man in a tux came to the center of the room.
"Okay, everybody, let's get this show on the road. You kids form a line, please, so we can get a good look at you," he said.
We did so. I stood beside the brown-eyed girl.
"Here are the rules," the man continued. "Members of the Alumni Circle will look you over, and then they will enter bids. Whoever bids highest gets you. Of course, you don't have to go along with it, but I assume all of you are here because you need the largess of the Alumni Circle to continue your educations, right?"
He was right. I was there out of desperation. Tuition was due in two weeks, and I was tapped out, as were my parents. I glanced at the brown-haired girl. She was trembling slightly. She seemed like a sweet kid, and I knew only desperation brought her here, too.
We stood in the queue as the members of the Alumni Circle examined us. Single men, single women, couples. One couple, a tall blond man and a short woman with long black hair, lingered in front of us for a moment, moved down the line, and returned for a second look at us. The man in the tux stepped forward and clapped again.
"Okay, folks, come to the table and submit your bids."
"Glad that's over. I felt like meat at the counter," I said.
"Yeah, me, too." The brown-eyed girl was blushing. "I'm Sarah, by the way. Sarah Lowe."
"Jerry. Jerry Mason."
We stood silently and awkwardly. Waiting. Finally, the tux man clapped his hands and said, "Well done!"
The crowd at the table dispersed, returned to the line of younger people. The blond man and his companion made a beeline toward us. He smiled broadly and offered a hand, which I shook.
"Congratulations, we made a group deal," he said. "You both are coming with us."
"I'm Micah and this is Phil. Class of '05 and '06 respectively," the woman said.
Sarah and I introduced ourselves clumsily.
"We're in 917. Meet you there in ten minutes," Phil said. "By the way, Micah and I just like to watch!" Then they were gone.
Sarah Lowe's face was beet red.
"We can just leave," I suggested.
She shook her head.
"No, I have to do this. I mean, I have no other way to get my degree."
We started toward the elevator lobby.
"You know what this is, no matter how you dress it up," Sarah said.
"Yeah."
Despite the elegant hotel and the guy in the tux, this was plain old prostitution. We were selling ourselves. We found an elevator car.
"I-I want you to know I'm not really experienced at this," Sarah said on the way up. "I mean -- I'm really kind of an old-fashioned girl."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded. We arrived on the ninth floor and Phil answered my knock.
"Come in, come in! Want a drink? We have gin, vodka, bourbon, wine."
We declined. Now I could get a good look at our hosts. Phil was tan and fit and looked like he belonged on the back nine of a country club. Micah looked vaguely Mediterranean and wore a mischievous expression. She hooked a finger at Sarah.
"Come here, you."
Sarah complied nervously.
"Let's see what we're getting for our money. Take your clothes off."
Sarah glanced over her shoulder at me, then began slowly unbuttoning her top. She exposed porcelain skin that showed the speckles of a blush that began on her face. Top discarded, she fumbled with the latches of a white bra that snuggled small, firm breasts.
"Oh, here! Let me help!" Micah said and made quick work of the bra. Sarah stared at the floor while we examined her flawless tits with pale pink nipples.
