"$75 going once. ... $75 going twice. Sold, to number 32, you my friend are the proud owner of a dinner date at the home of Ms. Nancy Thrash, isn't she lovely," announced the auctioneer. I don't know how or why I had gotten roped into coming to this event. I was foolish to think that this would ever work out like I had planned in my head over and over when Sheila told me about the fundraiser.
I had only lived in West Plains for a little over 6 months, having graduated law school and passed the bar the previous spring. At just under twenty-five years of age, my first job landed me as an assistant prosecutor in mostly rural Howell county in the south central part of Missouri. I was hired as the first full time assistant prosecutor after the elected prosecutor, Lowell Mathers, had successfully lobbied for and received permission to hire a full time assistant to give him more time to politic, or goof off and drink beer at the local Elks lodge. Not that I was complaining, having interviewed for four other positions only to be outdrawn by classmates with better G.P.A.'s coming out of law school. After the first year of law school, I had realized that I would not match my stellar grades of undergrad and resigned myself to the fact that drinking beer and chasing undergrad sorority girls was much better than cramming for boring law school exams. I was fortunate enough to have worked the previous four summers at my step-uncle's large cattle ranch, which lay mostly in Oregon count, just southwest of West Plains. Luckily for me, Lowell and my step-uncle were best friends and my timing out of law school could not have been any better than to be hired as Lowell's assistant.
To say that West Plains was my dream destination was far from the truth. However, the starting salary was not terrible and my step-uncle threw in the cheap ass rental of one of the old farmhouses he had bought over the years as he had expanded his cattle empire. For a mere $100 a month, I was the proud renter of a 3 bed 1½ bath house with a ½ basement, shed and barn that, while 70+ years old, had been well maintained and was less than twenty minutes from the Howell County courthouse, even though I was technically a resident of northernmost Oregon county. In addition, Uncle Frank had left me a brand new four wheeler in the barn for me to blow off some steam after work, provided that I checked the nearby 160 acres of grazing land to ensure the fences didn't go bad and give the cattle a chance to escape.
While not thrilled with the night life in West Plains, I had soon settled in as a regular in several of the local watering holes in Oregon County. I was fortunate enough to have one situated within a quarter mile of the rental house to avoid any unnecessary driving under the influence tickets to derail my budding legal career. I avoided drinking in West Plains to keep up appearances. My step-aunt had done her best to set me up with the best available women my age in the area, but the pickings were slim and I had yet to hit it off with anyone. The problem was not so much the girls I was being set up with on the weekend, but instead was the one woman I spent most of my days with at work, Sheila.
Sheila was Lowell's head administrative secretary, recently divorced, and although she was 47 years old, she looked like she was in her mid-thirties, if that. Not that she tried to show it off. If anything, she dressed older, but could not hide the curves in her well kept body that had survived three kids who were out of high school and 28 years of marriage. Her husband had made a fortune in construction while she raised their three kids and then decided he needed a younger, sexier wife, leaving Sheila in a whirlwind of self-doubt and shattered confidence about herself, even though she looked great for her age.
In the six months that I had worked with Sheila leading up to this auction, I had gotten to know her rather well as she and I were typically the first to arrive at the office and often the last to leave. Howell County was not a booming area for crime, so Lowell kept rather liberal hours and quickly adjusted to my eagerness and willingness to handle as much as I could. In the time I spent with Sheila, I couldn't help but fantasize about what it would be like to get her into a bedroom – or take her right here in her office. She talked with me about her lack of a social life and seemed interested in seeing if I was going to find a steady girlfriend, talking more to me like an interested mother figure. She also talked to me about her kids and the sometimes stupid choices they made, always blaming those on her ex-husband. She did not have very nice things to say about him.
In the weeks leading up to the auction, I had heard Lowell asking Sheila if she was putting herself up on the auction block again this year and my curiosity was peaked. I finally got her to elaborate one afternoon after everyone else had left the office. She told me the local women's charity club had an annual Christmas gala to raise money for the Salvation Army. As part of the gala, members of the club donated time or resources that were auctioned off to the highest bidder. While the married women donated items like food or blankets, the single women had recently began auctioning services that included dates, taking out a man shopping, or coming by to clean his house. Since Sheila was freshly divorced, she had been auctioned off last year to clean the house of a bachelor. Unfortunately, she was at the bottom of the bids and was a little self-conscious about doing it again this year.
"I can't compete with the other single girls in our club," she told me. "They are fresh out of college, young, and beautiful. No one wants to spend time with an old divorced woman. I'm the only woman almost 50 who gets roped into this event. I don't want to be humiliated again this year."
I told her there she didn't need to worry about everybody else and just have fun. "Show a little leg and the auction and smile. I've seen the other women in your group and young or not, there's not too many that have anything on you." She smiled, actually blushed a bit, and then told me, "Well if I'm going to do this, you at least have to go. Who knows, you could meet someone."
So here I was, sitting near the back as Sheila was announced as the next and last of the twenty ladies to donate their services. So far, the highest bid had been $150.00 and the lowest $20.00. I was going to make sure Sheila didn't go that low, even if I had to bid against myself.
As the bidding for Sheila started, my mind kept going back to a conversation earlier in the evening I had had with a friend of mine, Doug, who was at the event. He was talking about last year's event and how several of the women who had been auctioned off for $250.00 or more had provided the winners with a special treat. "It's not really prostitution if it's for charity," was how he put it. Not that it was well known, just one of those underground rumors that never really died. I told Doug how Sheila had roped me into coming to the event and her story last year and how I was going to make sure she didn't get embarrassed this year. We chit-chatted a little more and then the auction began.
The bidding for Sheila began at $10.00 and two older gentlemen immediately began a bidding war that escalated the price to $60.00. They stalled a bit, so I threw up my hand and saw Sheila smile and blush a bit. One of the older guys bowed out but the other bid against me and we got up to $110.00 before he got gunshy and left me as top bidder. The auctioneer was at two when another hand shot up and took over the bid. I couldn't see who it was at first, but then caught the body attached to the hand. It was Doug, and he was winking at me. I quickly bid again and his hand fired back up. Back and forth we went until his high bid stood at $240.00. He winked at me again and I put my hand up for the $250.00 bid. He shocked me again by bidding, then winked twice at me. Not knowing what the hell that meant, I bid once again, thinking to myself this was as high as I was going to go. Doug backed off and I ended up with the highest bid of the night so far, $270, and a very shocked but smiling Sheila who came over to give me a hug.
Sitting down with me to have a drink, Sheila said, "Ryan, you didn't have to do that, it was too much money." I told her the pleasure was all mine and she squeezed my hand. "Well, I do appreciate it. It was nice to be the highest so far, not that it will last." Sheila sat with me as the final five ladies were auctioned. One bid for the very beautiful Lacey Chalmers, a local son of a dairy farmer who was a stunning beauty at age 24 went for $320, but Sheila tied for second when another gal went for $270"
