He was next.  It was a small group of Lots tonight, one of the others had said while they were waiting for the Auctioneer to go through the rules for the assembled Bidders.  Only twenty-three.  He peeked out at the crowd: there were a lot more women than that.  Would he get picked?  He had no idea: this was his first Auction.  He had been here before, but never on Ladies’ Night.  He had come once on Gentlemen’s Night, so he had a vague idea of how the Auction would go.  He remembered what had been explained to him about the process: any interested women would bid.  High bidder would be presented to him.  He could refuse or accept.  If he refused, second bidder would be presented.  If he refused, third bidder.  If he refused again, that was it, he was out for the night.  If there were fewer than three bidders, and he refused them all, he was out.  ”You can refuse,” the other Lot had said, “but it’s bad form and if you get a rep as a Refuser, you’ll find fewer Bidders for you.”  That made sense.

He heard a roar of drink-fortified female voices.  Sounded like the guy before him got picked.  That would make all five of them.  He glanced over at the green light that would flash when it was time for him to step out onto the Runway.  He was nervous, but ready for whatever would happen.  He had done this on a lark, so if he didn’t get picked, it would just be his pride wounded, but other than that, no big deal.  If he got picked and the date was bad, oh well, he would have the money he made and it was just a wasted evening.  So he really had nothing to lose, and maybe he would meet someone great.

It’s not like he was being sold into Slavery.  He was just selling an evening of his time. All she gained was the right to go out with him.  By custom, she also could dictate where they went and what they did, although he could not be compelled to do anything he did not want to do.  He was a pretty flexible guy; unless she wanted to hurt him, he probably would go for anything.  At the end of the date, they were free to Contract for whatever they chose.

The green light flashed spasmodically.  He took a deep breath and stepped out.  Light poured over him from multiple directions.  It was disorienting.  He paused to get his bearings, then walked slowly along the arc of the Runway toward the center, where he would turn right and walk to a circle in the center of the huge chamber and stand while the Bidding took place.

He was dressed a little more demurely than the Lots before him.  He wasn’t interested in advertising the size of his treasure or the bulges of his muscles.  He didn’t feel like exposing his whole torso.  Wild colors weren’t his thing.  He wore a simple V-neck pullover made of quality thread and slacks that flowed down his legs.  He had gone for minimal makeup, choosing only to highlight his lips with a little color and to draw attention to his eyes with some liner.  He didn’t need mascara; women had often expressed jealousy of his lashes.  He didn’t need to do anything for his hair other than brush it.  He was proud that he had no Enhancements.  He hoped that he would be more impressive for being all-natural.

As he sauntered with a casualness he was struggling to feel down the spur through the crowd, he thought the noise level was encouraging.  Hoots, whistles and wolf calls laced the brew of conversation.  He felt a perceptible buzz in the atmosphere.  His MeetMe Profile hung in the air above his head as he rotated slowly on the Inspection Turntable.  He hoped the lack of Reviews and Vouches wouldn’t deter everybody.  Even in the MeetMe Club, there could be Psychos.  The Reviews/Vouches system was intended to reveal those and enable people to avoid them.  If you had no Reviews or Vouches, people didn’t know.  He was pretty new to the Club; had only been on two dates.  Neither had amounted to anything and neither woman had bothered to Review or Vouch him.  He had Reviewed and Vouched both of them.  He was, in fact, a bit put out that they had not had the courtesy to reciprocate.

The turntable stopped with him facing the crowd and the Auctioneer’s Podium above them.  The Auctioneer thrust out his arms and declared, “We have Bids!  Lot Number 6, you have garnered Nine Bids!  Do you accept the highest Bid?”

The MeetMe profile of the winning bidder appeared in the air above the Auctioneer’s head.  He knew that only he could see it.  It wasn’t actually projected into the air, it was being projected into his brain, which placed it where he saw it.  Weird.  Even after a few years, the technology was weird to him.

Athena Wang had Bid $1200 for him.  It was a great Bid.  She had promised him a Four-Star experience.  That meant high-class dinner, entertainment, and a high luxury boudoir at the end of the night.  He paged through her profile.  They didn’t have a high Compatibility score, but they also had a very low Antipathy score.  No surprise: his answers had been pretty easy-going.  Not many things bothered him.  Ms. Wang was a few years younger than he.  She didn’t reveal her occupation.  Marital status: Divorced.  Goal?  ”Fun and great sex.”  He hoped he would be able to deliver both.  He paged through her photos one eyeblink at a time.  Again, this technology was still weird to him.

She was attractive.  Enhanced, but not excessively so.  Her Enhancers had been very good – must have cost her a lot.  She clearly was a member of the Overclass.  She had a few Reviews and several Vouches.  All but one of the seven reviews were very good; the outlier was fair.  So, not bad there.  He really had no reason to Refuse and ample reasons to Accept.  He raised his right thumb.  A giant green checkmark drew itself in the air above the crowd.  Everybody saw this one.  A burst of applause and approving shouts greeted the universal symbol of agreement.

His Transaction completed, it was time to leave the stage.  The turntable faced him in the direction he needed to go. He walked lazily back to the Arc, giving the Ladies in the audience a last chance to view him in case they might want to Bid next Thursday.

The flesh and blood version of the woman whose images had been holographically projected into his brain was waiting for him in the Green Room when at last he strode in. Now they would plan the details of their date. Her Bid had already been paid. The Club took its 25% cut right away. His $900 was in his MeetMe account. Once they both had posted their Reports of the date, he could transfer the funds out if he so chose.

Her platinum hair was in a severe bun at the back of her head, accentuating the slant of her eyes, sharp angles of her cheekbones, and Enhanced lips. A jewel adorned each ear lobe and rested in the hollow of her throat. She wore a business suit with an open blouse that flattered the curves of her Enhanced breasts. Even with five inch heels she was almost half a head shorter than he, plump where plump was desirable and lean where it wasn’t. She looked better in person, and a little scary.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Peter Arch,” she said and stuck her hand out in greeting. He returned the greeting, appreciating the warm, dry, smooth skin on the inside of her hand. Her grip was strong, as was her gaze. Her eyes were a swirling mix of dark and milk chocolate.

“Likewise,” he replied. It was. He definitely would be willing to engage in sex, and expected he would enjoy it. One tip of her mouth edged up briefly, as if she had heard his thought and been amused? Did she have the Listener implant? The technology had been banned, but rumor had it that the Very Rich could get it on the black market. He figured her for the type who would if she could.

“I hope you do not have plans for tomorrow night,” she said. He shook his head. She smiled. It made him think of a she-tiger that had just killed a deer and knew she was going to eat well tonight. “My car will pick you up at 6. I have a reservation at Le Crab and two tickets to Orpheum. We will retire to my apartment after the show. My appetites are strong but not extreme. I am sure I will not ask anything you would find Refusable.”

“That all sounds fine,” he said. It sounded great. He never had been able to afford Le Crab, but he loved shellfish. Orpheum was one of the greatest Impressionist bands of the generation. Something else only the Overclass could afford. He anticipated learning what her “strong” appetites were.

She offered her hand again. This time when he took it she leaned in and kissed him on the end of his jaw directly in front of his left ear. She whispered, “I look forward to finding out what my money got me.” Her other hand glided up the back of his thigh and cupped his ass. She flexed her hand so he could feel the points of her nails like the threat of claws. It technically violated their contract, but it aroused him, so he was not going to file a complaint.

Yes, he expected to enjoy tomorrow night.