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Sold at the Auction

By:Cassandra Dee

Sold at the Auction
Cassandra Dee


For all the girls who've got something precious to sell.



"Serious El, you can't wear that," said my friend Rachel.

I looked back at her, a little miffed.

"Why not?" I asked plaintively. The jeans I had on were nice, a dark  denim wash, and I'd paired them with a long-sleeve top, crushed velvet  with a scoop-neck. "Looks okay to me."

Rachel snorted.

"Seriously El, we're in Vegas for the week. We're going clubbing at a  place that doesn't even have a name, it's so hot. You can't wear the  stuff you usually do, now take it off," she commanded.

I thought about refusing flat out, putting down my foot and digging in.  But the thing is my friend is the one with the fashion sense, Rachel  always looks amazing, knowing exactly how to do herself up for every  occasion. In comparison, I was a little frumpy, dazed and confused most  times, my brown hair unfashionably curly, my curves unfashionably round.  So yes, I got invited to good parties because I was Rachel's friend,  but I didn't look like any of them, skinny minnies all.

And frankly, it was amazing that Rachel and I are friends at all because  we're so different, she's swan-like, thin and elegant, with a modeling  portfolio, whereas I'm round and small, an A-student. So our interests  are poles apart now, not to mention our paths in life. But we've known  one another since we were five, and have seen one another through thick  and thin again and again. Take last year, for example, when Rachel's  parents got divorced. I was her confidante, her therapist, and her  anchor when she was lost at sea, adrift on waves of sadness. And I know  she'd do the same for me if our situations were reversed. So despite the  fact that outwardly, it looks like we have nothing in common, in fact  we have a bond that goes deep, far further than mere clothes or  personality would suggest.

And since my body changed, my friend's fashion advice was even more  important. Because gone was the old Ellie from two years ago, an  underweight mouse shaped like a broomstick, and in her place was the  body of a woman, like Venus de Milo incarnate. I have big boobs now, a  huge ass that sways when I walk, and generous hips making it hard to fit  any type of pants. In fact, it'd been a struggle getting into my jeans  tonight, I'd had to hop up and down desperately a couple times before  they squeezed on, and the button was threatening to pop off any second.

So I sighed again.

"I don't have anything else," I repeatedly plaintively, gesturing with  open palms. "There's nothing else, look at my suitcase, nothing, nada."  And flipping open the purple travel case to reveal the interior was  uninspiring. There was nothing haute couture or racy, just a couple more  colored tops and a pair of grey jeans to mix things up.

Rachel pulled a face.

"Really, you didn't bring a dress? Something a little slinkier?" she asked, picking through the stuff in my bag.

I shook my head.

"Nope, you know I don't wear dresses that often," I reminded her. "I'm more of a tomboy."

Rach pulled another face.

"Tomboy, schmomboy, El, you've got a body now that's decidedly not  tomboyish anymore," she emphasized. "Come on, you're gonna have to wear  something of mine then." And with that she began pawing through her  things, flipping through the closet where she'd hung a million outfits,  each one colorful and gaudy, some even with pom-poms and sequins.

"No, Rach, no," I pleaded. Even if wore something of my friend's, we  weren't the same size, not even close. My blonde friend was your typical  petite vixen, about five one and a size zero. Whereas now, I was up to a  size fourteen, maybe. Possibly a sixteen, it depended on what I'd had  for breakfast, or sometimes dinner the night before. There was no way I  could squeeze into one of Rachel's outfits, I'd rip it at the seams like  a juicy tomato busting out.

But my friend couldn't be deterred.

"How about this one?" she asked brightly, pulling a dress out of the closet.

I groaned. It was terrible, all psychedelic colors, oranges swirling with purples, great big globs of green here and there.

"No Rach," I said firmly. "Absolutely not, I'm getting a headache just looking at it."

She sniffed, her pert nose wrinkling.

"Just so you know El, this dress is by Missoni, they're a famous Italian design house known for their zany patterns."

I shook my head still.

"I've never heard of this designer, but no Rach, it's like an acid trip," I said, shaking my head. "I can't."         



Rachel sighed dramatically, hanging it back up.

"How about this one then?" she asked.

I paused for a moment, stunned. The dress wasn't even a dress, really.  It was more like a band of cloth across the bust paired with a skirt,  with the tiniest piece of material connecting the two vertically, enough  to hide your belly button.

"What is that?" I asked, horrified.

"What you've never seen cut-outs before?" my friend scoffed like a  grande dame. "This here is an Azzedine Alaia, I love his work," she  cooed. "So sultry, he knows a woman's body so well."

I shook my head again.

"Rach, that's more like a swimsuit, I can't go into a club wearing a swimsuit."

And my friend laughed.

"It's not a swimsuit, the material's not waterproof," she said airily.  "Besides, look what I'm wearing," she said slyly, untying her purple fur  jacket. And I gasped because beneath the fur, the blonde had on  something that looked like a violet handkerchief, a triangle bound  around her breasts, dropping to a point that barely shielded her snatch.  One flutter, and everything would be visible. I goggled, astounded.

"Will they let you in the club like that?" I stuttered.

"They better," Rachel said cheerily. "Otherwise Miles will be soooo disappointed," she cooed.

And I shook my head again. We'd been invited to this no-name disco by a  bunch of guys we'd met at the hotel pool earlier this afternoon. Miles  was the one Rachel had honed in on, an overly-tan muscular dude whose  swim trunks left nothing to the imagination. I didn't want to go out  with them tonight, not really, but Rach was determined to see Miles  again and I was just along for the ride, the best friend slash sidekick,  always the voice of reason.

"Okay, this one then," my friend said with finality. "Seriously El, lighten up, this would look fantastic on you."

And I gasped again, but for a completely different reason. The dress she  was holding in her hands was absolutely gorgeous. Size XS, yes, but  still stunningly beautiful, a silky slip in gold that shimmered under  the lights.

"Try it on, okay?" asked my friend, pushing it into my arms. "Come on, chop chop, we gotta go, it'll look amazing."

And with slow steps, I let myself into the bathroom, shutting the door  behind me and gazing in the mirror. What was going on? I was boring  Ellie Danes, nerd extraordinaire, who never wore things like this. I was  more a jeans and a t-shirt girl, swapping out the t-shirt for a sweater  when things got cold, or a velvet top when things got sexy. No way  could I ever pull off a dress like this.

But never say never, and I was transfixed by the shimmering gold fabric,  the material silky and glimmery in the light. Hesitantly, I pulled off  my scoopneck, then squeezed out of my jeans, holding the tiny scrap of  material in front of me. Did I dare put it on? Did I dare become someone  other than plain old Ellie, always the wallflower? And with a sigh, I  undid the zip and stepped into the shimmery fabric, sliding it up over  my hips and breasts, pulling the spaghetti straps over my shoulders.

Looking in the mirror, I gasped at the sudden transformation. Oh my god,  I was someone else now. Whereas before I was curvy, yes, but hidden and  discreet, now everything was out in the limelight. The fabric hugged my  girls just so, emphasizing their creamy fullness, the tops of my mounds  revealed in the deep décolletage. And the dress skimmed my waist,  showing off how narrow it was before clinging to my hips, the shimmer  emphasizing every sway of my booty.

I giggled then, humping my butt up and down a bit just for fun, letting  go in the privacy of the bathroom. It jiggled and jumped under the  lights, the fabric sparkling and moving on my curves like liquid gold,  casting a magical sheen around me, almost like a halo of sparkles  surrounding my curvy form. I loved it, absolutely loved it, and opened  the bathroom door.

"Oh my gawd, it's puuurrr-fect!" squealed my friend, handing me a  jacket. "Now put that on otherwise we're going to be late meeting  Miles."

I shook my head again, draping the coat over my shoulders. It was as if a  magic trick had ended, the dark material shrouding the gold, giving no  hint of the dazzling splendor beneath. But Rachel was right. It was time  to go, time to have a good time tonight.

"Come on," sang my friend, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "I picked out shoes and a purse for you already, gotta roll!"