Karl and Mia had known each other for years. They went to the same secondary school, then by coincidence the same university. They'd never been friends really until they both got jobs in the same city. They weren't particularly close; they had very little in common they thought. But when there was a new movie out or a new art show in town, they would find themselves in the same places. It was sometimes pleasant to see a familiar face in a sea of strangers. They began meeting before the shows to grab a bite to eat. It was at these meals they found they had the same level of pride and the same humour when it came to bets.
They would bet on little things, mainly things that they couldn't agree on, for example, what date the second world war ended (Mia won that one), or perhaps what colour underwear was Andy Warhol's favourite (Karl won that one). Whatever the bet was, there was a forfeit for the loser. Once Karl had to go to work with geek glasses on and a superman t-shirt beneath his suit, telling everyone his name was Clark Kent. Another time Mia had to answer every question she was asked with 'Wyatt Earp' for the entire evening. They enjoyed seeing the other one in an awkward situation, but it was never malicious.
This particular evening they were attending an art show which both of them needed to attend to make good impressions. Mia was covering it for the magazine she wrote for, and Karl had clients who were very interested in this kind of art. He was supposed to wine and dine them and basically babysit them on their visit to the city while his superiors struck deals with them.
Before they headed out into the cold November evening, they met at a small diner off the main roads, where they sold the best Pizza in the city. The conversation quickly diminished into an argument about the age of the artist. Mia insisted he was 28, while Karl knew for certain he was 23. Mia disliked the idea of someone younger than her achieving his dreams so quickly, and so sulked. Then she saw the familiar flash in Karl's eyes.
"So, um. Ever gone commando to one of these things?" He grinned across the table to Mia, whose lips formed into a perfect pink 'o'. "I'll take that as a no then. Want to bet on his age? Whoever is furthest from the correct age has to go commando this evening." Mia smiled, liking the idea of Karl being uncomfortable and almost bare to the world. She nodded and shook his proffered hand.
Later they were being introduced to the gallery owner, the clients and the artist. Karl got the talented man into a conversation and casually asked him how old he was. The artist coolly replied, '24' in a bored manner before seeing someone he knew and adored on the other side of the room. Karl slid a smile to Mia, who huffed. Karl excused himself and followed Mia to the back of the gallery. He waited patiently outside the ladies toilets.
Moments later Mia emerged, looking flustered and cowed. Karl snapped his fingers and motioned to her.
"What does that mean?" Mia asked irritably.
"The panties."
"I'm not giving you my underwear."
"How do I know that you're keeping your word then?" Mia growled at Karl's smug look and rifled through her purse, pushing a bundled piece of material into his hand and stalking away, heels clicking menacingly on the cement floor. Karl allowed himself a moment to view the tiny things. He'd thought they were black but they were in fact a very deep purple lace with red highlights embroidered into a central pattern which ran down the front into the crotch and then plaited itself into a thong at the back. Imagining Mia in just those made his cock twitch in his pants. He caught a hold of himself and then moved back into the main room of the gallery.
Karl had never seen Mia that way before. He knew she was all woman but their friendship had been almost professional, despite the fact they weren't colleagues. She was gorgeous, even more so since she'd left school. In university she'd blossomed, but now she was in her prime. He eyed her using his peripherals, speculatively examining her curves.
She had rich dark brown hair, the colour and shade of melted dark chocolate. Today she had it was coiffed up into a neat bun-thing on top of her head. Small black jewelled roses cupped the base of it. Her eyes were a startling blue which could be as inviting as the Mediterranean sea, or as hard as the arctic glaciers depending on her mood. Today she wore an ash grey silk blouse, tucked into a high pencil skirt, which hugged her marvellous curves and explained the need for a thong. You would be able to see everything beneath that skirt. Karl cleared his throat and mind of the thoughts that he was the only one, besides her, who knew she wore nothing under her skirt. He shifted his attention back to his clients, pushing all thoughts of the lace resting in his inner breast pocket from his mind.
Mia wasn't enjoying herself. The gallery was like an old warehouse, and cool drafts of air kept wafting up her skirt, giving a pleasant but unnecessary feeling in her crotch. Also she couldn't stop thinking about her underwear in Karl's pocket. How was she going to get it back? She was sure Karl would make her ask for it. Just thinking about the humiliation made her blush. She shook her head and tried to concentrate on the art she was supposed to be reviewing for her column.
Before long the Gallery decided to close, sending its customers on to an after party. Karl didn't feel much like attending it, so handed off to his colleagues who would care for the clients. Mia wanted to get home, she was chilled and her heels were hurting her. Without talking, they knew they would both get a taxi as they lived on the same road. Mia hailed one and slipped inside, Karl following quickly after.
"So, purple lace, eh?"
"Shut up." Mia said, putting out her hand.
"Why hello, Mia!" Karl said enthusiastically and shook the hand she'd put out. She shook him loose.
"Give me them." She muttered.
