Magaluf Mistake
"Lads holiday gone wrong—his mates pulled and left him alone. Two birds adopt him for the night. They share everything."
Lads holiday. Four of us. Two weeks in Magaluf.
Except by night three, the other three have pulled and I'm standing alone in BCM like a complete melt, watching everyone else have the time of their lives.
"You look lost, babes."
Two girls. Both slim, both blonde, both looking at me like I'm a stray puppy.
"My mates ditched me."
"Shit mates." The taller one extends her hand. "I'm Amber. This is Jade. Want to join us?"
They're from Liverpool.
Twenty-two, both of them, working in bars back home. They've been in Magaluf a week already and know all the spots.
"The key is pacing," Jade explains, handing me a shot. "You English boys go too hard too fast."
"I'm English."
"You know what I mean. Southern English. Soft."
"Oi." Amber swats her. "Be nice. He's fit."
"He is fit." Jade looks me up and down. "That's why we adopted him."
The night becomes a blur.
Clubs I can't remember the names of. Shots that taste like paint stripper. Dancing that's more like grinding, both of them pressed against me at various points.
At 4 AM, we stumble back to their hotel.
"Nightcap?" Amber asks.
"We've got vodka," Jade adds.
I'm too drunk and too horny to say no.
Their room is chaos—clothes everywhere, makeup scattered across every surface. They collapse onto the double bed, pulling me between them.
"So," Amber says. "Quick poll. Anyone got a boyfriend?"
"No," I say.
"No," Jade agrees.
"No." Amber grins. "Good. Because we've got a tradition."
"What tradition?"
"Amber and I share." Jade's hand lands on my thigh. "Everything."
They kiss each other first.
Right in front of me, casual as anything. Tongues and everything. Then Amber turns to me.
"Your turn."
She kisses me while Jade undoes my shirt. Then they switch—Jade's mouth on mine while Amber works on my belt.
"Fuck," I breathe.
"That's the plan," they say in unison.
They undress like they've done this together a hundred times.
Two slim bodies, tanned and toned, matching in almost every way. Small tits, flat stomachs, legs that go on forever.
"Like what you see?"
"Obviously."
"Then come get it."
I don't know who does what.
They're everywhere—mouths, hands, bodies tangling together. I eat one while the other rides my face. I fuck one while the other kisses me.
"Harder—"
"Right there—"
"Don't stop—"
They come in waves, passing me between them, using me until I'm wrung out.
When I finally finish, it's inside Amber while Jade kisses both of us.
We collapse into the sheets.
"That was..." I can't find the words.
"Standard." Jade lights a cigarette. "We do this every holiday."
"Find some lost boy?"
"Find some lucky boy." Amber curls against me. "You seemed worth sharing."
"How'd I do?"
They look at each other.
"Seven out of ten," Amber decides.
"Could be better," Jade agrees. "But we've got ten more days to work on it."
The next ten days are a fever dream.
Every night ends the same—club, drinks, their hotel room, the three of us tangled together. My mates think I've found a girlfriend. They're not wrong.
"Last night," Amber says on day twelve. "Make it count."
I make it count. Twice. Three times.
At the airport, they both hug me.
"Liverpool's not that far," Jade says.
"If you ever want a repeat," Amber adds.
They give me their numbers. I give them mine.
Six months later, I'm in Liverpool for a stag do.
I text them. Just to see.
Remember me?
Lost boy from Magaluf?
That's the one.
Come to Bar Risa. 10pm. Dress nice.
They're waiting when I arrive.
Same slim bodies, same blonde hair, same matching smiles.
"Wasn't sure you'd show," Amber says.
"Wasn't sure you meant it."
"We always mean it." Jade takes my hand. "Our place is round the corner."
The "mistake" becomes a tradition.
Every few months, I make the trip. Every few months, they share me.
"We should probably stop calling this a mistake," Amber says one morning.
"What should we call it then?"
"An arrangement." Jade kisses my shoulder. "A very nice arrangement."
Magaluf was a mistake.
Everything since has been on purpose.