Make Me

by Charlotte Stein

  But he doesn’t. And on the third day of this happy vacation, I realise: he’s not waiting to make his next move, he’s waiting for me to make mine.

  * * *

  It’s the kind of restaurant I’ve never actually been to. The seats are expensive to the point of uncomfortable and the waiter barely speaks. He just gestures impeccably and Tyler seems to interpret his code, and then we all have glasses of wine I can’t drink.

  It tastes like the insides of someone’s musty shoe, but I fail to say anything. Tyler’s just made a toast about old friends reuniting, and there was a touch of poetry in there. I’d be the odd man out again if I behaved as awkwardly as I feel.

  Even Brandon looks like he’s been carved out of classiness. He’s wearing a suit – this one definitely picked out by Tyler, because apparently Tyler is some sort of clothes-obsessed fashion guru and this time I saw him do it – and his hair has been done just so. It lies in a thick, handsome swatch across his forehead and seems to make him look just a touch older. A touch more weathered.

  I flounder in a glittering confection I didn’t want to wear, the neckline of which is digging into my bust. Even the mute waiter has something to say about my cleavage, when he oozes back to the table. I see him glance at everything that’s overflowing, as though I’m some cheap floozy.

  Oh, how I wish I were just some cheap floozy, instead of the skittish thing I am. All we’ve talked about for days is, in no particular order: our favourite ’80s cartoons, what we’d like to order for dinner and past relationships we’ve had that didn’t really work out. Brandon disliked a girlfriend of Tyler’s called Cynthia. Cynthia wanted Tyler to buy her a BMW, apparently. And Brandon once had a serious relationship with a girl called Tiffany, but now thinks it’s as hilarious as we do that he could ever think someone called Tiffany could be serious about anything.

  And then there was me. I didn’t say anything, because my motley crew of misfits and rejects can’t really compete with someone who wanted Tyler for his trust fund, and a girl who once told Brandon that eating solid foods is bad for you.

  And I can’t say much now, either, because apparently we’re talking about real-estate investments. Lord, I just don’t know what to do. How do I interrupt all of this … stylishness? What’s the best way to introduce a topic of this nature, with the optimum of elegance and wit?

  ‘Guys, you do remember we had a threesome the other day, right?’

  Somehow, I don’t think I’ve quite hit the mark I was aiming for. Tyler actually raises an eyebrow at me and Brandon chokes on his wine. Both expressions of surprise are about equal, I think, when you consider the people who are making them.

  ‘I vaguely recall,’ Tyler says, as he lounges back against his seat. It’s impossible to do so, however. I don’t how he’s managing it, because these seats are like iron.

  ‘And you don’t think we should have a chat about that? I mean, wasn’t that the problem last time?’

  ‘I thought the problem was that you disappeared for five years,’ Tyler says. ‘But do go on.’

  I think it’s pretty clear that I don’t want to, after words like those. Though it’s not because they hurt me a little – which they do – or that Brandon kind of gasps, once they’re said. It’s more for the surprise of it.

  I didn’t think he cared that much.

  Brandon, yes. Tyler, no.

  ‘You know I’m sorry about that, right?’ I ask, but he shocks me again.

  ‘No, no, you misunderstand me. I’m not angry that you ran away. I’m concerned that you’re going to do it again.’

  Brandon holds up a hand, at that – which is fortunate. I’m too dazed to do anything but stare at Tyler and his sudden ability to have emotions.

  ‘What Tyler means is …’ Brandon starts, but he doesn’t have to explain. I get the picture, loud and clear: Tyler feels the same way Brandon does. He feels abandoned too. I can see it all over his face, before Brandon goes any further. ‘We just don’t want to scare you away again. Or make you think that this is all some … weird game.’

  Tyler nods at that, but it’s his expression that’s the peach. It slides all the way back up from tense to amused acceptance. And then he illustrates the reason for this amused acceptance, just for me.

  ‘It’s my fault that it comes across as a weird game. I just enjoy them so,’ he says, in this smooth, slick way that somehow arouses me as much as it warms my heart. He wants me to be reassured, I think. He wants me to want all of this, and to know that he wants it too, but above all of that is the idea that I be as comfortable as humanly possible, while discussing threesomes.

  And I think … I think I love him a little bit for that. I think I love them both for being so careful and considerate, and for saying things like: ‘We just wanted to make sure you knew that we want to talk with you. Not just about … your vagina, behind your back.’

  I fight the urge to burst out laughing. Of course, it’s all really clear then: the tea and cakes, the faux-vacation, the sense of unbearable tension trying to crush my soul all the time. And then there are the conversations we’ve been having …

  ‘Is that why we’ve been having so many chats about ’80s cartoons?’ I ask, in a sudden rush of understanding. Thankfully, Brandon has the decency to look sheepish.

  ‘We were trying to show you that we don’t see you as a …’ Brandon starts.

  ‘A sex object,’ Tyler finishes.

  I almost laugh again, only this time it feels even less appropriate. They both seem scarily serious about this, in a way I hadn’t fully processed the last time Brandon said. He’d told me about his worries, that I might see him as an asshole. But I don’t think I’d appreciated how deep that went.

  ‘Guys, I really don’t think it’s a big deal that you talk about me or … or fantasise about me. It’s actually a relief, in a way, because … well, I do it about you. I mean, isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? You fancy someone and they fancy you and then you kind of think about doing stuff with them?’

  They glance at each other and, for one awful moment, I’m sure I’ve said the wrong thing. I haven’t taken into account the fact that this isn’t just boy meets girl, and in bypassing that I’ve exposed myself as a heinous pervert, who doesn’t mind threesomes. Who will, in fact, accept them, as long as she knows that the two guys involved totally dig her and aren’t just fucking around.

  But then Tyler eyes me quizzically, and says, ‘You fantasise about us?’

  And I realise I’ve made a critical error. ‘Well, I …’

  ‘As in, you think about us doing stuff to you, while you … you know,’ Brandon says, and he does it in the nicest way possible, he really does. He uses a vague term instead of the actual word ‘masturbate’, and he doesn’t make any sort of illustrative gestures with his hands. I’m not suddenly forced to imagine a giant clitoris, hovering in the air in front of him.

  It’s just that I’m starting to feel trapped, regardless. I seem to be clenching at the leather I’m sitting on, and my shoulders have gone all tense, and I can feel my heart fluttering in my chest. I’m not even sure why, but it’s there – and it gets worse the longer this staring contest goes on. They’re waiting for an answer, I know.

  But this is the only one I have to give: ‘Why is this the weird thing? You guys … you guys jerked off together while talking about fucking me!’

  ‘True,’ Tyler says, as he does something cool and deliberate like finger the stem of his wine glass. ‘But we didn’t know you liked that idea.’

  ‘I didn’t say I did,’ I tell him, then immediately regret it. The words just make Brandon even more skittish than he is already, like I’ve accused him of something or exposed him as the pervert.

  Though if that is what I’m doing, it’s only to take the heat off myself. I’m a coward, and a fool – one who can’t even answer simple questions, like this one: ‘Then tell us what you do like.’

  A million images buzz through my mind, but instead of illustrating a
ny of them, I find myself turning to look at the restaurant patrons just over my shoulder. There’s a woman not ten feet from us, wearing a dress made out of sheerest class. In fact, everyone in here is dressed in sheerest class. The whole place is dripping with elegance, from the tasteful lighting that ensures no one looks a day over twenty, to the alpine white of the snapped smooth tablecloths.

  But Tyler doesn’t seem to care. We could be anywhere, to him. We could be in a filthy alley, getting ready to make some sort of seedy exchange. You can hear what I have to say, if you give me the stuff first.

  Though of course the stuff, in this instance, is Tyler’s hand in Brandon’s lap.

  Good Lord, he absolutely has a hand in Brandon’s lap.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You do know. Tell us. We’ve told you. Now you tell us.’

  It seems only fair, when he puts it like that.

  ‘Well, you know. Just ordinary things, really. I used to imagine that instead of studying, we’d … kiss.’

  ‘How scandalous,’ Tyler says, then for extra emphasis he does something to Brandon that makes Brandon very unhappy. Or absolutely ecstatic, depending on your point of view. His face turns pink and his mouth comes open, which looks like a good thing. But he also turns his head away from the main hub of the restaurant, and jerks a hand down over Tyler’s – like an appeal to stop.

  I think. I think.

  ‘And was there anything else, aside from kissing?’

  ‘I can’t say it here.’

  ‘Why not? I’m stroking Bran’s cock here. In fact, I’ve done it before. He loves a bit of public exhibitionism. Don’t you, Maisie? Don’t you like seeing him try to pretend that he’s not getting off right now? And all of these people, too … all of them so smooth and suave and pristine. What would they think, if they knew you were wet over watching me masturbate another man?’

  For the first time in my life I wish I enjoyed the taste of wine. I could really do with drinking a whole glass of the stuff, right now – down in one. Or maybe I could get away with signalling a waiter, and ordering something stiffer.

  Like battery acid.

  ‘Maybe we should go. I think you’re making him uncomfortable,’ I say, though that’s still only partially true. Brandon’s now studying the wall by Tyler’s head with a kind of furtive, jerky intensity, but at the same time, I can tell how much he’s enjoying this. His teeth are deep in his lower lip, and that hand he’s got over Tyler’s …

  I don’t think he’s restraining it, exactly.

  ‘I tell you what, Maisie. We can go, when you give me a fantasy. Just one fantasy you used to have about us,’ Tyler says.

  I rack my brains, I really do. But mostly what I come up with is: We all sit in a restaurant while you masturbate Brandon under the table. And eventually maybe my eyes fall out of my head.

  ‘Come on,’ he says, only this time I don’t struggle half as much. Instead my head floods with memories of things that didn’t actually happen, like the fuck they never gave me, right after they’d finished covering me with their come. Brandon and then Tyler? I wonder. Or both at the same time?

  And then I just blurt it out. ‘OK. OK. Sometimes I used to imagine you … one of you having sex with me. And maybe the other …you know.’

  Tyler’s eyes narrow to slits for those last two words, and I know what’s coming next. My doom, that’s what. I’m done for here.

  ‘I’m afraid we don’t know, do we, Brandon?’ he says and, as he does so, his arm jerks in a very particular sort of way – one that makes Brandon have to stifle a moan, into his fist. ‘Maybe you should explain a little more fully.’

  I grit my teeth, but manage to get something out. ‘You understand what I’m saying,’ I tell him, but he gives me nothing, absolutely nothing. No quarter now. It’s too late for holding back and being coy.

  ‘I don’t. You’re really going to have to be more graphic.’

  I get a little flash of him teasing me, with that thick cock of his – rubbing it over my cheek and my lips, until I open up for him.

  ‘I suck your cock,’ I say, under my breath. But under my breath isn’t good enough for Tyler. The words on their own aren’t enough for Tyler. He wants more, before I’m even willing to give it.

  ‘You can do better than that, Maisie,’ he says, and the thing is, he’s right. My cheeks are scorching hot and I can practically feel the pressure of a million classy eyes on me, but the graphic version is there, inside me. I can be like Tyler if I really force myself.

  ‘I let you fuck my face,’ I tell him, and after that it’s a little easier. Like pulling the cork out and watching the liquid spill free. ‘You fuck my face while he fills my cunt.’

  ‘I see,’ he says, which sounds just as deliberate and in control as he was before. But there’s something in his expression, now – a tension – and his eyes are fogged over. He liked that one, I think.

  And he likes the next one even more.

  ‘And while you’re thrusting your big cock down my throat, you tell him how to do it. Hard, really hard, until I really want to scream – though of course I can’t.’

  ‘Why can’t you?’ he asks, and I know I’ve got him now. He’d never go with such a stupid question, if he had a complete hold on all of his senses. I think he even knows he’s lost it once he’s said it, because he tries to sit up a little straighter and look at something that isn’t me.

  But it’s too late.

  ‘Because you’re so hot and swollen in my mouth. I can hardly do anything at all,’ I say.

  He nods, like that’s perfectly understandable. He’s a kindly therapist, teasing out all of my little kinks and foibles.

  As he jerks off the guy next to him.

  ‘I see. And you like that?’ he asks, while Brandon practically curls against his side. He’s close, very close. I know this not because of the flush all over his face or his weird position, but because he isn’t telling Brandon to stop squeezing this information out of me.

  Quite the contrary. It seems to be driving him nuts.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve thought about that.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell me what else you’ve thought about,’ Tyler says, and then somehow it’s easy. We’ve got a rhythm going now, and it would be churlish of me to let it slide.

  ‘You both taking turns. I used to … I used to think about that a lot, while masturbating. I used to imagine one of you walking in while the other was fucking my pussy, and you’d say something like, “Come on over and try this.”’

  Brandon turns his head for that one, and settles his heated gaze on me – though it only makes me want to do more. Say more. A little bit more of this and he’s going to come, I think, and not just because Tyler now has a hand inside his trousers, or is jerking him hard enough to make it obvious, all the way up through his arm. It’s the things I’m saying.

  ‘And then what?’ Tyler asks, and I keep my eyes on Brandon as I answer.

  ‘And then I’d let you. I’d lie there with my legs spread and watch you use me. Sometimes it would go further, in my head, depending on how long I’d been touching myself or how turned on I was.’

  ‘How far?’

  Yeah, how far? I think. How far do I have to go, until you come right here in this restaurant? And then Brandon chokes out a little sound, and I know it’s not far at all.

  ‘Occasionally, you didn’t just fuck my pussy. One of you would say something rude, something awful, like “You wanna try her ass?” And then you’d fuck me there too,’ I say. My face turns to molten lead, it really does. It’s worth it, however, for the way it makes Brandon arch against Tyler and push into that working hand.

  He’s coming, I think, but that doesn’t stop Tyler.

  ‘One after the other?’ he asks, as though he needs just a little something extra now, too. Not to come maybe, but certainly for his own gratification. And I know just what his gratification needs.

  ‘Sometimes both at the sa
me time,’ I say. ‘When I get close to coming, it doesn’t seem to matter. I just want to suck and fuck, hard.’

  He considers this, as calmly as someone might consider their dinner order. And then he sums it up, just in case I wasn’t aware.

  ‘So if we got you hot enough, you’d do just about anything,’ he says, and I say yes, even though I know what that might mean. He could demand I get on the table right now, if he wanted to. He could make me spread my legs and take his cock, while everyone in here watched.

  Only he doesn’t.

  He throws a fifty down instead, and points to the exit.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he says, in a way that should leave me relieved.

  It should. But I think I’d be a fool, if it did.

  Chapter Seven

  It’s the most incredible sensation – two tongues swirling and slipping around my stiff clit, the feel of their hot, panted breaths against my spread sex, the sight of them, one dark, one light. I can hardly process all of it in one go, and have to keep taking short breathers. Eyes closed, and nothing but the physical sense of them licking my clit. Eyes open, and then I get to see it all. I get to see Tyler looking up at me from beneath hooded lids, as he near makes out with Brandon around my slippery folds.

  Ten seconds of this and I’ll come, I know it. It barely took me that to come last time, and that was just one man doing, while the other man watched. Now they’re both sucking and licking me and, after a moment, more than sucking and licking me. I feel the firm press of someone’s fingers at my greedy hole, followed by the slow, exquisite slide as one of them eases into me.

  Though that’s the thing, isn’t it? It’s one of them. It’s someone. And I don’t know what’s more exciting – the sensation of a finger, working back and forth inside of me, or the idea that it could be either Brandon or Tyler.

  Or both.

  After a second of this, there’s a sense of further pressure and then something else slips inside me. Another finger, as eager to explore as the first one. I’m getting fucked by both of them, I think, and then I remember what I said in the restaurant and blush right to the roots of my hair.