Who cares if I am eclectic in taste and eccentric in personality? Not me.

It is cooler today, steam swirls from my coffee, and the teaspoon rests. Opaque, dark, and shiny, the bubbles spin, mesmerising my aimless mind.

Savouring its smoky bitterness, it reminds me I have not chosen my persona for today. Glancing upwards, the waiter decides it for me. Handsome, raffish, smiling with his eyes; I quake inside. Enduring his gaze, I do not want to be demure or coy; the world is my stage.

With that, my audience disappears.

In my hand, I feel its rounded edges. If it was good enough for casino backgammon, it is perfect for me. I trust it more than myself or any friend; it makes all the decisions I need.

I threw a three today and wore something vampish. My layered black hair rests long, with bohemian bangles on my wrists, rouge lips, and dark eyeliner. My top is snug, revealing my best assets. I sit proudly, my delicate nose contemptuous, and my smouldering hazel eyes survey all. I am not wearing tights but stockings, and my pleated skirt has a hem with a mind of its own.

No one sees my rueful grin, and my expression attracts no attention. It is quiet here, and a couple rises from their table. They saunter outside in no particular hurry.

It is the perfect metaphor for my life.

-=-

Sipping my coffee, it is a fading memory condensed into highlights and sentiments. I threw a six and snagged a beautiful stranger. In a world of deuces, he slayed me that night.

Seduced by his artful control of my body, we were silhouettes in many poses. He dissolved all my inhibitions, so I gave him my secret fantasies. Taken by a rampaging juggernaut, my ankles crossed and wrapped around his waist. Fucked, stuffed with his eager shaft, and held firmly by his shovel hands. Clinging to his monstrous frame, my hips welcomed his lunges, snorting with drooling kisses for the big one to blow me away. Shaken by the tart slaps to my loins, all my muscular tension squeezed against his swollen shaft.

Bearing down on his shoulder, a candle that burns twice as bright lasts half as long. Flailing at the apex of an incendiary climax, the intense spasms cut my soul adrift. He grunted, and the racing twitches gave me everything I demanded.

In the quiet after the storm, I watched him through strands of matted hair. Listless on my bed, naked and unashamed of his roaming eyes. Yes, this is what a woman looks like with her brains fucked out, liquified, and dribbling from her sex with his seed.

When he gathered me into his arms, I hoped for a repeat performance. Toying with my lank hair, his lips grazed mine with an unwanted sentimentality.

“I am Remy.”

“Amandine.”

Such a pity; he showed promise right up until that moment.

-=-

Draining my cup, the red and white die chose this café. With smoked glass and gold lettering, the whoosh of the espresso machine soothes me. It is cosy and tasteful, with tin plate pictures of old Paris on naked brick walls. The warm burr of an old chanteur stirs the atmosphere with a silky flourish complete with pops and scratches.

This is how I heal my broken heart with spontaneity. It started as a game because if my judgement was so poor, I should abdicate it to chance. A dice throw makes every decision, from the mundane to seeing friends. It could be procrastination as one or something dirty and perverse for a six. It decides everything, including whether I wore panties or not.

I am not wearing panties.

Evens, I stay; odd, I go.

It bounces on the table, plinks, plonks, and I trap it under my hand.

A six, the best of all.

I appraise the waiter again. An object of desire that has eluded my dice throws so far. His black trousers are well-tailored. I admire his sturdy flanks and the curves of his taut behind. It flicks that switch, illuminating my mind and body with lust. He turns, and my eyes do not meet his. They are there, pondering what treasures I might find in his bulging crotch.

Maybe this time, or maybe not.

-=-

Click, clack, my steel-tipped heels strike the terracotta tiled floor. He pretends to be busy as I glance sideways and catch him looking.

In the bathroom mirror, I pout, checking my lipstick. Staring at the die, I adore fate for its decision. Taken from my tiny handbag, a spritz of perfume wets my neck. It will fill his nostrils as I unzip his trousers. The thought fizzes through me, rousing the sleepy butterflies into life.

The door sticks a little and pulled harder; it grinds on the floor.

I am in shadow, and looking towards its source, he is there. If I was disconcerted, it evaporates as I gaze into his deep blue eyes. He is striking, smooth-skinned, lean, and mesmerising. My breathing hitches; I know that look. I quiver, and sudden helplessness overwhelms my soul.

His thumb presses my chin, guiding my mouth towards his. A delicate vacuum follows; its perfect weight and tactile caress warm my desires. My arms are automatic, wrapped around his broad shoulders as he pulls me close. I am gifted another, a petition of tenderness, escalating in passion as I press, goad, and ease back to find he reciprocates skilfully. My mind swims as I am guided backward in lip-locked steps until I am trapped.

I am light to his strength, perched on a table, prising my porcelain legs open as my feral eyes burn. This is a tiny alcove. We might be caught; someone might enter the café, and the adrenaline spices my arousal. Wriggling to lift the hem of my dress, he is there, looking up with obedient eyes. Through my fingers, his voluminous hair is so soft. Oh fuck! He knows how to kiss me there. He is undeterred that I might be a fallen woman; such is the motif of my unclad sex.

His mouth cups my mound, and his tongue is magical. I gasp as its smooth tip flicks at my swelling need. His lips nuzzle, and I guide his hand to my clothed breast as my self-control crumbles. I must whimper, melting with pleasure, satisfying as the finest liquid chocolate. Gazing into his eyes, hoping they betray him, I am seduced by his beauty. My thigh rests over his shoulder, pressing the back of my shoe against him, trying to guide his attention to the places that will ignite me.

I clasp his hair; such is my surprise when he finds it.

“Oh, mon dieu… oui…”

It escapes as soft whimpers when delirium sets in, continuously repeated until it trails off into the ether. I will not deny it; my craven need must be appeased. I need the friction of his rigid meat inside me.

Swirling his tongue, pushing it deep into my folds, my new stranger is relentless with his generosity.

“Please.”

I am a sea of sighs and swallow to wet my mouth.

“Please,” I plead, “Please fuck me.”

His belt rattles open, his trousers and underwear fall, and I am struck by its curve and girth. I will not be submissive like this because I am an impulsive creature, too. He is manhandled, such is the adrenaline, and my assertiveness overwhelms him. He is sitting on the table; I am the one that straddles his loins; his groan thrums through me as I take him into my drenched sex.

Our tongues dance, and I can taste my juices on his lips. His hands will not halt, squeezing my body, pulling and pushing me into an urgent rhythm. My god, he grazes all the places I need. I am undone, rapidly addicted to his perfect shaft.

Pawing my breasts, his thumbs pressed to my nipples inspire this smearing motion. We are running downhill and cannot stop. The danger is a potent aphrodisiac, pouring fuel on the flames when I present my naked upper body. Nursed to my breast, he sucks and flicks on my nipple with the skill he displayed between my legs.

I must devour him and chase down these rising echoes of tension. My slender arms wrap around his neck. Wet kisses skid, we snort for air, and the rustle of my stockings quickens. I slither back and forth as a victim of his girth. Smearing against him, squeezing his shaft to devour that fateful moment.

The woody scent of his aftershave is my final sense betrayed, and I combust. As tight as I can hold him, I stifle my cries as the flames blaze hotter and raze me to the ground. Stuttering, unable to halt my juddering hips, his hands grasp my behind as his muffled groans fuse with mine.

We pulse out of sync and then throb together. In this moment of perfect synchronicity, I place my gratitude onto his lips. These precious seconds are too few, and I fight to stop myself. I am revealing too much. Limp and sated, breathless and vulnerable, I cannot deny it. I feel safe in his embrace.

“Would you stay a while longer?”

I cannot resist how he implores me and caress his face.

To answer his frown, I smile, and he reciprocates.

“Okay.”

-=-

Tarte Tatin with cream, and I purr like a cat for it.

It is lunchtime, and he brought me a house specialty; it is uncanny how he knows it is my favourite. We snatch sentences of conversation between customers, and I am uncertain what to do next. I play with the die in my hand; it is a very tempting prospect.

Licking the spoon, I can feel him inside me. He is Etienne, and I put that wistful smile on his face. I watch his easy demeanour and warmth towards everyone. Admiring his charisma, he grins and approaches; I itch with anticipation. My blood quickens, and I feel prickly heat on my face. This is ridiculous; an hour ago, we fucked each other.

Smiling, he takes the empty plate, “Did you enjoy this?”

“I did,” and paused to undress him with my eyes, “and I enjoyed that.”

“Yes,” his tone is lower, “I did also, very much.”

I can feel it between us, an undeniable static.

“Amandine… perhaps, you might go out for dinner with me.”

It is instinctive, and my barriers go up. Yet, there is a chink of light and a strong compulsion to give Etienne a chance. In these hesitant seconds, I place the die on the table.

“Ah, yes,” he forces a weak grin.

“Yes?”

“I saw you do this earlier and the last time you were here.”

“You did?” I am surprised, “Then you know what happens next?”

He is apprehensive, “The point is, you do not know what happens next, and neither do I.”

“Very true, and you would risk it all on the throw of the dice?”

He takes something from his pocket and places it on the table. There it is, forcing a gasp from me.

A die in black and gold.

He lofts my hand to kiss it, “I have already risked everything. We have a backgammon set behind the counter. So… I thought I would join you.”

My heart races; it is too incredible, and lost in his hopeful gaze, I am disarmed.

“Amandine, you are too beautiful to leave this to chance.”

“I…”

He watches me drown and sees how I struggle. In a moment filled with empathy, we know we have suffered enough. Our attraction to each other should not be delegated to an inanimate object.

“So… dinner, candlelight, and romance?”

“Yes, Etienne,” I gasp, “I would like that very much.”