Oui! Oui! flash fiction by Verity Mason at Spillwords.com
Fran Soto

Oui! Oui!

Oui! Oui!

written by: Verity Mason


Desirée scrutinises his figure in the reflection of the Tango Café.
He wasn’t a male model, but he could have been. His signature black shirt and trousers skim the contours of his muscular physique.

The man locals call Sacha has lost the traces of adolescence. He possesses the kind of charm that percolates wayward thoughts deep into Desirée’s soul, before he’s even spoken a delicious word.

She regards his confident posturing, that clean-shaven square jaw and tunes into his voice. Sacha’s caramel tones ignite her internal engine, as if he knows Desirée wants to ride with him. He smiles with ease, fluid arm movements emphasise his buoyant speech and passion for the Argentinian Tango.

He couldn’t be much over twenty five with that Sean Connery look about him. Polished, accidental dark hair that falls above his flirtatious grey eyes – almost innocent but, oh, so, knowing.

Non, je ne regrette rien, throbs seductively from the jukebox, she sways easily in her seat absorbed, humming along to the melody.

His eyes flicker towards hers as she sips the heady blend of her Café au Lait laced with Cointreau. He reaches for the light switch and ushers twilight to every candle lit table.

Desirée rises from her chair, removes her coat, and shows a lithe athletic body beneath her carefully selected crimson cashmere dress. She runs her fingers through her blonde, bobbed hair teasing the strands into shape. Returning to her chair she shifts, wiggling her derrière into the wooden seat.

Conscious of his gaze, Desirée places her hands under the table, in doing so she removes the gold band from her wedding finger, placing it carefully inside her handbag. Composed, she closes her fingers around her cup of coffee, drinking in its warmth.

Expectant, she soaks herself into the aroma of the intoxicating atmosphere.

Slow, slow, quick, slow. Yes, that feels so good.

She aches for him. Not for keeps, just to play, Desirée always gets what she wants…

Desirée glances in his direction. He nods. She signals in return. The double tempo of the Habanera’s strong beats fill the Café. A lustful fever ignites within her as she watches Sacha zig zag through the crowded tables.

“Bonsoir, allons-nous danser?”

“Oui, oui,” she replies.

Desirée accepts his arm as he escorts her onto the dance floor. Sacha takes her into the embrace and her stomach flips in anticipation of the sweetness to come. Her fingers tingle with delight. He turns elegantly, his body in tune with the music. The heat between them is powerful. Their feet move in sync.

Sacha guides Desirée across the dance floor, his eyes fix on hers. He knows exactly where to take her. Each step planned in advance, she floats.

“Sacha,” she whispers, “everyone is looking at us.”

“Really,” he smiles softly, “I hadn’t noticed.”



I dance the Tango every week. Sometimes my imagination runs riot with thoughts of what might be.

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