By EgmontGrigor2020
Chapter 1
On a warm day, the first month of summer in Australia, Sam Thurston boarded a train and on entering a carriage, glanced at the spotted an attractive woman on the first seat against the bulkhead reading a book.
She looked up and stared at him, slightly longer than a casual look, he thought.
He was used to that, being tall and lean with an active sportsman's body and an abundance of hair. His younger sister Jane told him long stares from females probably were because of his handsome though slightly rugged-looking face and unruly multi-coloured brown hair.
Sam sat against the bulkhead across the aisle from her in the standard configuration of that carriage of two adjoining seats facing another two seats separated by table. The layout was designed for routes of short to mid-distances carrying, school children, shoppers, workers and tourist travelling between major cities.
Following a few slow glances, Sam pierced together an impression of her appearance.
She was good looking, but he couldn't see her breasts because she was wearing a jacket. Although seated, she appeared much taller that the average fairly stumpy female. Her legs in tights appeared shapely but there was no indication of thigh width because they were hidden to the knees by a fake tartan skirt but she didn't appear fat and probably the arse she was sitting on wouldn't be plump.
After more glances, he'd noted there was no thickness under her chin, confirming she was slim. She wore lipstick which perhaps indicated she wasn't a feminist. Her eye-lashes didn't appear to be carrying false extensions.
The woman's ear in view looked cute, and the colour of her short-cropped hair was hay, um perhaps women would call it flaxen. He guessed she was about his age, mid-thirties.
The editor of a country newspaper settled back, relaxing and wondered what next apart from looking at the passing countryside through the side window.
He didn't have to wait long for the answer.
"Why do you keep looking at me. Are you a roving pervert of rail passengers?"
What the fuck?
He looked at her waiting for his response, and knew it had better be good.
"A pervert no, a guy when sitting idle who likes summing up attractive women, yes."
She hesitated and said, "What a stupid and low-brow activity."
He had to bowl that comment with something that might fascinate her.
"Probably you don't truly know whether you'd be considered attractive."
She pursed her lips and shrugged.
"I'm coming over, okay?"
She nodded.
"I'm Sam Thurston from the country district of Thornton."
"Hi Sam the Starer. I'm Kyle Lumsden, from Essex City, but I teach home science at a private girls' school in a small village far from Essex. I bet you can's rattle off full details of the physical impression you gained of me from your staring."
"You've lost the bet, Kyle. I've been trained to observe and mentally record. I was a photo-journalist of the small town and country newspaper of which I'm now editor."
"You don't say," she said in a disbelieving tone.
Sam rattled off everything in the order that he'd mentally recorded his observations, leaving out his correction of hair colour in case that might really draw her interest with a sharp rebuttal.
He noticed in delight at the mention of her hair colour being straw, her body had stiffened.
"Impressed?"
"Yes, very impressed overall and I do appear to be attractive, according to your assessment but no way is my hair the fucking colour of hay, it's flaxen."
"Are you convinced of that?"
"Yes, absolutely. Different hairdressers have called it flaxen."
"Ah, and were those hairdressers that added highlights to your hair?"
"Yes, and what's wrong with that?"
Sam said absolutely nothing. Blondes in particular involved themselves in the practice world-wide as blonde hair in its various shades hair as do red shades of hair, tend to fade earlier than other colours.
"Were you a women's hairdresser?"
"No, but from my mother and various associations with women I've picked up considerable information about women's hair."
"Hmm, and you have developed other skills and that's why you are now sitting beside me, preparing to make a pitch?"
"I find women interesting, that's all. But rarely have I ever swooped on any. It's more of a developing interest that follows initial contact, which is widely considered normal, I should think."
"But back to hair colour. Are you aware, and I believe I'm correct on this, that flax or flaxen is a pale yellowish-grey, the colour of straw or unspun dressed flax? From that, I take it that one could turn straw coloured hair into dressed flaxen hair with the application of the correct shade of colouring or highlighting."
"On, that sounds convincing and besides, who am I to dispute your theory, Sam. Perhaps you would prefer that I ask do your think we could arrange to date?"
"I-I, that seems a little rushed."
Kyle smiled beautifully and said, "Rushed perhaps, but not unsurmountable for you as a thinking journalist. It helps that we reside less than 60 miles apart."
"Um, at date could mean one of us staying overnight unless the driver goes lightly with alcohol?"
"In that case I'd come to Thornton because the school where I board and teach is near a village where it only has cafes and they usually are crowded and servings barely rise above average. Also, non-staff are prohibited from sleeping over-night at the school."
"No problem, Kyle. Let's say we compromise and meet at the Tabletop Resort, which is roughly halfway between us and we both restrict ourselves to having a single alcoholic drink?"
"Do you think you can manage such self-imposed restraint, Sam?"
He replied with difficulty, "Yes."
Kylie said, Um, I'm told the resort restaurant charges outrageously for casual diners as a barrier to the riffraff."
"No problem Kyle. My aunt is the day restaurant manager. I'll book through her and ask for mate-rates for two eating at night."
"Ooh, that sounds good. Um you don't appear to be in a hurry to manoeuvre me into agreeing to discuss sex."
Sounding startled, Sam said, "For goodness sake, Kyle. It will be our first date."
"Oh yes," Kyle sighed.
Sam gave her a searching glance and she looked away quickly.
They sat in silence for a few moments and Sam asked, "Where are you travelling to?"
"To Murrayville, two stops away. The local high school has a new home science teacher who apparently is struggling a bit. I've been called in to stay for two nights to provide her with some guidance with the aim to boost her confidence."
Sam said that demonstrated good school-to-school professional interfacing and asked was home science a fancy term to teaching cooking.
"It may have been once," Kyle smiled. "But these days Home Science means science in the home and covers matters that concern the person, home, family members and resources. In short, it is education for 'better living'."
He nodded agreeably and said that sounded more idealistic and desirable instruction than having classes for girls to advise them on the slow-grinding nebulous push for women's rights as it would be asking them to aspire for something that already existed for the taking if they were good enough. Conversely, perhaps they would be better off being taught about the skills and protections necessary if they desired to become in-demand lesbians.
"Sam Thurston, you obviously live dangerously as a teaser with bite."
That was said without apparent malice, in fact she was smiling, albeit thinly. He took the chance and reached for her hand.
Kyle squeezed his hand slightly as if in approval and left it remaining in his light grip.
Moving on before a debate about lesbians could begin, Sam said he was returning to Charteris to pick up his car that a former schoolfriend and now vehicle restorer had replaced the transmission and modernised the braking systems and extensively checked out the motor and the original factory-installed air-conditioning of the 1968 Ford Mustang V8.
"Oh, a vintage Mustang being kept up to scratch."
"Yes, my late father bought it from the original owner who'd had it converted to right-hand drive and it had only 6788 miles on the clock when dad brought it as his weekend vehicle. He was a farmer and drove a Holden pick-up everywhere on weekdays as a workhorse road and paddock capable vehicle is a must-have for any farmer."
"What colour is the Mustang?"
"When I inherited it there were scratches and dents in many places of the exterior that one expects to get driving on farm tracks and poorly maintained country roads and the occasional scraping against a gate post. I had the bonnet and sides of the panel-work brought back to as new, the original black paint removed and the new colour was Candy Apple Red with a Midnight Mist protective finish. That renovation together with the new white top that made me fall in love with the vehicle all over again."
When the train was slowing for Kyle's stop, Sam stood and moved to the aisle to allow Kyle to move through the narrow gap between the seats and the centre table.
He then slipped in behind her and reached down her travel bag from the overhead rack.
As she took the bag she said sheepishly, "Thanks, I had forgotten I had that with me."
As he said "Things like that sometimes happen to anyone" and was thinking should he kiss her, she reacted faster and reached up on her toes and kissed him.
Noticing her chest for the first time as she faced him in an unbuttoned jacket, he said carefully, "Great boobs."
She flushed and ordered him, "Now you kiss me."
He did, and like hers it was a full-on lips kiss.
"Bye for now Sam," she said handing him one of her personalised school name and address cards.
"It's not often one meets a guy in his mid-thirties who remains a tad shy. It was a pleasure relating to you and for fuck sake, don't forget to call me, dinner Saturday night as proposed would suit me fine. Oops, sorry about inclusion of the f-word."
"That's okay. It's becoming more widely accepted-use of people of our generation."
"True and thanks for your company. I didn't get much reading done."
"Bye, Kyle and take care and that includes avoiding using the f-word in front of the headmistress at school assembly."
She laughed and hurried off, as the train had stopped.
Chapter 2
The following Thursday, Sam called Kyle at 7.30 pm.
"Hi Sam, your call means I have your number to place in my mobile's phonebook. How are you?"
"Thriving thanks."
"I'm just back from night coaching in the practice ground under lights."
Sam asked, "Oh, and what do you coach, formation marching?"
"That's a weird guess. I coach soccer actually, and I play competitive social soccer which, after tennis, is the most popular female sport in the district that my school is in. I play in the forwards as striker."
He said, "And I play in senior weekend club soccer at a midfielder. We have just four soccer clubs in our town and that means were play away for much of the season. Perhaps at the end of the season, I could ask you to arrange for our club's junior team to play your girls at our school?"
