Slightly abrasive young American attorney Montana Reynolds on a year-long posting to the Australian rural town of Red Ridge, was invited into the office of Reginald Day, managing partner of Red Ridge Law for morning coffee.
"Well Montana, your first few weeks with us have run pretty smoothly with no real fuck-ups."
She was becoming used to the direct way of speaking by rural Australians.
"No Reg, I left my fuck-ups behind in Jersey City."
He spluttered into his coffee and said, "Look it is not usual for females here to use the F-word as part of normal conversation; that is normally accepted as a male prerogative but then only in the company of people they are familiar with."
"But I've heard females say 'Fuck off' to stray dogs and people on dope begging for money."
"Yes of course," Reg said. "That is considered entirely accepted. Um the entire thing gets a bit complicated, eh?"
"Agreed. This coffee tastes like camel's piss."
"Um Montana..."
"What?
"Oh never mind. Look you're a woman."
Montana patted her left breast and told Reg he was sharp to have noticed.
"Montana I'll come right out with it; I need your advice," said the 59-year old widower. "I'm developing a touch of lust for Wendy but she doesn't notice me in that way."
Wendy, aged 51, was one of Reg's two partners in the 3-lawyer plus Montana law firm.
"You could try walking around with your zip undone."
Reg looked at Montana sharply and asked was that intelligent feminine advice to be relied upon or stupid humour?
She blushed and muttered stupid humour but said she'd now had switch on to consultant mode, serious consultancy mode.
"Reg if Wendy is getting all she needs from her husband who is four years younger than her and keeps fit cycling 400 km a week, why would she be thinking about sex with you?"
Reg shifted in his chair uncomfortably feeling the pressure.
"You must think I'm nuts thinking like this. God the sight of her butt moving makes me turn light-headed and when she walks hurriedly and I hear the slight noise of her stocking rubbing thigh-high I hear music."
"What?"
"I guess it's similar to what sex-deprived sailors experienced in the days of long voyages in sailing ships and they imagined hearing the siren-serenades of female voices from the sea."
"You are fast becoming an interesting person Reg. I suggest you send Wendy flowers anonymous two or three times and when she asks you who do you think is sending her flowers then confess, but make sure no one else is within earshot."
"No way would she ask me who's sending her flowers."
"Why not? You run this outfit and when a woman can't bear to handle such intrigue any longer her instinct to take her problem to the top for some serious discussion."
"Okay that sounds plausible but what do I say when she hears my confession and calls me a silly old fool or even a dirty old man?"
"You say hear me out Wendy. I'm not a fool but I confess to being lonely. I have a crush on you and need to know is you'd like to have in little fling with me."
"Christ Montana, she'd give me a right roasting and might even knee me in the testicles."
Wendy sighed and said when a guy is gripped by lust he has to bear the consequences.
"Reg don't under-estimate a woman's mind. Wendy told me she's been married fifteen years and it could be at least another fifteen years on top of that since any guy confessed having a crush on her. The impact of that could well trigger romantic notions in her mind or perhaps as you said she might launch a well-aimed knee to your balls. That leaves you to decide is it worth the risk?"
Reg dabbed his forehead with his shirt-sleeve and said, "Thanks for your valuable contribution Montana. Um what flowers do you suggest I send?"
Once that was settled Reg said he'd been impressed by the alertness of Montana's mind and her maturity in dealing with an older person's problem.
"I'm now taking a risk with you Montana. You are required to be at the airport in the morning just before 10:00. A 4-seat Piper Cherokee plastered with the signage Ireland Station will be waiting to take you to 'Mr Greasy'."
"Who?"
"His name in Gino Pappas who is a half-Greek and half Romanian misfit who manages the station (ranch) called Ireland, so-named because its original owners in the carve up of a massive 798,000 station came from Dublin."
"The current absentee owners have numerous telephone call centres in India that are contracted to businesses in many countries. He's in dispute over boundary fence repairs with a neighbour and wanted me to sort out the matter by um skilled negotiation. Therefore so you better swot up Australia boundary law and case law of boundary disputes dealt with by the courts in recent years."
"Okay Reg this sounds interesting but why aren't you off for a day out on a ranch?"
"It will be at least a one-night stay-over. Um I have this project of sending flowers and the consequences on my mind Dakota."
"Montana."
"Oh yeah. Now run along and thanks, you have a great head," Reg said, eyeing her butt as she walked off, swaying it slightly.
* * *
"So you are the cook and yet you pilot this aircraft Mr Wong?"
"Yes Missy. The boss and everyone else calls me Charlie and no one else is game to fly this machine and so I do. I fly you safe."
"Well yes, I see we are already at 12,000 feet and still climbing and so I'm obliged to believe you."
Waiting at the farm landing strip was a swarthy guy in jeans and sleeveless black singlet (tank top) and that and his masculinity stimulated a flutter in Montana's chest.
"Hi and welcome to our outfit Miss. Reg said he was sending you because he had a crisis on his hands to deal with," said Mr Pappas with a foreign but un-American accent.
"Hi Mr Pappas, call me Montana."
"What you are named after your State?"
"No that's New York."
"I-I don't understand," he said as they sat in the Toyota 4WD watching Charlie on an all-terrain 4-wheel farm bike tow the aircraft into a converted barn.
"Don't worry Mr Pappas, few people can't understand why I wasn't named Sally."
"Ah, your father favoured Montana and your mother pushed for Sally?"
"No that was simply a creative option I just thought up."
"Oh I see, but I really don't. Please call me Gino or if you must Mr Greasy."
"Ah how did that come about Gino?"
"The people out here are hard bastards, mainly of English stock and regard people of European ancestry as second-class citizens, German and Japanese people as the pits with Aboriginals unless they are stockmen or good as cooks or nannies or as bed warmer and pushed to the bottom of the heap."
"I really don't..."
"Think of how Americans regard the arrogant English and the illegal midday sleeping Mexicans."
"Oh yes, gotcha."
"You have a lovely body and beautiful face Montana."
"You've been out in the hot sun for too long Gino. I believe I'm here to deal with a boundary fencing dispute?"
"Oh yes, and that too."
Montana was shocked when her mind went into over-drive and she thought she was a victim of a set-up, that Reg Day and Gino had conspired to lure her out into this low-fertility and practically rainless wasteland to allow Gino to saturate his sexual appetite in devouring her pussy for hours on end.
She shuddered in horror, feeling abused, but another part of her appeared gripped in a rising sense of eroticism.
She gritted to herself that she'd kill both men and seconds later was thinking maybe. Well she hadn't had much sex since her arrival at Red Ridge and what meagre amount she'd engaged in she'd had scratch hard for. No way could a girl call Australian men a randy bunch, at least not at Red Ridge.
"Careful darling, don't over-react; it just could be a lifeline thrown your way,"
She'd been given a room with lace-fringe curtains but otherwise it was minimal accommodation that reminded her of Army barracks she'd seen depicted in films.
Gino walked in wearing only a wide-brimmed Akubra (Stetson).
Montana gulped, looking at it; 'it' was flaccid and hung halfway to his knees.
"You'll need to wear one of these even in the pool as the sun is bloody hot out there," he said, handing her a smaller Akubra.
"Come on we'll have a swim to cool off before we move out for the confrontation at High Noon. Oh we swim without clothes to protect the quality of the water as our pool is our little community's fresh water tank."
Montana began to strip fearlessly but he walked off before she'd begun to bare her tits.
What was this; was the almost dashing Gino gay?
She walked outside nude but wearing the jazzy looking Akubra. Obviously it was styled for females. She thought she must look so cute wearing it and at that her nipples began to harden.
Where was the pool? Some directions would have been nice.
Montana went around the side of the sprawling house that had no architectural design merit whatsoever. In fact she thought of it as being a bunch of assorted packing cases thrown together and a wavy tin roof placed over them.
Being intelligent, she figured the water tank would be on the ground near the house with collection pipes running from the roof guttering to empty into it on the day in the year when it rained, or whatever.
She turned at the rear of the house and saw this gigantic concrete tank with a 12-rung ladder propped up against it.
Gino, wet hair plastered over his face handsomely, leant over the concrete rim and shouted, "Move your ass" although he appeared to be gazing at her mobile tits almost in awe.
At the top of the pool there was a small cantilevered landing with a rope ladder dangling from it for swimmer to climb back to the platform.
The pool er domestic water system reservoir appeared half full.
"What is the cubic feet capacity is the pool?" she asked authoritatively.
