“Excuse me, I think that’s my seat!”

Glancing up from his spreadsheet, Greg Lancaster liked what he saw.

Surely no more than eighteen or nineteen, the fresh-faced youngster was, if not the prettiest girl to ever cast a shadow across his retinas, certainly the best-looking in his residual memory. Drooling was not an option, and in the wake of his marginally over-emphasised “Oh yes, of course,” he clutched the lap-top to his chest, intending for her to squeeze past to the window-seat.

“Thanks,” she replied, inching her way forward delicately and providing Greg thereby, a momentarily arousing view of her compact rear-end in passing. “Oh God, please let her trip and fall in my lap,” he prayed silently, whilst watching that skin-tight little skirt in transit, her rather shapely thighs - a work in progress.

The moment closed out and the fantasies by necessity re-caged. Smiling at her briefly, he returned the notebook to his knee and continued adding data to column “F.”

The red-eye from Sydney to Perth is among the world’s stranger flights. Officially listed at three hours and ten minutes in duration, with the head-on influence of the ‘Fremantle Doctor’ – a high altitude wind that blows-inland along the Western Australian coastline, the flight can be protracted to well over five hours.

Conversely, the return trip can be undertaken in as little as two hours fifty, courtesy of the same wind-swept conditions. In lieu of the available meteorological data, check-in had already advised this to be a five-hour flight in all probability.

Column “F” was beginning to fade in interest with the close proximity of Miss teenage distraction and the cruelly appealing scent that seems to cling to scrubbed and desirable young bodies such that she possessed. He wondered if in five hours time he would even know her name?

In his mid twenties himself, Greg was engaged to be married and knew his mind was wandering along fully undisciplined paths here. It wasn’t paying heed to his instructions quite obviously – probably the sudden exposure to that tight little skirt he reasoned. Out of the corner of his eye he could see she was reading-up on what appeared to be University notes - probably for her final exams in November he guessed. Hooked-up to her iPad, she seemed (and probably was) oblivious to all around her.

As the plane taxied down the runway, she inclined her head to glance out the window, Rain was sleeting down now and as the 747 climbed rapidly, banking to the left towards the western corridor, the diffused halo of the city lights could clearly be seen to the east.

Right now though, Greg wasn’t dwelling on the aesthetic beauty of Sydney’s twinkling lights from a five thousand foot aspect, he was simply gazing at the girl’s slim shoulders, pretty blonde hair swept back in the most feminine of neat pony-tails ... that spot just beneath her hairline that he would so like to kiss...

“I don’t think so Greg,” the image of his young wife-to-be smiled at him sweetly from his conscience.

Column “F” snared his attentions once again, although who really cared how the October sales figures were going to pan out when you could be pondering instead whether that was a conventional bra or a sexy little push-up, whose straps were so engagingly visible beneath the girl’s lacy top.

He was still considering those very possibilities a short time later when the girl packed away her books and iPad.

“Really sorry, but would you excuse me for a moment,” she smiled at him, “I have to get to the overhead locker.”

This time he was treated to a forward view as she sidled across in front of him. The most perfect of young breasts passed but inches from his face. No more than a 32A he decided, not that any span of thirty two inches anywhere in the modern world could possibly encapsulate a more alluring set of curves. Even that mere hint of cleavage showed that God had been right on his game that night back in 1998 or 1999 - whenever it was the girl’s parents had gotten substantially beyond the light-petting stage.

It also gave Greg an opportunity to take in her facial details, not that this did anything but worsen the situation. A slightly softer version of young actress Keira Knightley he decided. High cheek-bones aided by a truly flawless complexion, set with ice-blue eyes and a mouth – if it hadn’t been kissed yet – was one that was most definitely needed to be ... and soon!

How many hearts was this beautiful visage going to subsequently break? ... his own already headed the list.

“Student?” he asked as casually as possible as she inched herself back in.

“Yes ... unfortunately,” she smiled, “Got my finals in a few weeks.”

She looked puzzled by the question for a moment. “Ohh, no, I live in Perth. I just came to Sydney to stay with friends during the holiday. What about you? do you live in Western Australia?”

Her voice was as pretty as her expression. He was sure he gulped.

“Nope, I’m a NSW boy (he chose the word deliberately) ... just going to Perth on business for a Company meeting ... budgets and boring stuff like that I’m afraid. I think I’d rather be back studying for my HSC,” he grinned...”I’m Greg by the way.”

She took his hand. “I’m Candace, nice to meet you.”

‘Candace’ so suited her he was thinking. He had all but forgotten his fiancée’s name at this juncture. Right then the stewardess parked her trolley alongside them in the aisle and enquired as to their preference for a drink. Tempted as he was to ask for a bottle of champagne and two glasses, they settled for a ginger ale each. He was desperately hoping she wouldn’t ask how old he was because he would have to have lied. He knew he looked little more than twenty-two or three and that he prayed was her assessment too.

“Pretty late for a young girl to be flying alone isn’t it?” he said, changing the subject, “We’re not going to be touching down in Perth till almost two in the morning?”

“It’s OK,” she breezed, “I’m nineteen, I think I can look after myself, besides, dad will meet me at the arrivals gate to take me home. I’ll be fine.”

Greg barely had time to acknowledge this fact when the cabin-lights dimmed and the in-flight theater flickered on. As the credits for “Thor: Ragnarok” began to roll, Candace muttered “I’m really tired, I don’t think I can stay awake for this,” as she pushed the tray back into its upright position.

“Would you like me to get a blanket for you?” he asked, bitterly disappointed that he was to be imminently denied her company for the rest of the flight.

“Yes please,” she answered sweetly, “It’s getting quite cold isn’t it?”

He hadn’t really thought about it, but now that he did – she was right. He retrieved one for himself also from the overhead locker.

Some ten minutes later, the first time he dared glance in her general direction, he was mortified to discover she was still marginally awake. She smiled at him, which not only served to magnify his voyeuristic guilt but caused him to suffer aortic palpitations on account of her tempting closeness. So innocent and pretty did she look, wedged comfortably into that little niche between the seat and fuselage, her head resting against the small pillow, that he could but return her smile before re-aligning his gaze dutifully upon Chris Hemsworth and the small screen.

“What the Hell am I thinking?” he chastised himself silently. “She’s just a kid!”

Another ten minutes and she appeared to be asleep. He was now able to study the facial intricacies of what was undoubtedly one of Nature’s finer achievements. Essentially soft-featured, her skin was indeed smooth and blemish-free. Resident in her cheeks the flush of youth, whilst between them, that most delicate and appealing set of lips trembled perceptibly, in sync with her respiratory rate.

How feminine were those small locks of hair that now lay across her forehead, almost in defiance of the symmetry of her other features, he thought to himself. Stirring slightly, the blanket slipped and leaning over he pulled it up for her. What he would have given to be able to kiss her just once ... even in her sleep!