Loving Claire Pt. 01

Loving Claire - A Summer Job Turns Into Much Much More

Chapter One - The Dean Sends Me to Suddenly Wealthy Claire

Toward the end of my second year of architecture study, my senior professor and mentor, who was also the Dean, called me into his office.

"Elliot, I have an interesting summer job opportunity for you. A dear friend, who has inherited a lot of money, needs an architecture apprentice to help design and flesh out a personal residence in the hills of Marin. I have no idea what this will do for your future as an architect, but she is a brilliant and interesting person, to say the least."

He went on, "There are special aspects of the job. You will live on the land with her, and perhaps other helpers. She keeps horses, and if you like riding, there apparently are good trails. She asked me what a fair wage would be, and I said half of next year's tuition, since we are so stingy with scholarship dollars."

Doing quick arithmetic in my head, I said, "Professor Collins, that is a stunningly high salary, what did she say?"

"She said I was a terrible thief, but if you were the best student I had, she would pay it."

"I suppose she deserves a proper interview?"

"Yes, of course. She was working in Sacramento as a legislative analyst when the rich aunt died. But now has a place in Woodacre, which is just west of San Rafael. The property is a gorgeous chunk of undeveloped land off upper Lucas Valley Road."

"Thank you for the introduction. I'll ring her for a convenient time."

"Elliot, she is single, but has a fearsome reputation as a feminist liberal who goes both ways. I originally met her through my wife. They were roommates at Berkeley."

"I should call Joyce for more advice?"

"Don't do it. She loves to chew up my students, especially if they are as big and handsome as you are."

Claire Cartright had a pleasant modulated voice on the phone, and sounded genuinely interested in a meeting. "Don't call it an interview, Elliot. Come Saturday morning as early as you can manage, and we will dive right in. By lunchtime, we will know if our chemistry works."

"Yes, Ma'am, that would be fine."

"And don't call me Ma'am. It's Claire, unless we are in a bar in Sacramento, where it is any number of nasty rosa-blanca.ru."

By Friday morning, my finals were done and I did a little digging in front about Marin zoning rules, which were generally hostile to development. Utility access wasn't much better.

That afternoon, my cell chimed and it was Claire. "Are you by chance a runner?"

"I ran track in high school, but now am just recreational."

"Sounds good. Get yourself up and over here by seven. We will have a run and talk about the summer project."

"Sounds fun. I've never been out in your part of the world. By the way, have you made any progress on permits so far?"

"Ha! Why do you think I called your professor? You are the golden haired architect from Berkeley who is going to solve all my problems."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Elliot, I have a flogger in my closet and will use it if I hear that word again."

I hesitated, and said, "Claire, darling, I promise never to use that word in your presence again." Click.

That might get me fired before I started, but it felt good to push back a bit.

Summer fog was on the Bay, but it was clear in Woodacre, which seemed mostly to be a collection of funky redwood shacks. A woman who had to be Claire was in front of her building in running clothes when my ancient Porsche 914 drove up. She pointed to a parking place and I got out.

"You have no business driving my favorite sports car. I finally could afford one two years out of school. Drove it into the ground and moved up to a 911."

We set off at a brisk pace on woodsy back roads. I had a feeling that everything about Claire was going to be brisk. In the first ten minutes, more than a little out of breath, we exchanged the usual family background. Not needing to dwell on those details, I moved the conversation to the project for me.

"What led you to property here in Marin?"

"My aunt Catherine was a librarian and a single woman. She admired my in your face feminism and we spent time together. She loved trains and we rode Amtrak every summer. Her fortune arrived from her grandfather when she was thirty, but she never said a word to anyone about it. It was a complete surprise when her lawyer called after her death and said I was the residual beneficiary and the amount would be greater than fifty million."

"But why Marin?"

She frowned, "I'm getting to that. For the princely sum I am paying, you will listen to my ranting patiently."

She looked sidewise at me with a grin. A pixie grin trying to get a rise out of me.

"You are going to have to give me a little time to adjust to your brand of feminism."

The frown returned and she upped the pace. "I can see you are going to be trouble. Perhaps the kind of trouble I need. I'll be honest with you, the bequest from my aunt is allowing me to do something about Claire as well as build a house. I shouldn't say this, but I can already tell that you are going to be part of the remodeling of Claire. Is there a woman in your life?"

We were at the top of a hill and she stopped. "This is far enough. You haven't answered my question."

She grabbed my hand with hers and twisted. "Answer."

"There isn't a yes or no to that question."

"Damn, I might have known. Give me the short version."

"I have some good friends in architecture school. Good enough to share my bed once in a while. But we are working too hard and are too ambitious for our careers to let romance get in the way."

She was speeding up downhill. "You are going to wreck your knees that way. Let's take it easy and keep talking."

Her look was half frown and half grin. "You know how to push back. I like that. I'm thinking we are going to get along ok on this project."

Her building was more or less a one bedroom in bad shape. "I don't have to worry about money anymore, so just bought this outright. Reminds me of being poor when I was a student. Take your shower while I whip up some breakfast."

I came back in a tee and jeans, ready to help. "If you don't mind a smelly client, we can take these eggs over by the window and have them while they are hot."

"Sweaty women turn me on. Is there a man in your life?"

"Tit for tat, is it?"

"Well..."

"My last year at Berkeley, I had the hots for a brilliant guy who was doing Poli Sci and headed for glory as a politician. Somewhere along the line, I realized he saw me as the perfect woman to be at his side. I got drunk and dumped him."

"And I suppose an overly bright woman like you is surrounded by too many lowlifes in Sacramento?"

This time, the look was curious. "I've already said too much, haven't I? I see your wheels turning about my remodeling crack."

I drew her up and into the middle of the carpet. "You take any self-defense?"

"Karate. I'm pretty good at it." I smiled and gave her a quick slap to the head. I got a quick kick to my shins back. Over the next ten minutes, we battled back and forth, giving and taking some good blows. Finally, with a snarl of impatience, she took me down and flopped on my chest. She smelled great and I sniffed a time or two.

"Outrageous beast. No sniffing!" She leaned down for a long kiss that started easy and ended up hard.

"Damn."

"Damn?"

"Why did you start a fight with me?"

"There was too much noise in the system. I needed to clear the air between us."

"Fuck." Her head rested on my shoulder.

"We can arrange that if you wish."

"I thought architects were taught not to fuck the clients?"

"Yes, we are. But you are special. I wouldn't mind getting it on with you. Smart, athletic, pretty, and rich. Very rich."

She used a fist to pound on my chest. "We haven't known each other for two hours, and you are trying to get into my pants?"

"I think you suggested it first."

She rolled to her back, eyes closed. Her hand snaked around until it found mine. "I want you, but can't decide whether it is now or later."

"Since you raised the idea, you get to decide."

She got off the floor and pulled me up. "Thank you for that. Let's shower."

We were enjoying each other's soapy bodies too much for talk. I didn't mind a second shower and nibbled on her ear from the backside. My fingers probed between her legs. I had a suspicion she hadn't had a guy after her for a while. At least a guy she might want to go to bed with. I slid two fingers inside, where they instantly got clenched and my shoulder muscle got bitten.

"Now," she finally said. I didn't wait to see if she meant in her bed now, or in her shower now. One hand pressed her to the tile and the other spread her cheeks. My cock went in hard and fast. She was used to calling the shots, but Elliot was a different kind of guy. I thought of Professor Collins' advice and thrust harder. If she was bi-sexual, I wasn't, and needed to make that clear.

She pushed me away and turned around, "That's a wonderful cock, but I want it later. Will you do that for your new client? The one you aren't supposed to fuck?"

Her eyes were soft and the face vulnerable. The dominance contest was over. I didn't want to be a winner and kissed the tears away. We sat on the edge of her bed, dripping and pressed tightly together. After a minute, I lay her back and found towels.

I was working on her hair when she mumbled, "This is a terrible way to start a relationship. I thought you were supposed to be professional?"

"Be quiet. I am professionally massaging you to remove the stored up tension. When I discover the client is all messed up, some foreplay is necessary."

She giggled and tried to swat me. I pushed her head down and kept massaging her back and into the hamstrings. She had good solid muscles but very tight. If I worked on them every day, her running would improve.

"Why is this body so fit? Doesn't match my image of a legislative analyst."

"You are doing incredible things to me. May I hire you separately as a trainer?"

"No. Sorry. Comes with the package. You are paying too much already to the starving architecture student."

I was down to her feet, working every bone and taking toes randomly into my mouth. She was twitching. I figured that meant she was still horny and needing a cock. If I made her wait, my home cooked dinner was at risk. The sleepover too.

I made a circle of my arms and legs and arranged her in it. Her breasts fit naturally into my hands. A series of low happy noises came forth. I obviously had the lead, for the moment at least.

"We are actually going to do client work, and then I am taking you to dinner. Strictly professional."

She turned around, pressing my erect cock down with her pubic bone. "You do not make all the decisions. After your professional dinner, we are coming back here and exploring unprofessional behavior."

We were still hungry and she prepared a snack while I dug into the project files, which were on a card table in a corner of the living room. The parcel of land was magnificent. So was the price, three million. Thirty acres, part of it open grassland, the rest a grove of trees sloping upward to the west. I thought of all the architects who would drool at the chance to design for Claire.

She came to the table with a sandwich plate and a glass of fizzy hard cider. My arm around her waist, I asked, "Are you going to engage an architect?"

"Your professor said I should decide that after working with you for a week or two."

My heart sank. I would fail the test and be banished. "My final exams were nothing compared to your decision."

"Don't be silly. I can already tell you have enough talent to meet my needs. Many talents, in fact."

My arm tightened as she leaned down for a kiss. I groaned.

"What's that about?"

I pulled her to my lap. "I thought we were having this nice easygoing relationship and you have ruined it. Designing a house for this property is the biggest challenge of my young life. I will be frozen with fear."

She laughed and pulled my hair. "It's already fun working with you. I'll bet that thing between your legs isn't the least bit frozen tonight."

Chapter 2 - Elliot is Challenged

I was driving across the Richmond-San Rafael bridge back to Berkeley. I was in a daze, which was not helped by brilliant early morning sun blasting straight into my eyes. My whole world had been upended in two days. A job, a design commission, and the most amazing sex of my young life. Even better, a female friend to share life with.

I was desperate to get back to my drawing board, where a whole term's grade in my design course depended on finishing and submitting the project drawings by tomorrow. How my scrambled brain could concentrate was another question.

Somehow, the quality of my initial work drew me into the final steps on the drawings. My pen and pencil flew across the paper. The drawing template behaved, instead of giving me the wrong curve. My big fingers didn't massacre the tiny notes at the bottom. I was almost finished at ten pm when the phone rang.

"Are you finished?"

"Almost. Two or three more hours and I am there."

"An all-nighter. I remember those. The reason I called is that I need to be in Piedmont tomorrow for lunch with school friends. What if we meet up after?"

"What about dinner and a sleepover?"

"I thought you would never ask!"

"Claire..."

"Don't say it. Save the mush for later. I'll ask my friends for the latest in restaurants and text you."

Filling in details here and there on the sheets allowed me to think about relocating my existence to Woodacre. Claire hadn't said anything about living on the property. Or the horses Prof Collins had mentioned. If they needed a barn, that could go up first, with small living quarters above for a groom eventually, but the two of us for now.

I would need a workroom for my drawing table, computer, printer and other stuff. Maybe buy new over there rather than trucking my own stuff across the Bay. I looked down at my work. It was 3 am and my body was worn down. If I got up at nine, that was plenty of time to wrap it up and walk to the department offices to turn in.

I was walking up the steps to the department secretary's office at eleven when George Collins emerged, coming down to me. "You had a good weekend?"

"The best. Thank you..."

He interrupted, "She talked to Joyce. Seems you made a big impression. A good impression. Joyce said that Claire is impressed with your mind and with your body."

"Well..."

"Don't try to explain. I told you she was unusual."

"About the commission for the house..."

"She told you what I said?"

"She kicked me to the floor with a karate move and said I was already hired. I'm scared to death."

"And I am jealous up to here."

"May I call for advice?"

"Yes, but the core of the design has to be all you. And don't try the Wright technique of ignoring the client."

"I understand, I think. We have already established a certain rapport..."

"That's what Joyce said. Capitalize on all that emotion. Squeeze out of her the dream house she wants, and season it with yourself."

He walked away with a smile on his face, so I guessed I wasn't in too much trouble for bedding the client before pencil was ever put to paper.

I turned in the course package with a sigh to Dorothy, the department's academic secretary. She always had a smile for her students. "Elliot, why is it that all of you sigh when you turn in your work?"

It was a joke. She had shepherded budding architects for two decades and knew all their ups and downs.

I grabbed a taco and a soda from the trailer out front and hurried back to my tiny apartment, which needed drastic attention before a rich client entered it. At four pm, the apartment was clean and I was very dirty and smelled of ammonia. My phone chimed with a text. "Chez Lulu at six. Directions on Google."

I rushed out for breakfast materials, and the right refreshments for entertaining a lady. No hot tub available. Didn't that have to be part of the first construction? What about a wood burner up in those oaks? I was horny all over again. Claire in my lousy student bed. I took a shower and felt weak in the knees. Better not be weak in that other place, I told myself. The memories of a few nights ago were vivid. She wanted to be in charge and I let her, mostly. Crouched over me, ass in my face, she applied her mouth diligently to my big cock. There were many complaints until I drove my tongue straight into her puckered hole.

"Ahhh, I didn't say you could do that!"

Two fingers into a very wet pussy produced more moans that sounded like "No, no, no," but didn't mean it.

She was about to come and her technique on my cock faltered, "Oh, Elliot."

I switched us around to missionary and drove hard. That was all it took. We came together, shuddering and making all those noises of climax.

Enough daydreaming, I told myself. Treat her properly. I wondered if she was bothered by the age difference. She was thirty-six and I was twenty-three. Thirteen years. I could have some fun with that if she didn't get upset.

There was time before dinner, so I took some notes on the house design. I was responsible for knowing all the relevant themes. Vertical, horizontal, and good designs of both types. Also outliers with unusual, even comic, features. Also, as we would be reminded endlessly in the permit approval process, anything in Marin, especially back where the land was still mostly open, needed to respect nature. I wondered if I had the patience to sit through multiple harangues about respect. Some of the speakers would no doubt like the sound of their voice. Others would propose restrictions so onerous they were essentially trying to deny a permit. There was already a large adjoining land preserve. I smiled to myself. This was a good subject for pillow talk, while she was in a good mood. I suddenly realized that Claire had been years in the Sacramento legislative grinder, and knew all about devious and loquacious opponents. "Put on your game face," I envisioned telling her.

I got to Lulu's right at six. Claire was there, and so was another couple. I was introduced to Marc Valenti and his wife Sharon, who had gone to school with Claire. The waiter was there for a drink order and we went around. The women both wanted martinis. Marc had scotch on the rocks. I took a white wine. Said to myself a clear head was needed for sleepovers.

It turned out that Marc was an architect who mostly did residences for well off people in the Berkeley and Oakland hills. As the meal progressed and the scotch went to work, his pompous self emerged. Claire carefully explained that I was going to be her summer assistant in some planning for real estate acquisitions in Marin. It quickly became clear that Marc would like some of the action. I saw how well Claire handled him, deflecting the worst comments with questions on another subject. Sharon shared a few stories from her kids and otherwise was quiet as Marc monopolized the conversation. I saw her wince at his comments once or twice, which Claire picked up on. We skipped dessert and Claire made an excuse that she and I had an evening date with my professor and his wife. She also insisted on paying. For all his talk, Marc did not step up to the challenge of saying the bill was his.

Walking to my car, before I could say it, Claire poked me and said, "First class prick. I don't know why she stays married to him. Probably, for all that talk, he doesn't make much money."

I poked her back. "He is counting on your commissions."

"In a pig's eye! I hope you have something to drink at your apartment."

There was still a slight ammonia smell as we entered my abode. "You cheated and cleaned up!"

"I don't often entertain high class ladies such as yourself."