House Calls of an Architect

This is chapter one of a 'confessions of a window cleaner' type story following our protagonist, Thomas, as he learns the ropes at a small Architecture consultancy in England. Each chapter may have a different theme, maybe some domination, maybe a little incest or taboo, maybe some mature action, maybe some romance, and maybe some repeat characters, or... who knows. Let's see where it goes together.

If one chapter doesn't tickle your fancy, maybe the next will....I hope so. Oh, and I'm very open to any suggestions for what might happen to Thomas next...just add it to the comments.

As always, all characters are of age and consent to the activities described, and unfortunately, none of this relates to actual people I know, but some may come from personal experience.

*****

Chapter One: First day at work introduces Thomas to Ms. Brown.

I drive into the Gallagher & Holmes parking lot and slot my ten-year-old Ford Focus between a brand-new Jaguar XF and a relatively new Mini coupe. It's my first day of my first proper job. It's Monday, it's eight twenty in the morning, and I am a cordial ten minutes early.

My name is Thomas McAllister. Friends call me Mac.

I should clarify a little. This is actually day one of my two years of employment experience required as part of my six-year Architecture degree. I've completed four years. These next two years will be followed by exams back at University before I am a fully qualified Architect.

I check myself in the rear-view mirror to ensure my hair hasn't somehow become wild or my face mucky in the short journey from home to the offices. All looks good. I had my hair cut on Saturday, so my brown locks are neat and tidy in what I perceive to be an office-ready style. I went for a mix between the Hemsworth brothers and Timothy Chalamet. Turned out alright, if I do say so myself. I shaved this morning, so, unfortunately, I look about sixteen, even though I am twenty-three. People say my eyes are my best attribute. They are green and weirdly translucent. I'm never sure whether it's a compliment or not. It kind of ignores the rest of my face, which is pretty good, and ignores the rest of my body, which is pretty good too. I'm not ripped or anything, but I've played a lot of tennis, so I'm toned and fit. Why do people just focus on my eyes...sorry, no pun intended.

Depending on how you look at it, I have either been really lucky, or really unlucky in the location of my work experience. It is five miles from my childhood home, which is located in a sleepy village in the south of England. This means I can live at home and not pay rent for two years and get home-cooked food. Thereby saving myself at least twenty thousand pounds. On the flip side, some of my friends found work placements near the University and are, therefore, enjoying the social life of a student for an extra two years. In contrast, my social life will fall off a cliff now.

The offices are in a converted stable block that was originally built in the 1850s. The founders of G&H bought them in a state of disrepair and designed them into beautiful offices. It's the kind of project I would love to do once I'm qualified. Exposed stone walls and original beams. Large floor-to-ceiling windows where stable doors would have been. Lots of nooks, crannies, and original features give it an oldie-worldie feel but with the necessities of a modern office dotted throughout - large flat screens in meeting rooms, video conferencing, and large drafting tables. It's wonderful. The downside being that it is in the middle of nowhere. Want a Starbucks? Drive twenty minutes. Cheeky KFC for lunch? Twenty minutes. There is at least an equally old pub within walking distance. But most people drive to work, so I can't see many after-work drinks happening.

I grab my rucksack from the passenger seat. The contents of which currently consist of a moleskin notebook (a present from my father's girlfriend), a banana (presented to me by my father's girlfriend as I left the house), and a half-full reusable water bottle (I did at least source that myself). I feel a bit of a fraud carrying such an empty bag, but maybe I will get something to fill it with today. I silently scold myself for not cleaning the inside of the car. It has drink cans, the mandatory paper bags, cardboard boxes, and paper cups from a drive-thru thrown in the footwell.

I have been to the G&H offices twice before for interviews, so I know my way to reception. I catch my reflection in the glass of the doors. Simple, smart, blue, button-down shirt, paired with blue chino's; Brown leather chelsea boots complete my professional but casual selection. I must have changed my outfit four times this morning. I ended up discarding my jacket, as the day is relatively warm - for the UK anyway - and I opted for no tie. Surely an Architect doesn't wear a tie?

The building is a 'U' shape, otherwise known as a courtyard design. The main entrance is in the middle of the bottom of the 'U'. Meeting rooms and offices then branch off on either side. The stable doors would have faced into a central cobblestone courtyard. The doors now replaced with large glass panels or glass doors facing into a manicured garden area. As I wander to reception, I remember the girl who greeted me last time, and hope it is the same. I am not disappointed.

"Hi Thomas, it's good to see you again. Congratulations on getting the job. I'm Lauren, by the way, if you've forgotten my name from when you were last here." Lauren beams at me from behind a large reception desk.

How could I forget Lauren? She is maybe nineteen or twenty and absolutely stunning. Absolutely stunning. She's sitting there in that way only beautiful people can. A serene, relaxed calmness in any situation. Her platinum blonde hair cascades over her shoulders like it's been styled by pure chance, but it's perfect - effortless. Talking of my eyes, her blue eyes caught me first, last time I was here. They're piercing, almost unnervingly so, like they can see right through me. See what I am thinking, every sordid secret I have. There's a kind of energy in them, something playful but deep, like she's got a story worth unravelling. I feel something unravelling anyway.

Her skin is flawless, this soft glow that makes her look like she stepped out of a dream. And her lips - don't get me started. They're the kind that make you forget what you were going to say. There's nothing loud or flashy about her, just this quiet confidence that will somehow draw every eye in the room. She's wearing this simple black top, nothing extravagant, but, again, I come back to the beautiful people thing, on her body, it might as well be couture. She's the kind of beautiful that look great in absolutely anything.

The understated top doesn't flaunt her boobs, but, my god, from what I can see they are spectacular specimens. Large mounds of pure joy pointed proudly outwards from her slender frame. I can't see under the desk, but my mind imagines endless, toned legs.

Maybe it's the way she tilts her head slightly, the way her hair catches the light or the way her lips spread as she smiles - but she's magnetic. I would sell my soul for her. I want to know her, everything about her. She's the kind of beautiful that doesn't just stop you in your tracks; it sticks with you.

That she actually remembers me, throws me a little. "Hi Lauren, of course I remember you." I feel myself flushing slightly. "Thank you. I'm er looking forward to er getting started." I'm beginning to feel awkward, but I can't stop looking into her eyes.

"Let me ping Sandra and tell her you are here. They will have lined up an induction and stuff for you." She does me a favour by breaking the gaze and tapping on a keyboard.

"You're local, aren't you?" She enquires as she looks at the screen.

"Yes. Charlton under Thames. But I'm at Uni in Manchester." I make sure I throw in the Manchester bit, I don't want her to think I'm just a little village boy. "How about you? Local too?"

"Quite local, yeah. I live in Gorchester. My parents only moved there two years ago from Canterbury, though. So, a newbie, really."

"Gorchy is not too bad. I used to go out there quite a bit with mates. It's not quite the city of Canterbury, though; it must feel quiet around here."

"You can say that again! Yeah, and Manchester..." she gives me a smile that almost dissolves me. "But it's nice here." I'm not sure whether she is saying this for her own benefit, or to me. Her computer pings and, at the same time, the front entrance door opens behind me.

"Sandra is on her way, Thomas. If you want to take a seat, she shouldn't be long," Lauren nods at a small area with soft, brown leather chairs before turning to the door. "Morning Rob, nice weekend?" There is a smile with the greeting, but I think I also see apprehension. I pick up a brochure, so it doesn't seem like I am paying attention to them, but I listen in and keep them in the corner of my eye.

Rob: (grinning as he walks into the office) "Morning, gorgeous! You're looking like a breath of fresh air today. Lovely weekend, lovely. Eighteen holes on Saturday, followed by too many sherbets in the clubhouse, nine holes yesterday, and a few pints watching the football in The Oaks. Perfect weekend."

Lauren: (smiling with her mouth, but not her eyes) "Sounds great, Rob."

Rob: (leans on the edge of her desk, clearly invading her space, trousers too tight around his crotch) "You should've been there - you'd be the prettiest thing on the course, no contest."

Lauren: (forces another small smile, keeping her tone professional) "Sounds fun. I don't really play golf, though, Rob."

Rob: (chuckles, patting his stomach) "Well, I could give you lessons! I'm pretty good, if I do say so myself." (jumps up and putts an imaginary ball with an imaginary golf club).

Lauren: (turns back to her computer, then looks at me, I see an idea spring into her mind): "Rob, let me introduce you to Thomas. He's starting today. Trainee Architect."

I look up, as if I have just heard my name. I don't mind being used as a distraction. Rob is a smartly dressed man of about forty. His beer belly is stretching his blue, checked waistcoat to its limit, the buttons pulling the material into bunches, and his matching trousers are fighting equally hard to wrap around his waist and thighs. Slicked back, brown hair. Moustache. 'Dangerous' is the word that comes to mind. He's wearing a tie.

"Well, well. What have we here. Fresh-blood." He stands and walks over to me with an outstretched hand. "I'm Rob. Rob Smart. Smart by name, Smart by nature."

I'm sure I see Lauren's eyes roll as he says it.

"Quantity surveyor. I do the hard work after you Architects dream up your crazy ideas. Tommy, was it?"

"Nice to meet you. Thomas. Thomas McAllister. People call me Mac."

"Is the Ford focus yours, Tommy?"

"Er, yes. I think so," I'm surprised by the question. "It's Thomas, Mac."

"Mines the yellow MX5 convertible, Tommy, can't miss it Lauren, can you!" It's not a question. "You have to take me up on that drive sometime," he's turned back to Lauren, she smiles.

"Yeah, yeah, sometime," professional again.

"Well, I'll be seeing you around no doubt, Tommy," he says over his shoulder. "See you later too, gorgeous," he points at Lauren and pretends his finger is a gun before walking through a door that separates the reception area from the offices.

To Lauren's credit, she smiles and replies, "Have a good day, Rob."

My mouth is open in disbelief. I can't believe this character still exists in the workplace. I look at Lauren, who gives me a resigned smile, but before either of us can say anything, the same door opens, and a homely woman in her mid-forties comes through and approaches me.

"Thomas. Sandra. We talked on the phone. Welcome to the family."

"Thanks Sandra. Good to meet you in person."

Considering it's well before nine o'clock on Monday morning, Sandra already looks stressed. Straight brown hair that, when she left the house, probably looked lovely, probably brushed, probably shiny and conditioned. But it is now pulled back tightly into a scrunchie to keep it out of her way. She has a curvaceous body, thin legs and arms, with a fair size pair of tits and a good size ass. A thin frame of her face, but chubby cheeks give her an added warmth. In another life she could have been a school head-mistress. She holds herself in a confident fashion, but her pretty eyes dart around, appearing insecure -- imposter syndrome? Unsure of her job?

She has her phone out, which she is reading, plus juggling a folder and a cup of something. "Come on through. Come on through. Let's show you your desk and give you the tour."

I follow her as she turns and walks back towards the door. I want to say something to Lauren but can't think of what to say. "Thanks, Lauren." I don't know what I am thanking her for.

"Laters... Mac." My head twists. She doesn't look up from her computer screen. I'm not sure if she is taking the piss out of me, or if it is genuine. My stomach twists.

Sandra leads me into an open-plan office space on the other side of the door and past a collection of occupied desks, waving her hand, explaining the groups of people sitting in each area, but not introducing anyone. Less speed-dating, more speed-skating. "This is the accounts team, this is purchasing, this is HR..."

I should clarify that each of these teams appear to consist of two people sitting opposite each other.

"This is the little kitchen area, there's free tea and coffee, milk in the fridge. You can also store your lunch in the fridge, but write your name on it, there are thieves amongst us," she laughs. I think of my banana.

We reach Rob, who has a larger desk than the others.

"This is Rob, he's..."

"...two steps ahead of you Sandy. Me and young Tommy met already, so there's no need to introduce us. Move along. Move along" He waves his hand to encourage us past. I'm surprised he doesn't slap Sandra on the ass as she passes.

"Ok, great. Thank you, Rob." We keep walking a couple of steps. "This is my desk," Sandra announces, and I immediately feel sorry for her. The desk she is pointing at backs onto Rob's desk. She must have to put up with him all day, every day. It may also explain her demeanour. We keep walking.

"And this is where you will be sitting." There is a bank of three drafting tables, with smaller desks with large computer screens next to each. Two face each other, against the window looking into the courtyard. The third crosses the end of the other two. A guy and a lady are seated at the two next to the window.

"May I introduce you to your new best friends, Poppy and James. They support Mr Gallagher, and you will be joining their team."

As Sandra says this, both stand and make a move toward me to say hello. However, we are all distracted by a raised male voice in reception. Our heads turn as the door flies open, and I recognise Jeremy Gallagher coming towards us. He of Gallagher and Holmes. I recognise him because both Jeremy Gallagher and Leo Holmes interviewed me for the job. He walks through the office without saying anything and enters a glass cube of an office just past where we are standing, throwing a satchel onto a chair, and closing the door behind him.

We look at each other in some confusion, before carrying on with our introductions.

"As I said, your team supports Jeremy, there's another team that supports Leo," Sandra continues. Poppy's computer starts making a bleeping sound, and she ducks back to it, picking up the headset.

Poppy is around fifty. Maybe I'm doing her a disservice. She might be younger, but she doesn't seem to take much care in her appearance, so may appear older than she actually is. She looks to be the kind of person who doesn't wear anything that has come from animals, but keeps chickens, and burns lavender oil when no one's looking. There's a handmade scarf draped over her chair, the colours of which are as eclectic as the stories that I'm sure she tells around a campfire on the weekend. Bohemian? Is that the term? She wears a linen dress, its muted green hue complements her natural, earth-toned skin, and the long strands of wooden beads draped around her neck sway gently as she moves. There's something calming about her... I don't want to say it...her 'aura'. She looks like she will be an interesting character to learn from.

"Hi Lauren, how can I help?" She pauses. "Okay....of course...will do...bye."

She turns to me and somehow, I know that this is not going to be good. Looking at me lovingly, as if I am her own child, or I am a patient in a counselling session, "Thomas, could you be a love and pop outside and move your car. I think you've accidentally parked in Jeremy's parking spot."

I feel the eyes of the whole office upon me. I feel my face start to burn. My armpits suddenly want to secrete my body weight in sweat. My feet are glued to the floor, I can't move. My mouth opens, but I can't speak. Seconds feel like hours.

The thing that breaks me from my stupor is the sound of Rob laughing behind me. Bastard. He saw my car. He knew.

Poppy continues, "Lauren's got Jeremy's keys, James, could you move his car once Thomas has moved his?"

"Of course. No problem," James says. "Come on, Lightening McQueen," he beckons to me and starts to walk. I follow, keeping my head down and ignoring Rob, as well as everyone else. When I reach reception, I can't look Lauren in the eye either as she gives James the keys for Mr Gallagher's car. I do at least manage to mumble a 'Sorry' to her. James and I walk out into the car park. I do at least manage to mumble a 'Thank you' to him, too, as he walks to Mr Gallacher's Range Rover.

When I sit in the car and turn the key, every bone in my body wants to just drive. Get as far away as possible. Just drive.

Instead, I rev the car loudly and shout 'Fuck!' at the top of my voice.

***

Somehow, I get through the rest of the morning unscathed. In between dealing with crises, Sandra gives me a briefing on many topics; gives me an ipad of my own; gets me setup on teams sites and payroll systems, and completes the morning with a tour of the rest of the building. The other side of the 'U' has the majority of the meeting rooms, another small kitchen, toilets, desks for another three Architects - who support Mr Holmes - none of which are in the office, and then there is Mr Holmes' office. It's a mirror of Mr Gallacher's, on the opposite side of the courtyard. They can wave at each other if they so desire or exit through large bi-fold doors of each office, and trot across to one another, if they so wish.

As we walk through reception Lauren has been replaced by a guy around my age, who introduces himself as Charles. He's covering Lauren while she's on her lunch break. I'm mixed between being relieved that I don't have to re-live the embarrassment of earlier, and disappointed not to see her.

Mid-morning - a small van turns up outside, and a lady called Julie comes round selling sandwiches from a basket, which I take advantage of to add to my lonely banana.

As I am tucking into my mediocre chicken salad sandwich -- a recommendation from Julie - James asks Sandra if he can steal me for the afternoon. He is visiting a new client and wants to take me along for the experience. Sandra seems more than happy to pass me on. Maybe the car park incident is still casting a shadow over me, and she doesn't want to be associated with the pariah.

James is tall, with a solid, bulky build, it suggests he either plays rugby, or did so in his youth. He's mid to late thirties, I would guess at. His dark brown hair is neatly cut, with a slight wave that gives it a bit of character. His face is open and friendly, with a neatly trimmed beard that frames a strong jawline. His eyes are warm and expressive. His smile is wide and genuine, the kind that puts people at ease.