Chapter 1: Butting Heads

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Slow, .

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1: Butting Heads - Two young, driven to succeed people, clash before they come to an understanding. The journey is interrupted, but not ended.

"God Dammit, Woman, can't you get it through your head that this is my project to run, not yours?"

"And can't you get it through your thick Scottish skull that you're trying to sell people $750,000 houses and they expect them to look like $750,000 houses."

They were at it again. The crews called them "Thunder and Lightning." Angus McLaren, known to most as "Gus," and Tatyana Helgesen, known variously as "Tatya" or "Helge the Horrible," were once again battling over design and cost.

It was a sight to behold as well as a source of amusement to the various crews on the site of the Granite Ridge development. Two hundred fifty luxury homes in the Comox Valley on central Vancouver Island aimed at upper income retirees. Carved out of a logged-off area from half a century ago, the 500 acre property was a challenge to develop.

Angus Douglas McLaren was the twenty-six year old son of Donald James McLaren, property developer and builder for the last thirty years. Angus was following in his father's footsteps, working with him since he was fourteen. Unlike his father, Angus had a diploma in construction technology from a technical institute.

While Donald was by far the more experienced, he would be the first to admit his son was his superior when it came to product knowledge and new ideas. They worked as a team, almost always seeing eye-to-eye. Donald was the overall boss and now had the luxury to put his hammer and saw down. At the age of fifty-five, he was fit and health, enjoying the fruits of his labour. His pride in Angus was obvious to anyone who knew him. Donald still cruised the jobsites, but left the hands-on management to his son.

Tatyana Helgesen was the same age as Angus, but of a completely different mindset. She was the first of her family to complete a university education, graduating in architecture near the top of her class and now working for a prestigious firm in Vancouver. Within two years, she had earned the respect of her mentor and senior partner, Taylor Erskine, and was awarded the role of site liaison with McLaren Construction. That rankled a few more senior men in the office of her employer. However, since she was out of sight on Vancouver Island and not often seen in the home office, she avoided the friction that might have existed with both the established and the ambitious younger architects.

Gus McLaren was built like all the other McLaren menfolk. He was tall at six-foot-five, a solidly built two hundred twenty-five pounds, and to most people, fairly handsome. He was the only son of equally big Donald and Mary McLaren. Mary, herself, was nearly six feet, and Gus's two sisters were five-ten and robust as well. Both were older and married. Gus was single and had no girlfriend at present.

Tatyana was almost Gus's equal. She was six-foot-one and two hundred pounds. There wasn't an ounce of noticeable fat on her Amazonian body. From Danish-Russian stock, she was blonde-haired, blue-eyed and possessed a prodigious chest, thus earning her one of her nicknames. She was attractive, but frightened off most suitors with her size and overpowering personality. She was determined to be a success. Any serious relationship would have to wait.

There were times that it looked like one or the other, Lightning or Thunder, would commit murder. Their relationship was as rocky as the three hundred mile long island mountain of granite they worked on.

The two didn't start out as combatants, but it wasn't long before Gus was trying to get Tatyana to see the common sense of his position. Tatyana, however, reminded him that the architect's unifying vision was critical to the success of the new community and was to be preserved at all cost. Cost was the magic word that invariably set them on a collision course.

"There's no reason we can't use pre-cast stone finish for the skirt on these houses," Gus said, pointing to the house in question.

"It looks phony, Mister McLaren," she spat. "It isn't worth saving two hundred dollars and having it look cheap."

"Don't you have any sense of budget responsibility?" he snarled. "If we keep going this way, we'll have to sell these places for $850,000. You and I both know that won't fly in this area."

"Once again, you're exaggerating the numbers to try to make your weak point. Your father hired us to make this the signature development in the mid-island, and that's exactly what I intend to do. Your job is to make it happen," she snapped.

"We'll see about that," he grumbled, stomping off to his truck.

"Where are you going? Running off to daddy again?" she sneered.

He ignored the taunt, but that was exactly where he was heading. He was caught in a difficult tug-of-war. Design versus cost. Cost versus design. It didn't seem winnable some days.

Tatyana watched him drive away in his truck. There was no slamming of doors or burning rubber. She knew he was angry and frustrated, but this was just another of their seemingly constant battles -- that she usually won. She understood his cost concerns, but she was also careful how far over the line she could push the younger McLaren.

Tatya, as her mother Elena called her, wasn't just a talented architect. She was also a math whiz. She could do numbers in her head faster than most people with a calculator. She knew exactly what her changes were going to cost and how much they would affect the budget. If, in fact, the costs were excessive, she would concede and it would never become an issue. In this case, it was such a small amount that she knew she could stand her ground. The additional cost would come out of the savings made on the concrete pour for the foundation. The younger McLaren was holding those savings in his back pocket. She knew his conservative nature and used it against him when necessary.

Their contests of wills did not go unnoticed by either Donald McLaren or Elena Helgesen. Donald thought it was quite humorous while Elena worried that her daughter might be jeopardizing her career. When Mary McLaren mentioned the constant arguing, Donald chuckled and explained that both of them were trying to do the best job they knew how and McLaren Construction was the beneficiary. If the contest ever got out of hand, he would step in. So far, that hadn't been necessary.

Gus knew he was beaten before he walked in the door of their office in the show home. He wondered if it was even worth discussing. That damn woman had a way of getting under his skin and she seemed to delight in picking fights. Worst of all, he lost most of those fights. At the last minute, he decided to drop the issue and not bother his father with it.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at his makeshift desk. On the wall before him were the twenty-five various floor plans that made up the designs for Granite Ridge. By flipping them and altering the elevations, they could make each house unique and avoid the dreaded tract housing look. He had to admit, Taylor Erskine and Tatyana had come up with a clever set of designs. Simple ideas like having the garage entry on the side instead of the front made a world of difference in the appearance. Yes, he had to admit, the woman knew her business. If only she'd stick to the design and leave the material details to him.

Tatyana walked the jobsite at least twice a day. Only thirty-six of the houses had been completed. Only two dozen were landscaped. The first occupants had moved in a month earlier and she spent a lot of her time talking to them. She wanted to hear their comments about the homes, good and bad. It wasn't too late to fix things with the majority of the project. So far, there was little to concern her. However, it was early yet, and the bloom of new ownership was still fresh.

Everyone in the development, including the new owners, knew who she was. She was impossible to miss. She strolled the newly paved streets and concrete sidewalks, making sure everything was going per her plans. She didn't hesitate to approach any of the workers to ask a question or point out a concern. Her imposing size and commanding voice got everyone's attention. She wore jeans with work boots and a flannel shirt. In the cold or rain, she donned a Carhartt jacket. At all times, she wore a hard hat. The effect was to make her look as big as Gus McLaren. She was something to see.

Donald McLaren had preached the gospel of quality for money, and Tatyana was a disciple of extraordinary zeal. She inspected interior finish and outside painting with equal intensity, even down to the final cleaning of a house about to be turned over to the new owners. If it were her home, she'd want it to be perfect. Since she thought of these buildings as hers, she inspected them with that in mind.

Angus McLaren was no less particular about quality. His father had emphasized it from the very beginning and it was now an ingrained philosophy for both himself and his employees. The sub-trades all knew what was expected of them and failure to meet the McLaren standards usually meant either doing the job over or being replaced. The McLaren reputation was something Donald, Mary and Angus guarded as their most important asset. If a homeowner had a complaint or a concern, a small crew was dispatched that same day to review the issue and report. All calls and their outcome were logged and noted. You didn't want to show up in that log too often. It wouldn't be good for your long-term future at McLaren.

It was a pleasant May afternoon when Gus retreated to the office after his encounter with Tatyana. He'd cooled off now, realizing it was a big fuss over very little. He had to quit letting her bait him like that. She almost gave the impression she took some sort of sick pleasure in harassing him. What she needed was a good, hard fuck. Maybe that would take the edge off her and make her more pleasant to be around.

He sighed as another week came to a close. He was going out with Wade Boudreau on a blind date. He was not looking forward to it. Wade was a good guy and a friend, but blind dates were always dangerous territory for him. It wasn't like he would be saddled with some homely dog. More likely, a twenty-something airhead, knowing Wade's tastes. He tended to equate intelligence with bra size. On the other hand, it would likely be an evening's harmless entertainment.

Wade was the owner of a very successful drywall and plaster contracting firm. He had the contract for Granite Ridge and a number of other commercial jobs from Campbell River to Parksville. He was a bachelor too, and lived a carefree lifestyle in contrast to his full time efforts on the jobsite. Yesterday, Gus saw Wade hauling sacks of plaster from his truck into a new home. He was almost bathed white in plaster dust, but didn't mind a bit. It was part of the job.

When Tatyana first showed up on the jobsite, Wade made a beeline for her. Never shy, he was in the process of being eaten alive when he suggested that they date that weekend. He took her outburst to be a "No," but not a permanent "No." Her second vociferous "No" a week later gave him the hint that it wasn't in the cards. Because she towered over him by almost six inches, he finally determined that she wasn't his type.

When Wade and Gus were together, they looked like Mutt and Jeff. Gus was a head taller than Wade, but it didn't bother Wade in the slightest. Gus was his wingman and that was all there was to it. Neither of them had any trouble attracting the attention of the ladies. Gus because of his size, and Wade because of his personality. They made an interesting pair and seldom had to spend an evening alone.

This Friday night, Gus would crash at Wade's two-bedroom apartment. They could walk to their favourite watering hole from there and not worry about how much they had to drink. If they struck it rich, they could bring the ladies back to the apartment for further entertainment. It wasn't very often that they came home alone.

Gus had given up his apartment in Vancouver's False Creek when Granite Ridge became a reality. It made no sense to pay the mortgage and leave it empty. It would be at least a two year project from start to finish. If he tried to sell it, it would be at break-even at best with the weak condo market and the glut of high-rise apartments available. He chose to rent it out to two women who looked reasonably responsible. The rent would at least cover the mortgage with a bit left over.

His parents had moved to the island when the project was confirmed. It was their intention to retire here and any jobs in the future would likely come from the influx of retired people from across the west. The Granite Ridge project by itself would assure them of a comfortable retirement. Gus was happy for them. His mother took to living in the Comox Valley immediately. She loved the pace of life and the great view of Georgia Strait from their living room. She had everything she wanted here.

Gus was living in his parents' guest suite above the three car detached garage. It did not allow him complete privacy, but the short walk to his mother's kitchen for meals made the suite a welcome alternative to a motel room or a boarding house. If he was going to be here for more than two years, at least he was going to be comfortable. When his mother suggested he move in, he took less than ten seconds to agree. The suite was over eight hundred square feet and gave him a living area, one bedroom, kitchen, bathroom and a small study he could use as an office.

Behind the house was a barn that had been converted into a storage shed for equipment. Gus had more than enough room to park his truck out of the weather. All his tools and workshop items were right at hand. It was an ideal situation. There was also room enough for his other vehicle, currently in Vancouver.

Gus locked up the office shortly after five that Friday afternoon and headed for his parents' home. He was meeting Wade at seven at the Grumpy Dog for a meal and a couple of beers. It would be nine before the evening crowd showed up and the band began. They could play some pool while waiting, or shoot the shit with various acquaintances – or both. He had no particular plans for the weekend. Skiing at Mt. Washington was done in April and at best, he might pick up a game of golf at Crown Isle or Glacier Greens. A bit early for salmon, but it might be worth a try. Not exactly the perfect weekend, but it would do.

The Granite Ridge development was twenty minutes from the McLaren home in Comox and it was another fifteen minutes from home to the pub. Gus had time for a shower and changed into clean jeans and a t-shirt that emphasized his muscular torso. A highly polished pair of caramel and mahogany cowboy boots and a matching belt finished the outfit. A tan windbreaker would keep him warm later in the evening.

He pulled up to the pub just after seven and walked in, immediately spotting Wade at a table, talking to one of the waitresses.

"Hey, big guy, nice to see you again," the waitress said with a big smile.

"You too, Willa. How's life treating you?"

"Not too bad. Jerry will be back from Alberta in a week, so I'll be even better then."

"Yeah," Gus nodded. "Must be tough with him gone for weeks at a time."

"I don't suppose I'll ever get used to it," she said, "but he's makin' so much money that we'll tough it out for a while yet before he quits and we look for somethin' different. The usual for you, Gus?"

"Yep. What's the special tonight?"

"Jeez, you have to ask? It's Friday. What's the special every Friday?" she said with an exasperated look.

"Uhhm ... breaded prawns and chips, Caesar salad side," Gus grinned.

"How did you ever guess," she said with a snort and a shake of her head. "Same for you, Wade?"

"Sure, Willa. Why change now?" he chuckled.

Wade was halfway through his beer before Gus's arrived.

"So, any likely candidates tonight?" Gus asked, looking around.

"Have you forgotten it's all arranged?" Wade asked in surprise. "This hot babe Claire and her friend are meeting us here sometime between eight and nine."

"Who's Claire?"

"She works at the bank. She's in the business office and looks after our line of credit and current account. Very nice," Wade smirked, using his hands to outline a voluptuous body.

"What a surprise," Gus said, shaking his head. I hope her friend isn't five foot two."

"Yeah," he laughed, "that would be awkward. Her nose would be bumping into your bellybutton."

"Go ahead and laugh. It's not easy finding women that can handle someone my size."

That brought a fit of laughter from Wade. "Are you braggin' or complainin'?"

"You know what I mean," Gus said with a smirk.

"I keep telling you, you got to get to Tatya. She's definitely your size."

"Jesus, I can hardly stand to be around her most of the time. All we ever do is argue. She is one opinionated bitch. I swear she's still a virgin. No guy could stand to be with her for any length of time."

"You're looking at this all wrong, Gus. Just think of the reward of being her first. All that acreage and playground. You'd need to be a guy your size to handle her."

"Well, that ain't me. I don't know whether she just hates me or she's miserable to everyone, but I don't intend to make a bad situation worse."

"Gus ... Gus ... Gus. No guts, no glory. Someone has to be first. It might as well be you."

At that moment, Willa arrived with their dinners and took their orders for another beer. Gus was grateful that the few minutes they took to eat helped kill the subject of Tatyana Helgesen. As fascinating as the woman was, she was nothing but aggravation for him and minimizing his exposure to her was a prime objective of his working day.

It was eight thirty when Wade signalled that their dates had arrived. Wade stood quickly while Gus unwound himself from the chair.

"Hi, Claire. This is my friend, Gus McLaren. Gus, this is Claire Franklin. Why don't you introduce your friend?"

"Sure, this is Sue Masterson. She works at the bank too."

"Nice to meet you, Sue ... Claire," Gus smiled.

"Jesus, I got the giant economy size tonight," Sue said, looking up at Gus.

Sue wasn't terribly short, but she was easily a foot shorter than Gus McLaren. The girls seated themselves. Willa took their drink orders and moved quickly to the bar.

Sue directed her comments to Wade. "Claire says you own your own business."

"Yeah. I worked for another construction company for a while, then figured I could do this for myself ... so I did."

"What about you, Gus?" Claire asked.

"I run a construction company for my father. We build houses mostly. Wade is one of our contractors."

"Wow, you guys are really young to be running companies like that," Sue said.

"I've been working construction since I was fourteen," Gus said. "Went to BCIT for four years and got my diploma in construction. We're building the Granite Ridge subdivision right now."

"Really?" Sue exclaimed. "I go up there once in a while just to see my dream home. Every time I go there I change my mind and pick a different home. God, I wish I could live there. It's beautiful."

"Thank you," Gus said with a smile. "I'm glad it impresses you."

"Did you design your own homes," Sue asked.

"No, we had an architect design them. There are twenty-five floor plans, but when we are done, I defy anyone to find two homes that will look the same," Gus bragged.

"That's amazing," Sue said, genuinely interested.

The drinks arrived for the girls and five minutes later the band began tuning up.

Gus invited Sue to dance as soon as the first tune began. Wade and Claire followed them onto the small parquet floor. Gus was no Fred Astaire, but he could hold his own and Sue was able to follow him quite easily. Wade and Claire put on a performance and since they were the only two couples on the floor, Gus gave them their space and generally moved well away.

After the first set, the foursome returned to their table for a break and some conversation. It didn't take Gus long to realize he and Sue had little in common other than her admiration for the houses he built. She didn't participate in any sports, didn't belong to any clubs and apparently had few if any interests outside of work, shopping and going out with Claire or other friends.

Gus would have given anything to find a reason to call the date off, but was too polite to do that and embarrass Sue. He would tough it out, but there would be no second date. They made polite conversation and danced some more, but the evening was going nowhere for the two. Surprisingly, it was Sue who called the evening to a close.

"We really don't have much in common, do we?" she said quietly to him when there was a lull in the music.

Gus shrugged. "Sorry, but I think you're right. What can I do to make it better?"

"Are you sober enough to drive?" she asked.

Gus nodded. "Yes, I've been coasting for a couple of hours. My car is at Wade's place, but that's only a couple of blocks from here."

"Why don't we walk to your car and you can drive me home. Then you can decide what you want to do."

Gus glanced at the clock and saw that it was barely ten o'clock. She had given him an escape and he was willing to take it as long as it didn't offend Sue.

"If you're sure, I'd be happy to drive you where you want to go."

"Let's go. I'll make my excuses to Claire and Wade."

Wade gave him a curious look but little more when Sue explained they were leaving. They made the five-minute walk to Wade's apartment building and Gus opened the door on his truck for Sue. Ten minutes later he walked her to the door of her townhouse.

"Sorry it didn't work out, Sue."

"Blind dates hardly ever do," she said with a smile. "No hard feelings. Sometimes it just goes that way."

Gus nodded, wished her a good night and returned to his truck.

For the rest of this story, you need to Log In or Register

Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Slow /