“So, how did the baseline exams go?”Karen Naylor, MD, Associate Dean of Clinical Research and Director of the university’s Clinical Research Department, looked at the woman sitting across from her desk. She had known Brandee since just after college. Karen scrutinized with disapproval the changes in her friend/employee’s appearance since the divorce. The transformation to single life showed in the heavy makeup, the sinful shade of lipstick and nail polish, and the gym-toned body. Speaking of that body, Karen wondered if Brandee was now having her lab coats custom tailored to show off those ludicrously oversized boobs of hers. And stilettos, every day? Really?”They went pretty well,” Brandee replied. “We’ve got a healthy team of guys there. No anomalies or outliers.” She smiled faintly, as if recalling a private joke. “Lots of, shall we say, overachievers.””Good. Wonderful news. So we can move forward into the next phase. Although I’ll be listed as the study coordinator, I’m counting on you to run the day-to-day. You’ve got way more experience with these things, and with my heavy workload I just simply do not have the time.”There was an awkward silence. Karen was stalling. A worried look passed over the nurse’s face, as her boss fiddled nervously with the diamond wedding bands on her ring finger, apparently uncertain of how to continue.”Brandee, you know I’m very istanbul travesti happy with your work here. All of us are. You’re a terrific manager of your staff, and of course everyone agrees you’re a top-notch nurse. You’re very good at what you do.””Um. Thanks.” Now Brandee crossed her legs and swallowed hard.”Brandee, Let me start by saying this. All schedule 2 drugs are registered in an electronic data base every time they are dispensed. Every time.”Brandee’s eyes began welling up with tears.Karen sighed. “You’re lucky the pharmacy called me first. If Cameron had gotten wind of this he would have fired you right on the spot.”Full-on crying now, the nurse sobbed, “Oh God, Karen. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.””You’re a healthcare professional. You know how addictive opioids are, how much damage they can do. Why would you want to fool around with that stuff?” She came around the desk and offered the distraught woman a Kleenex. Like Brandee, she was blonde and blue-eyed, and in her early forties, but she was several inches taller, with longer legs, a less majestic bust line, and a curvier hip-to-waist ratio. The other major difference was Karen’s style of dress and overall manner, which leaned toward “soccer mom,” while Brandee’s could best be described as “cougar on the prowl”.”But that’s the thing,” sobbed the buxom blonde, accepting the istanbul travesti tissue. “They weren’t for me at all. They were for Tayshaun.””Tayshaun? You mean that guy from the party?”Karen remembered Brandee’s date at the last office Christmas party, a good-looking hustler type of the kind that seemed to obsess her divorcee friend these days. Black, of course. Or rather, she corrected herself, African American. He had been well dressed and projected the confident aura of a successful salesmen. Watching the way he moved through the party, so assertive and self-assured, Karen wondered whether that swagger might result from being well endowed. She had spent the rest of the evening stealing covert glances at his crotch to see what he was “packing” down below, while simultaneously trying to concentrate on the holiday small talk going on around her. Try as she might, she could come to no firm conclusion about his size.Of course, she could have simply asked Brandee if her new boyfriend had “big one”, but she was not that kind of woman. Not to mention that penis size would be a totally inappropriate topic for a supervisor to discuss with an employee. Karen flushed with embarrassment at the memory of her behavior. What if someone had noticed her gazing intently at this strange man’s crotch? What if her husband had caught her?”No, actually istanbul travesti that was Trayvon at the party,” said Brandee. “I’m not seeing him anymore.” She fiddled with her smart phone and handed it to Karen. “This is Tayshaun.” The screen displayed a photo of a dark-skinned, muscular African American man no older than his late-twenties wearing a tight fitting light blue T-shirt. Jesus, thought Karen, this one is even better looking than the guy at the party! Where does she find them? Was there some special app? “Black Stud Finder?” Maybe a website… actually, there probably was a website.Sniffling but regaining composure, Brandee added, “There’s more pics there if you want to look.”Despite herself, Karen could not resist scrolling forward. Next was a full body shot of Tayshaun at the gym in a sleeveless fitness shirt, curling two large barbells, his massive shoulders and biceps flexing seductively. Concealed in his spandex shorts was the unmistakable outline of a meaty penis and large testicles, clearly defined through the fabric, the shaft so long part of it snaked down his left thigh.The next photo showed Tayshaun stretched out on a chaise lounge at what appeared to be a tropical resort, wearing nothing but a skimpy light blue Speedo and wraparound sunglasses. The Speedo was so inadequate to the task of concealing his massive genitals that the elastic around his inner thighs gaped. This shot also displayed Tayshaun’s well defined pectoral and abdominal muscles, gleaming like polished mahogany under the warm sun. He looked so confident lying there, hands clasped behind his head, like an idol waiting to be worshiped, certain he deserved it.