Size Queen Wife Ch. 02

Chapter 2: Awesome Endowment

"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 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 40s, 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 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 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-20s 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.

With difficulty, Karen tore her attention away from the photos, and thrust the phone back to her employee. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Brandee, but that does not look like somebody with a substance abuse problem."

"Tayshaun? Oh, God, no. He's a health nut. The pills weren't for him. No, it was someone at his gym. Tayshaun owed him money, and the guy said he would take Oxycontin instead."

"Good Lord, Brandee," Karen moaned, rubbing her eyes with her thumb and index finger. "How do you get yourself into these situations? Well, in any case, I am glad to hear that at least the drugs weren't for you."

She returned to her desk chair, her demeanor shifting into medical professional mode. "Did you know I did my fellowship in psychiatry? It's very common for women in controlling relationships to minimize the problem. Abuse doesn't have to be physical. It can be emotional or psychological too."

Brandee straightened up in the chair, responded in an even tone: "This is not an abusive relationship, Karen. My marriage to Dennis, that was an abusive relationship. He was a racist asshole. I was just doing Tayshaun a favor."

Karen tapped a pencil on the desk. "Would you say you had a childhood that led you to doubt your self-worth? A common characteristic among victims in unhealthy relationships is a lack of self-esteem and self-worth. And when we stay in these relationships we become increasingly depressed. And then of course our self-worth plummets further. It's easy to feel trapped and hopeless. I could recommend some people you could talk to..."

Brandee let out a burst of laugher. "Karen, I appreciate your concern, but really it's not like that. We're hardly even dating seriously, really. It's just a casual thing. He's like a friend with benefits, or whatever. That's all. I made a mistake. I'm sorry."

Karen shifted back to friend mode. "It's just that I worry about you. I know the divorce was hard, and I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Ha! Are you kidding? My divorce was the best thing that ever happened to me. Not all of us are made for marriage. We can't all have what you and Craig have, you know."

Karen paused, parsing those last words for hints of sarcasm.

"Okay. If you say everything's all right, I believe you. I'm more concerned about your wellbeing than the drug thing. We can let it go with warning this time, if I have your word it will never happen again. Just know that you can come to me if you ever need help."

After Brandee left, Karen tried to get back to her daily routine. As she methodically dealt with each item in her crowded email inbox, she could not keep her mind off those incredibly erotic images of Tayshaun. The smooth onyx skin, the muscular body, and the awe inspiring endowment kept displacing mundane work matters.

She wondered how a woman could accommodate a such enormous cock. Was it painful? Or did it feel better? And if it did feel better, did it wreck the tensile strength of a vagina for normal ones like her husband's?

She doubted it. After all, the female vagina expanded significantly during childbirth and then returned to its normal size afterward.

Or did it? Had her own vagina retained its full elasticity after giving birth to two daughters? It was difficult to judge. And that wasn't the kind of topic addressed in medical training.

There was a knock at her door. Her boss, Cameron Neville, Dean of the Medical School, entered, looking worried.

"Well? Progress?"

"Baselines were done this morning. We should do the first round of ingestibles next week. Everything's on track."

"And the players have all signed their consent forms. They understand they're being studied, correct? And they agree to it?"

"Yes. All right here." She patted a stack of papers on her desk.

"Good. Please just keep an eye on Brandee, Karen. We need to present data at the symposium next November. If we knock the trial out of the park, we'll be in line for the Braun grant. The board sees the two as connected. Even though I'm well aware they shouldn't be. But don't get me started on that..."

"Got it. Will do."

Cameron sat down. "And what about her...personal behavior?"

"Are you asking me if she can keep her hands off the football players, Cameron?"

"Well, you know her better than I do."

"She's fine. Don't worry. She's the best nurse we have. And anyway, I'll be at her side the whole time."