Fasse den folgenden Text in stichworten zusammen: """Part 1 I had just tossed my headset down and was starting to pack things up when Dave came up behind me. "Hey, Brian - when are you finished?" Since I already knew what was coming next, I deliberately continued shutting down my programs, killing them one by one with a simple click of the mouse. "About five minutes ago," I told him. He shuffled his feet and stared down at me with that nervous, doomed look he did so well. In the six months I'd been with the company, I don't think I'd ever seen him relaxed. "Would you mind staying a couple hours?" He actually cringed as he said it, which suggested he was learning. "Even an hour would be great." "Nope. Sorry, but I've gotta go." With all the important programs closed, I did a control-alt-delete and logged off the office network. "Normally I'd love the overtime," I lied, "but I've got plans for tonight." One thing I had to say for Dave - he was persistent. "Not even an hour?" "Can't do it, Dave." I rolled my chair away from the desk, forcing him to side-step out of the way. "I've got too many things to get done tonight." "Come on, just an hour." He watched as I zipped up my black bomber jacket and grabbed my knapsack, but still refused to give up. "It'd be a huge help." The first few times he'd badgered me like this, I'd actually felt guilty and had given in. The next few times I'd told him the truth - that I simply didn 't want to stay - and he had continued begging all the way the elevators. Now, after enduring the same routine a hundred times, I'd learned that a quick and simple lie was the only way out. "Sorry, but I've got plans." Not giving him a chance to ask again, I began weaving my way through the office and slipped out through the nearest doorway. <> Ten minutes later I was stepping out of the change-room at the gym, having exchanged my business attire for the comfort of a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Located less than a block away from the office, the gym was the perfect place to stop after sitting behind a desk all day. Not only did it give me a chance to work out my frustrations, but it was also helping me to develop the kind of body I felt I should have been born with. A closet transsexual for most of my life, I'd only recently starting getting serious about making the changes I needed to be happy. Of course, I knew it was going to take years of hormones and a lot of surgery to make that happen, but working out certainly helped. While it might not give me the breasts and vagina that my soul demanded, it WAS helping to trim my waist and thighs into a more feminine shape. And, if nothing else, it made me feel a little better about myself. To my surprise, the gym was pretty busy for a Wednesday night. Fortunately, there were still two Lifecycles available, so I hurried over to grab one before somebody else beat me to it. As I climbed onto the seat i made my usual selection - a thirty-minute random hill profile - but upped the difficulty level from 8 to 9. It looked like I might have some trouble finding another free machine later, so I figured I might as well burn a few extra calories now. Still, as I settled into the rhythm of the bike, I realised there were some advantages to working out in a busy gym - and three of them were right before me. On the cross-trainer to my left was a beautiful brunette that I'd seen a few times before. Tall and slim, with the body of a pin-up model, she was the kind of girl who was strictly there to show off. Dressed rather provocatively in a pair of tight white shorts and a black cut-off shirt, she was always careful not to exercise too strenuously -- otherwise her little shirt might slide up and reveal those delicious little B-cup breasts. Also, whereas most girls tied their hair back to keep it from getting damp and matted, she wore hers long and loose, making her chestnut tresses fan out behind her as if she were on a photo-shoot. I was sure she'd look absolutely stunning with a little makeup, but that was pretty much where my interest stopped. My one attempt at casual conversation had been met with a sneer, and the last time I'd seen her she had stormed out in a huff after finding all the cross-trainers taken. Not exactly Miss Personality. By comparison, the woman on the stair-master next to her was an absolute angel. A petite, athletic beauty with nice little breasts and a tight ass, she was there every Monday and Wednesday night. Tonight she was wearing a black sports bra, matching spandex shorts, and a black leather baseball cap with her single braid of black hair dangling out the back. She had one of the tightest, toned, tanned bodies I had ever seen, and she certainly worked for it. Honestly, it was sometimes tiring just watching her, but she was never too busy or breathless to spare a friendly hello. We'd actually chatted a few times, but she was clearly out of my league. Of course, the fact that her boyfriend could probably bench-press me with one arm certainly didn't help! Still, she was somebody I could look up, and she was definitely an inspiration. Finally, jogging on the treadmill directly ahead of me was a woman I'd never seen before, but sincerely hoped would become a regular. She was a six-foot tall Amazon, dressed in a grey sports bra and matching sweatpants. A short coppery perm covered the top of her head, but it gave way to a curly ponytail that stretched all the way down to her incredible ass. At first, all I'd been able to see were her incredibly well-muscled arms and legs, which had me expecting some over-developed bodybuilder. When she turned to adjust the volume on her CD-player, though, I completely forgot myself and gasped in surprise. My gawd - she was an Amazonian goddess with a classic hourglass figure! Not only could this woman crush me without a thought, but her magnificent 40DD breasts could just as thoughtlessly smother me. Her stomach was definitely of the washboard variety - as I'd expected -- but her waist was almost waspish for her size. I was literally in awe, and the quick wink of her emerald green eyes told me she had noticed. I don't know what it was about her, but I found myself powerless to look away. It was as if that single backwards glance had cast some sort of spell over me. Physically, she was well out of my league, and she looked to be at least ten years older as well. While I might stare and admire a woman like that from time to time, I was never silly enough to think something might"""

fasse den folgenden Text in Stichworten zusammen: """Vic had another day to sit around and loaf. His next job would probably come in another month or so. Karen had left for the clinic early, 4 a.m. if he recalled correctly. He knew she was performing surgery all day since it was Thursday. He and Karen led quite an upscale life. Vic was a consultant physicist for the construction of nuclear power plants. A job that paid extremely well. He had cleared over $300,000 last year and he was only called on for four jobs, the longest of which required a month of his time. All total, Vic had earned is entire income in just over 14 weeks of work. His job was important, but he was always amazed at the amount of money he could demand. He was definitely living the good life. When he had met Karen six years ago, he had the feeling she was going out with him for his money. After a month of dating, Karen had finished her residency, became a partner in a major plastic surgery clinic, and within a year after that, was making twice what Vic was pulling in a year. Eighteen months after they met, they were, almost secretly, married in Vegas. Neither had any family, both being only children with now deceased parents. Perhaps that's what drew them together, that commonality they shared and the loneliness it could bring. Karen and Vic spent much of their time together. Vic was home nearly three-quarters of the year and Karen only worked Wednesday through Saturday and although she started quite early most days, she was home by 2 p.m. They had traveled to nearly every country in the world these last six years and now had begun their "home-sweet-home" phase. Two months ago, they purchased six secluded acres in the "country" and built their "house". The word house in an obvious misnomer. This was an estate. It was hour and fifteen minutes to the city, but Karen didn't mind since she always beat rush hour coming and going. The lot was well wooded. Trees lined the drive to the house like wooden sentries at attention. The drive opened at the end to accommodate a large circular drive at the front of the house. The blacktop drive detoured at one arc into a red-bricked drive which led to the huge garage. (Vic remembered his own childhood home was smaller.) The house was elaborate. The simulated marble steps led to a set of towering oak doors that stood twelve-feet high. The doors opened into a huge reception area. One would then immediately notice the running balcony of the upstairs, both ends finishing in huge spiral staircases ending at either end the reception area. Mahogany and oak comprised the stairs and rails, contrasting to the white marble-like stone floor. It actually inspired awe when one entered the room. Doors at either end opened into Karen's south office and Vic's north office. Besides these, there was also the kitchen, dining and living room areas. The upstairs consisted only of four huge bedrooms, each with their own sunken bath. The basement, (Karen was a born and raised midwesterner and no midwesterner in their right mind would not have some kind of shelter from the always dreaded tornadoes), was a fully furnished recreational area complete with the latest music systems, big screen TV, pool table, computers, and the most luxurious bar one could find. Of course, hidden in the west corner in a small room, were the mandatory washer and dryer. Thanks to the weekly maid service and landscapers, the place was just a crash pad where Karen and Vic could unwind and not worry about trivial things like laundry and grass mowing. In the back of the house was a mosaic tiled patio which after running twelve or fifteen feet from the house, opened to forma six foot border around the sunken kidney-shaped pool. On the far northern edge of patio, the Jacuzzi was sunken-in, surrounded by a grass-like hut making a three-quarter circle around the tub. Karen wanted the house to run north and south so the sunrise would illuminate the front windows and they could sit by the pool and catch some rays until the sun set. This was a far cry from the lake front condo they owned in Chicago. Karen's Porsche and Vic's Benz were fun for both to drive, but they still ended up buying a Lincoln just, as Karen had said, "to fill up the garage". They really made a major investment here and both wondered if their wander lust was indeed ebbing. Karen was a very self-assured woman. Barely thirty, her 34C-24-32 figure fit her five-foot four-inch frame perfectly. Her raven-black hair was cut close to her head giving her that professional businessman's image, although it was obvious to anyone she was indeed all woman. Vic on the other hand was a bit unkempt for his 32 years of life. His weight had increased to 190 pounds and his waist was an ever expanding 36 inches. This put a bit of a belly on his five-foot eight-inch build and where there were muscles in his active years, was now occupied by flab. His brownish-blonde hair was short, but still longer than Karen's. He was never too enthused with his body anyway, which made him a prime candidate for plastic surgery according to Karen. She had always told him people who are not happy or contented with their bodies lose their confidence, or self-worth, that's where a physical change can make the mental change. When a person is pleased with their appearance, they exhibit a self-confidence that can't be brought about by any psychotherapy. Vic knew Karen would never suggest surgery for him, he was always this way. It's not that he was upset with his appearance, he just never cared what he looked like. He may have looked a bit shaggy in his suits, or a bit out of place, but he knew his job and knew it well. He always had confidence in his work and many of his peers envied his reputation which he also knew. Vic just never took any time to work on his appearance. He knew who he was, what he did, and that was that. Karen on the other hand took great pains to look good. Not that she was unhappy about her appearance, but her profession as a key plastic surgeon partly relied on her own looks, a sort of advertising. She laughed at how many people asked her if she had under gone any surgery. In her years as a surgeon, she was surprised at how many people wanted to alter their appearance in some way or another. Many of whom she advised not to have the surgery for in her eyes, they looked fine. Some did change their minds, but most did not. """