Tales of the Dryden DNA Disaster 03: One Man's Odyssey

One Man’s Odyssey

By Honey Moon

Thirty-three year old Joseph Anderson, Joe to his friends, drove through the night. As usual, he was fuming after a hard day at work. “Who does that little snow white bitch think she is?’ he muttered as his hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. Aurora Fitzpatrick-Dryden may be a genius, but Joe resented having to take orders from a damn nineteen year old kid! Today she had gone too far though! The little bitch had the unmitigated gall to hit him with a government inspector, of all things! The pink eyed brat had decided to perform background checks, and personality profile interviews on all of her employees!

The evaluation bitch was a knockout though. Miss Aureate was a tall leggy blonde falling just short of the tit size that would make her into one of those futanari freaks! It took all his willpower to keep his eyes from wandering down to the hem of the exceedingly short tight black skirt she wore, as she sat on the edge of his workbench. His cock was rock hard the whole time she talked with him. For some reason she never took off her cheesy big lens mirrored sunglasses throughout the damn interview. Joe would have loved to see her eyes. He was certain that they’d be a beautiful baby blue, to go with her overall baby doll appearance.

“Now Mr. Anderson.” She had said with a sultry low voice. “I just have one final question. I see here that you are single. Why hasn’t a handsome young man like you ever tied the knot?”

He saw that as an opening. Rising from his chair, he had placed his hand on a warm lovely knee. “Perhaps I just haven’t found Miss Right yet, honey. Are you doing anything tonight? Perhaps we can get to know each other under less formal conditions.”

The bitch had laughed in his face! “Sorry champ! You’re ten thousand years too early to have a shot at getting in my panties!”

Miss Aureate, whatever the fuck her first name was, had then packed up her papers and left his workshop. He later saw her out in the hallway laughing and joking with Aurora. The two made quite a pair. Both were sizzling hot, and both seemed to have similar eye trouble. Aurora had on her ever present deeply tinted goggles, and the damn government spy still had on her tacky 1970’s mirrored sunglasses. Joe had a fearsome boner as he mentally undressed the giggling pair.

It was a shame he would never see Miss Aureate again, but she was obviously a dyke, or one of the many sick demented woman that worshipped the very ground those genetic freak futanari walked on. Fuck her! Thankfully his work day still had its perks. That exotic little Asian albino never failed in making him pitch some serious wood!

“I can’t believe that tasty little trick went and married the monster that ruined the entire human race!” He pounded the steering wheel. “She knows the score! How can she even look at that dick-girl bitch, and ignore a real man!” Joe was disgusted. He had hacked Aurora’s private database one day, just weeks after being hired as a fabricator at “Cake Is a Lie”, and had learned a sobering truth.

His suspicions had been confirmed as he read the hidden data. “Men are dying out, and nobody seems to give a shit!” The rock hard boner in his pants told him part of the answer. He had caught the Dryden Sniffles as had everyone else, but it had no real effect on him. He seemed to be about the only male in the world that didn’t undergo a noticeable reduction in libido. He was proud of himself for remaining a REAL man!

If Joe were honest with himself, he would have realized the truth. He had always been a sexual addict. He had been the first boy in his class to discover the wonderful and wet thing that would happen if he took things “In Hand” while looking at pictures of pretty girls. He had avidly practiced this solo hobby ever since, every chance he found a few moments of privacy and a handful of tissues.

As an adult, even on the numerous days he scored with a girl, or paid one of a long string of prostitutes, he had always beaten off four, five, six or more times daily. Now Joe was down to “Chokin’ the Chicken” only three times a day, four on Saturdays. He still popped wood like a teenager any time he saw a s

... more on the forums ...