White Dawn

*

"I would like to change my clothes again, John," Annolita said.

"Sure, no problem."

Annolita needed to convince John of a second, third, or multiple dates before she could accomplish her mission. She decided her best tactic was to fuzz his brain with girl parts. She wished she was a normal girl, but in her mind's eye, she saw herself as a monster, a freak with a girlpenis, a weapon. She'd wear a beautiful blue dress, hide the parts of her that weren't quite right and show off all that was.

Her legs were long and muscled, enough to fill an Olympic skater with envy. Hips were wide and voluptuous, leading to a muscled torso with shoulders as broad as John's, carrying an incredible, and heavy, pair of J cup breasts. Annolita was beautiful, intimidating by anyone's measure; but to John, she was enough to immobilize his speech center for the better part of 3 minutes when she returned from changing.

This did not surprise Annolita. Despite her hatred of what she was, she knew she possessed cartoon proportions of female sexuality. All that remained was the question if John was a boob guy, which he was. She had him wrapped around her finger.

"Is this outfit ok?" she said.

John shook his head trying to clear a hangover.

"Wow. You look... You're beautiful Annolita!"

She blushed in earnest. It was all she hoped to hear. It satisfied her ego.

"Thank you John Miller."

Owning a muscle car in this small town was a very manly thing to do. John's Chevelle was lovely but for a few bumps and bruises from his racing antics. John raced to win.

They listened to a local radio station while they drove, Annolita moving and marveling at the American pop music, wishing she knew it well enough to sing along. Up and up they climbed, John's repaired transmission working perfectly except for the trail of red fluid it left from the untightened drain plug.

On top of Crow Canyon cars were scattered about with doors and trunks open. There was music, cigarettes, and alcohol, the latter vice being consumed less by those wanting to win the dead engine race. John's friends, and students he hardly knew, asked him if he was 'doing' Annolita. He gave them a noncommittal smile, enjoying the innuendo.

Annolita's unveiling from the girl who always wore a jacket, to the girl in the blue dress generated quite a stir. She would have more attention come Monday, both from boys and girls. It was a pleasant turn of events for Annolita, one that broke the foreign girl from her shell, but she had a laser focus on John now. It was unlikely she'd need anyone else to complete her mission.

Racing was done in ladders, groups of two. Two cars would descend the mountain at the same time. Two was reasonable because there would be the opportunity to pass. Runs were timed, if you won, and your time was good enough, you could challenge the next race. Rematches could happen at any time.

Physics says two objects of differing weights fall and, under ideal circumstances, roll at the same speed -- but Crow Canyon wasn't ideal. Bumps and friction meant having more weight was an advantage, assuming your heavier car handled well. John's Chevelle was heavy and would race against Gary's Porsche 914, a light and small car. They were about as opposite as you could get.

Annolita's heart raced. What strange games these American boys played. This was the senseless decadence Borris told her of.

"Buckle up," John said.

With an underwhelming click of a shifter and no engine noise to accompany it, they quietly started rolling down the mountain.

The affair started slowly but soon the curves arrived faster and faster. There were no power brakes and no power steering for this game. A light car like Gary's Porsche was nimble, and easy for the driver to handle. John custom installed non-power brakes and steering in his car; it took an effort to muscle the 3500 pounds around, but it was possible.

John didn't play nice, bumping was racing in his world. You were allowed to run into the opponent's bumper, but gentleman's honor required a fair pass; there was no side scraping your opponents.

Gary ran the inside on every corner because he could. His lighter car needed a shorter line to win, and he often did. John could swing wide on a corner with speed but most corners had no guardrail, step out too far into loose gravel and you spin out, or worse, tumble off the edge -- possibly to a death sentence.

Speeds increased; it was a real race with knuckle-wringing steering inputs and constant modulating of brakes. Annolita put her hand on the dash, cursing in Russian; she was having the time of her life.

John tried to push Gary, over-speed him, intimidate him into braking, going so far as bumping him if needed. Gary would just run the corner wide if John pushed him; it opened an inside passing opportunity, but the Chevelle was too heavy and poor handling to take advantage. If John wanted to win, he needed to do something stupid.

There were 71 corners on the way down; they were at corner 59. Two corners ahead would be a guardrail, a good one.

John eased into Gary's bumper and pushed him. He kept pushing until they were faster than Gary's car would take the corner, and far beyond what John should be taking it at. Gary stopped blocking and cut back inside where he could control the speed of his car, not being bumped by John; he wasn't about to let himself be pushed off the edge.

Gary wondered if John had lost his mind -- it'd be unlikely he could negotiate the turn now in his Chevelle.

John was over speed for the corner. He barreled past the 914 as it retreated to the inside line. His tires squealed in protest as he slid off the pavement with little ground left before the nothingness below.

"Bozhe moy!" Annolita screamed in Russian, clutching the dashboard.

The guardrail on corner 61 was exactly where John knew it was; he slotted the fender of his Chevelle sideways into it, erupting a spray of sparks, and reducing his speed enough the flailing front tires regained their grip. He cut back inside and blocked Gary -- he'd made the pass! There was no rule about smashing your own car. He could win now if he could keep Gary off his inside for 10 more corners.

*

When the race was over Annolita fled the car with a girlish scream wanting to hug John with her adrenaline excitement; she shied away at the last moment pushing her finger into his chest instead and telling him he was crazy in her native tongue. Gary told him he was a crazy idiot in English.

The rest of the club arrived at the bottom rally point. With the sun being low it was time to get out before the mountain closed. John placed his car into drive but there was no telltale clunk from the drivetrain slack take up. There wasn't enough fluid in the transmission.

He revved the engine twice, it confirmed what his gut told him. He popped the hood to check the transmission dipstick. It was empty. He cursed. He dropped prone on his chest and looked under the car to see the entire undercarriage coated in red oil. A check of the transmission drain plug confirmed it was loose.

"What's up, man? Sun's getting low, we need to get outta here before the hat heads lock the gates dude," his friend Ed said.

"Ya, no shit. You got any extra transmission fluid?"

"Me? No. Manual transmission, remember? I got a tow rope we could try," Ed said.

They tied a length of rope from Ed's axle to the frame of John's car. It worked for a while until the sharp edge of the bumper cut the rope. Panic set in. No one wanted to be caught by the MPs. It wouldn't be the first time. Detention and service work was the basic punishments, and the scale increased in severity from there. Most of the club had left, racing the flat 8 miles to the front gate.

"Shit man, that's it dude. We gotta get out of here. You and Anna are welcome to ride with me, but I'm booking dude," Ed said.

"There's no way I'm leaving my car here. I'll take the hit, see if I can talk my way out," John said.

"You wanna stay? It's your funeral dude. My advice, if you don't figure something out, run East, hop the fence, report your car stolen. Sucks to be you," Ed said. He raced off in his Firebird.

Annolita did not intend to be stranded here. She tossed her hair draping it evenly over both shoulders and looked John straight and said, "Well, my cum happens to make great hydraulic fluid. That's what an automatic transmission in a car like this uses, right John?"

Ya, it's Dexron ATF -- your WHAT!?"

John dropped the jack handle he was holding on his foot and yelped. "Ouch, fuck," he said, hopping on one foot. "Did you just say cum?"

It was too late to change her mind. "Yes."

"Like, the kind of cum when someone masturbates? Like... my cum?"

"Ya... well, kind of like that."

"I'm not sure what you're telling me Annolita..."

She needed the right words. She needed him to go out with her again, to complete her mission; she didn't want to start over with another boy. What would a boy want to hear right now?

"Look, don't freak out or anything, I... I have a vagina like any normal girl, I just have, you know, the male parts too."

John knew this was possible. He'd seen a porn video with a hermaphrodite. He watched it together with a girl he was chasing, a lesbian. It was one of the more stupid things he did trying to win her over. It never worked out, obviously.

"I guess that's good, I wouldn't have asked, it's not like I was expecting..." Shit. John wasn't sure what to say. The truth was he'd do anything to see Annolita's boobs. They'd left an indelible mark on his visual cortex, one that would show up on an MRI like a burned circuit trace. It made his head hurt trying to process how buxom Annolita was. This may help explain why John suppressed everything he'd just heard.

"How much do we need?" she asked, giving him no time to think.

"I dunno, maybe 2 quarts," John said, staring at the dab of oil on the bottom of the transmission dipstick.

Maybe she could put it in a container where he couldn't see, but probably not.

"I have this," he said, pulling a plastic funnel with a length of tubing connected from the trunk of his car.

"Set it up, put in here by the fender," she said.

He was dazed by her ordering him around. A part of him thought she was messing with him.

Meanwhile, Annolita sized up the distance from the edge of the fender to the funnel; she could clear that with the length of her girlpenis easily.

"Stand on your tool box John," she ordered him.

"What, why?"

"Just do it."

He did so; he was taller than Annolita now. It lifted him up, far enough she could thread her girlpenis between his legs. She stepped into him until he was pressed against the passenger fender.

"Don't look John," she said.

John was honorable, he'd keep his word if he promised.

"I won't."

She leaned against him, her ridiculous J cup boobs pressing the air out of his lungs. He breathed in when she exhaled, out when she inhaled. She grabbed the back of his head with shocking strength. Whether he would look or not didn't matter, she was unwilling to allow the chance.

She undid her girlpenis from the elastic strap keeping it bound and hidden underneath her pretty blue dress. She was semi-hard from being so close to him. She liked the American boy, though she intended to destroy his entire world. All of it.

The genetically engineered weapon flopped onto the fender and she started stroking it.

With his last rational thought fading into the intoxicating aura of the Russian beauty in front of him he weakly asked, "How does this work?"

"Just kiss me John," she said.

It wouldn't be John's first kiss, but his heart didn't know that. It pounded so hard Annolita could feel it. It made her smile, showing her flawless white teeth.

He brought both his hands to her cheeks and pushed his lips to hers; when their tongues met his entire mouth tingled as if he had eaten pop rocks candy. She smelled like flowers after spring rain.

She pressed hard into him, lifting him off the toolbox with her muscular thighs, pinning him against his car. A weapon, but also a young woman, she was no match for the physical sensations her body overwhelmed her with while this innocent farm boy kissed her. She wanted his acceptance.

"I'm... I'm close. Don't hate me. I'm not a freak."

She shuddered. A powerful contraction paralyzed her before she let loose a moan the likes of which John never imagined a girl could make. She broke the kiss and stared at him with lidded eyes as girlcum poured from her.

John knew well what gloops and glops of liquid traveling down that funnel sounded like; he'd used it many times. Something thick and viscous was going down now. Another convulsion wracked Annolita and she opened her eyes fully. For 30 seconds she held him before her heavy breathing and rhythmic contractions abated. Her head collapsed on his shoulder.

Annolita looked down at her softening girlpenis, satisfied her girlcum made it where needed, all but a drop or two on the Chevelle's fender.

John couldn't speak. He was mesmerized by the look of ecstasy on Annolita's face. He lost his executive capabilities, he needed her to tell him what to do next.

Borris told Annolita that when she became a woman there existed a sway over men that would make her mission easier. She wondered if this was it. Were all men this weak, or only Americans?

"We're done John, let's go," she said.

John started the car and dropped into drive. It made no sense, but it worked. Annolita scooted over on the bench seat and held his hand.

"Annolita..." John began.

"Shush. Don't think about it John," she said, cutting him off. "Do you like me?"

"I, I do," he said.

"Take me out next weekend," she said.

Annolita laid her head on his shoulder. She was exhausted from draining her girlcum.

*

Adults are quick to find fault with the suddenness, and fickleness, of young love. Honesty would compel them to admit they'd do anything to have those feelings again. It is a terrorizing but joyous rollercoaster ride.

The days were too long for John. When the weekend arrived, he went to Annolita's house at 8pm as she requested. She wore the same beautiful blue dress. To John, her stunning appearance in the dress was undiminished in potency.

He didn't understand why she asked him to drive where his Father worked, but he did so. He was smitten with her.

"Can we break in John?"

"Why?"

"I thought you liked doing illegal stuff, like how you take chances with the MPs at Crow Canyon?"

"Sometimes, maybe, but what's in there? It's where my Dad works."

Annolita grabbed her breasts and pushed them together.

"These are in there John. If you get me in there, I'll let you take a look, maybe more," she said. Her Russian accent rolled like thick sweet syrup, flooding John's brain, and short-circuiting rational thought.

John opened the car door, then the trunk. He grabbed the tire iron, some tow rope, and a white cloth.

"Let's go," he said.

Outside a steel door in the back of the building, the night Janitor rolled a plastic barrel of trash out. He turned to light a cigarette, intending to take a short break before returning to his miserable job.

When the man wasn't looking John clubbed him once into senselessness with the tire iron. The janitor collapsed to the ground, his fresh lit cigarette never making it into his mouth. John crushed the smoke out and drug the man to the side of the trash bin, tying him to the steel container. He stuffed the rag in the man's mouth securing it by looping the remaining rope around his neck.

Blood ran down the man's face from the broken skin on the back of his skull. The Janitor could have suffered a fatal brain concussion from the blow, but he did not. He would wake with a terrible headache but no lasting damage.

Inside the Monsanto factory were two-story stainless steel bins holding fertilizer concentrate. More compact than a silo of grain or seeds, the fertilizer in this one building would reach every farm in the Midwest, large and small.

A trellis of steel stairs and walkways littered with pipes and gauges winded to the top of the containers. There were two inspection covers on each container, 8-inch grated plates. Two full orgasms from Annolita, one into each, would be enough to poison both vats. It would take everything she had, but her weaponized girlcum would be enough. One more date, then she would never see John again. Her mission, the destruction of all future men and women of America, would be complete.

She grabbed his hand and led him up the catwalk where she slowly took her arms out from the sleeves of her dress. The 6'2 Russian beauty looked like a goddess. Any man who witnessed the events unfolding would say this, not just John.

The stretchy material of her dress offered resistance as it attempted to negotiate the forward curve of just one of her J cup breasts, but eventually gave way with a tug from Annolita's hand. It bounded free from the fabric and bounced, sending an oscillation through the beautiful form that carried with it the same collective awe as man's first step on the moon.

It was an image to behold. That it would happen one more time when the right sleeve was released was too much for John's mind to bear; it removed his capacity for speech.

Emboldened from new attention at school, so many young men in thrall, Annolita owned her predatory role.

"Do you like what you see?" she said.

She walked toward John and lifted his shirt off. His body, the body of the enemy, was fit and muscular. His eyes were bright, filled with purpose she would remove from him.

Annolita unbuckled his pants, dropping them to the floor. John's erection strained the underwear underneath.

"Take off you underwear," she said.

John stared alternately between her genetically engineered, inhumanly large, and perfect breasts, and the part of her body still covered by the beautiful blue dress.

The dress dropped. She had no scrotum, just a smooth pink shaft that protruded from a darker pink sleeve of flesh, punctuated by an encircling raised ring. A diamond of shiny black pubic hair ran from the top of her girlpenis, around the shaft, and to a point before her vagina. The end of her girlpenis was nearly flat with a pretty crown structure surrounding the girlcum tube in the middle where she would deliver the biological weapon that was her destiny since inception.

"Is your curiosity satisfied John Miller?" she said.

Part of Annolita's genetic engineering was prototyping for a super soldier that would destroy America once its military dissolved in the following decades of sterility. The strength she possessed was intentional.

She pushed John onto the polished smooth surface of the fertilizer vat, between the handrails, and seized his wide-eyed face locking him into a passionate kiss. She thought to herself: if this is all I have before I am become death, then I will live all of this moment. The feelings of lust, need, and excitement overcame her inexperienced body. She ground her hips into John while kissing him. Her erect girl penis splayed out over his stomach, reaching his chest, and dribbling weaponized girlcum. She could feel it welling up inside her, into the specialized organ, the smooth muscle chamber that delivered her powerful orgasms. She couldn't stop it now.

When the first wave hit she nearly collapsed onto John and squeezed his entrapped hips between her powerful legs so hard he yelped. A volume of girlcum flowed from the end of her girlpenis, covering John's torso completely. She took a breath and raised up until she was sitting cowgirl on him. Another wave of girlcum was released. It poured over John, drenching the rest of his body. He was entirely soaked. This inhuman release from Annolita, the monstrous creation, the doomsday weapon of the Cold War, continued for 5 minutes. Over 7 gallons were released. It filled the top of the fertilizer container running its full diameter until meeting the retaining edge and draining through the inspection vents to poison the fertilizer.