Moral Degeneration

The key my mom had was for a bank in Melena. Melena was only about an hour from the cabin. But we didn’t have a car. I doubted she had been there in a long time. We got to the bank. No women were present. The female manager rolled out the red carpet when she saw me. Gail was an afterthought. We emptied the contents of the safe deposit box and found a Will and Testament. Also my mom and my birth certificate and Social Security Cards. Everything was the same. I still had my SSN memorized. Born in the same hospital in Vegas on the same day. I would turn 15 in a few months. 

 

We were now in a real police station. Gail was part of the state patrol assigned to the Mount Pleasant area. Melena was her home base. Millie sat beside me quietly as I looked through the documents. 

 

It was easy to scan through the legal jargon of the Will. Surprisingly I did have a guardian. My mother had been an only child. But she had 1 friend who she trusted me with in case something happened. Or my mom caused something to happen. Audrey Cooper was her name. I wondered if she wanted me. 

 

“How about I just live with you,” I said to Millie. Closing the packet of papers I set my hand on hers. 

 

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “You have family.” 

 

“Nope,” I said. She had been nice enough not to read. “My mom’s friend.” 

 

She became quiet. “You could if you wanted,” she said. 

 

I leaned over and rested my head on her bony shoulder. I could see her smile as she rested her head on mine. “We could raise our kid together,” I offered. “Or kids.” 

 

“You wouldn’t want that.” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked. 

 

“Men don’t stick around for that,” she said. “Too many distractions.” 

 

“The best kind of distractions,” I countered. I never had a kid before, but I had wanted one at one point. My foster father instilled a lot of information in me. He always said it was his responsibility to pass on knowledge to the next generation. Hunting, fishing, and camping were things that men did to stay content in this world. When men and women weren’t content then society would crumble. 

 

I knew I would have crumbled a long time ago without his guidance. I couldn’t help but wonder if he was in this world as well. 

 

“They’re here,” Gail said walking out from the back. There had been 3 women officers staring at me. They jumped up with the words. I sat up as well as the double doors were opened. Women in suits poured in. They scanned the room and surprisingly a man stepped in after them. He was tall, dark hair and skin, dark sunglasses, all pompous. 

“Fucking feds,” I whispered as I stood up. 

 

“Russel Willard?” The man asked. The other officer’s stared at him, their eyes wide. Even my Millie and Gail couldn’t help but gawk at the fully grown man. 

“Russ,” I said, extending my hand. The man took it with a wide smile. 

 

“Good to meet you. Come on, we have a plane to catch. Let’s get going,” he said. Pulling me I dislodged my hand from his. 

 

“Where are we going?” I asked. 

 

“Washington,” he said like it was obvious. 

“For what reason?” I asked. 

 

“To get you set up in the system, get you your band,” he said. His words short and sweet. He acted like every fed I ever dealt with. Everything was obvious to them. Everyone else was stupid for not knowing the answer. 

 

“What about this?” I asked. “My mom’s last will. I’d like to get in touch with whoever I was entrusted to.” 

 

“No problem,” the man said, taking the document. I ground my teeth. This was going much faster than I had expected. The man looked at me, almost ready to grab me and pull me to wherever we were going. 

I took my time. Grabbing Millie into a hug she sighed and patted my back. “Give me your number,” I said. “I’ll call.” 

“Would you?” She asked, surprise in her voice. 

“Of course,” I said. She let go and ran over to the counter to begin writing on a piece of paper. I moved to Gail. “Thanks for the help.” 

 

“Anytime,” she said. “What do you want done with…” 

 

“Burn her,” I said. My mom had been cremated last time as well. I shook her hand, she pulled me in for a hug. My face was lined perfectly with her breasts so I didn’t complain. 

 

“Take care.” 

 

“You too.” Millie handed me the paper. I easily memorized the phone number. 

 

I turned to the fed. He eyed me up and down then looked to the girls. “No one touched you, did they?” He asked unashamedly. Millie and Gail stiffened. 

I chuckled. “Nope. I kept begging them to, but they refused,” I said. Moving between the feds I added, “Let’s go.” 

 

The feds gave the girls one more look then walked out. 

 

—

 

“Your mother took the male birth buyout,” Agent Simpson said. The male fed sat across from me. We were currently in a private plane on our way to D.C. He handed me a document. It appeared to be a stack of information about my mother. 

 

“What’s the buyout?” I asked. The Agent gave me another one of those looks. “Talk slowly to me. I’ve been living under a rock my whole life.” 

He frowned but nodded. “When a woman births a son they used to have an option of a monthly paycheck or a one-time buyout. Too many people took the buyout and tried to disappear. You are one of the last that we lost track of. We don’t do buyouts anymore.” 

 

“So women are paid to have men?” 

 

“Yes,” Simpson said. “With that you are also paid simply for breathing. You have 14 years of payments sitting in an account now.” 

 

“How much?” I asked. 

 

“$250,000 or so,” Agent Simpson said. 

 

I whistled. Money really wasn’t a problem for the moment. Granted in my old life I went through that kind of cash in a few months. I was hoping this time I could stretch it out. 

 

 “I didn’t hear about the Male Pox until the girls told me. How does this all work?” 

 

“Jeez, you were under a rock,” Simpson said. “History lesson kid. Men are rare. Much more now than even 20 years ago. The male pox happened in 1899. Went through the world and all men born after that mainly made women. It wasn’t so bad at first. Men born before 1899 still had a 50% male to female birth rate. As you can guess, all those men have passed.” 

 

“How many men are in the US?” I asked. 

 

“There are 100 million women,” he said. I thought there were about 300,000,000 Americans back in the day. Fertility must have taken a dip too. “There’s 50,000 men or so. But over half of those are over the age of 70.” 

 

“So the men born in the 19th century spit out a bunch of men while they could?” I asked. 

 

“Exactly,” Simpson said. “There is some sperm saved from those men as well. But there is a shelf life to even that.” I nodded. 

“What else should I know?” 

“A lot I’m sure. Your mom really keep you locked up?” 

“Yep,” I said. It was starting to sound more and more true. 

“Jesus kid, sorry,” he said. “Umm we will have to take some DNA. We have records for you, but not much. We could find your dad if you wanted.” 

 

My heart clenched. I had looked for my dad for a short period back in the 2000s. I hadn’t found anything. A drunken night on the town was how my mother described conceiving me. I already had a dad. I accepted my foster father wholeheartedly after I gave up searching for my real one. 

 

I shook my head. The agent nodded. 

 

“Probably for the best. We aren’t known to stick around for kids. Takes time away from making more,” he said.

“How does that work?” I asked. 

 

“At 16 you are expected to either impregnate directly or provide sperm. You receive a much higher payment when that starts. More so if you impregnate directly,” he said. “The ones that lean more homosexually provide sperm.” 

 

“I’m all straight,” I assured him. 

 

“Good,” he said. 

 

“How do I impregnate directly? And not the act itself. Can it be people I know?” I really didn’t want to feel like a horse out to stud, but that was how it sounded. 

 

“Whatever you want,” he answered. “Some have their own websites to allow women to sign up. Women will give a little extra incentive to be bumped up a list. There is the lottery, but that’s mainly for the sperm donor guys. We could even get a list of women for you. All highly connected. That’s what I do. Once a week some new girl drops by. We have a little fun, then I never see her again.” 

 

I frowned. That didn’t sound too appealing. “What about the workplace?” I asked. “You fornicate with coworkers?” 

 

There were women agents surrounding us. They pretended to not be paying attention, but I could tell they hung on every word. 

 

“It’s not recommended,” he said. “A lot of women don’t want to get pregnant. The risk of having a girl is too high. They outlawed abortions a few years back. Too many people were having them because they were pregnant with a girl. Most are content to live their lives. But our population has been on the decline for years. There are a lot of incentives to have kids. And whether there are men or not, women still have the drive to procreate.” 

That answered my question on why the population was so low. If women wanted to get pregnant for the chance at a boy it made sense they’d end a girl’s life. It sounded stupid to me. It was hard to think that some unborn kid deserved death just because they were a girl.

 

“What about monogamy?” I asked. He gave me a confused look. “Between a man and a woman.” 

“I doubt there’s been one of those in 50 years, kid. Not truly monogamous anyway,” Agent Simpson said. “The men born just before the Male Pox were mostly married by the time we noticed that not many men were being born. After that men were encouraged to sleep with as many women as they could. Gay marriage between women was passed back in the 30s. For men it’s still illegal.” 

 

I was struggling to wrap my head around all the information. 

 

“Soooo I should sleep with as many women as I can?” I asked. 

 

“I would sleep with as many women that actually want it,” the agent said. “You’re still a little young. But we need all the men we can get, and all the kids. The whole world is like this. Right now it’s all a numbers game. Every country is on the decline. Hell, the Chinese are trying to perfect cloning to keep their armies filled.”

 

“What about STDs?” I asked. 

 

“Your education is weird, kid. How do you know what an STD is, but not the Pox?” He asked. I shrugged. “A lot of STDs died out. Chlamydia is still a thing, but that’s easy to fix. That’s about all you need to worry about besides UTIs.” 

 

I nodded. There were some packets of information he gave me. I leafed through them. Agent Simpson eyed me up and down. Eventually I asked, “What?” 

 

“Nothing, you’re just different than boys your age I meet,” he said. 

 

“Different how?” I asked, annoyed. Sounded like the guy was giving me a cheap pick-up line. You know, you’re not like most boys.

 

“More masculine, is how I’d put it,” he said. I gave him a weird look. “There hasn’t been a man of the house for going on 80 years. Everyone you meet will have been raised by women for generations. Me? I was lucky. One of my moms was more man than I’ll ever be. But a lot of your peers will have been raised by women, and those women were raised by other women. Boys tend to gravitate their personality that way. It’s gotten worse over the years. Men act more feminine. Women act more masculine. Looks like you living in the woods for so long helped you lean more to the masculine.” 

 

I frowned. I had been around men my whole life. A man was much more likely to join the military than a woman. Men were also stupider too. You’d have to be to sign up for dangerous missions across the globe. I had met men manlier than me, and women as well. Some of the best mercs I worked with were women. There were certain things they were good at, just like there were certain things I was good at. I found it odd that the agent was so up front about masculinity and femininity, but if men were as rare as he said then I doubted there would be a call to HR about it. 

 

“The first trick,” I said. “Don’t cross your legs. Only women do that.” I looked down to Agent Simson’s legs. They were crossed over one another, squishing his balls. 2 women agents around us had the same sitting posture. They chuckled as the agent blushed. It wasn’t long till he had his legs far apart like mine. The conversation died down after that. I stared out the window. My mind was jumbled. I decided it was better to sleep.