As Michael leaned down to grasp the edge of the garage door, he felt his breasts swing pendulously inside his shirt, hanging and swaying from his chest. He wanted to pin them down with his arms but the door was far heavier than he remembered (no, he was just weaker, he realised in disgust), and he needed both hands just to lift it up a few inches. He could feel the harsh glare of the headlights against his rear and felt suddenly and strangely exposed.
It was hard work getting the door open. He strained and panted, setting his stance wider, and eventually managed to get his shoulder under it. It swung up on it's rusty runners. Sure it was rusty, but a few hours before he would have been able to do it with one hand.
As he straightened up, he felt the cool evening air blow over him and an odd, cold wetness upon his chest. Shielding his eyes against the glare of the car, he glanced down to see the two dark circles of moisture just over his nipples. He felt sick. He was... leaking. Holding his hands over his breasts to hide his shame, he stepped aside to allow his father to pull the car into the garage.
His dad stepped out of the car, pushed, pushed his hand between his legs to rearrange himself better, before pocketing the keys. He stepped closer, a certain youthful swagger to his movements. It was the first time in a year, ever since his growth spurt, that he found himself looking up at his father. There was only one question burning in his mind. "How long do I have to be like this?"
"How long? How long is a piece of string, Mikey? Answer: as long as I want it to be," he said, a cocksure grun springing to his face. "Have you never heard of compound interest?" Numbly Michael shook his head, already feeling as though he wouldn't like the answer."Alright, let me explain," George said, placing a paternal arm around the boy's shoulders and leading him to the house. "Right now your youth - 25 years of your life that is- along with every last bit of your masculinity is resting in an account, earning a return of about 2% a year. You know what that means? A year from now those 25 years will have accrued a whole six months of extra life for you to use, not to mention the boost in masculinity you'll get."
"But that doesn't sound much at all for a year."
"Don't interrupt me when I'm talking, boy," George snapped. "Sure, six months might not be a fortune, but the beauty of compound interest is that after a year you'll be earning it on that too. So that twenty-five-and-a-half-years become twenty-six-and-a-bit years, do you see? You earn a little bit on that extra half year too. And every year it gets more and more until-"
"'Every year'?" Michael repeated in disbelief, his hand covering his mouth in horror. "Yu-you didn't say that I would have to be like this for years. I don't want this, I don't want to be old like you. I don't want to be a wo- a wom-" he spluttered off into shamed silence.
George glowered at the ingrate with growing fury. "Unbelievable. You do your best for your kids and this is the thanks you get. Talk about ingratitude," he spat, sucking air through his clenched teeth. "Do you think I like this, Mikey? Huh? Do you think I like seeing my own son like this, having to go without? Do you think I want to see my son having to miss out on some of his best years, on the joys of being a man? Of course I don't. Damn it, Mikey, if it were up to me you'd have a million years in the bank and a thousand IQ points, but you don't, so we have to work in the system to give you the best future we can. That's just how the world works. Don't blame me, blame the Wall Street fat-cats sat up there in their ivory towers, taking everything and leaving the scraps for us."
"But what about school. I can't go to school like this."
"On the contrary, you can't afford to not go to school as anything else," George said sternly. "Sooner or later your classmates are going to get Bureau accounts of their own and, once they start banking their attributes, if they're earning interest and you're not they'll soon get ahead of you. In a few years they couldd graduate college with ten or fifteen percent more IQ points that you do, and that's a massive headstart in the world of work." He placed a comforting hand on Mike's shoulder. "Look, Mikey, I don't mean to be harsh but you're already not the sharpest knife in the drawer. You don't have spare IQ to invest, so you need to work with what you've got. Your manhood and your 25 years are going to have to stay in the bank. You can't have your cake and eat it."
"But I don't have my cake, and neither does the bank," Michael pouted. "You have my cake and you're the one eating it."
George bristled with indignation. "If you're trying to suggest that I'm doing this for my own interests, you couldn't be further from the truth. Your years are resting in my account only until I can decide on the most appropriate savings plan. You'll get better returns if you agree to lock in your investment for a set period, say five or ten years."
"Te-ten years?" Michael stuttered, eyes going wide. He did some quick arithmetic on his fingers. "But then I'd be nearly-"
"Fifty, yes, but with compound interest you'd barely have aged a day. You will come out the other end of this still a young, more masculine man."
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