Milo and the Manosphere

Jessie laughed along with the studio audience. Then she heard the front door of the house open and close downstairs. She paused the video and listened.

Yes, Milo was home.

Jessie cursed under her breath. There was another half hour of the interview to go and she wanted to watch it, not deal with Milo's tentative 'How-are-you?' face. During her time with Carl, Jessie had fantasized about being with a man who worshipped her, but now that she had it, she found it draining. Jessie reached for her earbuds and continued to watch her video, hoping Milo would take the hint when he came upstairs.

Except, he didn't.

After ten minutes, Jessie found herself unable to concentrate. Milo always came to see her when he got home. Even if he needed the bathroom, he'd find her first and say hi before dashing off. Jessie paused the video and listened. The house was quiet. What was he doing?

Jessie removed the earbuds, put the tablet aside and got out of bed. She slipped on the short silk dressing gown that showed off her legs, donned her fluffy slippers and padded out of the bedroom and downstairs.

Milo was in the living room, sitting on the couch and quietly reading a book by the light of the standing lamp. Jessie looked in from the open doorway.

'Hey there,' said Milo, looking up.

'Hi,' said Jessie. 'What are you reading?'

She came into the room and plonked herself on the couch, her legs folded under her, her knees resting on Milo's lap. Jessie was touchy-feely by nature, but she also did it because Milo was less insecure when she was all over him. He showed her the book cover.

'Vomit the Blue Pill?' she read. 'Bit of a gross title.'

'Well, it's memorable,' said Milo. 'Have you seen the name of the author?'

'Harry Tranmore...' read Jessie. 'Sorry, never heard of him.'

'It's Harry! The friend I went to meet!'

'Oh! He wrote a book?'

'Yes! He'll be happy you forgot him.'

'I didn't forget him! I just forgot his name. I know him as Your Friend Who Hates Me.'

'He doesn't hate you.'

'He thinks I married you for your money! Well, I hate to burst his bubble, but if that's what I was looking for, there are richer men in the world than you!'

'So why did you marry me?'

'Oh, Milo... please...'

Jessie moved away so she was no longer touching him. She sat cross-legged on the couch, her head in her hands.

'Why do you keep asking me that?' she said.

'Because you never answer the question.'

'I answer it all the time! It's just never the answer that you want to hear!'

Milo clenched his jaw and looked away. Jessie looked at him and sighed. She stretched out her legs and pressed the balls of her feet into the side of his thigh.

'Hey!' she said. 'Look at me.'

Milo turned his head to look at her. He tried to be cold and detached, but her lovely face and the playful way she was pressing her feet against his leg were irresistible. It was as though his heart cracked open every time he looked at her.

'You are so beautiful,' he said.

'And you're sweet,' she said.

Milo grimaced.

'Oh, don't pull that face!' said Jessie, digging her toes into the muscle of his leg. 'Sweet is good!'

'It's pathetic.'

'No, it's not!'

Jessie clambered onto him, straddling his lap, her silk gown falling open. Milo's face was level with her breasts and Jessie looked down at him.

'You saved me,' she said.

'Three years ago.'

'No.'

Jessie held his cheeks and tilted his head so he was looking her in the eyes.

'You save me every day you put up with me,' she said. 'Every day you support me, every day you are kind to me... every day you love a stupid girl like me.'

'Jessie...'

'Don't pretend it's not true. I'm a fucked-up mess with a nice pair of tits.'

'You are way more than that.'

'And that's why you save me,' said Jessie. 'Because you see that and I don't.'

Jessie leaned in for the kiss. She pushed her sweet, small tongue into Milo's mouth and he couldn't stop himself kissing her back. His hands began to explore her body and his cock became hard. After a minute of kissing, Jessie knelt up and pulled off the silk gown and nightie in one spectacular move. Her naked body really was one of the Seven Wonders to Milo and he gazed at it in awe. Jessie smiled and leaned forward, her breast near his face, the pink nipple an inch from his mouth.

Milo knew what he was supposed to do, what he wanted to do. He also wanted to talk to Jessie about having kids. But he knew it would upset her and as he looked at that beautiful round breast with its perfect nipple, he realised that he was afraid that if he didn't start sucking it, Jessie might stop offering it. Was he ready to risk that?

No, not tonight.

Milo began noshing on her breast, his hands running over the skin of her back. As he squeezed her bottom, Milo told himself that they could always talk about having kids another night. What was the rush? After a while, Jessie told him she wanted him inside her, so Milo stripped off and fucked his wife on the couch, then they went upstairs and fucked again in the bed. Jessie rode him to orgasm, her eyes closed as she screamed and gasped.

Afterwards, as Milo held the sweaty, gorgeous-smelling woman in his arms, he wondered if he was being selfish. This was the best sex he had ever had in his life; probably the best sex he was ever likely to have. It was certainly better sex than a man like him had a right to expect.

Why couldn't he just be happy with that?

***

'Oh, Milo,' said Harry tiredly. 'What on earth are you playing at?'

It was a week later and Milo had asked Harry to meet him after work. They were back in the maritime pub, albeit at a different table. Milo's laptop bag was nestled on the bench next to him as the two men talked. Or rather, as Milo talked and Harry listened in frustration. At the end of the story, Harry shook his head and let out a massive sigh.

'All right, listen,' he said. 'I want to ask you a question and I want you to answer it honestly. I mean, really honestly.'

'Okay,' said Milo.

'Have you actually told Jessie you want to start a family?'

'Of course! I told her when we were on honeymoon!'

'And what did she say?'

'She said she wanted to have kids too.'

'Whoa, let me stop you there!'

Harry leaned forward, gesturing with his beer glass for emphasis.

'Beware of any woman who says she wants to "have kids",' he said.

'Why?' said Milo.

'Because that's not the same thing as wanting a family. And any woman who says she wants to "have kids" subconsciously believes that the father is an optional extra she can replace if she feels like it.'

Milo stared at the other man. It was clear he was struggling to get his head around it.

'Listen, you're a man, right?' said Harry. 'Which means that you are physically incapable of "having kids". So unless the mother dies or abandons the child, the only way a man can become a father is in the context of a family. Women, on the other hand, have the options of "having a child" or "having a family". And the laws of our country are such that those options stay open, even after a woman gets married. If you and Jessie had a kid and she met some millionaire arsehole who could buy her a bigger house, the law would give her the right to divorce you and take "her" child off to a shiny new life.'

Milo looked as though he were drinking cod liver oil. He put his half full glass onto the table and stared into space. Harry took a sip of beer and wiped his moustaches and beard.

'Putting that to one side for a second,' he said. 'If Jessie wants kids too, how come she hasn't had them yet. It's been three years since your honeymoon.'

'She doesn't want to get pregnant while she has drugs in her system.'

'I thought she's been clean for two years?'

'She has.'

'So, what's the reason now?'

'I don't know.'

'Have you asked?'

'Of course I've asked!'

'Okay, and what does she say?'

'She doesn't want to talk about it! She tells me to stop pushing her!'

Milo looked grey and rattled. He took a long drink and finished the beer in one go. Harry looked at him, his bushy eyebrows furrowed, his mouth set.

'Milo, I'm sorry for what I'm about to say,' he said. 'But when a woman doesn't want to talk about having kids for two years, that's code for "I don't want to have your baby".'

For a moment, Harry thought Milo was going to hurl the empty beer glass across the room. Milo forced himself to put the glass on the table, which wobbled as he let it go. He looked at Harry with undisguised hostility.

'You really know how to shit on a man's dreams, don't you?' said Milo.

'If you think I'm wrong, just tell me,' said Harry. 'Believe me, I'd love to be wrong. Do you think I jumped for joy when I learned that no woman will ever love me unconditionally? That sex and unconditional love are, in fact, incompatible with each other?'

'Are you serious?'

'Deadly serious. Let's face it--sex isn't something men and women invented in order to express love to each other. It's inextricably linked to reproduction.'

'Well, I know that!'

'Do you, though? I mean, if everyone in our culture knows that sex is about reproduction, why do we believe in fairytale notions like "making love"?'

'Harry, what are you saying?'

'I'm saying that your decision to marry Jessie was sexually motivated. That you married her for her youth and beauty every bit as much as she married you for the security you offered.'

'It wasn't just that...'

'Milo, when you came across Jessie that night, sitting on the curb in high heels and a short skirt, wasn't your very first reaction: "Phwoar! What a pretty girl!"?'

'Do you really think that little of me?'

'Milo, it's not an insult! And for the record, if that had been a fifty-year-old homeless woman bleeding in the street, I honestly believe you would have taken her to hospital for a check-up just like you took Jessie. But you wouldn't have taken her home afterwards, would you?'

Milo swallowed and looked away. Harry sighed.

'Listen, Milo,' he said. 'I'm not saying that the emotions you feel outside of sex aren't real. But you're acting like your feelings for Jessie are coming from this lofty place of "True Love" and that's simply not the case.'

'So I was basically thinking with my dick?' said Milo bitterly.

'Of course you were! We all do! Come on, man--if Jessie were short and dumpy, would you have married her? Would you be driving yourself nuts over her the way you're doing now?'

Milo leaned on his knees and put his head in his hands. He was the picture of despair. Harry finished his beer and put his glass on the table next to Milo's. He had seen this reaction many times in his coaching sessions and the best thing to do was let the man stew for a bit. Harsh realities need to be digested.

Milo looked up, his eyes pouched and red. His hands still covered the lower half of his face, but his eyes went left and right as his brain turned things over. Finally, he sat up straight and looked at Harry.

'What should I do?' he said.

***

Jessie was busy making dinner when Milo rang to say he was meeting Harry for a drink after work. Two hours later, he sent a courtesy text to let her know he would be late home. Jessie ate dinner alone, then sat watching a movie in the living room, picking at her cuticles. It was strange. She found Milo's predictability irritating, yet when he broke the routine, it made her nervous and insecure.

Jessie heard the key in the lock of the front door. There was a grunt as the man stumbled in and Jessie felt her entire body go on high alert. Her heart pounded, her hands began to shake and she realised that she was already close to tears. She knew Milo would never hit her, yet her body didn't seem to trust that. The front door closing too loudly, the heavy tread of a man, the grunts as he took too long to hang up his jacket--all these brought back horrible, horrible memories. By the time Milo wandered through the doorway of the living room, Jessie was in a state of anxious terror.

Milo stood swaying. Jessie sat on the couch, arms tightly crossed, her gaze fixed on the flatscreen. Milo blinked stupidly.

'You're angry,' he said.

'And you're drunk.'

'Yes...'

Milo took a couple of steps towards her. Jessie drew up her legs in a flash, pressing herself into the couch like a cornered animal. Milo saw the reaction and stopped. His eyes widened as his brain processed the information.

'Oh, my god, Jessie,' he said. 'I totally forgot...'

'It's okay.'

'I didn't think. And after what you told me about your--'

'Milo! It's okay! Just go to bed!'

'I'm sorry, Jessie... I would never hurt you...'

'Stop, Milo! Stop! Just fucking stop...!'

And Jessie lost it, clutching her hair, screaming, crying, shouting, cursing. She was like a girl surrounded by snakes, screaming in every direction, kicking her feet and covering her head as she cried out. Milo tried to move closer, but she howled in terror and so he kept his distance, saying sorry over and over, not understanding how this sent his wife wild with despair; not realising how Carl used to apologise with genuine tears when his drunken rage left him and he saw what he'd done.

It was a mad, ugly scene. By the end of it, Jessie was exhausted with sobbing. Milo knelt on the carpet a safe distance away, his head hung in misery. The flatscreen was off and there was an oppressive silence in the room. Milo was a good deal more sober than a few minutes earlier, and he felt riven by a sense of overwhelming uselessness.

'I should never have married you,' he said.

'Oh, shut up,' croaked the human ball on the couch.

'You should have said no.'

'And what would have happened then?'

Jessie uncurled slightly and Milo saw the glint of her eyes in the shadows behind her hair. Despite her pink leggings and white top, she looked feral somehow, like a girl brought up by wolves. In a way, thought Milo, that wasn't so far from the truth. Jessie had not so much grown up as survived her childhood. He felt a crippling shame and tears fell from his eyes.

There was a dismayed groan from the couch. Milo hurriedly wiped his eyes with the back of a hand, remembering how Jessie hated to be pitied. He felt a sudden bitter rage, not with her, but with all the women who had ever told him: 'A woman wants a man who can show his emotions.' It was not only wrong, but catastrophically wrong, like telling a man he could survive in a desert by eating stones.

'I'm going away for a couple of days,' he said.

'When?'

'Next month. Harry is speaking at this three-day event and I'm going with him.'

The wary, curled up figure on the couch was silent. Finally, it said:

'Okay.'

Milo felt himself deflate. There were no questions, no curiosity from his wife. He wondered whether he should explain it anyway, then remembered all the times he tried that. He sighed and got wearily to his feet. Jessie was watching him, the way an animal playing dead might watch a predator.

'Good night,' said Milo.

Jessie didn't respond. Milo nodded, left the room and went upstairs. His head was still thick with the evening's drinking and when he got into bed, he drifted into a heavy sleep.

He was awakened nearly an hour later as Jessie got into bed. She seemed to have no concept of personal boundaries as she pushed her legs and arms through his limbs, like a child trying to crawl into a hidey-hole. Milo knew he should be annoyed, but he didn't feel it. His last girlfriend would have turned cold after a scene like that evening's, refusing to let Milo touch her until he had made his grovelling atonement. But Jessie never did that. 'You call that a fight?' she would say. 'You have no idea what a real fight is.' So, despite the sadness and despair, Milo held Jessie close to his body and the two of them fell asleep together.

*****

Chapter 2

THE THREE-DAY CONFERENCE was not billed as a Manosphere event, but as Milo queued in a hotel foyer surrounded by other men all clutching printouts of tickets, it was pretty hard to see it as anything else. There was a row of tables manned by volunteers in branded grey polo shirts and as he received his coloured wristband--red for all three days--Milo felt a mixture of fear and excitement. There was something naughty, even rebellious, about being in an environment that was entirely male. The men themselves were all shapes and sizes, young and old, from every racial background, some scruffy, some smart. But they were all men. Milo wondered how the organisers had got away with it.

He went through the double doors and entered a hall filled with stands: self-published authors and Red Pill gurus, all hawking their books and programmes and coaching services. There were a couple of stands on things like work-out regimens and surviving in the wilderness, but the bulk of the material was on attracting women, picking up women, and succeeding with women. Indeed, for a conference whose stated mission was to 'Connect Men with their Manhood', there was an awful lot of stuff about women.

Still, that was the reason Milo was there. He loved Jessie, but there were so many red flags in his marriage that doing nothing would be actively stupid. One of the things Harry said in his book was that men often suffered from wilful blindness. 'You have to pay attention to the early signs,' he wrote, 'because by the time she says "I want a divorce", it's already too late.'

As Milo went through the hall, he spotted Harry's book cover blown up to poster size. He wound his way there and found his friend standing beside a table with a book display. He was chatting to someone, a fit-looking man in his fifties with cropped white hair and wearing a pristine white shirt. His printed name tag said 'Jack Tarrant' and Milo recognised him from his podcast videos on Red Pill topics. It was weird to see him in person.

'Milo!' boomed Harry. 'Glad you could make it!'

There was a shaking of hands and a general exchange of names and pleasantries. Harry introduced Milo as an old friend, here to get tips to help him with his marriage. Jack frowned and looked at Milo.

'I don't mean to speak out of turn,' he said. 'But are you the guy married to, um... a former dancer?'

'You can say stripper,' said Milo.

'Well, I didn't want to be disrespectful.'

'I appreciate that.'

A couple of punters came up to the table and Harry excused himself. Milo and Jack stepped to one side, standing before the poster.

'Do you have a stand?' asked Milo.

'Yes,' said Jack. 'But my brother-in-law is manning it so I can have a wander. Plus I'm doing a seminar after lunch. You should come.'

'I definitely will! I like your podcasts. They really make me think.'

'Oh? Anything specific?'

Jack had frank blue eyes which were now trained on Milo. It made him nervous and he found himself retreating into honesty.

'In the last one I watched,' he said, 'you made a very blunt statement: "Your wife is not your friend." And that really bothered me, because I thought: Isn't your wife supposed to be your friend?'

'Yeah, a lot of men get caught by that one,' said Jack. 'How many times have you heard a man say, "My wife is my best friend"? Then, nine times out of ten, that "best friend" divorces him, takes his kids and makes him watch while she replaces him with another man. I mean, who needs friends like that?'

'Are you saying that a man shouldn't trust his wife?'

'I'm saying that a man can always trust a woman to be a woman.'

Milo frowned, nonplussed. Jack smiled and squeezed Milo's shoulder.

'Come to the seminar,' he said. 'And meanwhile, have fun. I promise you, if you're willing to do the work, you'll be going back to your marriage a changed man.'