Milo and the Manosphere

'Now, I get that you might find this a bit embarrassing. But you're also worried about your marriage, which is why you came to the conference in the first place. So look at it this way, Milo: if you hear one useful thing tonight that might help you turn your situation around, isn't that worth a bit of embarrassment?'

Milo suddenly understood why this guy was successful as a pickup artist. He could talk a firing squad into shooting someone else. So, against his own better judgement, Milo found himself scrolling through his phone, looking for a photo of Jessie he could share. He landed on one that he had taken on a sunny day in the garden, with Jessie in shorts and one of his shirts, sitting on a blanket on the grass.

Gary took the phone and looked at the photo, nodding like a doctor whose blood test results confirm his diagnosis. He showed the picture around and there were whistles and nods and sounds of appreciation. The big guy next to Milo gave him a slap on the shoulder and a nod of approval. And, weirdly enough, Milo no longer felt like an imposter.

'She's a looker,' said Gary, handing back the phone.

'Thank you,' said Milo.

'Which means, you have a problem.'

'I do?'

'Oh, yes. That woman could walk out the door of your house and get pretty much any man she sets her mind on.'

'Well,' said the big guy next to Milo, 'she can get to shag any man she sets her mind on. That's not the same as landing a high-value man for an LTR.'

There were nods of agreement around the table, while Harry muttered 'Long Term Relationship' for his friend's benefit. Gary looked at Milo.

'Is that what you are?' said Gary. 'A high-value man?'

'I do my best,' said Milo.

'Oh, yeah?' said Gary. 'How many women you fucked?'

'What's that got to do with anything?'

'You are kidding, right?'

Milo was appalled. He looked at Harry, but Harry just shrugged. Milo turned back to Gary.

'Are you telling me,' said Milo, 'that your definition of a "high-value man" is a man who's fucked multiple women?'

'It's not my definition!' said Gary. 'It's women's definition!'

'Bullshit!'

'What do you think a woman wants more? A man who could have any woman he wants? Or a man who clings to one woman because nobody else wants him?'

'There are other things.'

'Not to women!'

Gary leaned forwards.

'Tell me, Milo--if it was your wife sat here instead of you, surrounded by girlfriends, would she be proudly showing around a picture of you?'

Milo stared miserably at the table full of glasses. He felt stripped, exposed, naked to everyone's judgement. The word 'loser' had not been spoken, but it seemed to hang in the air like a black cloud. Gary opened his mouth to say something else, when Harry asked whether it was true that Gary could get girls to tattoo his name onto their bodies. There were sceptical laughs around the table and Gary immediately began to defend his honour. Milo stayed for another twenty minutes, then quietly slipped downstairs and went back to his hotel.

***

It was ten o'clock at night.

Jessie sat cross-legged on the couch, with only the standing lamp for light. The television had been off for over an hour--Jessie had been unable to concentrate on it. She wished she had someone to call, but it was difficult to make friends with the people she met outside the house. Girls her own age tended to be into partying and Jessie didn't want to slip backwards into addiction. Besides, girls in relationships didn't want Jessie anywhere near their boyfriends.

'You'll make friends when you have a kid,' whispered an inner voice. 'Maternity groups, babysitting circles, kids' parties.'

Jessie nodded to herself. She imagined the feeling of Carl's cock inside her, shooting sperm, making her pregnant, and her whole lower body seemed to heat up and tingle. God, she wanted it. But the more her body heated up, the more the voices in her head jabbered and argued. She remembered the look in Dr Brewer's eyes, the cold, hard judgement of her gaze. 'Slut,' those eyes seemed to say.

'Was she wrong?' said an inner voice.

Jessie thought about that. She took a brutally honest look at what she truly wanted: to continue to be Milo's wife and enjoy his love and protection, but to have Carl's baby. A mini-Milo would probably be sweet like his father, but a mini-Carl would be a challenge--someone who needed her love. She could give the little Carl the love that big Carl never got. And maybe, just maybe, he would forgive her for losing his own baby.

'And what about Milo?'

He'll be upset, thought Jessie. But not enough to get a divorce. He's too afraid of losing me. And I'll carry on treating him well and giving him lots of sex. That's a better deal than he's had from any woman in the past. Let's face it, Milo and me are only together because we're both broken people. And I think after he gets over the first shock, he will come to understand that.

Jessie sat on the couch and realised that she felt fine. The voices in her head were now still. Breathing a sigh of relief, she switched off the lamp and went upstairs. She undressed, went to the toilet, brushed her teeth and went to the bedroom.

She had put on her nightie, but now she pulled it off and climbed into bed nude. The sheet and covers felt cool against her naked body. She pictured Carl getting naked into bed with her and she felt that heat spread over her loins. She touched her pussy and it was dripping wet. Jessie began playing with herself, making love to Carl in her mind, feeling his cock enter her and fuck her, harder and harder. She begged him to do it, to finish inside her.

The moment came. Carl said, 'I love you' and Jessie screamed in orgasm. As she imagined him ejaculating, pumping and pumping, her back arched and the orgasm ripped through her body. She dug her heels into the mattress and continued to masturbate, his fingers slick with juice as she had orgasm after orgasm. It was wild, intense, pure heaven. She loved it. She loved him. And she finally loved herself. The world would call it wrong, but her body didn't lie. It wanted what it wanted, and if that made her a slut, then so be it. Jessie no longer felt ashamed. Quite the opposite--it was as though a weight was lifted from her soul.

When it was all over, Jessie curled up on her side. With a smile on her face and the duvet between her legs, she fell into a deep and blissful sleep.

*****

Chapter 3

MILO WOKE UP early without his alarm and was downstairs helping himself to the hotel breakfast buffet ten minutes after it opened. There was reheated scrambled egg and limp rashers of bacon, but Milo didn't mind. It was nice to sit in a quiet space and read The War of Sex on a Sunday morning while eating. He finished a chapter, went to refill his coffee cup and realised that he was enjoying his time alone. It surprised him.

Sitting back down, Milo sipped his coffee and stared out through the windows. He began to see not only how much Jessie occupied his thoughts, but also where it came from. All his life he believed that the greatest thing a man could do with his time was spend it with the woman he loved--that it would fulfil every need and satisfy every want. And it didn't. It simply didn't. However much he loved Jessie--assuming it was love, of course--he needed more.

After breakfast, Milo headed for the hotel complex hosting the Manosphere event. It was Day Two and he was looking forward to it. Well... looking forward to the Jack Tarrant seminar taking place before lunch. Harry was also holding his seminar that morning, thankfully in the previous timeslot--Milo knew his friend would be disappointed if he didn't show up. But Tarrant's book shone a light on the inner workings of his relationship with Jessie, and Milo wanted as much insight as possible.

Milo enjoyed Harry's talk more than he was expecting. It was good to see his friend up there, sharing his ideas and saying his piece. Indeed, Milo felt a twinge of envy. Harry truly believed in what he was saying, speaking with passion about masculinity and the need men had to embody it. 'To tell a man that masculinity is toxic is like telling a woman that having children is toxic,' said Harry. 'And trust me, there are plenty of people who say both.'

Milo left the moment Harry's Q&A was over, wanting to get a good seat at Jack's seminar in the bigger room. It was fifteen minutes before it was due to begin, but the room was already over two-thirds full and Milo had to get a seat nearer the back. Looking around, he recognised the guy who got lambasted by Gary for asking a 'soy' question. Milo frowned and idly checked his phone. No calls, no texts. Jessie was keeping the agreement. That had to be a good sign, thought Milo, switching off the phone and putting it in his pocket.

When Jack Tarrant walked onto the podium, there was a massive round of applause, along with whoops and whistles. Milo smiled as he clapped, marvelling at how a man in his fifties was being greeted almost like a TV star.

'Thank you! Thank you very much!' said Jack, the stage mic like a white ball of gum suspended near the corner of his mouth. 'Thank you.'

The audience quietened down. Jack smiled and scanned the faces watching him.

'Today, I'd like to talk a little bit about what it means to be a man.'

Jack stepped away from the giant flatscreen and clicked the remote. Bold white text appeared on a black background. It said:

'WOMEN ARE. MEN MUST BECOME.'

'This is one of the tenets of Red Pill thinking,' said Jack. 'It lies at the heart of how our culture not only sees men and women, but how we believe men and women should be treated.'

He clicked the remote. The screen was filled with colour photographs of women: dancers and doctors, mothers and daughters, some smiling, some serious. There was a pop star and a movie actress, but it was chiefly a collage of the diversity of twenty-first century women.

'Let's begin with "Women Are",' said Jack. 'The core belief of our culture is that a woman has intrinsic value. That a woman should be respected, considered important and even loved for who she is. That a woman shouldn't have to do anything to be considered equal to a man--that a woman simply is equal. Now, feminists like to say the opposite about our culture, but consider this: What happens when you do the opposite? What happens when you tell a woman she has to earn your respect? When you don't listen to a woman because she doesn't know what she's talking about? When you choose to marry one woman and not another simply because one is more beautiful than the other?'

Milo blinked and folded his arms as he listened.

'Women will hate you,' said Jack. 'It enrages them. And if we were all women instead of men, I would be standing here telling you that you are all equally valuable, all equally deserving of love, and all beautiful, fabulous beings exactly as you are. My message to all of you would be: Be Proud to Be Yourself!'

The room was silent. Jack walked to the front of the podium and looked out.

'Show of hands,' he said. 'How many of you here regard yourselves as perfect just as you are?'

There was some chuckling. One wag shouted, 'I am!' and everybody laughed. Jack smiled and said back:

'Thank you, madam!'

That got a roar and a round of applause. Jack walked the stage, watching the crowd, taking his time.

'How many of you here,' he said above the tumult, 'don't believe in working on yourself? Don't believe in self-improvement? Don't believe in striving to be the best possible man you can become? Anyone?'

There was a fair amount of noise, but no-one put their hand up. Jack clicked the remote and the screen showed an almost identical photo-collage, but this time of twenty-first century men. There was a billionaire and a movie actor, but also businessmen, working men, soldiers and vagrants.

'As men, we believe in bettering ourselves,' said Jack. 'We believe in growing and learning and acquiring skills precisely because we're not good enough just as we are. And no woman will love a man "just as he is". He must become a man! And if you don't believe this, consider again what happens when a man does the opposite. When a man has no ambition. When a man still lives with his parents. When a man does nothing and contributes nothing. Do we consider such a man as "equally valuable"? Do we fuck!'

There was a laugh and a lot of nodding. Jack scanned the faces and said:

'The fact that we must become men is a fundamental part of our manhood. So before we even consider our interaction with women, we need to--'

He stopped.

At first, people thought it was a dramatic pause, but then it became clear that Jack was watching someone. Heads turned and there was a volunteer in a grey polo shirt rushing down the gap between the chairs and the wall. He went up to Jack and there were a few whispered words. Jack nodded and looked out across the room.

'Milo Bank?' he said. 'Where are you?'

Milo felt his insides freeze. Hardly able to breathe, he hesitantly lifted his hand. Jack looked across the room at him, a twinkle in his eye.

'You need to go to reception,' he said. 'Your wife is here.'

***

Jessie stood in the hotel foyer, hugging herself, moving from foot to foot. There was a row of tables set up to register arrivals and check wristbands, but this late in the morning there were only two volunteers present. They both wore the branded grey polo shirts, but one was a big guy whose shirt was too tight and the other was thin and his shirt was too baggy.

Not that Jessie gave a shit. The two-hour train journey she had taken that morning felt like a week. She had tried to distract herself by watching Caroline Templeton videos, but Jessie hadn't recharged her phone and she needed it to find Milo's conference. In the end, she sat staring out the window, nightmare scenarios running through her brain as the countryside flashed past.

A pair of double doors opened and Milo came out, accompanied by another guy in a grey polo shirt. Jessie screamed and ran past the tables. The thin guy seemed annoyed that she had crossed the unofficial man-only line, but the big guy gestured for him to let it go. They watched as Jessie leapt onto the man, arms round his neck, legs around his waist. Milo only just managed to stay upright, staggering backwards to keep his balance, holding a woman who seemed oblivious to his predicament. The thin guy shook his head in disgust.

'How does a dork like that get a woman like her?' he said.

'Money, probably,' said the big guy with a shrug.

Jessie was sobbing. The sound carried through the pillars and high ceiling, and a couple of the hotel's own security men came to investigate. Milo nodded awkwardly at them, mouthing the word 'sorry' as he held the crying woman. He tried to put Jessie down, but she screamed and clung on harder, the sobbing going up in volume.

The big guy appeared at Milo's shoulder.

'Hey, listen,' he said. 'The hotel guys say there's a break room just across the hall where you can have some privacy.'

'Thanks,' said Milo.

'Hey, darling,' said the big guy to Jessie's back. 'Why don't you let your husband carry you normally? You know, like you see in the movies?'

Somehow, that mollified her. Jessie unhooked her legs and let herself be lowered to the floor. Milo bent and lifted her, one hand around her back, the other under her knees. She curled up in his arms like a girl being rescued from a burning building, her head on his shoulder.

'I love you, Milo,' she said. 'I love you so much.'

Milo's throat tightened and his eyes watered. It was the first time she had ever said that. Okay, she had said things like 'I love your kindness' or 'I love how you make me feel', and Milo would try to tell himself that this was essentially the same thing--that the nagging doubts were just his male ego making a big deal out of nothing.

But no... it was a big deal. It was a big fucking deal, and he hadn't been going mad or being unreasonable. And as Milo carried his wife across the foyer and was shown into a small kitchen-like room with a Formica table and some surprisingly cheap-looking chairs for a five-star hotel, he was grateful to have taken his doubts seriously. That's why he was here, after all.

The door was closed and Milo was alone with his wife. He sat on a chair and Jessie sat on his lap, no longer really crying, but still kind of sniffing and whimpering. He felt her rest in his arms, relaxed and soft, her fingers on the bare skin of his neck. She pushed her cheek against him, as though wanting to tell her senses he was real. Milo wanted to ask what had happened, but he stepped on the impulse. During yesterday's panel discussion, one man had said:

'If a woman trusts your masculine strength, she will want to tell you everything. But asking questions because you're worried or can't stand the suspense signals weakness to her. So shut up, be strong in your silence... and wait.'

Milo felt Jessie move and shift in his arms. The need to cling to him seemed to dissipate, like the slow evaporation of water. Her breathing became even and when she let out a sigh, he somehow sensed that she had come back to herself. She swallowed nervously.

'Milo,' she said in a murmur. 'There's something I need to tell you.'

All the joy Milo had felt froze into sickening fear. There was only one reason a woman said those words in that tone. Milo lifted Jessie enough to slide out from under her, setting her down and moving to the nearest chair. This time, tellingly, Jessie did not try to cling to him; her hands dropped away like dead leaves falling from a branch. Milo turned his chair around so that he could sit astride it, his arms leaning on the back. He looked at her, wondering whether that was the last time she would ever sit on his lap again.

'All right,' he said. 'Tell me what you have to tell me.'

'I haven't cheated on you,' Jessie said. 'Well... not physically.'

'And what does that mean?'

'I went to see Carl yesterday afternoon,' she said. 'At the strip club.'

Milo sat absolutely still, his eyes fixed on her. Jessie sat hunched, unable to look at him, her fingers turning white as her hands clutched each other.

'We talked for a bit,' she said. 'But he was in the middle of something, so he suggested I come back tonight. Sunday at eight is usually quiet, so we could be in the office and no-one would disturb us.'

Jessie fell silent. Milo continued to look at her with very cold eyes, his heart pounding. When he spoke, his voice was steady.

'You were planning to have sex with him?' he said.

Jessie nodded miserably. Milo set his jaw and glared at a fire extinguisher in the corner behind the door.

'There's another thing I need to tell you,' said Jessie in a shaking voice.

'I'm listening.'

'I went to the doctor yesterday morning,' she said. 'And had the coil removed.'

Milo stood up so fast, the chair toppled onto its back. He left it on the floor and went to the wall, turning his back on the woman. An explosion of feelings burst through his head. There was anger and rage and fury, of course. But weirdly, he also felt relief that he wasn't crying. No, he felt like punching the wall. Yet it also occurred to him, even in this extremity of rage, that among all the feelings, there was not the slightest desire to hit Jessie. Even now, even with this betrayal, Milo realised that he was, irrevocably, a man who would never, ever hit a woman... and he honestly didn't know whether he should be proud of that or ashamed.