Milo and the Manosphere

He smiled and walked off. Milo watched him go, feeling more like a kid than a grown man. He looked at Harry who was now talking to half a dozen young guys, two of them with copies of Harry's book in their hands, and he went over to join them.

***

Jessie was sitting in the waiting room of a clinic at about the same time that Milo was shaking hands with Jack Tarrant. It was Saturday morning and Milo wouldn't be back until the evening of Bank Holiday Monday, the last day of his Manopause thingy. Meanwhile, Jessie had an appointment with the gynaecologist. There were four other women waiting, two of them heavily pregnant, and Jessie wondered if they were all seeing the same physician. There were a few magazines on the coffee table, but everybody without exception were studying their phones.

Jessie looked at her own. Milo had suggested no contact for that weekend, but she didn't really believe him. He would always send messages and pictures when he was at work. It was sweet. But checking it now, Jessie saw no calls, no messages. What was going on with him?

Dr Jane Brewer walked into the waiting room from the corridor, consulting a tablet in her hand. She was a small, businesslike woman with short, dark hair and glasses, her white coat reaching down to her knees. Despite not having seen her for nearly three years, Jessie recognised her instantly.

'Ms Jessica Bank?' said Dr Brewer, reading off the tablet.

'That's me!' said Jessie.

'Would you come through, please?'

Jessie stood up, her summer dress and pink cardigan almost painfully feminine in contrast to the doctor's straight coat and flat shoes. Still, if the doctor cared, it was not at all visible in her demeanour. They walked a short distance down the corridor and into a surgery where Dr Brewer closed the door. She invited Jessie to sit down before the desk in the office part of the room, while she took a seat before the monitor connected to the computer. Jessie turned to look at the reclining examination chair with its moulded leg-rests. She would soon be sitting in that chair, opening her legs and giving the good doctor access to her cunt.

'Now,' began Dr Brewer, 'I understand you have an IUD you wish to have removed?'

'A what?'

'An IUD. Intra-uterine device.'

'Do you mean my coil?'

'It's not a coil. It's T-shaped.'

'Then why do people call it a coil?'

Dr Brewer pressed her lips together in a way that suggested Jessie was wasting her valuable time. Jessie now remembered that she hadn't liked this doctor very much the first time around.

'Shall we press on?' said Dr Brewer. 'I have some routine questions I need to ask.'

'Knock yourself out.'

Jessie wasn't sure why Dr Brewer so pissed her off. The questions were routine, some about health, others confirming details in the computer. But the doctor's tone made Jessie feel like a moron and Jessie's failure to come for check-ups was noted in a manner that felt like she was being told off by a schoolteacher.

'And finally,' said Dr Brewer, 'could you confirm that you are having the device removed of your own free will?'

'Who else would be doing it?'

'I have an ethical duty to check that you haven't been pressured or coerced into this decision by a partner.'

'Well, my husband doesn't even know I'm here,' said Jessie. 'Does that count?'

The doctor's lips pressed together as she clicked the mouse. Jessie could almost feel the judgement emanating from her.

'You're not going to tell him, are you?' she said.

'Of course not,' said Dr Brewer. 'Everything you tell me is confidential.'

'So, ethically speaking, it's wrong for my husband to make me have a baby, but it's okay for me to do it to him?'

'Your ethics are your own business, Ms Bank. Shall we press on?'

'Yes, let's "press on", shall we? Chop-chop and all that!'

Dr Brewer froze. For a moment, Jessie thought she was going to be thrown out. Then the doctor's shoulders slumped and she took off her glasses.

'Listen, I did not mean to come across as impatient,' said Dr Brewer. 'And if you do have any concerns about your decision, I will of course try to help.'

'How?'

'It depends. Do you have any concerns?'

Dr Brewer put her glasses back on and gave the other woman a frank look. Jessie grew nervous, the finger of one hand picking at the cuticles of the other. She took a deep breath.

'I want to have a baby,' she said. 'I want it desperately.'

'And your husband doesn't?'

'No, he does! He said he wanted to have kids over two years ago.'

'So what is the issue?'

'It's that...' Jessie swallowed. 'Well, the thing is... I don't want to have his baby.'

There was a silence. When Dr Brewer spoke, her voice was softer.

'Have you told him?'

'Of course not!' said Jessie. 'Do I look stupid?'

'So your plan is to remove the device and get pregnant by him anyway?'

'Not exactly. You see, my husband is away for a few days, so, um...'

Jessie couldn't bring herself to say it. Still, she didn't need to. Dr Brewer's face turned hard, the dark eyes behind the glasses like black pebbles. Her fingers seemed to want to rip at the desk and the doctor forced them to stillness through sheer willpower.

'Ms Bank,' said Dr Brewer icily. 'I would strongly advise against that course of action.'

'Is that a medical opinion?'

The doctor's mouth seemed to tighten into a small dot and she looked back at the monitor as though unable to continue looking at her patient. Jessie watched the other woman, enjoying her discomfort. Dr Brewer was clearly from a well-off family, got top marks at school and no doubt made everyone proud when she got her medical degree. She had no idea what real hardship was, so who was she to fucking judge? Jessie turned to look at the examination chair. She heard the doctor sniff.

'Are there any more questions?' said Dr Brewer.

'Yeah,' said Jessie. 'Do you need me to undress or can I just take my knickers off?'

***

The hotel ballroom was being used to host panel discussions of four or more participants, while the seminars were being held in three smaller function rooms. Jack Tarrant's seminar was the same as his book title--The War of Sex--and it was taking place in the largest room of the three. Even so, it wasn't large enough. Milo arrived half an hour early and he was glad he did--ten minutes before the talk, every seat was taken. By the time it began, men were lining the three walls shoulder-to-shoulder, facing the low podium. Milo was in the third row near the front and his heart thumped in anticipation.

When Jack Tarrant was introduced, coming in through a side door, the whole room burst into applause. Jack stood before a giant flatscreen and acknowledged the audience, smiling and nodding like a budget Steve Jobs about to present the latest tech development. He was equipped with a wireless stage mic fixed near his mouth and a small laptop remote. He stepped away from the screen and the room began to quieten down, ready to listen.

Jack clicked the remote. The title vanished and the screen was filled with the yellow plains of Africa. It cut to a slow-motion image of a zebra being chased by lions. As the film played, Jack turned to his all-male audience.

'In the natural world,' he said, 'life is a war for survival. And mating is a war for reproduction.'

On-screen, the zebra was brought down in a cloud of dust. The lions all leapt on it.

'In the natural world, only a small percentage of males will actually get to mate with a female and reproduce. With some species, such as lions or gorillas or elephant seals, as much as ninety percent of males will live and die without having mated even once.'

On-screen, the scene changed to the Arctic. A killer whale leapt onto an icefloe, grabbed a seal by the neck and dragged it under.

'Is that fair?' said Jack. 'No, of course not--not by human standards. But that's the point. The natural world doesn't operate according to human standards. Whether you believe in God or Evolution, the fact remains that Nature doesn't give a shit. The natural world is a ruthless, uncaring world that knows only one reality: if you get it wrong, you die.'

Jack clicked the remote, freezing it on the image of three chimpanzees about to tear a fourth into pieces. He looked out at the expectant faces.

'Now, somewhere along the way,' he said, 'human beings came up with the idea of civilisation. In a way, civilisation is a reaction to the natural world. Instead of an existence based on continually trying to survive, it posits a way of life based on morals and principles. And so long as everyone agrees to follow them, people can cooperate and problem-solve rather than war over resources. And one of the things that humanity discovered was that if we got civilisation right, it solved the problem of survival.

'Just think about that for a moment. Does anyone in this room struggle for survival? And I don't mean those times when you're maybe broke or looking for a job. I'm talking about the prospect of actually starving to death. I'm talking about that.'

Jack pointed to the frozen image of the chimpanzee death match. The room was silent.

'Of course not,' he said. 'Because our present civilisation, whatever its shortcomings, functions so well that survival is practically a given. In fact, many people no longer consider living to old age as good fortune anymore--they consider it a right. "Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness", the so-called inalienable rights. And it's because of civilisation that we have won the war for survival.'

Jack turned to the screen and clicked the remote. The image of the chimps was replaced by Botticelli's Birth of Venus--the naked woman standing on the giant seashell. There was a smattering of quiet chuckles.

'But what of the war for reproduction?' said Jack. 'Did civilisation win that one too?'

He looked out across the room. A few men were smiling. Others, like Milo, were frowning as they tried to get their heads around it.

'Here's the problem,' said Jack. 'The war for survival is a conflict of the organism versus the environment. But the war for reproduction is a conflict of male versus female. With most species, the male is driven by its nature to try and plant its seed in as many females as possible, while the female is driven by its nature to mate with those males whose offspring would have the highest chance of survival--and to thwart the attempts of the rest. What does that mean if you're male? It means, if you get it wrong, your genes die.

'But how can such a war exist within a civilisation? I mean, if a civilisation can only work when everyone agrees to follow the morals and principles it's based on, what morals and principles do men and women have in common when it comes to reproduction? Well, it used to be the concept of Marriage and Family. Both men and women used to believe that a commitment to one's family should supersede everything else, including individual happiness. But that's not what people believe now, is it? Especially not women.'

Jack looked at the men in the front rows.

'Today's women believe that a woman has a right to be happy. Not "A person has a right to be happy", mind... a woman has a right to be happy. And in today's world, a woman considers her personal happiness to be more important than marriage and family and motherhood. In fact, the modern feminist presents these things as obstacles to a woman's happiness. Principles fundamental to our civilisation, such as keeping our word and honouring our commitments, are seen as tools of the Patriarchy, something men use to try and limit women's freedom. And a man who tries to stop his wife breaking up a family or having an affair on the grounds that "You swore a vow not to" is seen as a villain and an oppressor.

'In short, the war for sex has reverted back to the law of the jungle--to the ruthless, uncaring world of Nature. And any man who has gone through a divorce and had his kids taken away knows that "ruthless" and "uncaring" are the perfect adjectives to describe the average ex-wife. Which means today that if you want to have a relationship with a woman, you will first have to accept that you are entering a war zone--and that you need to be a warrior.'

***

The area of the city which included strip bars and men's clubs looked deceptively small on a map, yet it was like a city unto itself for those who worked there. It wasn't just strip clubs, of course--there were also cafés and pubs, greengrocer shops and hardware stores. But it all looked pallid and rundown during the day, with cracked signs and peeling paint. Jessie was more familiar with the place at night, when the streetlamps and neon signs lent a kind of seedy glamour to the decrepit buildings and garish posters. Walking around it in daylight was like visiting a broken-down, empty fairground.

Jessie had not set foot in this part of town since the night she met Milo. She noticed changes, of course--three years was a long time--but those just seemed to emphasize her almost bone-deep familiarity with the rest. Even the smell of stale rubbish and petrol in the air seemed different to the air anywhere else. Jessie stopped at a pedestrian crossing and pressed the button to change the traffic lights. A clicking noise began like a countdown and Jessie stood and waited.

'What am I doing here?' she asked herself.

'You know exactly what you're doing here,' said an inner voice. 'You are listening to your body. To your feelings.'

'I feel sick.'

'No, you feel scared,' said the voice.

Jessie looked around, trying to distract herself by noticing details of the street: the black woman across the road with her colourful headscarf; the old man walking with a limp, a medal pinned to his frayed tweed jacket; the white van parked halfway across the pavement and the man in a wheelchair who would have to go into the road to get past it. The lights changed and the traffic stopped. There was a beep-beep-beep and Jessie crossed the road. The driver in the front car made a 'wanking' gesture to his passenger as they watched her cross in her tight-fitting jeans. As she neared the other side, he wound down his window.

'Oi!' shouted the driver. 'How much do you charge?'

'More than you can afford!' barked Jessie.

'Oh, yeah?' he shouted back. 'You look like a cheap slut to me!'

Jessie went red in the face and hurried down a side-street. This led to an area of strip joints and topless bars, including her old club. The narrow street was one-way, so hopefully that wanker in the car couldn't follow her, although you never knew with a wanker. Those idiots often saw their lack of self-control as 'rule-breaking'. Okay, a rebel could be attractive, but shooting your mouth off at every hormonal impulse and thinking that's rebellious, well... a man that stupid should never have kids, basically. There were already enough stupid people on the planet.

Jessie was so preoccupied with being pissed off that she almost walked past her old place of work. At night, the Puss 'N' Booty Club was unmissable: a façade of neon signs and florescent slogans like 'Live Dancing!' and 'Girls! Girls! Girls!' that pretty much screamed at you for attention. There were always two burly doormen in black shirts standing either side of an open door. Red light and thumping music would emanate from inside, like a party going on in Hell. But by day, it looked like a derelict shopfront, its windows covered by plywood painted black, the fluorescent slogans dull and pathetic in the grey sunlight.

Jessie stood and stared at the façade, her stomach roiling at the memories floating to the surface. Part of her wanted to turn around and walk away.

'And then what?' said the inner voice. 'Jessie, you've been lying to yourself for three years now. Isn't it time you faced the truth?'

The main door was locked, but Jessie knew there was a gated alley to the side of the building. There would be a fire exit in the graffitied brick wall and further down a staff entrance, as well as slanting metal doors leading to the beer cellar. Jessie walked around the building and, sure enough, there was a lorry making deliveries. Two men in overalls were offloading metal beer barrels, and a third man in the cellar entrance was lifting empties onto the street, the metal barrels clanking as they hit the asphalt. Overseeing the operation, his back to Jessie, was a broad-shouldered man with a thick neck and shaved head. Even without the neck tattoos and earring, Jessie would have recognised him, just from the way he was standing.

It was Carl.

***

Jack Tarrant's talk lasted just under an hour and when he finished, there was nearly a minute of applause. Milo clapped as hard as anyone, his mind well and truly blown. He had enjoyed Harry's book, but Tarrant's material was on a whole different level. Milo couldn't wait to devour Jack's three books and was determined to go straight to the stall to buy them.

But first was the half-hour Q&A.

A young guy wearing the grey branded polo shirt went around the room with a microphone, handing it to whomever Jack pointed to. The first two men asked questions on the finer points of things in Jack's books. After the third question, Milo put his hand up.

Jack's eyes smiled and he pointed to Milo. The boy came over with the microphone and Milo stood up, mouth dry, heart thumping. Every head was turned in his direction and he had to force his voice not to shake.

'I'm, ah... married to a woman,' he said, 'who I now realise likes me, but doesn't love me. Um... is there anything I can do about that? Or should I just bite the bullet and get a divorce?'

Jack nodded, arms folded, his expression serious. He thought for a moment and then addressed the crowded room.

'Just out of interest,' he said. 'How many men here have experienced this?'

About a third of the men put their hands up. Milo looked around, feeling a sense of relief. He was far from being the only one. Jack nodded, unsurprised.

'Yeah,' he said and turned to Milo. 'Listen, I don't know your situation well enough to give you specific advice. But I would like to say something about what you said about your wife liking you, but not loving you.'

Jack began to pace on the low podium.

'I was reading a discussion thread on a Red Pill blog,' he said, 'and there was a comment with a Bible quote. It was advice for married couples and it said: "Men, love your wives; women, respect your husbands." Now that struck me, because I'd been brought up with the idea that both men and women should both love and respect each other equally. But the more I thought about it, the more I came to the conclusion that people two thousand years ago were onto something that us so-called enlightened beings have missed.'

Jack stopped and turned to the audience.

'Let me ask you a question,' he said. 'How many men here need a woman's love?'

He let the question hang in the air. Men blinked and looked at each other.

'Think about it,' said Jack. 'We all know that a woman's love comes with strings attached, right? But when we actually get that love, how much is it actually worth to us? Do you go all gooey inside when a woman says, "I love you"? Or are you thinking, 'Great! She wants to fuck me!'?'

That got a big laugh. Milo was sitting down now, holding the microphone on his lap, and he laughed as hard as anyone.

'Right?' said Jack. 'I mean, we're men, damn it! Do you think we marry women because we need their love? That's what little boys need! No, we marry women because we want to give our love! We want to have families and be fathers and give our love to our children! And when a man cannot attract a woman, what does he typically do? He gives his love to his hobbies! To his video games or football team or favourite TV show! Some men devote themselves to rap music or Star Trek or fly fishing! Fuck me, I know guys who are passionate about coin collecting!'