On the Fragile Male Ego

First there's a lecture. Then we need to talk.

H. Jekyll

While "fragile male ego" is one of the most common phrases in LW stories, a Literotica search finds only three (count 'em!) instances of it in the actual titles of stories. The first was Bruce1971's wonderful "My Fragile Male Ego" in 2022, which is principally about fragile female egos. Then there was Gamblnluck's "My Fragile Male Ego" in 2023. His oeuvre is 'Non-consent/reluctance' stories, and he's in the middle of a multi-chapter tale, but here he wrote in LW territory. Third was Funperson969's "Fragile Male Ego in 750 Words" in 2024, a "We have to talk" story. So this is... another one. I hope it doesn't disappoint.

If you would like the story to go a different direction, you have my blessing to write your own version. Let me know, give me credit, and provide a link to the original story. Don't post at a commercial site unless you, the site's administrator, and I have a legally binding agreement to split revenues. Copyright 2025 by H. Jekyll. All rights reserved.

As always, I accept all comments, including negative ones, even insulting ones often posted by 'anonymous.' If you post a comment under your Literotica account, I will try to reply to you directly.

There is no sex in this story.

*****

On the Fragile Male Ego

It was in my mind that Linda meant 'beautiful.' She was beautiful as she brought in the snacks and arranged the wine glasses, set up the card tables and chatted with her friends. It was Girls Night Out. They didn't hold them at some bar or pub or dance place, but mostly in their homes. They might play Scrabble or Rummikub or low-stakes poker, but mostly they liked to try new recipes, drink a little, joke, and gossip. There was a lot of putting husbands down, so the husband of the house would do well to retreat to the back or go out.

There were six of them tonight, the regulars. They knew each other because our kids went to school together or played flag football together, two worked for the same company, three lived in our neighborhood, and a couple went to the same church. Two were related by marriage. There's a lot of overlap. All of them were Democrats, which in Carmel, Indiana is a big deal. Outgroup conflict leads to ingroup unity, and all that. I don't mean to lecture, but then, that's what I do. Anyway, they all clicked. Or "cliqued." Sorry.

Our kids were out of the way, getting a sleepover with Linda's folks. Linda was celebrating by skipping around, heating fondue, and trying the new wine. My beautiful Linda. Not traditionally beautiful, but she was my Linda and I still liked to look at her even when she didn't know it. I thought other men would want her. I know they would. I have evidence. Oh, there were a couple of her friends who were real lookers, whom I'd try not to look at too obviously. Jane Milstead especially, Linda's best friend and definitely not a plain Jane. She's a wet dream, if men approaching middle age still use such a term. I haven't actually heard it since high school, though I might still think it. Then there was Ruth Marcus, the voluptuous earth mother. Oh yes!

Of course it's hard to know how looks tie to sex. Beth Gordon is probably the plainest of the six. No, not just 'probably.' And she's getting plump. But last year at a party that included 'partners' (as they called us), her husband Gerry had had, let's say, a wee bit too much of the good stuff, and when Jane and Beth crossed our paths he'd said to me:

"There goes the most sexed-up woman in the whole goddamned universe."

"Um, Ger. You know they might hear you. Ya gonna talk that way about Harvey's wife? And right in front of your own?"

"What? Jane? No, Case! It's Beth. Jesus! How crude d'ya think I am? It's Beth. She wants it more often and in more ways than, well, anyone I know. More than me. Day and night. Hell, the variety! And... yeah."

He'd stopped there. Maybe it was the look I was giving him. I was getting concerned he'd give me details on that 'variety' thing. Some husbands may talk about their sex lives with their wives, but they don't run in my circles, and in fact Ger never brought it up again. I'd planned to play Sergeant Schultz if he did: "I hear nossing!" I certainly didn't want to hear him complain about getting too much sex. Maybe he couldn't keep up with her, or didn't want to keep up with her. There had been gossip columnist innuendo, back in the day, about that being a problem between Elizabeth Taylor and that Senator husband of hers. Whichever one he was.

But it had got me thinking, and that night I played a little denial-of-orgasm game with Linda, who'd put a stop to it pretty quickly.

Anyway, there was Beth, who wasn't a looker but had -- how to word it? -- hidden depths, whom I could never visualize the same way again. And the rest were fine. I thought of Abby Abernathy, Beth, and Charley Moreno as the ABC girls. Or maybe the A, B, and B+ girls.

But Linda. She was beautiful to me and not just me.

*****

I'd been nursing a rye old-fashioned back in the den, but I'd come out for some fondue. That was an excuse. I had an idea of a topic that might come up, and it was the sort of thing I'd had on my mind, nursing my old-fashioned in the back. I had no idea I'd be brought into the discussion.

"Casey!" It was Jane. "There's something we'd like your insights to. Fragile male egos."

That was direct, and the topic was spot on.

"Um, sure. Well, do you want to see mine?" General laughter.

"You seem safe to ask." said Charley. "We all agree your ego is tough."

"My reputation exceeds me." More laughter. Linda was laughing along with everyone else. "Fact is, mine is as delicate as anyone's. Now, can you tell me how this subject came up?"

"Here's the thing," broke in Ruth. "There's an issue." Everyone turned toward her. "Stop staring, guys. Everyone here knows about it. You see, Heather MacDonald was caught, um, fooling around with her boss, and George is going to move out. He's threatened to kill her boss."

Woof!

"Well, I'm generally against killing, you know." They were loving it, now. "But you were asking about the fragile male ego. Do you think George is out of line? Not about the threats, I mean, but about splitting from Heather?"

"It was only a blow job!" exclaimed Beth.

"That certainly clarifies things. I take it Gerry would be cool with you doing something like, well... you know... that?" Beth blushed about as red as it would be possible to turn, and covered her face with her hands, and the girls all hooted at her, except for Linda, who went back out to the kitchen, but she stood up for herself.

"You know what I mean! It wasn't an ongoing affair. But George won't even go to counseling."

"Okay. Okay. I see, I think. Was it a one-time thing?" Yes. As far as anyone knew, or cared to admit. "No penetration? Well, more or less none." Again with the laughing. I felt like George -- Burns, not MacDonald. "So, where do we stand? Did she at least confess?" No, they'd been caught. "Ow! Now, I've heard rumors... only rumors mind you... that women will sometimes divorce their husbands for similar things. Right Linda?" She was back in the doorway. She nodded. "Is George so different?"

"What she means," interjected Charley, "is that men seem to sleep with anything with boobs, but let the wife slip up even once and it's World War III."

"Whoa, who, whoa!" I started to object, but the fondue was ready so we went to eat. They all had white wine, a Riesling, since it was a Germanic meal, while I considered refreshing my old-fashioned. No, I'd finish it and make a new one. I might need it. I liked the various breads dipped in the cheese, but most of the girls seemed to prefer the sliced apples and pears. Eating was good because it gave me time to organize my thoughts and figure how to move the conversation.

*****

And get back to the conversation we did. Charley started even before everyone had finished eating.

"You were 'whoa-ing' us."

"Okay. Okay." It would be 'okay' if I could re-start well. I was going to get all professorial, so we'd see how much leeway they'd give me. "This was about fragile male egos. So, let me start by saying men and woman aren't completely different. Yes, men commit adultery more than women do."

General agreement.

"But the percentages aren't all that high, and men don't cheat all that much more than women do."

Less agreement.

"And divorce rates are higher if it's the woman who strays, than if it's the man."

More agreement.

"But it isn't just because men can't take a punch."

Less agreement.

"Wait. Wait. I know. But there is evidence that statistically... just statistically... with men it's more often, oh, a crime of opportunity. They never intend to leave their wives, but the evening is shining, and there's an available partner, and one things leads to three others."

"And with wives?" That was Jane.

"With wives it's often more than just the sex. There are other things going on."

"And you know this how?"

"When Gloria Redmond had to have surgery, I got handed the 'Marriage and Family' class, so I thought I should study up. What?" Charley was asking about Gloria and almost got me off track. "Yes, Gloria's doing fine. She's back. Anyway, I'm not saying women aren't better at manning up..." which got them on my side again, "Just that it's not the whole enchilada."

"You spent a whole semester on adultery and divorce?" asked Beth.

"No. It's only one topic, but one the kids find really fascinating. Because it involves sex."

"So," said Jane, who was getting antsy, "Can we cut to the chase? Is there a fragile male ego or isn't there?"

"Yes. There is. It's a real thing."

"Caused by what?"

"Patriarchy!" opined Abby. Yep, they were Democrats.

"I won't argue that." Not too much. "But the bigger picture is evolution and reproductive strategies."

*****

Sure. Evolution. I had my work cut out for me. Sex is the way we reproduce, and the gene is selfish. It wants to survive and flourish. Sure I'm being anthropomorphic, but I asked the collected wives to bear with me.

"Look. Men and women are different. Look at men." For some reason they all thought that was pretty funny. "There's no limit to the number of offspring a man can have, and there's part of him that would impregnate every female he encountered. It's in his reproductive strategy. It's why he might seek out just sex." I used air quotes to emphasize it. "It increases his 'inclusive fitness.' Meaning it increases his chances of passing on his genes."

"But women are better people, right?"

"Oh, kind of. Women are limited in how many kids they can have, and while men could leave unplanned and even unknown kids strewn across the landscape for other people to raise, women can't do that. So they're more motivated to protect the few they can have, and to have a stable partner to help with that."

The girls didn't necessarily like the 'reproductive strategies' line, but they were good with the 'women are better' conclusion. Beth challenged me right away about how it might not work out like that because of twins and such, and I told the story about how my grandmother had had eleven kids, but she'd had to work at it over a couple of decades, and she'd had health issues. "A lot of women used to die in childbirth and pass on no kids at all. Anyway, how many offspring from different women could, say, Elon Musk... who is kind of a turd... have in the same time period? He has, what, fourteen known children with four different known women."

"Wait, wait, wait," said Charley. "That just means that men are dogs. So where's that fragile ego come from? And why don't all the men just screw around?"

Women they understood. I was trying to get them to truly understand men. The good ones.

"Because most men aren't Elon Musks, We aren't super rich, or super successful, or super smart, or super good looking, or super whatever. We're just guys. And women aren't dropping their panties for us left and right. Even our wives." More hooting, and a couple of 'boos.' I noticed Beth was smirking. Someone asked Linda about that, but she ignored the person. "Oh boy!" I let out a big sigh. "Look, women aren't necessarily receptive to a come on, so a guy is best off keeping his woman and raising his kids."

"And the ego thing?" asked Abby. "And wait! Why would she stray in the first place, if it's not in her interest?"

"Oh, they're tied together, Abby. Tighter than a knot. Let's say, hypothetically, that you could have a kid with Elon Musk. Not you personally. I'm not implying anything. Just generically. All right? So, what if you could have a kid with Musk but Lloyd would never know. You could come out ahead because your kid would have a greater chance of being super smart and super successful. Not that Lloyd isn't smart and successful. But someone more Musk-like? Or someone more Marc LaValliere-like? You know? And your kid be super athletic? As long as Lloyd will work to raise the kid, your inclusive fitness increases."

"So, women stray in order to have smarter or more athletic kids?"

"Well, I guess some. But they mostly stray for desire and excitement and pleasure, the same as men. It's the way evolution pushes us. The end result is kids. Someone called it 'the whisperings within.' I forget who. And husbands know there are such competitors out there, so..."

"It's..." Abby butted in, then didn't want to finish. It took her a moment. "It's a really, really big deal for him if he finds out she's cheated. He could be raising Musk's kid."

"Yeah. Hypothetically. It's why in extreme cases men become so damned controlling of their wives. At the very extreme there are those who kill her to control her. Kind of 'if I can't have her, no one can have her.' You know. It's always the husband. It's always the husband. It's always the husband. And not just killing the wife. Remember, George threatened to kill Heather's boss."

"What," asked Charley, "About women who kill their husbands?" She seemed really interested in such things.

"A different motive. Remember the fentanyl-in-the-cereal case?"

"Oh yeah!" said Beth. "She and her daughter put fentanyl in his oatmeal, then strangled him with his tie." There were oohs and aahs.

"She wanted to get rid of him. It was pretty cold blooded, and everyone was happy with him gone. There was a custody dispute, plus she had a boyfriend and was pregnant with that guy's kid. Her daughter and the daughter's boyfriend helped. I mean, wow! She just wanted to get rid of him so she could be sure to keep her kid and maybe trade up to what she thought was a better model."

It got a little quiet.

"That's at the extremes. Those people are kind of delusional. But for ordinary Lloyds, or, to let you off the hook, ordinary Caseys, it can be worse."

I stopped because I'd been long-winded and it might get touchy.

They cleared the dishes and Linda brought out two cakes. It being nearly Mardi Gras, one was a King Cake. I wondered what the woman who got the baby Jesus would win. What if I got it? Well, I wasn't going to be a winner here, no matter what. I certainly wasn't Elon Musk.

*****

"So how could it be worse?" asked Abby. She'd just taken a bite of King Cake, and didn't seem to have the baby Jesus. "Finish the lecture, and then let's see if we can get some course credit for this."

"Well. Let me start with a question, but it may be personal, so no one answer it! Okay? Okay. Here goes. How many of you have ever faked an orgasm?"

I swear Charley started to raise a hand and stopped herself. Beth almost choked on a bite of cake. I was afraid she'd swallowed the baby Jesus, but she didn't have it either. Linda just looked puzzled.

"Now, I can't check on it, but if you'd give me decent odds I'd bet five dollars that every single one of you has. It's one of the best-known facts about women's sexuality. You know. Maybe it just isn't working for her, and..." I let it drop.

"And she loves her husband and doesn't want to hurt his feelings." That was Jane.

"Sure, or..."

Charley jumped on that one. "She wants to get it over with, and that seems to be the best way." She looked around quickly. "That's not me!" That got a chuckle.

"All right. Now, another question not to answer. How often has your husband been able to tell? As far as you know."

After another pregnant -- or not so pregnant -- pause. Abby raised her hand. "I have a friend, and I'm not naming names..."

Someone hooted "Oh, sure. A friend."

"Let me finish. Yes, a friend. She likes sex, but she almost never, you know, comes. So, anyway, she told me she fakes it all the time. All. The. Time. And her husband can't tell. He thinks he's this great lover."

"Oh God," said Beth. "I know who you're talking about."

"Don't you dare!"

Beth drew her thumb and forefinger across her lips, like she was zipping up. I raised my hands in surrender.

"I'm not getting into the middle of that. But let me ask another question. Has your partner ever faked an orgasm?"

It was quiet yet again, and I was a little surprised that Charley answered.

"Okay, everything that gets said here stays here, right?" Everyone agreed. "You too, Casey?" Me too. "Okay. Once Bill was overworked and tired and, well, it wasn't happening, and he faked it."

"How did you know?" asked Jane.

"Oh, it was easy. His breathing was different, and he moved differently, and the muscles in his shoulders... I don't know. And there wasn't any... fluid. It was completely different. I asked him if he'd faked it, and he tried to deny it, but eventually we were able to talk about it. He was really embarrassed, but you know what? I thought it was kind of sweet. Stupid but sweet. Him, trying to do that for me. So that's my story, and if I find out anyone here has repeated it, you're dead meat! Casey, you're an honorary girl for tonight's get-together."

I told them I was honored.

*****

"All right. You can all answer this next question. You all have kids. How many of you wonder if your kids are really your own. Biologically speaking. All right. All right. You definitely know. Now, does your husband know they're his? I mean really, really know?"

"Of course!" Exclaimed Beth. "We have an Ancestry account, so we've all been tested."

"Anyone else?"

"Well, of course Harvey knows," said Jane.

"Of course. But it used to be men usually couldn't know, not know know. Today we can, but not many guys ever check, and why should we? It would just make our wives think we didn't trust them." They all agreed. "But. There are these fairly rare cases were a guy is certain he's the dad, but maybe his kid's in an accident and there's a blood test or something, and it turns out he isn't. That's where the Elon Musk hypothetical comes in. Legally, it probably doesn't matter. If you're married and he's been raising the kids, they're his unless he can get a court order changing that."

"Well, shouldn't he have to raise them?"

"Have to? I don't know, but if he does, in my book, he's a damned hero. What's he going to do with these kids he loves, who absolutely consider him their father? So he takes one for the team... the team being the kids he's raised as his own. He should get a medal." I'd gotten them back on my side, so here I'd ruin it.

"But keep in mind that he's reduced his inclusive fitness by spending his time, money, energy, and emotions on kids that..." and it got out. Let's be cool, neutral, professorial, even witty, but it was percolating, and I raised my voice. I didn't shout, but I was loud. "... kids that some other, motherfucking bastard planted in his wife!" I slammed a hand on the table. It shocked them, but now I was on a roll. "Hell, maybe he won't get to have any of his own biological children! But that effing bastard..." I toned it down a notch, "... not only got the pleasure and excitement of coitus with this guy's missus, he also gets the ongoing joy of knowing that he's produced extra kids some other poor dumb bastards will have to raise."

The quiet moments were piling up.

"Well, just wait!" countered Abby, "When you're having sex, it isn't usually about procreation. I mean it's extra special when you're trying to make a baby, but usually it's just pleasure and excitement and intimacy. I'm not saying I'd ever do it. Don't get me wrong, guys. But if someone falls, why should the guy get his ego hurt?"

"You're right, Ab, we can get off track with the baby making. It's not common." I shouldn't have blown up just yet. Fatherhood wasn't my specific problem, as far as I knew. "But the path is the same. I mean, what man is going to have the best track record with women? One who's super smart. Or super fit. Commanding. Witty. Successful. Dominant in some way. A guy who could create great offspring, if it came down to that, and then really provide for them.

"You know, when I was a kid I wondered why Jacqueline Kennedy married Aristotle Onasis after Jack was shot. Jack Kennedy was a really hot guy, like Bill Clinton later on. Women could, and did, drop their panties for him. Ask that mobster's girlfriend, or Marilyn Monroe. But fat, old, ugly Onassis? And Jackie was a hottie! There was a nude pic of her taken on one of Onasis' yachts. A telephoto shot. She must have been in her 50s, and the caption said she was 'still fuckable.'" They didn't like that term, but they could live with it. "And she was."

"But Onasis? Who would be attracted to him? Now I know. He was maybe the most successful shipping magnate in the world, a billionaire in today's money, who kept Jackie in all the right crowds. He'd been married and had had affairs. He'd had an open, long-term affair with the opera star Maria Callas. Who knows how many women he had? As many as he wanted, I imagine. Of course he got Jackie.

"But take your average Casey." It was here that I finally began to look at Linda. At first it was just an acknowledgement. "His strategy is to is to have an exclusive relationship with his wife. With Linda, a superior woman." I smiled at her. "Have kids. Be intimate. Be a unit. In some ways, it's us against the world."

I took a bite of King Cake, and zounds, I had the baby Jesus! I pulled it out. It was one of the black ones they put in sometimes. Well, I certainly wasn't this baby Jesus' father. That was meaningful, and I wondered if God was playing with me. I passed it around, then continued.

"It can be us against the world." I held Linda's eyes. "Us, sexually. Us, socially. Then, suddenly Casey finds that it isn't 'us.'" I used air quotes again, but kept looking at Linda. "He finds it's his above-average wife, Linda, and some other guy, and he's the odd man out. And he didn't even know it."

Linda tried to look away, tried to look lighthearted, but then she turned back to the kitchen. When I looked around, it was obvious that some of the girls had noticed our eye-play. I wondered what they were thinking. I wondered what some of them knew.

"What would you do?" asked Beth.

"I don't know. Leave? Threaten? Whatever, I'd say the ballgame is over. That's when guys decide to test their kids' DNA. What would you do?"

*****

I made myself cheerful again.

"One last question, a generic one. How can you tell if a guy is having an affair?"

"Your sex life falls off," said Abby. "Or so I've heard." That brought the mood back up.

"Yeah. Most men have real limitations in how often or how effectively they can... you know. But if it's the wife?"

"Same thing."

"Sometimes. But only sometimes." Linda was back, though just in the doorway. Most were unsure where I was going, but I'm sure Linda got it. "It can be the opposite. Sometimes Linda love-bombs Casey. She gives him extra sex, great sex, all for misdirection." I stared toward her again and kept the eye contact. "She doesn't have to actually love him, or desire him. She doesn't have to get aroused. She certainly doesn't need to achieve that glorious orgasm." Linda opened her eyes wider. I thought she was trying to turn them away, but she wasn't successful. Her mouth opened a little, and it stayed open. Some of the girls followed my eyes again, and again no one said anything, so I concluded:

"All Linda really needs is a plan."

Linda was gone from the doorway. I turned back to the group and used my best, boyish smile.

"So men have to take more on faith. There are things no woman will ever face, but every man will face, at least in his darkest hour. So, yeah. The fragile male ego. It's real, but what is it? Fodder for anti-male humor, a punchline, a dismissal, a deflection, and... in a guy's worst moments... a cruel putdown. I'd recommend you be gentle with it."

*****

It broke up a bit early. It had become quieter than usual after my little rant, and people began making their excuses. Jane and Charley didn't say much either, but they helped us clear the tables and load the dishwasher. After a bit I went out to the dining and living rooms and put all the furniture back. Linda and I hadn't spoken at all, and we had stayed away from each other in the kitchen.

Once everyone was gone, I stood at the picture window and looked out at our trees, at the pond that had made us choose this house, our back gardens, all the things we'd planted and grown during our time here, the street lights, the cluster of brightly lit houses. Our happy little suburban world. Linda stayed in the kitchen long enough that I thought I'd have to go to her. It was the last thing on earth I wanted to do.

But she did come out, finally, quietly, just past the kitchen door into the dining room. When she addressed me, it was in hardly more than a whisper.

"Casey?"

"Yeah?" I turned around.

"How long have you known?"

She was holding her hands together in front of her, at her stomach, and she was looking at me but not looking at me.

"Does it matter? Long enough."

"How did you find out?"

I didn't say anything for a moment. I didn't even breathe.

"Those are your first words? Really? Not you're sorry, or you love me, or it was just sex, or one of those other godawful things? Just how did I catch you, and when? So... so what? So you'll be better at getting away with it next time?"

"No! No, Case. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. And I do love you. Please. I suddenly found you knew, and I... I don't know. Please Case. Please believe me. I love you and I'm sorry."

Linda had been dry-eyed, a small favor, but now her eyes watered and she wiped them with a tissue. Don't. Don't fucking cry!

"I don't think I believe you. But just so you know, after I had my epiphany, your trail was pretty easy to reconstruct. So are you going to tell me it was only sex?"

"Don't. You won't believe me. I screwed up. I screwed up big time, but I love you. Please. Can we talk?"

Yes, it was something more than 'just' sex.

"We're talking. What do you have to say? Tell me about it."

"It just happened."

"Mother of God! Just how stupid do you think I am? You can't be honest about the simplest thing."

"You don't understand! I got caught up in it!"

"That's a problem. I do understand it." Stretching out 'understand.' Hell. Almost anyone could get caught up in something. She seemed to think her case was so different from everyone else's. "I understand it perfectly. Crap! You think I haven't fantasized? Do you think I haven't considered it, that I haven't been tempted? That women have never made themselves available to me?"

"Please. Don't."

"Let me tell you... No! Let me finish. Just listen for a change! Do you know how delicious I'd find it to have someone new?" I waved my hand to shut her up. "To feel her, to smell her and hear her when she comes? Jesus!"

"Stop it, Case!"

"You think that isn't exciting? And it would be even better because it's forbidden and dangerous. How fucking, fucking delicious!"

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you're sorry. Like that makes it all go away. You've had all those delicious experiences, haven't you? So, what does old Harv feel like, Linda? What does he sound like when he's fucking? What's his cologne? What's his cum like?"

"No!"

"How does he feel on top of you and inside you?"

"Don't! Stop it! Just stop!" Linda was wiping her eyes with her palms, and her nose was running.

"Why? You didn't stop. You think I'm never tempted? That I don't have opportunities?" I stopped and shook my head. "Oh yeah, that's exactly what you think. Of course! Your boring husband couldn't possibly know what you experienced. That tells me volumes about your thinking."

"I didn't think that!"

"Sure you did. You really think I couldn't find anyone, don't you, or that no woman would try with me. Jesus! You're not just a cheater; you're a fucking moron! How many goddamned meetings have I gone away to? You think there are never available women there?"

"Please, Casey. Please. Just stop."

"Sure. Hell. But you know what? I take steps to keep it from happening. That's what I do."

"I didn't set out to do it."

"But you did it. Over and over. Not like me. I start by never being alone with her."

"Her? Who... who is she?"

"What does it matter? And what makes you think there's only one? I try to have others around when we talk. I ignore her pointed comments and her double entendres, or I 'misinterpret' them." I made air quotes yet again. "I don't talk about our private life. I don't go out alone for coffee or lunch. Maybe I could go to her place to help her with some problem. I've been asked. Sure. Let's fix her 'plumbing.' Then she has to show her appreciation, you know? At what point would I not want to tap the brakes, or not be able to? At what point would I step off the fucking cliff? When did you step off?"

Neither of us spoke. Linda kept sniffling and staring at the floor.

"And with Harvey Milstead, your best friend's husband. Well, I understand. He's good looking, smart, people love his stories. Sure. I can see why women like him. If I played for the other team, I'd think he was hot."

"It's not like that."

"What's it like?"

"It's complicated."

"I'll bet. Well, as to your just getting 'caught up' in it, I think you took the final step... off the cliff... four weeks ago last Sunday." Linda jerked her head up and her eyes grew wide again. I almost got snarky enough to tell her they could get stuck that way. "I could be wrong about the exact date, but I know this: you walked through all the warning signs until you got sucked in. Or maybe it's even worse. Maybe you went looking for it."

"No!" Finally, she had something to say. "I didn't go looking for anything! We just flirted. And then... yes, there were some private talks and some lunches."

"And the tension got so intense, and it beckoned so much, didn't it?"

"Yes. It did. I didn't really know it would start until it did, but he did suck me in. He did!"

"Oh, you sucked yourself in, dear heart. And you got all those delicious things. And then you kept sampling them."

I stood and walked over to the fireplace, to the dining table, back to the living room. I'd walk in circles and we'd talk in circles. Nothing would be resolved. Neither of us said anything until I sat back down on the sofa and put my face into my hands. I decided I should continue the discussion on my own, so I looked up at her.

"Whereas I have to put up with this old lover I've known for years, the one who used to really get off but doesn't much anymore, who sometimes has to go to the bathroom to prepare herself, who tells me just to come inside her to finish up. The one who fakes it when she's ready for it to be over."

"I'm sorry, Casey." I could hardly hear her, and she wouldn't look back at me.

"Sure. Well, lately it's been great, the few times it's happened. I've gotten extra special fakery! Maybe I could use a fake orgasm now and then, but not like that! You thought... oh, what does it matter? You thought you were so damned clever."

*****

What was there left to say, except 'go fuck yourself"? Linda didn't have a response, not anything she could think of, and I had run out of things to say. I'd think of other things once she was gone. I've come to hate people who know just what to say. Finally, she asked me in that quiet, little voice,

"Can I sit beside you?"

That was out of the blue.

"I don't know why you'd want to."

"Because I'm afraid." I listened. "I'm afraid of what I've done, what I've done to you, and what you're going to do. Please. I don't..." Her voice got tiny and high, and I thought she couldn't say it. "I don't want to lose you."

"Says the woman who threw me away."

She bent over and cried into her hands, and I let her cry herself out. Stop. Stop crying. It probably seemed longer than it was, with her crying and breathing being the only sounds in the room. I wished she wouldn't cry. Almost anything else. I don't know where crying comes into the male ego problem. Maybe it's supposed to be a balm, something to make her seem so abject and pitiful that you have to take her back. A countermeasure. Please stop. I'd found what she was doing, then I'd discovered she wasn't the only one in our family who could pretend. Tonight, I could stop pretending. Everything was coming into the open. The end of things was happening, but please stop crying.

I wanted to think of something else. Anything else.

Thank you, Jane. If she hadn't forced the male ego issue, I would have held off. Maybe Linda would have ended it, maybe even confessed to me and begged forgiveness. Would I have kept you? Would I maybe have been the noble cuckold who keeps the family together, who keeps the kids from having to split time, who tries to rebuild a marriage? No. Not after I'd worked through it. And Linda hadn't stopped anything on her own.

Then, I'm sorry, Jane. I wouldn't humiliate you in front of your friends. Tomorrow, after I told her and showed her the evidence, she'd be humiliated enough. I wondered what she would do. Would she keep him? We'd likely never speak again.

*****

"What are you going to do?" I had gotten lost in my thoughts and didn't understand her question at first.

"What do you think?" As though it wasn't obvious. "I'm going to do what you always said you'd do if you ever caught me cheating. I'm leaving you."

"I'm sorry Case. And I love you, I really do. Isn't there some way? Something I could do to keep us together? Anything?"

I turned away and laughed, though nothing seemed at all humorous. "Yeah, you really love me. You still haven't tried out the 'it was just sex' bit." I sighed. "Still waiting for that one. Of course, you always said you'd cut my prick off if I strayed, but then you don't have a prick."

Linda tried to smile. Yes, try to placate your husband by acknowledging his little joke. I played a bigger joke. "I read that among some Apaches, if a man caught his wife cheating, he'd cut off the end of her nose. Then, everyone would know what she'd done, and no man would ever find her attractive."

"Stop it!"

That one wasn't so funny.

"It wouldn't be too hard. Maybe I'd use a bolt cutter."

"Casey!" She shook her head hard, over and over, and turned her face away from me.

"That might help heal my fragile male ego. Of course, I'd go to prison, but for the rest of your life little kids would point at you, and you'd be Linda No-Nose."

"Stop, stop, stop, stop!" She put her hands over her ears and kept shaking her head and saying it.

"Sure. Let's make a pact. I'll cut your nose off, but then I'll let you stay. How does that sound?"

She just shook her head in her hands and wouldn't look at me.

"It'll be fine. You could get plastic surgery." Then I stopped, and after a few minutes she did too. I sighed. There was a lot to sigh about. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to do anything to you. I'm just going to divorce you."

It grew quiet again. She wasn't crying, not out loud, but she was wiping her eyes with one hand, then with the other, and sniffling.

"I'm sorry Case."

"You keep saying that. What are you 'sorry' for? I guess because you got caught."

"No!" Finally some spirit! "I'm sorry because I hurt you. And I love you."

"I don't believe that. Any of it."

"I do. I know I haven't shown it lately, but I do. Really."

"You know what I think? I think you like me well enough." I stopped to think. "Maybe you even feel some affection. Now, stack that up against everything you've unleashed. Social awkwardness. Dividing our things. Forming two households..."

"No! I love you! I do!"

"Just listen!" I couldn't stay seated, not going through this. It would be at least as hard on me as on her. "Warring attorneys. Splitting our finances. The court dates and the counseling they'll force us to have. It'll divide our friends. Your best damned friend is going to become your worst enemy. What have you done to her! And, to top it all off, the kids. Oh my God, our kids' lives will be hell!"

"No. Please Case. Don't." Now Linda stood. She raised her hands exactly like a supplicant in a Renaissance painting, as though I could make everything better. We were far too far along for that.

"That's what you've gotten us into." I turned away from her. Did I have to look at her? I could imagine her well enough with Harvey Milstead. What would I do the next time I saw him?

When I turned back to her, she'd taken a step toward me, her hands still supplicating.

"Shame on you, Linda! How dare you!" She stopped, and that was where she lost herself. Crying now, tears running down her face, looking at the floor, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. "How fucking dare you!"

What next? I couldn't stand, couldn't sit, certainly couldn't undo Linda taking up with Harvey Milstead. I finally did sit, right where I'd been, and I stared at our wedding picture in the dining room. What would our divorce picture look like?

"Please, Case. Please." Yes, that meek little voice, half choked from crying. "I'm so sorry. You're a better person than me. Please. Don't throw me out."

"I was a better person by not having an affair. I was a better person by putting my family first. I wouldn't be a better person by staying with you. Did you think, in my little lecture, that I was just 'mansplaining' the male ego? I'm not getting over this. We're done."

So, Linda stood some more, and I sat. It would end one day, but in the immediate days ahead? Let me die. She took a half-step towards me and stopped. I sighed again and moved my arm for her.

"Come on."

She walked over to me with tiny steps, and sat, then leaned up against me, her head to my shoulder, wiping her eyes on my shoulder, her hand on my chest, crying openly again. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

Sure. A woman's tears. You've heard those progressive jerks talk about them dismissively: 'white woman's tears.' For me, it was this woman's tears. Linda's tears. She'd always been strong, in control, in charge when there were problems -- when little Lynn was hit by a car, when Linda's sister was dying. She'd be solid for the longest time, and then she'd break down and I would comfort her. I didn't want her to cry. It cut me all the way through. But I loved comforting her, and comforting her comforted me. I'd hold her to my chest and sooth her, stroking her hair, saying "Shh. Shh. It's okay. Everything will be okay." I'd feel so tender toward her, more than when we made love, even more than the day we were married, almost as much as the days she bore our kids. My Linda. My girl. I'll always be there for you.

But not this time. Everything wouldn't be okay this time. Nothing good would come of this. I wouldn't take comfort in it, and I wouldn't be there for her ever again.

That male ego isn't fragile over just anything. It can take a beating over your job or your game, tragedies, failures, disasters. Only she can shatter it. Mine was fragile over Linda, who was still crying on my shoulder. Crying.

Which was it? Her superpower? Or my kryptonite?

I couldn't even be sure the tears were real. That's what happens once the trust is gone. The ballgame really is over. Was she broken by the realization of what she'd done and what would come next? Probably. Or were the tears summoned when needed? I couldn't help wondering. Is she thinking, 'If I cry enough, he'll forgive me'?

I decided that for the moment it didn't matter. I held her close and smelled her hair and thought of other times I'd held her and breathed her in, and I tried not to think of Harvey Milstead holding her. I'd miss her so much. So, I held her for a while. In the morning we'd start working on our new life. On our lives. Apart.

End.