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."