Cynical Dom

The health insurance industry has a term for this sadistic practice. It's called "step therapy." If the choice is between a more expensive medication that works and a cheaper one that doesn't work as well and might have worse side effects, the insurance company requires that the cheaper drug be used first.

One benefit to the insurance company is that the patient on the cheaper drug might die before they get a chance to use the drug that works but is more expensive. That's money in the bank for the insurance company.

You CAN get exceptions sometimes but the insurance company can just...decide to change their mind, or not honor it, randomly. Or force you to renew it.

And in 2026 will require insurance to cover a name brand medication if the generic is experiencing a shortage.

a world in which 91% of heads of state (and 92% of CEOs, and 72% of industry leaders) are male has not “failed men.” a world in which men own 50% more wealth than women, while women do 300% more unpaid labor than men, has not “failed men.” a world in which 50 countries allow men to legally rape their wives has not “failed men.”

Having privilege in one area doesn't exclude you from being failed in other areas. Look at the suicide rate, the shorter life expectancy, etc.

The fact that there are men who have had shitty lives who don't become racist or sexist doesn't mean that other men weren't failed by the individual people in their lives or society at large.

If one woman experienced trauma and didn't become a drug addict, that doesn't mean her sister who is a drug addict didn't become an addict because of their shared childhood trauma. That's really simplified black and white thinking to say if I turned out okay,they're just choosing to be an addict! Mental health and coping methods are so much more complex than that. Everyone who goes through trauma is just trying to survive as best as their brain and nervous system know how. Some of us end up with coping methods that are seen as pro-social and "good", and others end up with default trauma responses and coping methods that get labeled as "bad". Both are harmful in different ways. And I'm speaking as someone with a lifelong "good girl" coping method.

There are endless factors in how people turn out. As one simplified example, if a boy had abusive and neglectful parents who publicly claimed to be feminists, and then the first person in that kids life who REALLY made them feel cared for, seen, supported, encouraged was sexist? That kid is a lot more likely to grow up sexist than another kid who also had a traumatic childhood but didn't see examples of people being good to them personally who had shitty views. It's just bad logic to say if some men live under patriarchy and become feminist, then the sexist guys are just inherently shitty people...

This is a way of thinking that, while not singularly, has lead to Trump. It's time to change. Patriarchy is in an interesting lens, but it is simply not practiced as intersectionally as it is needed to be. Anon seriously lacks material interest & class in their analysis.

A lot of feminists are ironically financially comfortable in the patriarchy we have, and only want to change things on the margins that affect their identity or the identity they most identify with due to attachment wounds. And maybe some penny-ante economic changes on the margins.

We both are turned on by the idea of public play but for ethical reasons, we've been very limited and cautious in what we've done, of course.

The idea of having the opportunity to do something publicly and ethically was really exciting. CD has teased me about it for months. At the same time, it was pretty scary. We had no real idea of what to expect at this event. With us both having social anxiety, we didn't know if we'd actually go through with trying anything or not. As it got closer, the feelings just amplified. The idea of submitting to him spanking me in public felt more real, and that certainly made it hotter at times. At other times, the reality of it made it scarier. Could I really go through with it? I really didn't know, and neither did he. We knew we'd just have to see how we felt once the time came.

We checked out the dungeon on the first day, as watching others is welcomed. Lots of people were being spanked with various implements on different kneeling tables. We didn't see anyone using their hands. We've never used a bench like this. This added to the anxiety.

At the same time, our anxiety had reduced some from the event overall. The vast majority of people seemed really comfortable to be doing what they were doing, to wear what they were wearing - to be visible with their kink or D/s dynamic. It was, of course, very different from anything we had experienced before, but it was really cool to experience a bunch of people doing what they wanted to do and not caring about fitting in with the social norms we've all grown accustomed to.

I still wasn't sure if I could really go through with it after walking around the dungeon that first day. On the second day though, I got thinking about how happy CD would be if I could do it. And how rare the opportunity was. And how hot it would be to be a little public with our kink. To let some strangers see how he dominates me, and how I submit to him.

So I told him I definitely wanted to do it. He started considering how to go about it. We hadn't seen empty benches at all when we had been through the other night, so we weren't sure how long we'd have to wait to find one. We assumed it might be busiest when the parties first start, but then slow down once it got late (the parties went past midnight). So we almost waited until later to even go look but then CD said we should go see just in case, and we'd probably go back later to try again. We took the stairs down to the area where the dungeon was, while most people take the elevator so we were alone in the stairway as we went down. Partway there CD said "Remember you can always change your mind." My pussy clenched. This sort of thing, the way he looks out for my needs and boundaries 24/7, even when his own pleasure is on the line, is so much of why I love submitting to him.

When we got down there, there was a bench available. CD said he thought we should just do it. So we did. He sat on the kneeling portion of the bench and took my bottoms off, and had me get onto the bench in my shirt and panties at first. My stomach was a mix of nerves and excitement.

He spanked me for a little bit and asked me to adjust. This thing was not made for 5'1" people, so when kneeling I wasn't all the way up on the bench. I climbed up higher as he asked. There were other benches perhaps 2-3 feet to each side of us. One of them was doing some sort of impact, but it sounded so much quieter than my own. I wondered if it only seemed that way to me or not. He used his fingers to trace over my ass and down my thighs every once in a while. Helping me to relax before going back to spanking me. He pulled my panties down and off. My mind buzzed with racing thoughts that basically equated to 'I'm naked...in public!'

I moved my step mom's house after she passed, packed to the rafters with 50 years of memories and bullshit and old family pictures. Piles of old lady furniture and canning stuff, five fucking flat screen tv's because they'd buy a new one when the cable went out... into trucks, while her clueless second husband slept in his recliner, until we carted him over to a home which will suck up all of the inheritance that my dad worked to provide. A college professor, this guy, but fucking dumber than a mud fence. Just a waste of a dude.

I moved my house. Purchased at a pivotal, emotional time around when I became a widower. So many landmines, psychologically. Empty out a drawer, there's a pic of her smiling back at the camera, or her handwriting on a fucking grocery list. That's one of the reasons I decided to move. Clean break, new start. I can't keep finding that shit. Get it over with.

I moved the massive pole barn. Crammed full of three generations of man stuff. Not to be old fashioned, but in my family, women save pictures and report cards, dudes save a furnace they might put in the cabin. And a car they might fix up. And 12' countertops they bought in bulk at an auction because they were cheap. Buckets of wrenches because you need those. Enough shingles from a side job to finish another house. Heavy shit, hard physical labor to move.

I moved my woodworking business. Big heavy machine tools that require a forklift and a prayer because holy fuck I cannot recover financially if I drop this right now. Mountains of wood. Shit I saved that I shouldn't have, too. I'm not immune to being a pack rat either.

Tomorrow will be the final truck load on this house. Piddly, easy to move shit. Books and dishes and clothes. Pictures on the walls, empty out the fridge.

The real winner here is me for the fresh start. And people who like forearms because holy fuck, move hard shit for more than a month.

The real loser is the passenger footwell in my truck. That's just a portal to damnation now. Fast food wrappers, broken tools, screws and bolts and bits and stuff. A work boot with half the sole ripped off from when I fell out of one of 97(?) Uhaul trucks. A tool belt that I ripped off and threw during a fit... and just landed in there. Really. About an inch of caked mud. Probably bacteria normally only found in deep ocean vents. I think I heard a bat. It's a bad place right now.

Anyway, tomorrow will be my last two truck loads.