There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception.
Aldous Huxley
What is "good?" What is "evil?" What is "right?" What is "wrong?"
I would say that most of us probably feel, just as Justice Potter, that we would recognize it when we saw it, even when we can't set a verifiable metric to print.
But, do we really? Or do we come with a preconceived notion packed in our psychological and sociological baggage towed along behind us?
A couple of decades ago, I'd had enough of working the detention units and had taken retirement to try my hand at being a full-time professional writer. And I was pretty successful if the metric you use is the amount of writing done as I churned out a self-help book, five novels, twenty-two short stories, and one hundred and forty-four poems that were then collected in a chapbook of their own in just a few months.
On the other hand, if your metric is the amount of money brought in by said work, then it was an abysmal failure as I only managed to place six of the poems and the only "payment" was a free copy of the issue they were published in. And two hundred plus rejection slips for one novel alone. We had used up the entirety of my retirement to eke out what my wife was bringing home. And it was time for me to set aside my dream of being a professional writer, at least for a time, and find something to do that would contribute to the household.
So, I did what any angst ridden thirty-year-old retired (from state and county) detention officer with ill-understood Dominant tendencies, and a triple clinical diagnosis of depression, codependency, and sex addiction might have done. I threw all of my writings (and the carefully tabulated rejections) in the bathtub, shaved my waist-length pony-tail to the scalp and threw that on top of it, doused it in lighter fluid, and threw in a lit match.
My wife (and slave/little) was **not** amused as she came bailing out of bed at 0230, having to work at 0700, when the smoke alarms went off. And not just because she was biased and thought I was a pretty good writer despite her B.A. in English Lit with a minor in Women's Studies (or "Femi-nazi" when I wanted to get her riled).
However, in addition to being a little peeved off about being awakened, and so rudely, when she had to be at work (at the bank) in just a few hours, she did not understand why I couldn't just keep everything I had already written and continue writing and submitting my efforts while also doing something else to make money in the meantime. After all, it had been me who had told her, in no uncertain terms, when she left her husband and children behind to come be a slave to me in domestic bliss, that she would either go back to school after being out for twenty years and get a degree and then a career, or she could turn right the fuck around and go see if he would take her back. And she didn't understand the difference.
Do you? No?
In her case, she had primarily been a houswife and mother to two children while, occassionally, working jobs for a while (rarely a full year) to add a little extra income to their household. She had also been beaten down psychologically and emotionally, first by her family and then by the asshole she chose to marry the first time around that that was all she was good for.
Now, I've got nothing but respect for "stay-at-home-Moms." The great thing about working with other people's kids is that you can eventually send their asses home! But, we didn't have kids and weren't going to be able to since she'd had a doctor recommended tubal ligation after two successful births, one earlier (also doctor recommended) abortion, and several miscarriages. And her children had chosen to remain with their father.
And I am (or at least was) extremely low maintenance. Particularly in juxtaposition to the first asshole she married who saw marriage as meaning he didn't have to do a damn thing for himself once he clocked out of work. I am (or at least was) perfectly capable of seeing to my own cooking, cleaning, sewing, and getting my own glass of tea if I was thirsty. All I really needed her for was a bedwarmer and companionship outside of the bedroom. More the former than the latter as I was working two jobs, working on a graduate degree, and had a few hobbies that many might consider "eXtreme" and so wasn't home very often except to fuck, catch a nap, "shit, shower, and shave," and head out again in task appropriate clothing.
She had always been, and felt, underutilized and unappreciated. And while I was going to appreciate the fuck out of her, she was going to be even more underutilized with me if she just stayed home than she had been there where at least he'd left her a couple of kids to look after when he went on the prowl for something else to fuck after supper after carefully reminding her that she was so bad at everything that she was lucky he'd stooped to taking her on.
Not to mention that I needed to know that she was with me because she chose to be, not because of a lack of options.
***shrug*** Being a Sugar Daddy works for some, and more power to those (on both sides of the slash) for whom it does. It just was not going to work for me. I would support her while she found her footing, but she **would** find that footing. And if she moved on once she had found her footing, then I would move on to find someone who chose me with some more fucks under my belt. And sooner rather than later.
I'm a teacher and trainer at heart. And, at the risk of sounding like I'm toodling my own horn, am pretty fuckin' good at it.
But, I never claimed to be particularly *nice* about it.
I slammed into her at full speed and carried her off into the deep end. Oh, I didn't make her start working. Not yet. I let her live on my dime. But, she carried a full-time load of college courses right out the gate (no easing back into school after a two-decade hiatus) and was required to spend three hours outside of class studying for every one hour in class. And while the A's she carried in her classes (except for Chemistry which she retook twice before I steered her away) were applauded, the quizzes I gave her were much tougher. And any answer she got wrong, she was then required to write out an explanation with ten outside sources cited to either prove or disprove the answer I gave.
***shrug*** While it was rare that she was right and I was... less right, it did happen. But, even then, she learned. And more, she learned how to learn. Or relearned how to learn as she brought her stagnated high intelligence once more back online by fulfilling her one-time dream of being the first in her family to attend college curtailed by an accident with a shotgun.
Once she'd gotten used to the pace, and wasn't so exhausted all the time, I kicked in my own brand of "life skills" that included everything from budgeting and balancing the checkbook to dog training and minimal veterinary animal husbandry to meditation and feng shui and back again.
Then, as her graduation from college loomed on the horizon, we leapt into necessary job-hunting skills and professional deportment.
Lest any think I'm presenting as "The World's Foremost Authority on Everything," I also cheated outrageously. Anything that I felt she needed to know more about that I didn't, or areas where she surpassed me (and there were), or areas that she was just interested in which I wasn't (and there were), I pushed her to seek out other avenues. Classes and teachers where available. Books and self-study when they weren't.
After graduation, she went to work full time. It wasn't in any way related to the college degree that she'd gotten, but I made it clear that I didn't care so long as she was working, bringing home an income and benefits.
Right around the two-year mark, she discovered a discrepancy in my bookkeeping. I was actually mildly disappointed that it had taken her so long. I mean, she worked for our bank for crying out loud.
I met her at the bank where she worked and, during her break, we met with a banker. Who added her to the savings account where I'd shunted every dime of her paycheck for the whole time she'd been working. Then removed me from the account. And gave her the paperwork to sign her children as beneficiaries.
On the drive home, I explained to her that as of that moment, she didn't need me anymore. Not for anything. That from that moment forward, she was with me because she wanted to be and no other reason.
She immediately dissolved into hysterics, thinking that I was getting rid of her.
It took about a day and a half, but I fucked that silly assed notion right out of her head.
And got her to understand that she was my slave and I was her Master. But, only because she chose to be, not because circumstances forced her to be. And that that was the only worthy slave for me, one that could be my full partner in crime as well. I was not her ex-husband who found it necessary to keep her from outgrowing my emotional and intellectual stuntedness.
Fast forward a few years to the Infamous Bathtub Fire of 2001 and my situation was very, very different.
I had always known I was the smartest motherfucker in any room I walked into. And, once my early issues were dealt with and I was able to start training physically, the toughest motherfucker, too.
But, my interests were too varied and tangential (other than sex!) for me to really make any mark in any one. I was the proverbial "jack of all trades, but master of none." (Other than sex!)
I had studied medicine because I was interested, but I was never going to discover a cure for cancer. Because I was also studying biomechanical engineering because I was interested. But, I was never going to be the one to come up with a replacement for Jarvik VII or artificial eyes that actually see or cochlear implant to allow the deaf to hear. Because I was also studying literature. And philosophy. And art. And Martial Arts. And music. And mathematics. And physics. And... and... and... and...
When I graduated from the intellectual smorgasbord of my college experience (the first time), I did so with a degree that I had, quite literally, forced the deans to swallow a degree "plan" (for some values of the term) that had little resemblance to the certified degree plan with substitutions for probably eighty percent or better of the required classes outside the core.
Why, for example, should I have had to take an additional three-hour statistics class when I had a five-hour monster calculus course on my transcript already? Why should I have had to take those two stupid grammar classes when I'd clepped out of both AND had three literature classes and one creative writing course on my transcript already? Or (my personal favorite) why should I have to take one more foreign language course when I'd already taken three in sign language before they, in their wisdom, chose to do away with the fourth after I was committed with the understanding that it would count as my foreign language requirement?
***shrug*** Depending on who is asked, I either gamed the system by getting them to accept other courses than what was clearly stated as requirements and managing to graduate with three fewer course hours than the requirements, or I gamed myself by taking courses that most from within my eventual degree considered much, much more difficult.
But, my point is not how smart I am or how I got away with something. My point is that I knew... that I recognized... that my weakness was being too fragmented and tangential. Of spreading myself too thin to actually accomplish anything, where my delicate bride had been underutilized.
I dealt with my weakness by diminishing unnecessary distractions where I could. And my dream of writing was an unnecessary distraction at that point if it wasn't going to be able to foot even the bill for itself, much less the necessities of food and shelter. It would be looming there in the shadows, my failure. Distracting me from what I was going to have to learn to do next since I couldn't return to detention work. Mentally or emotionally since I'd had good reasons for leaving it behind. Or fiscally, since I'd taken my retirement from both state and county when I'd done so.
***shrug*** It worked, since less than three days after the bathtub fire, I reported for duty as a hotel night auditor.
Which was an unmitigated disaster.
Oh, the auditing portion was absolutely no problem at all. I had, you might recall, studied calculus for goodness sake. Customer service on the other hand... ***blush***
In my defense, as much as there can be one, I'd learned what passed for customer service for me working the detention units.
"You need twenty-seven pillows to sleep? Well, here's an idea. How about next time you stay the fuck home with your twenty-seven pillows, princess, or else pack 'em?"
And don't even get me started about the night I showed up at a guest's door with a plunger and mop and told them; "Deal with your own shit. I have neither the time nor the inclination. And maybe you should think about that diet, big 'un."
Nope, that job didn't go well at all. But, fortunately only lasted two days short of a full year before I landed a gig teaching.
Which... okay, there was a learning curve that almost landed me on the street the first two weeks since I hadn't gotten just a whole lot better at dealing with people that actually had a choice in whether they were there or not. But, we worked it out. And there I stayed. Studying the subjects I was teaching, studying the art and science of teaching it, training other teachers to stand and deliver... I never had time to deal with the distraction of all but forgotten dreams of being a writer.
I'd chased my dream with all my might until continuing the chase would have been insanity. By Einstein's definition and most others. And then discarded it.
So, by my wife's perception, I'd supported her and pushed her in the pursuit of her dreams that she didn't really know if she wanted anymore. But, then I wouldn't allow her to support me in the pursuit of one that only a blind man couldn't see that I really did want.
By my perception, I took a broken girl and woman and mended her, giving her the chance to chase her dreams while also moderating those same dreams (such as making her give up on being a forensic scientist when Chem 101 didn't work out the third time). And I had moderated my own dream when reality made it clear that it just wasn't going to work in that time and space.
Who was right? Who was wr-... wr-... less right?
Both. Neither.
Perception is a lifetime of experience packed in the emotional baggage we carry with us that we use to mortar the brick of facts.
Put another way;
There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception.
Aldous Huxley
Several decades ago, I recall reading a study that showed just how unreliable witness statements are. I can't remember exactly where, or when (which bugs the shit out of me as a once eidetic brain is turning to tapioca in my skull), but I think it had to do with the efficacy of witness statements utilized as probable cause and legal ramifications. I apologize, I would be clearer and even cite it if I could.
But, the germane part is that in the study of traffic accidents, no two witnesses could present the same factual information without coloring it with their own perceptions based on a myriad of factors from where they were standing to their height to... well, cultural bigotry and bias in some unfortunate cases.
A pretty smart guy had this to say on the subject;
Perception is strong and sight weak. In strategy it is important to see distant things as if they were close and to take a distanced view of close things.
Miyamoto Musashi
Just how you do that, I don't actually know. I've been working on it for about thirty years now. And many times along the path, I've thought I was close. Only to have some joker come along and rip the rug right out from under my feet when I was unwise enough to let my perceptions overwhelm the factual evidence.
Believing what is said even when it flies in the face of what is actually done is one of the worst culprits for me.
And I should know better.
Hell, I worked with criminals who would lie to me about the weather outside if they thought they could get away with it and there was something in it for them. And they didn't often manage to pull the proverbial wool over this old wolf's eyes.
And yet...
And yet, not that long ago (at least in cosmic terms), I was played a fool by someone that I believed was a friend and fellow Dom who was actually nothing more than a narcissistic emotional sadist who got his jollies by using people, myself included, as pawns on his gameboard.
Would I have fallen for it if I'd been able to stand in his presence, to taste the breath of his lies in the air between us on my tongue? I like to think I wouldn't have been taken in.
But, it didn't matter as miles lie between us and all I had to work with was text. Words. Until his actions became apparent when he made the play he'd spent months setting me up for.
My error was compounded as I believed the words of others that claimed to be taken in by him, hurt by him as well. Only to eventually discover that they were still his game piece, and were allowing themselves to continue to be used by him to continue to inflict what changes he could in my world once actions put the lie to their previous words.
People that I had thought were my friends and a few that I had thought were something more were revealed to be the pawns of either the king or queen opposite me as their actions also put the lie to their earlier words.
A wise man would have found a way to end the situation there. So I believe.
I also believe that I am not a wise man as I evidently didn't when I thought I had tipped my king over and strode away from the gameboard that I had discovered spanned multiple sites.
I was unwise enough to allow someone who'd once been close to me back inside my iron sheathed ceramic coated walls. Someone that I believed had found her way home after being taken in by his maneuvers.
Circumstances evolved in such a way that she pulled away once more. And at the time, I believed that it had nothing to do with my erstwhile opponent or his court, but had fallen victim to our own perceptions of factual events. Her perception being that I'd abandoned her during a time of need. Mine being that she had abandoned me in a time of need.
Who was right? Who was... less right?
Once I calmed down and got some space between she and me and the hurt, I didn't know. Over and over and over, I played the events in my head, reviewed the words exchanged. And still I wasn't sure. As a Dom of whatever stripe, I've always acutely felt a responsibility which turns to fault at less than perfect execution of a plan. Even... or perhaps particularly... when that plan fell due to the actions of a willful submissive.
I should have been smarter. I should have been stronger. I should have been faster. I should have been better. I should have made certain that domino couldn't fall.
And as a result, my ruminations had almost brought me to the brink of believing that she was right and I was wr-... I was wro-... I was less right.
Almost.
Until...
Members of that erstwhile king's court came flooding out of the woodwork. And the timing became suspect once I realized I hadn't heard a peep while she'd been back in my life, but only resurged once she was gone again.
And, a compounding factor, friends who I hadn't realized knew any of the players so closely other than me began name dropping. And not the principals, the power pieces, but the pawns, the friend of a friend of a friend of a lover of another and were, somehow, privy to points that I wouldn't have thought they would be.
***shrug*** I tend to associate with the more intellectually gifted crowd, finding intellectual dullards to be humdrum at best and taxing at worst. Ergo, it's hypothetically possible that they put pieces together from observation rather than that which runs faster than the fleetest horse.
But, still... the timing was questionable enough to mount my suspicions and take them through a seventy-two-hour training session with chains, whips, flechettes, and barbed-wire bondage.
And I heard accusations that the promised stone shelter is unavailable during a storm where my perception was they were the gathering storm.
I heard accusations from erstwhile submissives that I am just another faux Dom that abandoned them when, as my memory served, they abandoned me in favor of someone else that, apparently, didn't work out and then wanted to "come home" only to find their room given to someone who has been there for me every step of my path of recovery from perceived games and lies and abandonment by those same submissives offering up accusations.
Which of us is right? Which of us is... less right?
Both.
Neither.
I don't actually know.
There is a legal theory that I think applies to the dynamic of D/s, although it is typically used in military courts where the rank and file can be excused for following the orders of higher-ranking officers. Ergo, if a submissive has surrendered her will to Her Dominant, then should she not also be expected to follow orders.
And, perhaps now the former members of his court have rebelled and cut themselves free en masse. And there is no actual continued manipulation from His Throne. Perhaps the friends who caused me to eye askance by knowing more were actually concerned about me and not fresh pawns being moved to the attack.
Perhaps I am the asshole for not listening to explanations, choosing instead to ignore further attempts at communication after feeling previous attempts were lies and manipulation ergo these must also be.
Perception is very much where you are standing and who you are in your hard kernel.
From their perception, which can't help but be (and I almost hate to use this word) shaded by the fact that they present as submissive where I present as a Dominant, even in the cases where they weren't my submissive but friends, I made a promise that I then failed to keep.
From my perception, regardless of presenting as a Dominant to a submissive who might have been mine or just a friend, the promise I made to be available to talk to was, very carefully, conditional that my hard limits weren't tromped on by lying to me, abandoning me, or lashing out at me or those I care about with the intent to harm. Even for a friend.
From their perception; "But, you're a Dom! You don't get limits. That's a sub thing."
From my perception; "Yes, Dom(me)s are allowed limits. We just don't call them that, but use 'training' instead."
From their perception; "But you're a Dom you're supposed to always want to go further than I do. I'm the one who's supposed to say no, I don't want to go there."
From my perception; "Have you met yourself? Forget that Christian Grey candy ass. The Marquis de Sade would say, 'Oh, dear. Oh, dearie me.'"
From their perception; "Well, okay. But, you aren't allowed to leave!"
From my perception; "I didn't. I'm right where you left me. I'm just not allowing you to come back and graffiti up the walls that I've just gotten clean from your last visit. The new tenant wouldn't appreciate it."
From their perception; "You were supposed to wait for me while I checked out everybody else and their dog to make sure you were the one I wanted to give my complete trust and the gift of my submission!"
From my perception; "You repudiated my gift of Dominance and moved on to another and then another. Why would I think it would be accepted any better now?"
From their perception; "I need a Dom(me) to sort out all the problems the last jackass left me with!"
From my perception; "Never expect a Dom(me) to clean up after some other asshats party. And particularly not a Dom(me) you chose to leave to go to said party. Get your house in order, meaning take out the trash from the last party, before inviting anyone else over for so much as tea and biscuits. If you need help, ask some submissive friends for help picking up the pieces before presenting the shattered mosaic as a gift."
From their perception; "You didn't think I was worth waiting for."
From my perception; "You didn't think I was worth waiting for."
Our perceptions are different because where we are standing is different.
So, who is right?
Well, obviously I think I'm not... less right. Or else I'd change it.
But, I do worry that I may have my head buried so far up my own perceptions that I need to get a skylight installed in the navel.
However, I also wonder if others pause, whether before or after a diatribe, to consider that theirs might be too. (Uh. Up their own. Not mine. This hole is a no-fly zone. "Negative Ghostrider, the pattern is full.") I sit and read what this Dom has done or that one. And, less often, what this submissive did or that one.
And I am reminded that it is always easier to see the splinter in someone else's eye than the plank in your own.
Am I saying that everyone else is obviously full of shit? Hardly.
In the absence of cold hard facts (always murky at best when it comes to a person's intentions and motivations), all we have to operate from is our perceptions.
And as such, I think it behooves us, whether Dom(me), submissive, "fence-humper," or those without a slash to pause and remember that Hitler, Mussolini, and Genghis Khan (and their followers) all thought they were good and right also.
