Three Sides of the Coin (Catherine I) (10 page)

             
"Why did you do that?" I hissed at Catherine, leaning forward after the waitress left. 

             
"What?" Catherine replied with genuine curiosity.

             
"Don't you realize how mortified she was?" I asked, stunned that someone as smart and self aware as Catherine didn't realize what had just happened.

             
"All I did was ask how long she had the braces.  There was nothing embarrassing about that."  And she meant it.  Having spent many a boring 'company family day ' function with the two of them, I discovered many things about both Catherine and her husband.   Since I, obviously had no family to bring and they had little desire for mixing with strangers for Steven, (as nerdy uncomfortable as he could be), and for Catherine ("Why would anyone think I would want to spend even more time with people that I really don't care much for when I see them at work?"), we became consistent reliable wallflowers observing company politics and learning more insights about each other.  And I learned more about what made them such a strong couple and interesting as people.  

             
But back to lunch!   For Catherine, and even her husband Steven, ignorance was a choice.   For them, choosing not to know was an option they never wanted.   Their intellectual curiosity was as great for any couple I had ever met.  It meant nearly an exponential increase in intellectual capital between them.  I saw them in a trivia contest where they just ran away with the event.   Steven seemed to know something about everything, and what he didn't know, Catherine was able to either tickle the retrieval system, or come up with the fact herself.   He had a memory and she had a storage and logic system.   I remember him telling me that the best way to keep a secret from Catherine is to tell it to her.   He said that she was all the time trying to make sense out of everything and would take disparate pieces of data and connect them.   A rattle of plastic, by him, in a bathroom, while she lay in bed, led to the shouted question, "Do you have a headache?"  Plastic rattle meant pills in a bottle, and since he only took aspirin, and only at night, and only occasionally, and since she only took aspirin for headaches, then he might have a headache.   Of course, with all the home improvement projects that he took on, it was as likely as not a bruise or bump that he was easing, as he almost never suffered from headaches.

             
On the secret front, if someone was going to tell her something, it wasn't worth remembering as with all retrievable information, it was reproducible.   Why memorize a phone book, dictionary or encyclopedia?   But once someone hid something from her, then she burned that into her hard drive.   There were more than facts at stake, there was a motive system that would affect other bits of data, and other information flows.   This was information that could not be ignored or left to chance like mere data bits.

             
"I worked in a dentist's office when I was in high school, so I was merely interested in how long she had to go before they would be removed.   It tells me how badly her teeth were originally.   At six months, her teeth weren't too bad, so there wasn't a very interesting tale there.  End of story."

             
"But couldn't you say something like that to her?  Not the uninteresting part, but that you worked in a dental office and it was professional curiosity.  That way it wouldn't look like you were trying to embarrass her."

             
"Why would she be embarrassed?   She is doing something to make herself look better.  That's good.  There's nothing embarrassing about that."  She said, head cocked in wonder.

             
"She's a teenager!" I exclaimed, "There's no better reason to be embarrassed than that!  Weren't you ever a teenager?  Weren't your teenaged kids ever embarrassed about anything?"

             
A look of awareness came over her as she glanced over at the girl placing our order into the kitchen.  "I see.  I'll probably need to be a bit more kind to her."

             
But that was Catherine, aware and unaware.  It was part of her charm.  You never knew which one would show up each day.   But this relentless openness to new data, to new questions, implied a trust in the data sources.   But trust, in Catherine's mind was contingent on where it came from.   Obviously, the waitress could lie about how long she had possessed her braces, but what difference would that make?  But a client would need to be brutally honest about their desires and impressions or our designs would go all wrong.   And, in this regard, Catherine's forthright approach was a huge asset to our company.   It is a fact that people respond to what they see.  If they see honesty and frankness, then they will give it.   People seemed to spill their guts to Catherine, more so than me.   Certainly, that is my own fault.  The wonderful part about being a perceived closet gay is that no one expects a straight answer out of me.   The fact that I was never seen with anyone, male or female in a social setting was attributed to my "closeted" status.   I knew people thought I was gay because I was subject to fairly common offers from men.   My reply was always that "I was seeing someone," and that allowed me to slip off the hook quite easily. 

             
It was never a lie, as I was looking straight at a person (them) when I made the statement.   But it was taken that I was sneaking around at night leading some sort of assumed debauched life.   Despite the fact that all of that was in their imagination, they saw my life as at least a low level lie.   The consequence was that I was, in some way, untrustworthy.  

             
Catherine, I finally figured out, had a three tier structure to her trust circle.   On the outside circle, most all of the population existed with a default setting of untrustworthy.  Just inside that was a much smaller circle of friends and acquaintances of known trust, and inside there was the very tiny circle of family.   That inside circle brought the wonderful assumption of truth and value.  She would do anything for these people and would die for them, I imagine.   You definitely want to keep that circle small.  I believe my inner circle has me in it, and you are pretty close to being done.  The middle circle followed the Russian aphorism that Reagan like to quote, "Trust, but verify."   These people were taken with a grain of salt.  Where the inner circle was "trust everything,” the second circle had to earn the respect every day and risked being thrust back out into the outer circle if they ever let her down.  And I assume if she had a motto for the outer circle it would be "Distrust, but verify."

             
In this regard, she was quite unlike her husband.  Steven gave everyone the benefit of the doubt and wanted to think the best of everyone.  It always amazed Catherine whenever he said something negative about someone, because she knew he wanted the world to be a happy and positive place and felt distrust made the world unnecessarily dark.   For this reason Catherine loved him, but thought him a fool, and worked to protect him from himself.

             
What was a surprise was how happy a person she appeared.  Despite her cynical nature, she took a gleeful approach to the world.  She was never bitter or a downer.  Even her rants on some "pinhead driver" who cut her off in traffic sounded more like a comic evaluation than a diminished life.

             
So, I believe, now, the reason I came to find myself either in her inner circle, or right on the edge between the inner and middle was that she needed me at that particular moment in her life.

             
The topic of sex is usually fairly easy to discuss in the abstract, and indeed, people love to do so.  Watching other people involve themselves in sex, when the people are not close acquaintances, is fascinating to us.  We have plenty of television shows, magazine advertisements, and blockbuster sexy movies to document that.  But there is a solid barrier to the discussion when we are discussing sex and ourselves or our close inner circle.  Despite the open talk on 'Sex and the City,' I do not believe most women and almost no men would discuss their own sex lives with their spouses among their best friends.  Not unless they just wanted to brag.   But most problem solving in this arena needs to involve people who know both parties.  Those knowledgeable folks, however, have to be 'safe.'   They can't be someone who would betray the confidence of either party, nor can they be someone who can profit from the knowledge, nor can they be someone who could ever make either of the two young lovers uncomfortable.  Obviously, this makes the list of confidants very small and maybe non-existent.

             
So despite my status as inherently untrustworthy, due to my assumed 'closet' lifestyle, Catherine either trusted me, because I did not seem to lie about her imaginations of me, or because she needed me to be there for her.   But I knew, as I know the sun will rise in the East, that sooner or later I would have to give a piece of myself to her, to deserve the trust.   This is an art form for those of us with tiny inner circles.    In marriages it might be assumed, in love it should be unconditional, but for those of us with a tiny inner circle, this is quite difficult.  

             
In Hamlet, Ophelia's father has a soliloquy about "To your own self be true and it shall follow as the night upon the day that thou cannot be false to any other."   I always liked the flow of that.   I need to be honest to myself.   I admit, I have a thing for Catherine, but I also admit, she is likely too much woman for me.   She would ruin my world.   She would have to be too big a part of it for me to keep at what I love to do so very much.   I could never commit to her, and she'd need a commitment.  But I think I could grab a piece of her life.  I could tear off a chunk at the heel of the loaf, something no one else wants or needs, and keep it for myself.   That was my goal here and I am neither proud nor embarrassed by it.  I am who I am, and to that end, I am true to myself.   I was delighted to be trusted by her.

             
Also in that same soliloquy, he says:  "Neither a lender nor a borrower be."  I know about that.  I have long observed that people who owe you debts resent being beholden.   You have to let people pay off their debts, or you will get yourself into trouble.  And they need to pay off in kind.   A lot of do-gooders make mistakes here.  They love doing for others and don't allow any payment because it would "Minimize their helping the miserable."  Of course, the poor miserable resent the hell out of the do-gooders for running off with their pride and refusing any repayment.   That forces the recipients of all this good-doing to start to convey some evil act or intent from the generous souls trying to get to heaven on their hard earned misery.

             
So I knew that pay back would come.  I, somehow, would have to pay Catherine back with some sort of secret knowledge of me, or some sort of personal data that would put me at risk should she ever divulge it.  So what to tell her?  I figured I'd take Steven's observation to heart and tell her straight out so she would forget it.   Unfortunately, most juicy, risky data carries such an impact that it seldom falls off the radar screen.   But that was in the future.  At this time, I was thinking that the thing I shall share is my semi-blue blood heritage.   It is juicy without being memorably scandalous.  It is even understandable.  The real risk might be that she realizes that I am willing, and even more importantly, good at lying.

             
But, I digress from her juicy tale.  She and I had talked when Steven had fallen from his ladder and she had fallen into the inevitable existential questions.  She had found Steven to be taken with a fantasy of Catherine being his Sadistic Mistress Owner.   I could quite easily see that role in her.  I had overheard more than one restroom discussion of the "Ice Queen," from some of my co-workers.   I, myself, was never too enamored with the Wonder Woman or Amazon or Fifty Foot Woman, but I did understand its appeal.   I am too much of a control freak to get turned on by that sort of thing.  And Catherine did fit the role quite nicely.   She wanted everything her way and she figured she knew better than anyone the right ways of the world.   This was why she had such a tough time changing from the dutiful wife mode to Mistress of the House concept.   But once she made the mental change in the attitude, she flung herself in the role.    She would have me take her to various darkened shops in our clients' cities for advice and consultation.   Would this whip be too severe?   What did this gadget do?  How does this leather and chain apparatus work?  Really!? Have I ever received or distributed pain?  Why not?

             
She seldom bought lingerie at these stores, sniffing that they were cheaply made.  However, I saw her buy, over a period of months, a spreader bar for his legs, ankle and wrist cuffs, chains, a penis gag, nipple clamps, an adjustable metal bar to connect Steven's neck to his outstretched arms, crops, a very nasty looking switch that hurt to look at, paddles (with (more painful) and without holes), and an incredibly large strap-on.    I hoped Steven appreciated her effort and truly hoped she would not use all of those implements in the same day on him.

             
The part I adored was helping her buy the quality lingerie she felt she needed.  I did nothing to dissuade her of the hunt.  Of course, I had to embellish my knowledge base a bit and advise her on how submissive her man would feel about this item or that.   This cast me into a 'Great Imposter' role of buying  female domination magazines behind her back  and cramming for the big tests by appraising which postures, poses, attitudes, clothing types, accessories, and combinations thereof were to turn her into the ideal dream domme of Steven's desire.   I envied him, not so much the whips and chains bit, but the attention she was preparing for.   Of course, my Big Score was to get to see her magnificent body somewhat immodestly clad, but, as I had learned, focused on the textures, the colors and the emphasis on what was forbidden the poor slave.    My research had revealed that the domme needed to be dressed darker, stand taller, and more fully clothed than the slave.  However, there are always exceptions that prove the rules, even in kinky stuff like this.   So if the Queen wishes to show her breasts in a leather and chain bra that cupped and lifted the breasts and taunted the slave with their naked nipples, well that was her prerogative, was it not?   It meant that the slave was to refrain from un-demanded touches of his hands.   I, myself, was careful not to succumb to her charms as she modeled these outfits for me.  There was more than once that I found myself tucking some tit into a bra, or tugging a panty leg in place.  But that was it, I swear.   She once caught me with a raging boner, as she had gone through about four different outfits in quick succession, when she came out in a red see-through lacy top and boy leg panty outfit.  She asked me to help with the bra fastener and as I rose to the task at hand, she spotted my enthusiasm for the job and she raised an eyebrow.  "Aren't you supposed to be gay?"