Master One Twue Way Never Became a Real Boy

My friend, K, is a gifted photographer. I am not, but I love taking pictures anyway. It helps me to find the beauty in a common sewer drain and the romance in a gutted train. </rhyme> K and I have built a Facebook relationship made entirely of pictures. He posts his gorgeous bird-scapes, and I post my blurry, skew disasters.

K’s good with that. He doesn’t require me to share his views on photography, and I don’t require him to take pictures like an asshole.

He’s a purist, but unlike Master One Twue Way, he doesn't mind that I hold myself to different standards. His pictures don’t grow increasingly blurry via osmosis, and Master Twue’s sex life doesn’t grow increasingly bratty because I exist. K is, amazingly, still able to take exquisite photographs despite my murdering of his craft. One Twue Wayists are less accepting. They judge us blurry, lens-flare-ridden subs as though we alter the very fabric of their dynamics.

My dad used to say, “Imagine how boring the world would be if everyone was like you.” And the world is far less boring when K and I are dealing with the things that make us different. BDSM is just as vibrant for that. If we all held ourselves to the same standards, the scene would be as wooden as a puppet. Change, variation, and imperfection keep the kink scene alive.

Pinocchio only became a real boy when he proved himself brave, truthful, and unselfish. Those values are so much more important than purism. We aren't puppets controlled by a disembodied hand and a bunch of strings. We're autonomous, and we’re allowed to find our way through our kinks joyously. The One True Way is never joyous or free. It’s never unselfish or brave.

Submission and dominance are real simply if we're brave and true enough to live out our roles authentically. True BDSM™ is that which is unselfish enough to celebrate another’s perfect imperfection.

We can all shed our strings if we’re willing to celebrate the gritty and bruised parts of our lives. Besides, who would I learn from if you saw kink exactly the way I do? What would we even talk about if there was just one approach--to kink, to photographs, to life?

Imperfection helps me to find the beauty in a common sewer drain and the romance in a gutted train. Why would I want it to be different?