Just trying to capture what this submission thing really means for me.

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The first time my butt landed on my then-boyfriend motorbike, I had absolutely no clue. I asked him what was I supposed to do.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Well, just trust me and follow me. If I lean down, lean down with me, don't struggle to remain upright. Relax and hold on to me."

Ah! That was not nothing. That was not nothing, I tell you. Following was hard work. But I did it, and loved it, and every time, every ride reinforced the idea in my mind - he could drive, I could follow. I could trust him with this. easy, really easy. Beautiful. Exhilarating. When we leaned down, I could enjoy the thrill, knowing that he would never let us fall.

Then, one time, we fell.

And I got scared.

It was my fault, really: he leaned down when I wasn't expecting it, I made a sudden movement in reaction, and down we went. Up close and personal with the asphalt. It was very gentle, for a fall, and we didn't get hurt at all. My boyfriend got up, made sure everyone was okay (first the bike, then me; not that I hold a grudge) and didn't mention once that it was my fault.

He asked if I'd rather go home, or if I still wanted to take the scenic mountain route he'd been planning. Let's go on, I said. Either way, I'd need to get back on the bike, and I didn't want our ride to end like this.

I didn't know that "scenic mountain route" is almost always code for "shitty, dirty, narrow road with no guard rail and a very pretty view on a fucking chasm, just in case you need a reminder of your own mortality". Or at least that's how it seemed at the time. And of course it was too narrow to turn back, once we realized how bad it was.

I didn't know how scared I'd get at every curve, tensing up, holding extra-extra-extra tight, shutting my eyes and gritting my teeth. My body, my mind, my whole being was simply convinced that we'd fall again and this time get REALLY hurt.

He pulled over after a while. I tensed up again, convinced that something was wrong with the bike.

"What's wrong?"

"No, you tell me what's wrong." (he said it much more gently than I can capture here, really.)

"Nothing." (he was facing forward, but I can swear he rolled his eyes at this.) "I'm just scared we're going to fall again."

That, again, was not nothing.

"I understand, but this is a difficult road. If you keep tensing up, pulling against me, trying to go the opposite direction, it makes it even more difficult. I can't drive if you don't trust me."

I took a deep breath and signaled we could go.

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On the back of his bike I first learned that submission could be easy and beautiful. Oh, I knew already what kind of relationship I wanted, but I'd never... tasted it like this. Never trusted a man so blindly, so completely. Never felt that my trust was so crucial.

And then I learned that sometimes it would NOT be easy.

Sometimes the road is narrow and difficult and I'm convinced it will all go wrong. And that's when he needs my trust the most. If I only trust him when I know things will go well, if I only follow him when he goes in the direction I want... does it even MEAN anything?

So that's the question, really. What will I do when it gets hard? When I don't agree? When I'm scared? When we could get hurt? When I know he could mess up? When I'm convinced he will mess up?

Ohhhh if I could answer now, with certainty, that of course I will trust him and follow him. But fuck. I am human, too. So I stay up and subject you all to my 4 a.m. musings.

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The view was beautiful, by the way.