Ultimate shoulder rides

Mariela (2)

Mariela is a sacred figure; these men experience religious fervor: they do not wish to dominate or equal her, but rather to elevate her, support her, and serve her. They feel that she guides them, protects them, and, at the same time, inspires them to be better. Mariela never abuses this devotion, but she knows that she awakens it and honors it with dignity.

This religious fervor drives the men to perform acts of profound physical and emotional devotion as a way of expressing their love, gratitude, or supplication to Mariela. These gestures, however extreme they may seem, do not arise from coercion, but from an inner devotion so intense that kneeling or walking on stones becomes an act of humility and penitence. Kissing Mariela's feet symbolizes total surrender and reverence before the divine. Even the idea of ​​becoming the ground for Mariela to walk on, one or several males in a row, is the supreme honor: to be one of the steps on which she advances.

If we understand this religious fervor that Mariela inspires, we will understand why the men around her feel that being her mount or horse, her step, her support, her physical base, her pedestal, is an act of reverent and voluntary love. They do it not to be degraded, but to be an active part of her journey, her path. It is a privilege: to be one of the steps on the path beneath her feet, to be part of her progress, of her strength, of her light.

Mariela's passing through the public street is a ceremonial act that transcends the everyday. Her presence creates such a profound and moving effect that many kneel upon seeing her pass, not out of obligation, but because they feel deep within themselves that they are before someone who embodies something superior—a combination of beauty, strength, kindness, and leadership—deserving of reverence. Some lie on the ground, literally offering their bodies as the path she can walk. They do so not out of servility, but for the immense honor of being the ground beneath her feet, as if by supporting her weight they could absorb some of her light. And there are those who, through tears or with profound gratitude, kiss her feet or the footwear that protects them, as if those objects had been sanctified by contact with her body.

All of this is not theatricality: it is a spontaneous act of fervor. There are no words of command, no signs of imposition. There is only voluntary devotion, joy in serving, and a spiritual longing for connection with her.

Those who feel religious fervor for Mariela cover a wide range of ages, and each group experiences it in their own way, but all with profound respect.

Children aged 6 to 12 see her as a figure of tenderness, power, and protection. They call her affectionately, and many dream of one day carrying her on their shoulders like their father does. They kneel, joyfully imitating what they see adults do, and kiss Mariela's feet and shoes. For them, she is a fairytale queen or a living heroine.

Teenagers aged 13 to 18 venerate her with a mixture of admiration, respect, and idealization. They perceive her as unattainable yet inspiring; they are her followers and stepping stones.

Young and mature adults between the ages of 19 and 50 are those who most intensely express this devotion, both men and women. They see her as a sacred figure, combining attraction, respect, and admiration. They volunteer to carry her on their shoulders or backs, not as slavery but as honor and devotion. They kiss Mariela's feet and shoes, and act as her steps as she walks.

Older adults, ages 51 and older, see Mariela as a blessing and associate her with hope, the future, and the protection of the people. They say phrases like "God sent her to us" or "she takes care of what we can no longer protect." They kneel in gratitude, not out of weakness, but out of a profound faith in what she represents, with her horses and steps.

In other words, there is no specific age for feeling devotion to Mariela, and her presence transcends generations and has become a symbol of strength, beauty, and goodness, uniting the people in a shared sense of veneration.

The Mass (2) – Mariela's Seat

The church is packed to the doors, and the pews are overflowing. Everyone squeezes in as best they can: some standing at the back, others on the steps of the side altar. Mariela enters, and there isn't a single free spot; there's a slight murmur, a pause in the rhythm of the church.

She stops naturally in the middle of the aisle, her gaze scanning the rows, without haste or demand. She doesn't need to speak. She knows someone will respond. And so it is.

A young man, with a serene and humble expression, stands up from one of the side pews and approaches her. She smiles at her seat. Before Mariela sits down, the young man who offered to seat her kneels reverently. Gently and unhurriedly, he takes one of Mariela's boots in his hands, brings it to his face, and kisses the leather with deep devotion. Then he repeats the gesture with the other boot. She does this not out of obligation or command, but out of a sincere sense of respect and veneration. She looks at him tenderly and allows him to do so, without arrogance, but with the ease of someone accustomed to inspiring such fervor.

Then, without saying a word, he kneels and places his hands on the ground, bowing his head in a sign of respect. His straight, firm back serves as a seat. Another, older man, places his folded coat on the back of the first man, for Mariela's greater comfort.

She nods with a slight smile. She sits with grace and dignity, as if this gesture were a natural part of the ritual. Those who observe do so without scandal. There is no mockery, no astonishment, no reproach: there is understanding, even a mixture of devotion and admiration.

Father Ignacio briefly pauses his reading, contemplates her, shakes his head with his classic paternal smile, and resumes the Mass:
"The Lord came to serve, and today one of his sons has served well." Let each one give their best to others, according to their gift.

Throughout the Mass, Mariela remains seated, serene, her spurs lightly touching the ground and her riding crop resting on her lap, like someone who reigns without a throne, but with order.

The man who serves as her seat throughout the Mass remains motionless, his back straight, showing no discomfort, as if that were his natural place in the world, while Mariela remains seated with dignity and serenity. When the ceremony concludes, Mariela stands gracefully. The young man, still kneeling, bows his head again, and as a farewell, kisses Mariela's boots again, this time with more emotion, like someone giving thanks for a privilege received.

As the homily progresses and the priest delivers his message, Mariela, seated elegantly on her human seat, maintains her posture straight, her back firm, her chin slightly raised. The metallic echo of her spurs resonates softly each time she slides them on the stone floor, turning them with a subtle movement of her ankle. It's a sound that doesn't interrupt, but rather accompanies the reverent silence of the temple, as if it were part of the ritual.

In a moment of reflection, she gracefully crosses her legs, revealing the shape of her riding breeches beneath her long dress. Her riding crop rests on her lap, and her gloves are carefully placed at her side. She listens attentively, her eyes serene, while the faithful—some more devout than others—watch her out of the corner of their eyes, as if her mere presence reinforced the spirituality of the moment.

With a serene and gentle smile, she briefly strokes his hair with her fingertips and says softly:
"The Lord sees your humility. Thank you, son."

The young man remains silent, his eyes closed, as if that moment filled him completely.

The faithful, far from being shocked, respect the moment, knowing that this gesture is not one of humiliation, but of profound devotion.

Father Ignacio, watching from the altar, shakes his head again, smiling, as he murmurs:
"Mariela... always sowing faith in her own way."

The Mass (4) – Mariela's Stone Steps

When Mariela approaches the altar to receive Communion, her figure rises with majesty. She does not tread on stone or marble: her path is formed by bowed bodies, by kneeling and prostrate men, their heads aligned like living stone steps. With each step, she ascends, and with each human step she steps upon, her height is magnified, not only in stature, but in dignity and presence. All eyes follow her: she seems taller, more imposing, more sacred. It is as if she floats above a devotion made flesh, above a ground that recognizes her as superior and offers itself as her pedestal.

When she approaches the altar to receive Communion, she does not walk on stone or marble. Her path is formed by the heads of prostrate men, aligned perfectly on either side, shoulder to shoulder, forehead to forehead, forming a living double row of stone steps. Each one remains motionless, their foreheads touching the ground, offering their bodies as a silent and reverent offering.

She advances with a firm and serene step, her elegant gait resting on the bowed crowns of her head, consecrated stone steps. There is no complaint or hesitation among them: they know their place is there, supporting her. Thus, as the assembly watches in silence, she rises. She not only appears taller: she is, for her dignity is sustained by the voluntary submission of those who bow before her passage.

Her every movement is part of a sacred rite, a communion not only with the divine, but with the order she embodies.

When Mariela approaches the altar, she walks not on stone or carpet, but on parietal, occipital, and nape bones solemnly offered. The men are prostrate on either side of the central aisle, forming two perfect rows of heads, aligned like living stone steps, each skull carefully positioned to respect the exact measurement of her steps. The distance between one stone step and the next has been precisely calculated, as if her gait had dictated the geometry of the rite.

She advances with grace and determination, supported by friendly hands that accompany and balance her, not out of weakness, but as part of a ceremony where every gesture has meaning. Her gait is dignified and elevated, her boots touching one head after another without haste, like someone walking on a truth that surrenders to her presence.

Those present remain silent, for what is happening is not a simple transition: it is a consecration. Her stature comes not only from her height, but from the recognition embodied in every bowed body, in every offered neck. And so, upon reaching the altar, she not only receives communion: she herself has been lifted up, step by step, by the devotion of those who know that their place is beneath her feet.

She walks silently, solemnly, respecting the slow pace of the line moving toward the altar. Her gait is neither hurried nor hesitant: it is measured, deliberate, sacred. Each head on which she places her boots—parietal, occipital, nape of the neck, offered with devotion—bears her weight for more than five seconds, just long enough for the person lying beneath to catch their breath and receive, in reverent silence, the blessing of Mariela's weight.

There is no complaint or movement. The motionless bodies await their turn to be honored with Mariela's footsteps. Each footstep becomes a moment of grace, a pause where the world stops. She walks with poise and elegance, guided by the friendly hands that accompany her, but it is her presence that dominates the space: firm, tall, serene.

For those prostrate, every second beneath her boots is a privilege, a moment of intimate humility. And so, step by step, Mariela advances, while the entire temple falls silent, holding its breath at the obvious: she walks not among them, but above them, and it is from there, from that height made of surrendered bodies, that she approaches to receive the divine.

The Mass (6) – Mariela's Speech

The Mass comes to an end, and the entire church falls into an expectant silence. Mariela stands, with the same solemnity with which she approached the altar. Before everyone's eyes, she walks once more up the stone steps formed by prostrate male heads, advancing with poise and dignity, step by step, as if the entire ground were offered before her once more.

She reaches the microphone and stops. The silence deepens. Her voice resonates clearly, firmly, softly, yet powerfully, as if each word descended from on high:
“They call me Goddess. It's a compliment, it's poetry. But I am not the one who creates, because I am the creation. I thank the Creator for having placed me here. You also thank Him for having the opportunity to serve me… and be good people.”

Her words are not commands, they are revelations. There is no arrogance, only certainty. She doesn't proclaim herself superior: she acknowledges her place, elevated not out of arrogance, but out of purpose. The people listen to her with open hearts, some with tears in their eyes, others with their foreheads still pressed to the ground.

And then, Mariela falls silent. Her presence, her message, and her walk have spoken for her. The ceremony is over, but her passing remains engraved in each of those who prostrated themselves. She doesn't impose, she inspires. And in that temple, where others kneel, she walks elevated... like someone who has understood that serving and being served can be different forms of love.

When the ceremony concludes, the faithful begin to leave in silence, moved by what they have experienced. Mariela, however, remains in her place, standing, upright over two manly heads still prostrate at her feet. One on each side, firm as living columns, they support her reverently as the temple empties.
She doesn't hurry. She remains for a moment longer, contemplating the altar, the echo of her message floating in the air. Then, with grace and calm, she steps down from their human pedestals. As her boots rest on the ground, the two men slowly raise their heads, looking at her with devotion.
"Thank you," she says, her voice warm and serene.

They both bow even closer and delicately kiss the boots they had held proudly moments before. It is not a mechanical gesture, but one laden with meaning: they are grateful for having been part of her elevation, her journey, her message.

Mariela smiles at them. They rise, leaving without a word, their faces serene and their souls full. Mariela remains alone for a few more seconds, until she finally turns and, with a calm gait, leaves the temple. Behind her is the echo of her footsteps... and the living memory of a presence that walked not among them, but above them, with respect, faith, and certainty.

Premarital Talk (1) – Mariela's Entrance

At the church, Mariela is in charge of the premarital talks, directed at the bride and groom and their sponsors. In a small room attached to the temple, everything is set up: chairs lined up, a simple table in front, and an air of expectation in the air. The attendants—grooms, brides, best men, and bridesmaids—are already present, seated and murmuring in low voices. Suddenly, the door opens and Mariela enters.

Mariela wears an imposing riding outfit: high, shiny leather boots, tight pants, a fitted shirt, a sturdy belt, and a short jacket that accentuates her bearing. Her presence fills the room in a single instant. She doesn't need to raise her voice or ask for anything: the men, as if guided by an invisible force, immediately kneel upon seeing her enter. The women, on the other hand, remain seated, watching with respect and a hint of admiration.

Mariela walks confidently up the stone steps formed by men's skulls to the front of the room. As she steps over the prostrate men, her boots softly resonate on the bones. She reaches her seat in front of the main table, pauses for a moment atop two heads, and with a serene smile addresses the brides and matrons of honor:
"I'm used to it."

The ladies in attendance smile, without needing to explain. They know what it means to stand before a Goddess whose mere presence commands the atmosphere and sets the tone of the gathering. Then, calmly, Mariela invites everyone to rise. She sits elegantly, crossing her legs and swinging her leg, and begins the talk, where she will speak not only of love and commitment, but also of respect, devotion... and knowing how to recognize the dignity of those you love.

Mariela sits at the front, elegantly crossing one leg over the other, her boots clearly visible, her posture firm but serene. The room is completely silent, everyone attentive, knowing that her every word carries weight. She observes them for a moment, scanning the bride and groom, the groomsmen, the groomsmen, and the bridesmaids, and then asks in a clear, measured voice:
"Do you see how I feel at Mass?"

Some nod timidly, others lower their gaze. The men, still fresh in the memory of having knelt upon seeing her enter and feeling her weight on their heads, feel a slight trembling in their chests. The bridesmaids, the bride and the bridesmaid, look at her with growing admiration.

Mariela continues without needing them to respond out loud, her tone firm but not haughty:
"I don't do it out of pride, nor to be seen as superior. I do it because there is order... a dedication... and clarity. I know who I am. They know it too. And that's why they accept and value it."

She pauses briefly and adds, looking at the bride and groom:
"In a marriage, there's also room for that kind of surrender. It's not about domination, but about recognizing who holds whom, and when. Because love... when it's true, knows when to kneel and when to hold."

The room falls silent, not out of obligation, but because what she said hits home. The conversation has only just begun, but it's already left something in its wake.

Premarital Talk (3) – Bit, Bridle, Reins, Saddle, Stirrups, Spur, and Whip

Mariela maintained her erect demeanor, her gaze firm, and with a serene but deeply confident voice, she posed the question to the group:
"We have a bit, a bridle, reins, a saddle with stirrups, spurs... and a whip. What are they for?"

Again, silence answered first. The couples looked at her, knowing that behind that question lay a deeper truth than the literal.

Then she continued, with the same calm as when she walks on heads:
"They are not instruments of punishment. They are tools of direction, of communication, of trust. She who holds the reins in her hands does not destroy the one who carries the bit in his mouth and the bridle on his head... she guides him. The saddle is not a prison, it is a point of support." The stirrups help her settle on her mount. The reins don't bind, because they guide. Spurs don't hurt if there is understanding. The whip doesn't strike when there is voluntary obedience.

She leaned slightly toward the group, without losing the elegance of her bearing:
"This isn't about strength. It's about will. About who yields, who guides, who supports. In a true union, he is the horse... if she knows how to ride with respect."

Her words weren't metaphorical for those present; they were real, embodied in her presence. She didn't preach from a concept: she lived it, she represented it. And before her, even the most skeptical began to understand that love and service, when clearly understood, are not chains... but choices.

Premarital Talk (5) – The Challenge (2)

Mariela maintained her firm posture, her leg swinging elegantly, her serene gaze slowly scanning each of those present. The room remained silent, tense but expectant, as if everyone was waiting for someone else to take the initiative.

Then, without losing the calm or politeness of her tone, she spoke clearly:
"If there are no volunteers... I'll choose."

She didn't say it harshly, but with that natural authority that doesn't need to be imposed: it's simply acknowledged. Her voice, soft but firm, left no room for doubt. It was a promise, not a threat. And on her face, the same calm, confident smile, accustomed to order being followed without resistance.

The glances intensified. Some men gulped. The bridesmaids glanced sideways at their partners or sponsors. No one knew who she would choose... but everyone knew that whoever was chosen wouldn't be chosen as a punishment, but because Mariela saw in him a possible lesson. A useful experience. A moment that could transform more than it seemed.

And there, in that simple room, the teaching of love, guidance, and devotion became something alive. Not just spoken. Not just understood. But lived… with the firm elegance of someone who knows exactly what she's doing.

Mariela gracefully stopped her leg swing, slowly uncrossed her legs, and stood up smoothly, unhurriedly. Her presence, standing at the front of the room, was even more imposing. Her boots echoed as she took a step forward.

With a calm, enveloping voice, and a clear gaze directed at the group, she said:
"Please… one goddaughter and one godfather."

She didn't raise her voice. It wasn't an order. It was an invitation with the weight of the inevitable. No one dared to speak, but everyone heard her with absolute clarity. The couples exchanged nervous glances. Some women lowered their gaze, others kept their eyes on Mariela, as if waiting for something more.

Mariela calmly added as she scanned the room:
"I want others to observe. It's not to judge, it's to understand. Love, like respect, is also shown with the body, not just with words."
Her words held not a hint of cruelty or mockery. Only an almost ritualistic serenity. Everyone knew that if no one offered, she would choose without hesitation. But giving the opportunity was part of the process. Because in her guidance, there was a perfect balance between decisiveness... and generosity.

And so, the room breathed in suspense, waiting for a goddaughter and a godfather to step forward.

Premarital Talk (6) – Luciana Bridles Her Best Man

Mariela took an elegant step toward Luciana, her voice soft but clear as a bell:
"Luciana... a dog collar and leash, or a bridle with a bit and reins?"

The room grew even more silent, if that were possible. The question wasn't trivial or decorative; it was the heart of the ceremony. Mariela wasn't smiling out of mockery, but out of respect for the choice ahead. She knew that each symbol said something different, and that Luciana's decision would speak not only of her style... but of her understanding of the bond.

Luciana lowered her gaze for a second, thoughtful, and then raised it decisively. Her answer, firm but serene:
"Bridle, bit, and reins."

Mariela nodded respectfully. She didn't applaud or congratulate: it wasn't necessary. She simply walked to a small wooden chest on the table, opened it, and took out a simple, clean bridle with a bit and tightly coiled reins. There were no excessive decorations. It was a clear, sober, and symbolically powerful instrument.

Mariela held it up in front of everyone, and as she approached Luciana, she explained:
"The bridle is a guide. The reins are a connection. They are not imposed... they are accepted. And whoever takes them must do so firmly, yes... but also with tenderness."

Luciana took the bridle with both hands, with a slight tremble of emotion, but without hesitation.

Mariela then turned to the kneeling best man.
"Do you accept her guidance?"

The best man looked up at his goddaughter and nodded, wordlessly, but clearly.

Then, Luciana solemnly placed the bridle, she placed the bit in his mouth, smiling, he pushed her, and she tied the bridle straps. The gesture was delicate. He didn't resist. It wasn't humiliation: it was real and symbolic surrender. She took the reins. She didn't pull. She just held them.

Mariela stepped back, looked at them, and said to the rest:
"This is how trust is built: with consent, with purpose, and with respect. There is no dominance here... there is understanding."

And the entire room, still speechless, felt that they had just witnessed something deeper than a lesson: they had witnessed a bond.

Premarital Talk (8) – Luciana is followed by her Best Man (2)

Mariela delicately took a sober but firm leather belt. It had loops for tying reins. Mariela walked over the stepping stones on which Luciana had previously placed her beloved boots as she walked over them.

Mariela extended a belt to Luciana. Without further ado, the young bride-to-be understood, placed the belt around her waist, and with Mariela's help, the best man's reins were tied precisely, remaining attached to the belt, connected to the best man, who remained in a quadruped position, obedient, attentive.

Mariela returned to the dais, walking over the heads of men. She then looked at Luciana, observing the new arrangement with restrained satisfaction. Then, with a slight smile, she said warmly:
"Luciana, now... walk again. But do it freely." He's already connected to you. You don't need to hold on... just move forward.

Luciana took a deep breath and, with elegance, began to walk across the room on human skulls. Her arms, now free, moved freely. She placed her hands confidently on her hips, like someone who knew exactly what she was doing. Then, as she crossed the audience, she began to greet with small wrist gestures, blowing kisses, gently waving her fingers at those watching her.

The godfather, seeing nothing but the movements of his guide's hips, followed her precisely. The sway of the reins from Luciana's belt was enough to indicate the direction. She didn't need to pull, push, or give orders. The connection was already established. Obedience wasn't imposed; it was voluntary, cultivated in trust.

Those present, between surprised and admiring, saw in this image something more than a symbolic practice. They saw a living lesson: that when the bond is well-built, there's no need to be controlling... all you have to do is move forward, with conviction and grace.

Mariela nodded, pleased, and concluded gently:
"That's leading without chains. With presence, not with force. When a relationship is well-established, gentle gestures are enough for the other to follow us... and accompany us, with pleasure."

And in the room, what began as a symbolic exercise was already an experience many would never forget.

Mariela, standing at the front of the room, with her characteristic serene elegance, waited for Luciana to complete her tour. The room remained reverently silent, impressed not by the drama, but by the clarity of the message everyone had just witnessed.

Then, in a calm, enveloping, and firm voice, Mariela said:
"When there is mutual trust, with only verbal and/or nonverbal communication, both can travel together to the same destination."

Her gaze slowly scanned everyone present. She didn't need to raise her voice for every word to be recorded.
"There won't always be physical contact. There won't always be words. Sometimes, a look, a movement, a silence will suffice. If there is true trust, the direction is understood. If there is respect, one follows with will. And if there is love... one walks with joy."

She turned to Luciana and her godfather, still linked by the reins tied to Luciana's belt.
"Did you pull on the reins, Luciana? Did he need to see your hands to follow you? No. He only sensed your confidence, your direction, your intention." And she responded with confidence.

Mariela paused. Then she addressed the group again:
"This is how marriage should be. Not a struggle of strength. Not a tug-of-war. But a steady walk, sometimes holding hands, sometimes one behind the other, but always toward the same destination... knowing that if one stops, the other will wait." And if one moves forward, one will do so with respect, knowing that one is leading... and not dragging.

The atmosphere was charged with meaning, but also with peace. Mariela had said so much in so few words. And the group, slowly, began to understand that they were not simply attending a premarital workshop... but rather a true school of coexistence, commitment, and mutual respect.

Premarital Talk (10) – Luciana Saddles Her Best Man

Mariela approached the table with accessories and took with both hands a saddle specially designed for this kind of exercise. It was simple, without unnecessary embellishments, but firm, well-made, with soft stirrups and adjustable straps. It wasn't an object of mockery, but of representation, like everything Mariela used: a means of teaching through symbolism, not through excess.

She turned to Luciana, offered her the saddle with a look that spoke volumes than any instruction, and said calmly:
"Take it. It's yours."

Luciana, the reins tied around her waist, received the saddle respectfully, not as someone about to impose herself, but as someone assuming a new role with responsibility. Mariela then looked at her pointedly and, with a brief movement of her chin, indicated to the best man that he remained prostrate, attentive, serene.

"Now," Mariela said softly, "he is your companion on the journey... your foundation... your devotee. The symbol is complete when you accept that commitment with gratitude and firmness."

Luciana understood. She approached calmly, squatting beside the best man, highlighting the beauty of her face and hair, her generous breasts, her slender waist, her pronounced buttocks, her wide hips, her thick thighs, and her boots with spurs. She patiently placed the saddle on her best man's back, adjusting it without force, taking care with the straps so as not to disturb him. The entire room watched, not with morbid curiosity, but with silent solemnity. No one laughed. No one spoke. They were witnessing something that, although symbolic, carried weight.

When Luciana finished securing the saddle, she adjusted the length of the stirrup straps so that they were in the air as she stepped into them, then she stood gracefully. Mariela then spoke to the group, her words measured:
"This isn't about physical dominance. It's about responsibility. The one who carries is not inferior. The one who leads is not a tyrant. Both are in a pact... voluntary, respectful, and firm."

Then Mariela turned to Luciana, with a slight nod:
"Now, when you feel you're ready, climb on top of him. He's already ready, and he has on top of him what you needed to ride firmly... and you've shown him that he can trust your guidance."

And the room once again held its breath as Luciana prepared to seal the symbolic bond: not one of power, but of balance, surrender, and connection.

And in that moment, without spectacle or drama, only with the stillness of those who understand the act, Luciana prepared to ride slowly and sensually. And with that, the symbol of total trust took shape before everyone.

Premarital Talk (12) - Luciana Rides Her Best Man (2)

The men present experienced a humbling and transformative experience, not because of the outward act, but because of the symbolic and emotional significance it held. They watched in reverent silence as Luciana, upright and serene, remained in the saddle, held securely by her best man. There was no mockery or bewilderment, but rather admiration for the confidence that radiated from the scene.

They felt respect for the courage of both: Luciana, for trusting another human being and revealing herself, dignified and confident; and the best man, for his humility in offering his strength as support and becoming a symbol of selflessness.

Many experienced an inner reflection, even shock. Seeing someone offer and give themselves completely, without seeking prominence or reciprocation, inspired them to reconsider their role in their own relationships. "Am I capable of offering myself like this, without fear, with respect, to support the one I love?" some asked.

The men learned from the godfather's act:
1. Giving is not humiliation, but love:
The godfather's act taught them that serving with love does not diminish anyone; on the contrary, it elevates the soul. Being someone's support is not being beneath them, but rather serving the growth of the other.
2. Trust is built through actions, not just words:
The godfather demonstrated that trust is not demanded, it is earned, by showing himself available, strong, and patient.
3. Dignity does not depend on physical position:
Being on all fours did not make him less worthy, but rather more courageous. He stood firm, silent, conveying with his body a message more powerful than any speech.
4. The beauty of commitment is in balance:
While one guides, the other trusts. While one supports, the other learns to balance. This is how lasting relationships work, with roles that complement each other.

Then, the men looked at their brides or goddaughters with a different expression: not one of dominance or superiority, but rather a willingness to support, to walk together, to serve with love. That was the true lesson of that act.
Amid the soft laughter and the emotion of the moment, a young bride, her eyes shining with what she had just witnessed, turned to her fiancé and, with a mixture of tenderness and enthusiasm, whispered:
"Would you like to be like him?"

The groom looked at her with a mischievous smile, still impressed by the best man's dedication and Luciana's trust. Then he replied, with that humor that lightened serious moments without diminishing their depth:
"I don't know if Luciana wants to bridle me, saddle me, ride me, and lead me using reins, whip, and spurs..."

Both of them burst into spontaneous laughter. The phrase, although said mischievously, was not misinterpreted by anyone. On the contrary, those present understood the meaning of the comment: the young man was saying, between the lines, that he would be willing to give himself with the same devotion if his partner guided him with love.

"Maybe I don't need spurs or reins," she said laughing, "but it's enough for me to know that you want to walk with me, even at a horse's pace."

"And if you ride, I'm ridden, without you asking."

Amid the wordplay and symbolic images, a powerful truth was clear: love is neither afraid nor ashamed of being supportive, nor of giving itself completely when there is mutual trust.

Premarital Talk (14) Luciana Blinds Her Best Man (2)

Mariela, walking on stepping stones, took a few steps toward the center of the room, where Luciana and her best man remained, still joined by the reins, he blindfolded and calm, she standing tall and firm, two heads above him. With a look full of intent and a clear tone, Mariela said:
"Now, get in and ride again."

Luciana gave no surprise, only a slight nod, as if she had already sensed it. She understood that this new step was not a repetition, but an evolution of the symbol: to lead not only from the front, but from above, with greater responsibility.

She approached respectfully, placed her hand on her best man's shoulder, and, as calmly as she had done before, rode again. This time, without words. This time, knowing that he saw nothing, that he only felt her weight, her signals, her will.

Once seated in the saddle, she gently placed her boots in the stirrups. The spurs gleamed with a discreet glint, and the reins rested once more in her hands.

Then, Luciana looked up, took a deep breath, and gave a gentle signal with her body, whip, and spurs. The sponsor responded immediately, advancing with a sure stride, without hesitation.

Mariela, with her arms crossed and an expression of genuine respect, looked at the group and said:
"This is the true level of mutual surrender. He doesn't see, he doesn't hear instructions. But he feels. And he responds. Because he trusts. Because she doesn't abuse her position, she honors it."

And as Luciana led from above, without haste, without pressure, only with presence and awareness, everyone present understood that they were seeing more than a dynamic: they were witnessing the enactment of a profound truth.

A healthy bond is not imposed. It is built, step by step, until even in blindness... one can walk. And yet carry with dignity.

Mariela watched Luciana as she led the way masterfully, sitting firmly in the saddle, the spurs on her ankles, the reins in her hands, and her posture upright and serene. Then, her voice rose once more, clear and direct, so that everyone in the room could hear her.

Premarital Talk (16) Mariela continues giving a speech while Luciana rides and leads her best man

Treading on manly heads, Mariela approached the center of the room, with a slow but firm step, letting the silence speak for a few seconds before her voice did.

She observed everyone: the bride and groom, the best men, the goddaughters. Luciana riding upright, with dignified bearing, and the best man riding in position, calm and serene.

Then, she asked in a clear and serene voice, like a guide not seeking to impose answers, but to provoke reflection:
"What have we learned today?"

She paused. No one responded immediately, because they knew the question wasn't rhetorical: it was profound.

She continued gently:
"We learned that love isn't about who commands, but about who trusts. That leading isn't dragging... it's leading with respect." That allowing oneself to be guided is not weakness, but courage.
"We learned that authentic bonds require clear signals, wordless communication, and a shared will."
"We learned that external elements—reins, spurs, whip—only make sense if there is a stronger inner bond: trust."

Mariela looked at them one by one and, with a warm smile, concluded:
"And perhaps most importantly: we learned that, on any shared path, each of us must know when to move forward... when to stop... and when to simply hold the other with all our being."

There was silence. But this time, it was a silence full of meaning. The message had reached. Not just the ears, but also the soul.

Luciana continued riding through the hall, upright, serene, elegant. Every step her godfather took—still blindfolded, still guided by her—was a silent affirmation of what they had learned.

Luciana's boots tapped softly against the stirrups as she swayed her body with absolute control. She held the reins naturally, without tension, like someone who no longer needed to demonstrate dominance, because the bond speaks for itself.

She passed by the bride and groom, by the best men, by the goddaughters. Some lowered their gaze in respect; others followed her in amazement. She wasn't seeking applause. She only showed, with her slow gait, what can be achieved when there is mutual trust.

Mariela, standing by the lectern, watched her with a slight smile and said:
"Luciana doesn't need more words. She keeps riding because the learning process continues. Because trust isn't given just once: it is cultivated. Because in every true union... you learn to lead and be led, again and again."

Luciana made another lap around the room, this time slower, more solemn. Then, with a light pressure of the spurs on her ankles, she signaled a halt. The godfather stopped precisely.

She stepped down with dignity, placing first one leg, then the other, without haste. Once on two willing heads, she removed her partner's blindfold and looked at him. He looked up. They understood each other without speaking.

And so, with that simple yet meaningful gesture, they sealed the day's lesson:
Love—like guidance—needs no strength if there is devotion. And devotion only flourishes when there is respect.

Premarital Talk (18) Luciana Rides Again (1)

The best man looked up, still on his knees. He didn't ask how. He didn't ask for directions. He knew exactly what he had to do.

Luciana, without hesitation, placed a hand on her best man's shoulder and stepped forward. He crouched down respectfully and decisively, getting into position: first on his hands and knees, then carefully adjusting himself so she could mount safely.

Luciana mounted gracefully, without exaggeration, without haste. Her boots shone, her bearing was serene. He wasn't wearing a saddle with stirrups, she no longer used reins or a whip... just her balance, her confidence, and the clarity that she needed nothing more.

Once on top of him, Luciana adjusted her position, firmly placing her feet on her best man's back, and said simply:
"I'm ready."

The godfather set off, leading her through the room again, as in the beginning, but differently. This time it wasn't a practice. It was an act of mutual honor, a deliberate repetition that sealed what they had learned.

Mariela followed them with her gaze, and as they moved forward, she said to the group:
"She didn't force him to carry her. He wasn't forced to. Between them, there is a deep understanding: she trusts and he supports her. And that is the essence of mature love..."

He paused, and concluded:
"...to love is not to carry the other, it is to hold them with pride. And letting yourself be carried is not weakness, but to accept the gift of trust."

Mariela walked slowly on manly heads toward the center of the room, her hands clasped behind her back, while Luciana rode naturally atop her godfather, without reins, without a saddle, with nothing but the mutual connection.

Then, looking at everyone with a mixture of warmth and firmness, she said:
"Now Luciana doesn't need any apparatus for her godfather to carry her."
"This is what true marriage is like: it's not based on external tools, nor on rigid structures, nor on others holding it up. It only takes two people..." she paused, allowing her words to resonate. "...no intermediaries, no instruments in between."

The silence in the room was reverent.
"The symbols we used before—the bridle, the spurs, the saddle—were part of the learning process. But once there is trust, commitment, and respect... they are no longer necessary. The bond sustains them. Mutual commitment guides them."

Mariela turned to Luciana and her godfather and added:
"They are no longer performing an exercise. They are embodying what it means to walk together, or in this case, to advance together, without needing more."

And then, with a look that encompassed everyone present:
"Love needs no embellishment when there is truth." All it takes is someone willing to lead… and someone willing to trust. And both willing to move in the same direction. That's all.

The best man was walking, standing tall, firm, and on his shoulders—elevated, serene—sat Luciana.

Luciana, with total poise and ease, gently placed her hands on her own thighs, a pose that displayed effortless confidence and elegance.

Her smile, bright and calm, was directed at the rest of those present: it wasn't haughty or defiant, but warm, like someone who has understood something valuable and wants to share it.

The bride and groom, the best men, the goddaughters… they all looked at her with a mixture of admiration and understanding. It was no longer just a symbolic scene: it was a living reminder of what can be achieved between two people who know each other, respect each other, and choose each other.

Premarital Talk (20) Luciana Rides Again (3)

At the end of the day, Mariela—with that serene balance between solemnity and closeness that characterized her—called the participants one by one.
Each couple, bride-groom and matron of honor and best man, received their certificate: a simple but meaningful document, sealed by the parish, signed by Mariela and Father Ignacio, and with a phrase at the top that read:
"Love is built step by step, shoulder to shoulder, with respect and mutual dedication."

Luciana, perched on her best man's shoulders, hadn't gotten off. She laughed as she played with her boyfriend, blowing kisses, waving her arms joyfully, and sometimes twisting her torso as if she were riding a festive ride.

Her boyfriend, below, followed her with his eyes, smiling amusedly, making knowing gestures, trying to make her laugh even more.

The horse, I mean, the groomsman, walked calmly, now accustomed to balance, holding steady and without complaint. The scene was light, but also powerful: it spoke of affection, trust, and living bonds.

Mariela watched them for a few seconds and then, without saying a word, smiled. Then she sat discreetly, elegantly crossing her legs and resting her chin on her hand.

That day, beyond lessons or certificates, had been a living lesson.
And she had simply facilitated it.

The room was almost empty, the chairs in place, the lights dimmed, and the soft echo of the last few steps resonated on the floor.

The groomsman now advanced with playful energy, simulating the steps and leaps of a horse: he lifted his knees theatrically, turned in circles, and even took small, careful hops, always making sure that Luciana didn't lose her balance.

Luciana laughed uncontrollably, her clear laughter filling the air like bells. She played with the rhythm of the movement, stretching her arms as if flying, greeting her boyfriend with exaggerated royal gestures, as if riding in a triumphal parade. Her boyfriend followed her a short distance away, smiling too, like an amused child chasing the game of the one he loves. At times, he approached and took her hand, or blew her a kiss with an exaggerated bow.

And from her place, Mariela watched. She didn't interrupt. She said nothing. She just smiled. A calm smile, slight, but deep. Not only because of the humor of the scene, but because she understood what it meant: a real complicity, a bond that had transcended symbolic exercise and become authentic expression.
That was love in motion.
And for Mariela, that was enough.
Because when love is expressed freely and joyfully, the lesson has already been learned.

Father Ignacio walked in calmly, still holding some papers he'd been reviewing in the sacristy. When he looked up and saw the scene in the middle of the room—Luciana happily riding on the shoulders of her godfather, who trotted like a steed, while a young man followed them with a lovelorn gaze—he couldn't help but stop.

With a raised eyebrow and a half-smile, he asked Mariela in a low voice:
"Are they dating?"

Mariela burst out laughing, that laugh of hers that flowed like a torrent when something truly amused her. She shook her head before answering:
"No, Father! He's too old for that..." she said, pointing with her eyes at the godfather, who was clearly over sixty. "He's her godfather. He's in his sixties, and she's barely twenty. The one following them, with eyes that almost fall out of his love, that's her boyfriend."

Father Ignacio smiled back, amused and surprised. "What a dynamic they have," he commented gently.

"An honest dynamic, Father. Without shame or duplicity. They love each other, they understand each other, and they play without fear," Mariela responded proudly. "That's also love, respect, and training. Not everything is learned in silence, and not all respect has to be seen as solemn."

The father nodded silently, watching as the godfather, although sweaty, continued to trot with dignity, while Luciana waved like a queen and her young fiancé looked at her as if nothing else existed in the world.

And then, he said almost to himself:
"Love takes many forms... and sometimes, it also has a sense of humor."

Premarital Talk (22) The Conversation (2)

Father Ignacio approached with his calm gait, his hands clasped in front of him, and a serene expression on his face. He stopped in front of the couple and the best man, looked at them carefully, and with a slight bow of his head, said:
"Congratulations to the bride and groom."
And then, turning to the best man, he added solemnly:
"My respects."

The best man stood, leaning slightly toward the priest, and responded humbly, but without losing that air of serene pride that had remained with him after the experience:
"It is an honor to be Luciana's horse."

Luciana smiled sweetly, lowering her gaze slightly, as the groom put his arm around her.

Father Ignacio nodded once, silently. He didn't judge. He understood.
And in that moment, her voice was barely a whisper shared between them:
"Sometimes the simplest service... is the most sacred."

Mariela, a few feet away, listened to everything without interrupting. She just smiled. Because she knew not everyone would understand what they had witnessed. But those who did... had been transformed a little that afternoon.

The room had already emptied; most of the couples had left with their certificates in hand, excitedly discussing their experiences. But Mariela stayed a while longer, sitting at one end, chatting with Luciana, her best man, her bridesmaid, and her boyfriend, who had silently approached and now had her at his side.

There was a calm air in that small group. There was nothing left to prove, only sharing.

"Riding another person isn't dominating them," Mariela said in a calm voice, her crossed boots marking a serene rhythm on the floor. "It's taking responsibility for their well-being, their balance... their trust."

"And being ridden isn't about giving up," added the godmother, who was watching Luciana tenderly. "It's about knowing when to trust, when to relax, and when to hold on without fear."

The godfather nodded. He looked lighter, as if the experience had lifted some burden he didn't know he had.
"When she was on my shoulders," he said, referring to Luciana, "I didn't feel weight. I felt meaning."

Luciana, now leaning on her boyfriend's arm, looked at Mariela and said,
"I've never felt anything so clear. They guided me without speaking, and I responded without fear."

"That's mutual trust," Mariela commented. "And in a relationship... it's more important than any promise. Because promises are broken when there's no respect. But trust well planted... sustains itself."

Her boyfriend, until then silent, smiled calmly and said,
"It's a privilege to carry you when you choose me to do it."

Luciana looked at him, her expression softening with a warmth only he could muster.
"And I trust you. Not because you carry me, but because you do it with love and without ego."

The moment stretched on a little longer. Unhurriedly.
They talked about the balance between leading and being led.
About how respect is the ground where trust grows.
And that sometimes, true strength... is knowing when to give way and let yourself be led.

Premarital Talk (24) – Luciana Lends Her Horse to Mariela (1)

Luciana, riding high on her boyfriend's shoulders, on top of her groom, turned mischievously and gestured to her best man.

He looked at her, curious.

With a serene but knowing smile, Luciana extended her arm and pointed at Mariela.
"Be ridden by her, now!" Luciana said naturally.
"It's only fair. She's also been riding today."

The best man nodded respectfully. He understood that what was being asked of him wasn't a burden, but rather recognition. He approached Mariela, with a firm stride and a dignified demeanor, and stopped a meter from her, kneeling and slightly bowing his head.

Mariela looked at him, crossed her arms, and smiled, unhurriedly. Her eyes shone with that mixture of authority and tenderness that characterized her.
"Are you sure?" she asked softly.

"More than likely," he replied calmly. "I do so with gratitude and because Luciana commanded me."

"Is Luciana your owner?" Mariela asked.

The best man nodded.

Mariela approached. She didn't need any more words. She gently placed a hand on the horse's shoulder, and the best man bent down, squatting, then positioned himself for her to climb on.

Elegantly, Mariela adjusted her boots, slightly lifted her riding attire, and without hesitation, climbed atop him, standing tall on his shoulders, as if resuming her natural position.

From there, dominant but serene, Mariela turned to Luciana and her groom and nodded with a small nod of approval.
"Thank you, Luciana," she said. "You have a good eye."

Luciana replied with a soft laugh, "I'm just following your example."

And so, with the informal ceremony now symbolic, two Riding Goddesses rode side by side: Luciana riding her groom, Mariela on the shoulders of the best man, confident, elevated, respected.

In the silence that followed, everyone understood: Sometimes, gestures speak louder than words. And dignity, when offered from the heart, makes the one who serves rise alongside the one served.

As they advanced down the hall aisle, Luciana and Mariela, both riding with respect and solemnity, approached where Father Ignacio stood, watching attentively and serenely.

Luciana, perched on her groom's shoulders, held a luminous expression, amused yet full of pride. Beside her, Mariela, imposing and elegant on the shoulders of the best man, radiated calm authority and quiet satisfaction.

As they passed Father Ignacio, he couldn't help but smile slightly. His gaze fell first on Mariela.
"You always find new ways to teach," he commented in a low, thoughtful tone.

Mariela bowed her head slightly, without losing her lofty bearing.
"I only adapt the eternal to the language of those who seek to understand it," she replied gently.

Ignacio nodded slowly.
"And you succeed. Although sometimes your methods leave me speechless..."

Luciana, without losing her cheerful air, turned slightly from above and said:
"Father, one never forgets what one learns with one's body, with one's soul... and with a smile."

The priest chuckled, touching his chin.
"So be it then. May the love you inspire continue to elevate... without anyone forgetting that the highest is reached with humility."

Mariela and Luciana nodded silently. Their mounts continued on their way, and in that brief moment, everyone present felt they had witnessed something more than a class or a ceremony: they had witnessed a shared experience, a living teaching.

Premarital Talk (26) – Luciana Lends Her Horse to Mariela (3)

In the park, the afternoon was falling with a golden light that tinged everything with warmth. Mariela's husband and son were waiting under the shade of a tree, attentive to the arrival of the group.

As soon as Mariela appeared, riding elegantly atop the shoulders of Luciana's godfather, her little son ran toward her with overflowing enthusiasm.
He clung tightly to Mariela's high boot, as if it were a firm and familiar trunk. He looked up with that mixture of innocence and mischief typical of children and exclaimed in a clear voice:
"Mommy! Do you have a new horse?"

Mariela giggled briefly, stroking his hair tenderly, and replied without losing her style:
"No, my love... it's my friend Luciana's horse, and she lent it to me."

Luciana, who had been silently observing everything, looked at Mariela with a serious expression for a moment… as if evaluating whether this was a joke or a provocation. But when she saw the knowing smile on Mariela's lips, she couldn't help it: her face lit up, and she let out a clear, resounding laugh.
"I knew you were going to say something like that!" she said, laughing.

The best man, for his part, lowered his gaze with a shy smile, while Mariela's husband nodded cordially.

In that instant, everyone understood that there was no malice involved, but rather playfulness, affection, and a special complicity between strong women and their loyal companions.

Mariela dismounted from the best man and rode her husband, while Mariela advanced elegantly on her husband's shoulders, her upright figure projecting a powerful and serene image. Her dress fluttered gently with the movement, and her laughter traveled with the wind.

Luciana, riding on her boyfriend's shoulders, and next to the best man who had carried her, watched the scene with a mixture of affection and respect. At that moment, Mariela's son, curious and alert, approached her with short but determined steps.

He kissed Luciana's boots to get her attention. She lowered her gaze tenderly, and he, pointing his small finger at the best man—who remained still, almost ceremonious—asked with complete innocence:
"Can I borrow it?"

Luciana remained silent for a couple of seconds, processing the question. She didn't know whether to laugh, be surprised, or feel honored. She opted to smile sweetly, bending down a little to be closer to the boy.
"And what would you do with it?" she asked playfully.

The boy answered without hesitation:
"I'll ride it and give it back to you, just like my mommy."

The godfather let out a low, amused laugh, tilting his head slightly. Luciana looked at Mariela, who, from her husband's shoulders, watched the scene with a raised eyebrow and a smile that betrayed pride.

Luciana turned her attention to the boy and said,
"If the godfather agrees... then yes, for one more ride. But only because you're my friend Mariela's son."

The boy raised his arms excitedly, while the godfather bowed with a resigned but happy smile. And so, with innocence, respect, and a touch of humor, the little boy also experienced his moment of greatness.

"Come on, son! Give Luciana her horse back," Mariela said with a smile that mixed tenderness and mischief.

From atop her husband's shoulders, her voice sounded clear and soft. The boy, still amused by the brief adventure, giggled and, with small but obedient steps, walked beside her. At her side, her father walked upright and firm, being proudly ridden by Mariela. She, majestic, elegantly greeted those who passed by, her boots shining in time with her elevated gait.

Behind them, Luciana, now back on her usual mount, was on her way home. Her boyfriend carried her gently on his shoulders, while she settled in with a mixture of grace and confidence, her hair blowing lightly in the wind. To one side, her godfather accompanied them, walking silently, but with a look of serene satisfaction, like someone who knows they have fulfilled their role with dignity.

On that golden afternoon, the park seemed like the stage for a smooth choreography: Mariela and her family at the front, advancing naturally; and Luciana, gently led, escorted by the two men who loved and respected her most.

It was a scene of balance and affection, where hierarchies were born of affection, and gestures spoke louder than words.