mia loves henry miller
Letter 2 – Mr. B, Mr. C & MJ’s Party, Part 2
(A majority of my blog is based on true events – however, there is much fiction intertwined in these stories)
My writing in blog form is raw…please forgive me, my readers. I’ve been up day and night editing the first fifty letters, which will be published in my first book. I wanted to re-post my letters one last time prior to removing them offline. These letters will be passed onto another editor and then will be uploaded as books on Amazon. My goal is to complete this task by my b-day, January 27. I hope that you will enjoy these letters, despite their imperfections. After these go into publishing, they will no longer be available online in blog format. Keep watching for Mia Loves Henry Miller, Book, Number 2 in the raw stages at Mialoveshenrymiller.com. Sincerely, Mia Malone-Jennings
Dear Henry Miller,
I’m waiting for Mr. B to arrive. He’s bringing over Chinese from a nearby restaurant for dinner. I’m hungry. I have been painting most of the day. I just finished soaking in a very hot bath tub, attempting to get the myriad of colors of paint off of me, reading Erica Jong’s Parachutes and Kisses, the second book after Fear of Flying. The bath tub is one of my favorite amenities in my loft. I would feel lost without being able to take a long, hot bath, read a book, at least one time per week. I only have a shower at my other home.
I’m looking forward to a nice, romantic dinner near the fireplace with Mr. B tonight. He’s a well known published writer, and has been working long hours for the past three weeks, to meet a deadline. Between his schedule and mine, we have hardly seen each other.
“I have accepted fear as a part of life – specifically the fear of change… I have gone ahead despite the pounding in my heart that says, ‘Turn back.’” –Erica Jong
Mr. B is my lover. I sometimes joke and call him husband number 2. He’s much older than my legal husband, Mr. C. I love the fatherly comfort and our great sexual connection Mr. B and I have! I’m going to tell him, as we eat dinner, what kind of naughty things happened at MJ’s party on Saturday night. I started to tell him over the phone yesterday afternoon – he quickly hung up and jerked off. I’m glad I could excite him, encouraging him to pleasure himself! What fun!
I’ve been with Mr. B for over five years. I’ve been with my husband, Mr. C for almost 14 years. I’ve wanted to write letters to you about my poly-amorous relationship for years. But, I was so afraid of what people would think if anyone would read these letters I write to you. This blog, which was intended to be a book, many years ago, has been deeply embedded into my soul for a very long time. It has been an irritation, always sending messages to my brain to write these letters. It’s been like a wooden sliver stuck in my soul, inching its way out, minute by minute, day by day. Suddenly you are out. I have no way to put you back deep inside. My only solution is to write – and write from my soul – write what I know – write what I love.
I found a passage you wrote in a book I purchased a long time ago, A Literate Passion, a collection of letters written between you and Anais Nin. I was enamored with the impassioned words you wrote to each other! I’ve read them so many times as I soak deep in my large, steaming hot bath. The bottom of the book pages, are wrinkled with water stains, and my pen has scribbled upon the pages, circling excerpts which I deeply fell in love with or could really relate to. Luckily, I have the same book, a first edition copy, which I keep free from pens and bathtubs!
You wrote to Anais Nin on Thursday, February 4 1932 from Lycee Carnot, Dijon –
“Yes, I hope that you will write. There is lots I have to say which does not fit into books. And I want to know what you think. I come back again to your books. And I want to know what you think, to my first vivid impression. Certain passages are of an inestimable beauty. Above all a sureness, a grasp, a mature dexterity which I, alas, will never attain. The very composition of your blood, your inheritance, has without your knowing it perhaps saved you from problems and pains which most writers are obliged to suffer. You are essentially the artist, whether you choose a small or big canvas. You have a power, through sheer feeling, that will captivate your readers. Only beware of your reason, your intelligence. Do not attempt to resolve…Don’t preach. No moral conclusions. There are none anyway. Don’t hesitate. Write! Keep on, even if you go from Switzerland to Timbuctoo, though why Louveciennes shouldn’t suffice, is an enigma to me… Sincerely, Henry”
You may not be alive to guide me with your wise letters, much like you did for so many of your friends when you were here on earth. However, you speak to me with the words you have written and have left behind in all your books. I will write to you without hesitation. I will write unashamed of who I am, my life, my art, my passions, my fetishes, my lovers, my burlesque, my sexuality, and whatever else might come to me.
I love your quote Henry! For years, I’ve been contemplating how I should proceed when writing my letters to you. I have bounced back and forth with reality and fiction. Writing about intimate topics can be taboo. However, I am such a sexual force of nature. I am who I am. I can’t change it. A majority of my blog with be based on truth. I feel confident about being a strong, sexual female. I grew up feeling ashamed of sex. I want to liberate myself completely from it – erase it from my soul.
Tonight, after Mr. B and I ate our delicious dinner (An ethnic dinner which Mr. C would never eat) – Chung King Spicy Chicken, Brown Rice and Szechuan fried green beans, I opened my fortune cookie. It said –
“Your life becomes more and more of an amazing adventure”
– I have to agree. Sometimes my life feels like a very nice dream.
Soon after dinner, Mr. B and I relaxed on the plush, brown couch in my small, but cozy living room. Our bodies pressed together so very close. Our dim shadows entangled together, warmed by flickering flames from the fireplace. Mr. B was aroused by what I was telling him – details of MJ’s party. My sex slippery wet from being licked from a guy locked in a very imaginative, kinky box. There was a section for the slave’s head to be locked above the box, so it was facing whomever was sitting on the chair, built on top of the box. It was called a Queen’s Chair, and given to MJ as a gift, built by the man locked inside the box, when I got to try it out – much later into the party. It looked like an invention inspired by a John Willie drawing. It was ingenious! Throughout the night I saw many women and dominatrix’s sitting on this Queen’s Chair, with a variety of merciless male slaves locked inside. I kept watching, curious as to how the slave’s tongue would feel if it was forced to lick my clit.
Near the end of the night, I finally had the chance to experience what it was like to sit in the Queen’s Chair. The male slave’s eyes were glazed over with pure bliss as his tongue lapped, licked, sucked, bit, stroked, darted and tasted. It was glorious!!! I had to close my eyes – there were so many people watching. I had to pretend there was no one else in the room. My bliss soon turned to agony, MJ and my husband, Mr. C, were flogging, and slapping their hands hard upon the inside of my thighs. And there was this beautiful blonde with the wavy, long locks of hair, behind me whispering in my ear, “Good girl. Do you like this?” and pulling my perk, brown nipples hard and high, twisting them, torturing them. I was drifting off in a land of bliss, only to be shocked awake by intermittent pangs of agony from tear provoking slaps upon the inside of my thighs and breasts. Intermingling the pain and pleasure rocked my world!
(Some day soon, I will tell you about the other major kinky toy MJ got from another one of her friends and my experience with that amazing toy!)
Writing this part of the blog at 7:27 a.m. 12/6/11
As I told my erotic story to Mr. B, cuddled closely together on the couch, he stroked every part of my naked body which was sheathed under a very thin, sheer pink robe, until I begged him to take me to the bed room. His fists gripped in my long, black hair, his large fingers twisted, turned, curled and danced inside me, making the insides of me hum and sing! I submitted every inch of me, melting into each sinful, delicious moment. My Hitatchi Wand kept blowing fuses, which frustrated the Hell out of me! When the electricity finally lasted longer than 15 minutes, my toy made me scream with the most intense orgasms ever! Mr. B finished me off – the entirety of my soul and senses, sky rocketed me into a land of spinning planets, moonbeams and twinkling stars, with his pounding cock.
We had mind blowing sex twice last night! The last time before I completely passed out, I felt so safe, satiated, submissive and warm and very wet. Mr. B likes me to feel very taken care of, like a father figure would. I was unaware Mr. B left so early in the morning. I was deep in sleep. I would go into details about our sexcapades last night. But, for now, I’d like to keep your imagination spinning with mystery.
I must start my day in a hot bath, reading Erica Jong, to wash off the sex from the night before. I have a long day of painting ahead of me. Mr. B is coming over again tonight. My body feels high with energy, and a great release of stress. I’m a little exhausted. My legs still tremble. I love the awesome sensation of climaxing! I love the feeling more than eating chocolate! I have definitely had more of my share of fun, kinky sex lately, which puts a very nice, relaxed smile on my face!
I will do my best to write as soon as I can
Much love to you Henry,
“Develop an interest in life as you see it; the people, things, literature, music – the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself.” —Henry Miller