mia loves henry miller – Letter 6 – A Taste of Kyoto in Manhattan

mia loves henry miller

Letter 6 – A Taste of Kyoto in Manhattan

9:52 P.M. 12/7/11

“The greatest feminists have also been the greatest lovers.  I’m thinking not only of Mary Wollstonecraft and her daughter Mary Shelley, but of Anais Nin, Edna St. Vincent Millay, and of course Sappho.  You cannot divide creative juices from human juices.  And as long as juicy women are equated with bad women, we will err on the side of being bad.” —Erica Jong

“I find myself wondering how many other memories are hidden from me in the recesses of my own brain; indeed my own brain will seem to be the last great terra incognita, and I will be filled with wonder at the prospect of some day discovering new worlds there.  Imagine the lost continent of Atlantis and all the submerged islands of childhood right there waiting to be found.  The inner space we have never adequately explored.  The worlds within worlds within worlds.  And the marvelous thing is that they are waiting for us.  If we fail to discover them, it is only because we haven’t yet built the right vehicle – spaceship or submarine or poem – which will take us to them.  It’s for this, partly, that I write.  How can I know what I think unless I see what I write?  My writing is the submarine or spaceship which takes me to the unknown worlds within my head.  And the adventure is endless and inexhaustible.  If I learn to build the right vehicle, then I can discover even more territories.  And each new poem is a new vehicle, designed to delve a little deeper (or fly a little higher) than the one before.” —Erica Jong, Fear of Flying

Dear Henry Miller,

Tonight, I’m going to tell you about my first visit to New York City.  I went to visit Mr. B, who had to be in Manhattan a few days before I arrived, to speak to his literary agent about his second book.  I summarized some of our experiences below in a poem.

Sestina style poetry is one of my favorite types of poems to write, because of its difficulty and its distinct patterns.  I find the Sestina to be a challenge to my brain.

A Taste of Kyoto in Manhattan

It was my first time in the big apple – My true love, New York City

I was so enamored! – taking it all in with wide, excited eyes

We had just met a few months earlier – my Sugar Daddy lover

He knew the city well – In the past, he lived in NYC for quite some time

We stayed in Mid-town, 49th and Lexington – The Doubletree Hotel

I knew from the time I got off the plane, I was in love with Manhattan!

I loved the horns, the lights, the noise, and even the grit and grime of Manhattan

My heart beats fast whenever I think of my beloved New York City!

Pretty, Asian Airline Stewardess, appearing as if dainty, red cardinals in the lobby of the hotel

I took it all in – the stimulation, the shopping, the busy scenes and the subways with my hungry eyes

This is my first visit to Manhattan – I was having a wonderful time!

I can even recall the beautiful skirts twirling in the display windows at Prada, shown to me by my lover.

We smoked pot on the hotel’s garden roof top – him and I – my metropolitan lover

I felt exuberant, liberated, alive! Like the artist, Diego Rivera in 1920’s Manhattan

Feeling as if I had travelled backwards in space and time

Pondering if Frida Kahlo had any lovers in the 1920’s when she visited New York City?

On my first night, I remember thinking and wondering, looking out the open window with my eyes

If anyone saw us fucking, in that building, standing lean and tall, across from the Double Tree Hotel?

I think of our late night walks, after having sex, to the Korean bodega near the Double Tree Hotel

We walked holding hands at two a.m. talking about everything, with my smoky eyed, silver haired lover

Now I must tell you about the second night in NYC – what I witnessed with my eyes

What I experienced on the evening of that second night so late at night in Manhattan

We had a yen for Asian sin – a taste of Kyoto near Soho in New York City.

Late that night, we waited near a dark door way for quite some time

I was so nervous! For this was my very first time

An intimate adventure outside the Double Tree Hotel

I had never experienced submission to a dominatrix in New York City

I was brought to see her by the wishes of my passionate lover

He wanted to show me a stimulating time in Manhattan

Now, before me, I see a beautiful, Japanese Mistress with my stunned eyes.

Out of respect, I lower my dark brown, almond shaped eyes

My soul will soon travel to a different place in space and time

And I will experience pain and pleasure in the underground of Manhattan

Quite a distance from the safety of the Double Tree Hotel

Soon, I’m restrained by a beautiful Dominatrix and my dominant lover

Experiencing the polarities of pain and pleasure, where secrets are kept in New York City.

I wish I could tell you everything I experienced with her and him in New York City

I wish you could see the memories which flicker in my mind with your eyes

I submitted my soul to beautiful, Japanese Dominatrix – brought to her by my metropolitan lover

Afterwards, we fucked until all of my cells exploded in our room like fireworks at the Double Tree Hotel.

–Mia, author, poet

“The city is loveliest when the sweet death racket begins.  Her own life lived in defiance of nature, her electricity, her frigidaires, her soundproof walls, the glint of lacquered nails, the plumes that wave across the corrugated sky.  Here in the coffin depths grow the everlasting flowers sent by telegraph.” —Henry Miller

I was really apprehensive to travel to New York City by myself.  It was almost six years ago.  I was not an experienced flier.  Until I traveled on a regular basis, I had a fear of flying, much like Isadora Wing, the main character in Erica Jong’s, Fear of Flying.  But, somehow I found the courage to overcome my fear to see a city which I had always dreamed of visiting.  Immediately, after I landed, I somehow felt at home.  I can’t explain why – it was a deep sense of belonging – a warm, exuberant feeling.

Mr. B looked so handsome when I arrived at JFK, wearing a dark navy blue suit with thin white pin-stripes and a skinny black tie.  My nerves calmed, climbing into our small, black limousine.  I relaxed more snuggled closely to Mr. B.  We held hands and talked for awhile, happy to see each other again, until he had to converse with his publishers via cell phone.  I didn’t mind.  I couldn’t stop staring at unrefined scenery of Queens and all the activity in Manhattan driving to our hotel in mid-town.  My eyes admiring the scurrying people, gorgeous women, fast paced men in sharp suits, crowded stores, the dirt, the grime and the busyness of the city.  I was falling hard in love for NYC!

“Nothing quite has reality for me till I write it all down–revising and embellishing as I go.  I’m always waiting for things to be over so I can get home and commit them to paper.” —Erica Jong

Shortly after we arrived at our hotel, we fucked on our King size bed with the window shades and curtains open.  I felt so naughty!  There was something so titillating about the thought of someone observing us, especially in such a big city.  Mr. B and I have never had vanilla sex.  I’m so grateful.  I’m always submissive.  He is always dominant, much like my relationship with Mr. C.  I’m sure that if anyone was watching us, they got quite the eye full!

Shortly after we climaxed, collapsing onto the bed like rag dolls, panting like hound dogs, we eventually found the energy to clean ourselves up.  Then, we smoked some pot on the rooftop garden before Mr. B took me to an Asian Fusion Restaurant in Times Square called Ruby Foo’s.  That’s when I fell in love with the dessert, Mango Sticky Rice. MMmmmm delicious!  I had never been to such a noisy, trendy restaurant before.  I generally paint at my loft, order delivery, more than I eat out.  I loved it!  It soon became one of my favorite places to eat whenever Mr. B and I traveled to NYC.

When we arrived back at the Double Tree, we saw close to a dozen, beautiful, Asian Stewardess’.  They appeared like tiny, red cardinals in their fashionable, red, stewardess uniforms, which may remind some people of the recently popular TV series Pan Am.  I was craving Asian dessert again and it wasn’t mango sticky rice. Mr. B asked me what I thought about me being bound to our hotel bed, submitting to all these beautiful, exotic women, pleasing them, being pleased, tasting, touching, kissing, loving.  I thought his perverse idea was divine!

“Each contact with a human being is so rare, so precious, one should preserve it.” –Anais Nin

I never thought that I would become so enamored with the drama on a Manhattan Subway.  Or, so aroused!  I remember the first time I rode it with Mr. B.   There were two, young women facing each other, on the crowded subway car, standing closely together, talking.  Both were extremely attractive.  My knees grew weak and wobbly, feeling like they were filled with jelly when I saw one of the females reach over to adjust her friend’s shirt collar.  Her touch was so sensual, so erotic, so loving.  It was hard for my eyes not to stare.  My cheeks flushed with a red heat when they both turned to look at me – their eyes appeared to me to be flirtatious.  I almost went to them to introduce myself.   I wasn’t brave enough and didn’t want Mr. B to think that I was ignoring him.  It was a hot moment I will never forget!

Later, on our first night in NYC, we fucked, rough and desperate – definitely not vanilla sex!  Mr. B was beginning to learn my body well in just a short time.  He was discovering wicked ways that thrilled me!  Afterwards, about 11 p.m. Mr. B and I walked to a nearby Korean bodega to get something to eat.  We had worked up a huge appetite and had the munchies.  We had already devoured the two cookies the Double Tree gives you when you check in.  We walked for a few hours afterwards, walking and talking, and Mr. B  taking naked photos of me near the glistening Hudson.

“I will not be just a tourist in the world of images, just watching images passing by which I cannot live in, make love to, possess as permanent sources of joy and ecstasy.” –Anais Nin

The next afternoon, we went shopping in Soho.  It was a warm, crowded, fast paced, sunny afternoon.  I had never seen Soho, except in books, magazines, television and movies.  It was the first day of the Prada skirt exhibit.  Rich, vibrant, colorful Prada skirts twirled in Prada’s large, storefront window.  My grin was huge – my eyes joyful –exuberant, observing silky colors twirl and twirl and twirl.   I was simply amazed!

I tried to shop inside the Prada store – the price tags freaked me out!   I was more interested in observing the beautiful, Asian model – so petite and young- participate in a large scale, glamorous photo shoot.  I had never witnessed something like this.  Afterwards, Mr. B bought me some clothes at several of the Soho boutiques and clothing stores.  I love the feeling of being spoiled!

I honestly don’t require much to be the woman I am.  I’m okay with wearing a sweatshirt, ripped jeans, hair in a pony.  However, there is something to be said about wearing an expensive, silk dress, which clings and caresses my naked body on a warm New York night.   I don’t have Monolo Blahnik shoes or a matching Vuitton handbag, but I’m okay with that.  I don’t read Vogue often.  I read Henry Miller.  I live the life of an artist.  I feel rich.  I feel happy.  I love what I do.  I imagine, Henry, you can relate to that.   I have a male version of Anais Nin in my life with Mr. B.   I feel very fortunate when I do get spoiled.  I admire his talent to write and his generosity.  I feel extremely grateful.  I live a great life and I don’t need to prove it by having the most diamonds, jewels, best fashion, etc…  Actually, living simply liberates me.   I have more room to create.

Later in the day Mr. B and I had coffee in the small park near the NY public library.  We were busily engaged in talking.  Mr. B was telling me about his new book, which will soon be at every available bookstore.  A small, bald, older, gentlemen wearing black rimmed glasses, a brown sweater over a white shirt, and black trousers approached us.  He had a camera, asking if he could take my picture.  I had put my hair up that day to keep it out of my face, lipstick, food, etc, and lavished it with decorative hair jewels I purchased in Soho.

“Your hair looks so pretty, may I take a picture of you?”

I blushed, my cheeks burned hotly with embarrassment, my head was nodding yes, permitting him to do so.

Soon after, Mr. B and I were sipping coffee and talking about his book again – my discomfiture faded away – like the sun dipping low into the horizon.  I always feel awkward having my picture taken.  It was almost evening.   I knew that soon I would have to begin to prepare my mind, body, soul to submit to each moment – to not think of anything else but the here and now.  If my thoughts strayed, I might chicken out and refuse to submit to what was coming – to the very erotic plans Mr. B had discussed with me the night before.

12-7-2011 11:19 p.m.

I’m going to sleep now.  I will do my best to write to you tomorrow evening, when I return from the mural project.

12-8-2011 9:20 a.m.

I was going to work on the mural project today…but, my foot is still throbbing with pain, from fucking it up, slipping on bath water the other night at my loft.  I still have a headache that just won’t go away.   Minnesota weather sucks!  The drastic changes in temperature mess me up!  I will work on art work from home, where I can sit and rest in between my work, or elevate my foot and watch a movie.  I will do my best to write a few sentences here and there – hopefully, by the end of today I will have another finished letter.

“Sex is like pissing – people take it much too seriously!” –Diego Rivera  (Happy 125th b-day, Diego! )

Dear Henry,

Good morning!   I was looking at my blog web site today at wordpress.com and saw a button that asks for people to report if a blog is too mature for a general audience.  I have had over sixty views for my blog entries in the space of a few days.  It’s not much, but it’s better than no reads at all.  I don’t want to remove my blog posts.  I’m finally in the groove of writing without fear of my content and sexuality.  I’m trying to find my voice and balance.

Having an audience read my posts inspires me to write.  I need the kick in the ass.  These letters have been locked up and pushed aside, deep within for too many years.  I cannot help, but to write.  It wants out.  It wants freedom.  It wants to be read.  I fear that if I continue on writing these letters, until I have enough to publish a book; I may not be as inspired to write as frequently.  There is something about having an audience that fuels my writing.  I remember well, how I enjoyed publishing journal entries with MindCaviar.com.  To me, it was exhilarating, liberating, and thrilling.

I loved the image of Diego Rivera painting a mural on Google today!  I have always loved the vibrancy and whimsical imagery he painted.  Diego was a highly sexual creature, which is what I always enjoyed about him.  I felt the same about Frida Kahlo.  I thought that they both were amazing spirits!  Honestly, I’m uncertain if I know how to write a blog without sexual content.  I too, much like Diego and Kahlo; I am a highly sexual creature.  I have the spirit of an artist.  I am unsure how to omit writing about sex, when I am writing about my life.  My sexuality is an integral part of who I am.   Why do I need to worry about being reported for sexual content?  Sex is a huge part of who we are.  Why does something that feels so good have to be considered so bad?  We have so many worse things to worry about in this world – besides being against something which can be so positive in this world.

“Instead of asking — How much damage will the work in question bring about?  Why not ask — How much good?  How much joy?” –Henry Miller

12-8-2011 4:40p.m

I just watched the movie, The Help.  I loved it!  It’s truly inspiring, especially for a writer like me who is stepping out and writing about the dark, sexy parts of life.  The movie encourages me to write what’s inside and not worry what others will think.  Everything will work out if I do what I’m inspired to do. 

12-8-2011- 8:52 P.M.

Kyoto near Soho in Manhattan

“I want to give myself away, to lose myself!” –Anais Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Volume One

“I want to live only for ecstasy!” –Anais Nin. The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Volume One

My heart never raced so fast and beat so hard when Mr. B led me down a long, empty street near Soho…or maybe it was near the meat packing district.  I can’t recall.  I hardly knew Manhattan.  It was dark, quiet, frightening.  Only a few cars and taxi’s drove past.  I had to concentrate on my breathing, knowing that I had to completely let go, or I was going to chicken out, or else not recall any of this experience later on.  I had to empty all thoughts, feelings and emotions.  I had to turn myself into a vessel and go with the flow of my upcoming adventure.  It was as if I was trying to burn every single second and memory into my head.  I wanted to savor this experience slowly like sinful dessert.  I didn’t want to consume it with greedy gulps of lust.

I felt nauseated with trepidation when Mr. B pushed the button on the side of a granite building.  Soon, the door opened and we took an elevator up a few floors.  I wasn’t paying attention as to where we were going.  I was attempting to slow my breathing down – to slow my heartbeat – to relax.  Soon the elevator doors opened and this Asian Goddess appeared.  My panties were so wet!  My anxiety soon transcended into curiosity and anticipation.

I remember how submissive, vulnerable, and aroused I felt when I knelt on the floor of the Mistress’  sitting room, quiet and demur, my head spinning with kinky scenarios, while Mr. B, and the gorgeous, Asian Dominatrix conversed in private about what they were going to do to me.  I took great comfort in this feeling of submission, letting go to a strong woman I didn’t know.  Suddenly, my heart pounded fast and hard again.  I could hardly breathe.  I was attempting to convince my mind that all I needed to do was submit to the moment – just breathe!  Eventually, I found my Zen and balance before they entered the room, but, not for long.  When they had entered the room, my stomach suddenly felt as if I had just dipped downward on a large sloping roller-coaster.

As much as I’d like to go into juicy, lusty details about the rest of my experience, I’m not going to.  I want you to fantasize with your kinky mind what kind of naughty things occurred.  But, I will leave you with some stimulating key words…

submission, bondage, spankings, demanding whispers in my ears, vicious yet sensual slaps on my thighs, tools, toys, kissing, fondling, vibrators, lubrication, dildos, fingers, and hands.  That’s all that I will reveal you.  Naughty me!

Good Night Henry!

Much love,


“I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.” –Anais Nin

3 responses to “mia loves henry miller – Letter 6 – A Taste of Kyoto in Manhattan

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