mia loves henry miller
Letter 27 – Lesson in Trust with Mr. C
“Sure, what’s wrong with being mothered? I spoke of this in a piece I did about love a while back (MLLE, January, 1964) What’s a woman’s value, if it isn’t a force tying men to life, inspiring them to be vital and creative, soothing them when they came home, as they often do, with their tails between their legs? There’s something ridiculous about the way so many pompous men regard woman as helpless things who need protection from the world. A real woman needs no protection. She doesn’t live in a man’s shadow. She turns on the light. And having such an all-women women can make a life or death difference in the way a man lives.” –Henry Miller, Conversations with Henry Miller, Edited by Frank L. Kersnowski and Alice Hughes
1/16/12 – 9:41 a.m.
Dear Henry Miller,
This weird fluctuating weather in Minnesota fucks me up. It was freezing cold on Friday and warm again on Sunday, feeling like spring time. I’ve had a bad headache most of this weekend. I feel fatigued from fighting the pain. But, I wanted to write, to hopefully forget about the agony from the headache that still remains in my skull like bruising, deep echo.
I was going through some of my old poetry, journals and notes on my computer, this past weekend, discovering new topics to write to you. I found an old diary entry and want to share a salacious memory with you – one that remains fresh in my memory, as if it happened just yesterday.
“Henry glowed. When I said that I had to go, after we talked a long time, Henry took me into his room and began kissing me, and with Fred so very near, Fred the aristocrat and sensitive man, probably hurt. “I can’t let you go,” says Henry. “We’ll close the door.” I gave myself to that moment with frenzy.” –Anais Nin, Henry and June Diary, 1931 to 1932
This erotic experience happened more than a decade ago, when Mr. C and I were first married, living at the five bedroom farm house, just outside of the suburbs. It was in the summer – a very hot and humid day. We didn’t have an air conditioner, but somehow we made it through, escaping the misery of the summer heat for several hours.
Our children were gone for the weekend. Mr. C and I had some time alone. We were in our home office, working most of the morning and early afternoon. Mr. C at his computer, I at mine – each of us busy with personal projects. It was late in the afternoon on a Saturday, when Mr. C turned in his office chair, to look at me. I looked at him before his mouth could open. There was a bedeviled kind of spark in his blue-green eyes.
“His rough breeches were against her sex, and she found herself pressing against him only to have him guide her gently back as if silently reproving her. “Kiss me,” he said, and such a shock of pleasure went through her at the closing of his mouth over hers that she was almost unable to stand, letting her weight fall against him.” –Anne Rice, The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty
“Do you want to play?” He asked – his smile and eyes were full of lust and mischief.
“Of course,” was my reply, my smile and eyes reflected his mood – also full of lust and mischief.
Soon thereafter, Mr. C exits the office, goes to our bedroom, taking out a myriad of kinky toys and bondage gear, from our closet, spreading them out upon the bed. A multitude of sensuous shivers danced up and down my spine, viewing the kinky items displayed upon the thick blanket – very steep, black patent leather high heels, a silver studded, wide and thick leather V-shaped collar, which possessed a large, silver ring at the end of the V, four, black leather cuffs, a black silk scarf, and an intimidating sterling silver, chain leash with a black leather hoop at the end of it, for my dominant lover to guide and to pull. My sex is wet, aching with desire. My heart palpitates with trepidation. My mind sparks with curiosity and titillation.
“Stand still,” Mr. C commands softly, yet, sternly near my ear, his body now standing closely behind me. I can feel his hot breath upon the back of my neck. A breeze blows in from two, open bedroom windows, dancing on cool currents of air, inside our sticky, hot bedroom.
I do as he asks; permitting him to blindfold me with the black, silk scarf. Slowly, with a gentle, yet stern touch, he removes my clothes, stripping me naked. A cool breeze from a nearby, small, oscillating fan tickles my over heated, sweaty skin. His virile hands buckle the cuffs upon each wrist and ankle, tightly interlocking the two wrist cuffs behind my back. He slips my feet into my shiny, black, high heels and then fastens my silver studded collar upon my neck. And then he secures the black leather leash to the silver ring on my collar. He now possesses every inch of me. I suddenly realize how vulnerable I am, standing upon the precipice of uncertainty and acquiescence.
“Come,” he commands with a gruff but loving whisper, tugging abruptly on the leash.
I submit myself willingly, gingerly moving my feet forward, one step at a time. I wobble in my very high heels, until I calm my thoughts as well as my body again, continuing on this kinky, afternoon adventure. The sounds of my heels clicking on hardwood floors reverberate in the hallway. I hear the sound of a fly buzzing past us.
“But Beauty had no time to think about it. Leon had affixed the accursed little brass bells to her nipples. She shuddered almost instinctively but they were firmly attached, and he told her to fold her arms behind her back tightly.” –Anne Rice, The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty
Suddenly, a rush of terror infiltrates me again, when I feel myself approaching the top of the stairwell, which descends downward into our living room. Immediately I am paralyzed by my fear. My legs feel shakier. I can hardly remain balanced in my high heels. Unexpectedly, I feel a humiliating tug upon my leash. I felt like a stubborn mule who didn’t want to move downward upon those steps. My fear consumed me.
“Now Beauty, you see what is required, and don’t cry. If you’re crying it will be harder. You must put your mind on running fast, keeping your hands on your neck. Here place them there now. And you must lift your knees high, and try not to squirm to escape the paddle. It will catch you no matter what you do, but I warn you, no matter how many times I tell you that, you will find yourself trying to run away from it. That’s the trick, but remain graceful.” –Anne Rice, The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty
To temporarily soothe my apprehension, Mr. C kissed my lips passionately, ensuring that I can trust him. I do so, beginning my journey down that long flight of steps, still blindfolded, my hands tightly cuffed behind my back. I’m still wearing the impossible to walk in heels. I try to suppress my anxiety, moving downward one step at a time, in total darkness. I know deep within, my husband would never permit serious harm to come to me. However, I’m still frightened.
Every few steps, he continues to reassure me with slow, passionate kisses and then encourages me several strikes upon my ass, with a light, thin whip that really hurts when it bites into my skin. When we finally reach the bottom, Mr. C rewards me with another long, knee weakening kiss, whispering near my ear, “Good girl, thank you for trusting me.”
My body melts and my knees grow weak, each time his lips press hard upon mine and his tongue slithers into my mouth like a serpeant. Before I can reply, he bends me over the back side of the couch, which faces our fireplace and television, and spanks me several times with his strong hand – stars dance before my glossy eyes. My bloodstream is simmering hot. My sex is drenched in sultry, hot wetness. His fingers pry and poke between my thighs, wiggling, curling and thrusting, deeply inside of me. My arousal’s ascending higher until Mr. C ceases to spank me, removing his hand from my wanton flesh.
He leads me back up the steps, in the same fashion in which we came. My sex throbs profusely – my panties are soaking wet with my hot flowing nectar. I surrender to each and every solitary moment. Mr. C releases my arms from the interlocking cuffs behind my back, he instructs me to get on the bed, position myself so that I am on my back, my head facing up towards the ceiling. Soon, he bounds my stretched, splayed limbs to each corner with many yards of colorful rope, attached to my four leather cuffs. I tug on each of them, attempting to see if I could get away – nope! Mr. C’s been a boy scout and knows his rope ties and knots well.
“Beauty, you must learn it. You must accept and yield, and then you shall see everything as simple.” –Anne Rice, The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty
For the next hour, we escaped into a fantasy world of dominance and submission. Mr. C torments my nipples and tender flesh around my breasts and between my thighs, with numerous amounts of clothespins, tightly gripping and pinching my delicate skin– my adrenaline is pumping at a fast, heart pounding rate. He punishes my sex with whips, floggers, hands and fingers, bringing me to the brink of lusty, culminating heights, only to revoke all of his pleasure, only moments before I orgasm. He’s denying me pleasure. I feel frustrated and horny. I cannot see him, for I am still blindfolded, but I know that his smile and the glint in his eyes are sadistic.
He eventually liberates me from the confining rope, leaving the ankle and wrist cuffs on – the metal carabineers jingling against the metal rings on the cuffs, with every movement my body makes. Mr. C orders me to get on my knees on the hardwood floor nearby his side of our queen sized bed. He puts a pillow down upon the floor for me to kneel on.
“I’m going to teach you to suck cock and to do it well,” Mr. C says to me in a firm, commanding tone, holding his stiff shaft inside the palm of his hand. “It’s time that you learned.”
I opened my mouth, welcoming this challenge, eagerly inserting his erection into my mouth, my tongue curling around it eagerly, with warm wetness. For the next fifteen minutes, Mr. C instructed me with well spoken language, on how to suck his cock. He has a knack for teaching – it’s one of the reasons why I fell in love with him. My mouth licked and sucked in the way I was being carefully instructed.
Before Mr. C could orgasm, he bends me over the bed and begins to fuck me from behind, pumping his hips deeply into me, skin slapping upon skin. Sweat drips heavily down our faces and naked bodies. We ignore the summer heat, both of us, concentrating on the heat that warms us up on the inside. My sex was sizzling hot! My extreme fervor was almost too much to bear.
Afterwards, Mr. C hands me my Hitachi Wand. I felt relieved that I was going to get to make myself come and then fuck my husband hard, fast and deep. I needed to feel release and sexual satisfaction. I could wait no longer! I relished in the mind blowing, multiple orgasms, when they eventually came – both clitoral and vaginal.
Back in those days, with young kids, we rarely got the alone time for extended, kinky play. I was so grateful that we made good use of our time. I felt relieved, as if someone had just popped open the cap of a soda bottle, which had been previously shaken, ready to spurt with foamy fizz.
I remember how much shame I carried around with me, as if many bags of garbage, when I was younger. I could never allow myself to get close to anyone, nor could I trust others easily. I hated any type of intimacy. But, Mr. C unlocked a door deep within me, shortly after we met, releasing a woman who is sexually confident, emotionally balanced, and a woman, over the course of many years, has unloaded a majority of her emotional baggage – dark emotions which I had burdened myself with for so many years.
The exquisite feeling of releasing all of my will to someone else, accepting whatever fate was before me, has been a positive experience. I finally know what it feels like to be a complete woman. I finally know what it feels like to savor the pleasure of sex, without shame, darkness and without a narrow mind. I feel like a different person, content that I left my past in the past, moving onward with someone who loves me for who I am. I feel very blessed and fortunate.
“A few years ago I stumbled upon Hesse’s Siddhartha. Nothing since the Tao Teh Ching meant so much to me. A short book, a simple book, profound perhaps, but carrying with it the smile of that old man from Pekin over my doorway. The smile of “above the battle.” Overcoming the world. And thus finding it. For we must not only be in it and above it, but of it too. To love it for what it is – how difficult! And yet it’s the first, the only task. Evade it, and you are lost. Lose yourself in it and you are free.” –Henry Miller, Art and Outrage
1/16/12 -9:36 p.m.
I must end this letter Henry. It’s getting late. Good night!
“The genius, whether through my works or personal example, seems ever to be blazing the truth that each one is law unto himself, and the way to fulfillment is through recognition and realization that we are each and all unique.” –Henry Miller, The World of Sex