Letter 47 – San Francisco, Mr. Shrink Man, Submission, Romance and Unexpected Surprises
I’m writing this letter on 6/13/2012 at 10:37 a.m.
“I don’t care who the artist is, if you study him deeply, sincerely, detachedly, you will find that he and his work are one. If it were otherwise the planets would be capable of leaving their orbits.” –Henry Miller, Art and Outrage
I have returned to my artist loft today. I’ve been working on a very large, existing portrait for the television mural project, which I have been working on for numerous months. It is almost complete. I’m proud of the work that I’ve accomplished so far. As I have been painting, I’ve been listening to James Patterson’s, The Women’s Murder Club, Volume 1. The setting of this mystery novel takes place in San Francisco, one of my favorite cities to visit. It reminds me of my first adventure to San Francisco. I have been itching to write a letter to you about it, telling you about my strange and awkward experience, for quite some time. This is a tale of weird confliction, confusion, frustration, sadness and unexpected surprises and extreme romance.
Voice Number 1 – “A well-balanced individual is one who has no regrets. And who’s he or she? The one who has tasted at least once- or twice even better – all passion and vices the world has to offer.” –Excerpt from the Play, Flush Game Or the Gospel According to Henry Miller, Corneliu Mitrache
My first trip to San Francisco was approximately six years ago, 2006. It was mid-June and the weather was chilly, much like it is today in Minnesota. Several months prior to my journey, I yearned to discover something sexually exciting in my life – a new intimate encounter – a new lover – a new city. I would often scan over the personal ads in City Pages, or online polyamorous dating, web sites, to see if anyone interesting would pique my interest. I even had to fill out a personal profile on a few of the web sites. I didn’t mind. Within a few days, I received a message from an older gentleman who appeared intriguing to me. He was a high profile psychologist from the east coast- NYC. The world of psychology has always interested me. We conversed via email for many days and nights. We seemed to click on many levels. Our written replies to each other flowed easily. We eventually agreed to meet for dinner at Manny’s Steakhouse in Downtown Minneapolis, the next time he visited the Twin Cities. This gentleman told me in one of his last emails, before traveling to Minnesota, that he wanted to surprise me with a gift, and asked for my measurements. So I gave them to him, 36-27-34.
Several weeks after we began communicating via emails, we finally met in person in a public setting – Manny’s Steak House. Mr. Shrink Man had some personal business he needed to tend to while visiting the Twin Cities. Together, we indulged our appetites with a fancy, delicious meal. Soon after dinner, both of our bellies extremely full, we walked to his luxury hotel room at the Marriot downtown. Soon after we arrived, this gentleman gave me the gift, which he mentioned in an email, before we met in person. It was decoratively wrapped inside a beautiful, fancy box. It was a high quality corset from the store, Purple Passion, in NYC. It was so beautiful! I thanked him graciously for the expensive surprise. Until then, I didn’t own a high quality, black corset in this upper class caliber. Even though Mr. Shrink Man (this is what I nick – named the psychologist) showered me with such a decadent piece of couture, I should have known that after our first couple of dates in Minneapolis, there was something off about him. I can’t list anything specific, just yet. It was a feeling that I sensed, which radiated from some of his odd behaviors and peculiar aura.
On one of our first dates, after we had engaged in vanilla sex, and during our “after sex” pillow talk, Mr. Shrink Man ask me if I would like to travel to San Francisco with him in a few weeks. My head said, “yes,” but my intuition said otherwise. I knew in my gut, that adventuring on a future trip out of state with Mr. Shrink Man, might not be such a good idea. But, did I listen to my gut instead of my head – of course not. Silly me!
I met Mr. Shrink Man in San Francisco, a few weeks after he had invited me to be is companion. My eagerness to travel enticed me to accept his invitation. I love the adventure of traveling to new cities, states, and countries. However, this older, dignified gentleman was a bit strange, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Or, so I thought. I had been a bondage a-go go dancer at GZ nightclub for many years, where strange people generally gather, I thought that I could handle Mr. Shrink Man’s oddities.
“I don’t think a writer good because he’s reliving an experience. I think he feels good because he’s able to transcribe the experience onto paper. It’s the ability to recapture that makes you happy, not the actual reliving. I think the reliving is secondary.” -– Henry Miller, My Life and Times
I felt very nervous when my plane eventually landed in San Francisco. It was mid-afternoon. Until then, I rarely traveled alone. At this time in my life, my husband, Mr. C and I didn’t have a financial abundance to travel often. Mr. Shrink Man and I had met approximately four times in Minneapolis, over the previous month, where we skimmed lightly upon the surface of a sexual relationship – mostly vanilla type sex. I felt semi – confident that I would be okay with Mr. Shrink Man, who had a contract with a large, reputable company in San Francisco. I thought to myself, if this well known company could trust him, I should be able to as well. Besides, I had never seen this beautiful city, which is one of the main reasons I agreed to accompany him. I wanted to be near Big Sur. I wanted to feel closer to you, Henry. I wanted to hunt, as if searching for hidden treasure, inside every San Francisco book store, to purchase more books of yours – books that I didn’t already have in my own personal library. I felt that the closer I was to Big Sur, where you once lived, that I would feel closer to your spirit. And after my trip to San Francisco, I realized that I always have your spirit with me everywhere I go. You are always in my thoughts, my mind, my soul, and my heart.
“A hundred thousand years from now, when we shall have conquered space – whatever that may mean – we shall probably be communicating with angels. That is to say, those among us who no longer place such emphasis upon the physical body, those who have learned to use their astral body. The men, in other words, who have discovered Mind, that what we think is what we are and what we have is what we truly want. Even in that distant day there may still exist two worlds – the hell the world has always been and the world of free spirits who know that the world is of their own making.” -– Henry Miller, Sextet
When my plane landed at the San Francisco International Airport, I saw an unfamiliar gentleman. He was tall, exotic, dark skinned,
and distinguished looking, wearing a dark. black suit, a clean, bright white shirt and colorful necktie. He was holding a stiff, thick, white piece of paper, which had my name printed neatly upon it with a black Sharpie marker. When I observed that Mr. Shrink Man was no where in sight at the airport, and that he had sent a car for me, instead of picking me up himself, I sensed that this was possibly a game of power and control. Which was my first clue that something felt off about meeting Mr. Shrink Man in San Francisco.
As I waited for my luggage, observing a multitude of many shapes and sizes of colorful bags and suitcases, riding around in circles on the silver, metal airport carousels, my mind flashed back to my first date with Mr. Shrink Man, after we ate dinner at Manny’s and walked back to his hotel room, at the Marriot. Mr. Shrink Man was intelligent, well groomed, yet a bit odd and peculiar. We had only known each other for a few hours, before he demanded that I keep the bathroom door open while I squatted and pissed. This request made me feel on edge, irritated, awkward and uncomfortable. I couldn’t play the role of the well trained submissive, fulfulling this gentleman’s weird, controlling requests. So, I refused to do as he asked. I don’t like to pee in front of anyone – not even Mr. C, and we have been together for fifteen years. It’s just not my thing. I like my privacy.
When my Chauffeur dropped me off, and assisted me, retrieving my luggage from the trunk of the Chauffeur’s classy, glossy black sedan, I felt serenely hypnotized, walking by myself, through the artistic, contemporary lobby of the W Hotel. My eyes opened wide with surprise, my pupils eagerly darting around at a myriad of unfamiliar faces, (young, middle – aged, or old), as well as a couple of families standing in line to check in to the hotel, with their rebellious teenagers and their small children nearby them. Sometimes my eyes would zero in on young, stylish men and women joining their trendy friends for fancy drinks in the modish lounge. I stared, dumbfounded and in awe, in every direction I observed, studying the ingenious decor, as well as a variety of people, without spraining my neck. I had never witnessed anything so creative and fancy before. The voguish visions of unique class, pop culture and innovativeness completely took my breath away. I had never felt such imaginative, art deco energy, buzzing at a high speed, in the air surrounding me.
“I don’t have a mind that thinks in a straight line. I explode as I think…in many different directions at once.” –Henry Miller, My Life and Times
“Hello Miss Mia,” Mr. Shrink Man said, opening the hotel door to room, kissing me on the left side of my face. “Come on in. Welcome to San Francisco. You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I replied, entering our hotel room, my face flushed with warmth, blushing a hot shade of pink from his kind compliment, my eyes carefully observing the gorgeous, hotel room, which overlooked the large, San Francisco bay and the gritty, cosmopolitan, downtown area. A heavy feeling of dread overwhelmed me when I saw the shower, it was encased with a modernistic sheet of fogged glass, and so was a majority of the bathroom door. Mr. Shrink Man was going to be able to see a faint body image of me urinating or showering naked for the entirety of my stay with him. Fuck! I screamed inside my head; the echo of my inner voice ringing loudly inside my mind. I was too obstinate to quit and fly back home to Minnesota. I was determined to see this trip through. I didn’t want to fall back on my word, especially, so soon after I arrived. A heavy, vertiginous feeling of discomfort weighed my spirit down. I felt dizzy and unbalanced, as if I had just been spun upon a children’s merry-go-round at an extremely rapid pace.
Later in the evening, shortly after I settled into our hotel room, Mr. Shrink Man and I dined at a very fancy restaurant nearby the W Hotel. It was so close, that we walked and talked until we reached our destination. I cannot recall the name of the decadent place we had dinner at. However, I do recall that the menu was full of fancy words and extremely high prices. I could have fed a family of five for a week with how much money Mr. Shrink Man was spending for only a few hours of upscale pleasure. The food portions were tiny, yet, the decadent food was arranged so creatively and decoratively upon a large, white, fine, China plate. I had to admire the artistry. I stared at the vision with gratitude for the talented chef’s inventiveness and ingenuity. But, there was no amount of money which could have bought Mr. Shrink Man some manners or class when he interacted with me, as well as with the restaurant staff, when we ordered our wine and dinner. While we waited for our food to arrive, I was desperately hoping that no one in the kitchen would grossly spit in our meal, due to Mr. Shrink Man’s rude and offensive behavior. When our food finally arrived, I observed Mr. Shrink Man eat, my mind was stuck in a state of complete shock and disbelief, when I observed a chunky, colorful spray of food expel from his thick, plump mouth, towards me, every time he spoke with his mouth full of this expensive meal. Eventually, he did swallow his food. I was extremely grateful, but I could hardly contain my laughter when he continued to chatter away with a large piece of green spinach stuck to his right front tooth. Instinctively, my tongue kept scraping at my own front right tooth beneath my pressed lips, hoping to telepathically signal to this uncouth man to remove the dark, leafy green spinach from his front tooth. Suddenly, I had lost my appetite.
Not only was I mortified in regards to Mr. Shrink Man’s table manners, I was extremely baffled. Each time I tried to talk, Mr. Shrink Man would continue to interrupt me and end my sentences for me. However, the words he expelled so quickly from his thick – lipped mouth, which continued to be full of a colorful, mashed array of fancy food, weren’t the words I was going to say. I felt so frustrated, that I wanted to scream! The loud chitter – chatter of vexation pounded viciously inside my head, desperately wishing to escape my mouth and release with honesty into the evening air. The tactlessness which Mr. Shrink Man continued to demonstrate, reminded me of a person texting a message with a smart phone and the auto correct is on, and it fucking uses the wrong words in my sentences – incorrect words which I would never use. I concentrated on my breathing, attempting to slow it down, relax my nerves, and shake off my annoyance smoothly, like water would run off the sleek, smooth back of a duck. Mr. Shrink Man was testing my patience, and I had to spend two more days and nights with him. I sold myself to the Devil for a trip to San Francisco. I’m an idiot, Henry. Yet, if I didn’t have the opportunity to live this weird experience in life, I wouldn’t have such an entertaining story to tell you.
“A good artist must also have a streak of insanity in him, if by insanity is meant an exaggerated inability to adapt to this mad world of today is either a nobody or a sage. In the one case he is immune to art and in the other he is beyond it.” -–Henry Miller, The Paintings of Henry Miller: Paint As You Like and Die Happy
After our extravagant dinner, we returned to our large, lavish, hotel room, I felt disheartened and a bit aloof. I took a long, hot shower to warm me from the San Francisco chill, blocking out the thoughts in my head, that Mr. Shrink Man could faintly see my naked body as I showered. Afterwards, I dressed in a long, beautiful black satin nightgown with a matching, sheer, black robe. When I exited the bathroom, my hands rubbing the last bit of lotion into them, every muscle in my body stiffened. I nervously gulped down a tall, deep glass of apprehensive, toxic energy when I witnessed an assortment of bondage toys displayed methodically upon our hotel bed. My heart palpitated loud, strong, and so very fast. My eyes widening and narrowing, digesting the kinky toys exhibited on our hotel bed – long, thick colorful rope, a stern and sturdy, long black whip, thick black floggers, a short and long pair of fancy cat o’ nine tails, a thick black leather collar, and four matching cuffs. My natural defenses rose high, tensing all of the muscles in my body. My jaws were clenched tightly together – my back molars grinding hard with trepidation, and the tremors of extreme uneasiness, quaked uncontrollably below my chilled skin.
No matter how much I tried to convince myself that I could submit my entirety to Mr. Shrink Man, permit him to bound me to our hotel bed, and completely trust that he would know how to execute these kinky instruments of BDSM play, I couldn’t. And I knew that was what he wanted. That is why he asked me to go to San Francisco with him. Because my natural defenses were up, I felt angry, tense, bitchy and snarky, whenever I spoke with Mr. Shrink Man, which caused a HUGE fight on our first night in San Francisco. No matter how I tried to negotiate with myself that I could submit myself to Mr. Shrink Man, I didn’t have the strength or trust within me to submit to his will, regardless of how guilty he made me feel. I couldn’t and I wouldn’t do it! I don’t have a button on me that I can push that says in large, black, bold print – FAKE IT! So, instead of playing, we went to bed pissed off at each other, each of our bodies resting very close to the far left and the far right edges of the bed. We both were upset and angry, intentionally facing away from on another.
“The key word is trust. Trust everything that happens in life, even those experiences that happens in life, even those experiences that cause pain, will serve to better you in the end. It’s easy to lose the inner vision, the greater truths, in the face of tragedy. There really is no such thing as suffering simply for the sake of suffering. Along with developing a basic trust in the rhyme and reason of life itself, I advise you to trust your intuition. It is a far better guide in the long run than your intellect.” -–Henry Miller, Reflections
Thankfully, ever since I had the experience of being a mother, I have learned to let go of dark, negative, toxic emotions or remorseful feelings before I go to sleep each night. I have chosen to wake up with a clean slate in the morning, forgetting about the past day or past night’s events. It was the only way I could survive as a mother. I had to use this same technique if I wanted to survive a few more days and nights with Mr. Shrink Man. On our first, full day in San Francisco, Mr. Shrink Man had to work a few hours in the morning. I was appreciative for the reprieve. When I awoke, Mr. Shrink Man had already left for his meeting.
When Mr. Shrink Man returned in the afternoon, he had the time to show me the city. We did our best to interact calmly as if nothing had occurred the night before, and ate lunch at the famous diner where American Graffiti was filmed. I had a fat, delicious burger and crisp, hot fries. I thought it tasted better than the fancy dinner that we shared the night before. Yet, as we ate, tension hovered over us like plump, dark, storm filled cloud. Our conversation was a bit strained and awkward, due to the argument we had the night before. I wasn’t sure how to fix it. My insides felt weighty with dismay. All that I could hope for was that everything would smooth itself out somehow.
I did my best to pretend that the argument between us the night before, didn’t occur, and began a calm conversation, asking Mr. Shrink Man about his work and his life in New York. Once again, he rudely spit out his lunch with his words, which was really starting to annoy me. and gross me out. And whenever I would talk, Mr. Shrink Man continued to end my sentences, with pieces of hamburger and French fries spraying out of his mouth like chunks of wood from a wood chipper.
How in the hell did this man become such a successful psychologist with such limited communication and listening skills? I did my best to ignore his peculiar behavior and hide my grimace of disgust. However, it was still so irritating to have him end my sentences with the wrong words. It was no fun engaging in intelligent conversations with him, either. So, we walked, quietly together upon the warm Embarcadero, the afternoon sun heating up the concrete and metal, below our feet and upon this memorable path. The slow pace of our feet casually carrying us towards the heavily populated part of the city, crowded with a gazillion tourists, Fisherman’s Wharf. My head felt confused and fuzzy, my heart continued to feel burdensome, and my spirit felt entangled with anger, loneliness and discomfort. I knew then that I made the wrong decision to come to San Francisco with a man I hardly knew. But, I kept my obligation to Mr. Shrink Man, moving forward upon this adventure, hoping it will get better. Please! Please! Please! Get better! Fast! I pleaded deep inside my mind.
By the time we reached Fisherman’s Wharf, we were caught in the wrangling, manipulative net of several charismatic women with exotic, slanted, almond shaped eyes – Asian merchandisers ready to squabble and barter to earn their living on the Pierre 39. They were selling fresh ocean pearls from a large collection of oysters, which for a price, one can birth a fresh pearl of their own. To me the sensation of finding a pearl inside of a oyster shell is a feeling of birthing, renewal, and a spiritual awakening. Almost instantly, the little girl inside of me wanted to dig for a pearl. Mr. Shrink Man felt guilty due to our fight, and his willingness to try and smooth things out between us, made him verbally plead for me to search for a pearl. I thought that the experience was a wonderful way to transcend dirt and sea water into a beautiful. sublime pearl. So, I reluctantly gave in to Mr. Shrink Man’s pleading and discovered a large, beautiful black pearl, deep inside the oyster shell I had chosen.
Pearl of Perseverence
At the bottom of the sea an oyster shell slept
In between her yawns, tiny grains of sand had crept
One by one they crawled and leaped
Into the oyster shell who sweetly sleeps.
Hour by hour the hands of time did chime
Aging grains of sand to form something so sublime
Year by year the sea grains crept
Into the oyster shell who still sweetly slept
Divine beauty and grace is the pearl of perseverance
Dreams illuminate much like a pearl’s appearance.
— Mia M. Jennings, Whispers From Gold
Of course these finagling, exotic women are not going to let you slip past them, by just purchasing the simple pearl, they strongly persuaded Mr. Shrink Man to have the beautiful black pearl set into a beautiful ring. I felt guilty. I would have been happy with just the pearl. But Mr. Shrink Man strongly insisted on having it set into a ring for me. The price tag on this pearl had just gone up, and I knew that he wanted to be repaid for his kindly gesture in the evening. A little bit of acidic vomit crept up my throat and settled sourly at the back of my tongue. I swallowed it back down, shutting my eyes to squeeze out the heart racing, fear inducing vision of me serving as Mr. Shrink Man’s submissive. I chanted in my head, “remain in the moment, remain in the moment, remain in the moment.”
“One needs either a heaven or a hell in which to flourish—Until one arrives at that Paradise of his own creation, that middle realm which is not bread-and-butter Utopia of which the masses dream but an interstellar realm in which one rolls along his orbit with sublime indifference.” -–Henry Miller, on Writing
After seeing how beautiful the pearl was, I wanted to purchase one for my daughter, with my own money. However, after, suggesting it, Mr. Shrink Man misunderstood, thinking that I wanted him to purchase it for me. I would have never insinuated that to him. I already felt I owed him in an enormous way. I like to be a very independent woman with my own money and the ability to spend it in my own way. I also didn’t want him to pay for it because I knew that he would expect me to show him my gratitude privately, when we returned to our hotel room. This caused another huge fight between us, as we walked towards the ferry boat which would take us to Alcatraz. Once we boarded the ferry, I was silent, fuming with anger. What a fucking jerk! I screamed inside my mind, thinking about Mr. Shrink Man. My heart was feeling heavier, and utterly broken. My mind was even more confused, than it was the night before. I hate fighting with anyone. I do not like to engage in toxic emotions. Emotional pain has the ability to crumble me faster than physical pain. I thought again to myself, for being a psychologist, Mr. Shrink Man wasn’t a very good listener. Because, he continually insisted on ending my sentences for me, he never really heard how I was feeling or what I was trying to say. So, I pouted in silence, my arms tightly folded together, across my chest. I sat as far away as I could from Mr. Shrink Man when we rode upon the ferry to Alcatraz. My aura fumed with utmost madness, keeping everyone on the ferry a large distance away from me.
Somehow the island of Alcatraz dissipated my anger, like quick sand swallowing a large, weighty object. It calmed and intrigued me. I even got to see Al Capone’s jail cell. I felt solace, walking outdoors on the island observing the beauty of the landscape, even though it is surrounded by extremely cold, shark infested waters. I have always been fascinated by the old time gangsters who hid out in St. Paul, MN in the 1920’s and 30’s. I’ve read so many books on the history of this corrupt city, during the era when gangsters could pay off St. Paul’s Irish cop, John O’Connor, to have the shelter of St. Paul. Back then, regardless of the crime(s) one committed in other cities and states, one was free in the city of St. Paul as long as you paid John O’Connor lots of money and did not commit a crime in his city. Many of the gangsters who hid out in St. Paul were eventually locked inside Alcatraz for their crimes, such as Al Capone, Alvin, creepy Karpis, George, Machine gun Kelly, and Doc Barker.
An hour had passed before Mr. Shrink Man found me wandering outside, on the island, and apologized for his behavior. I was still a bit irritated, but chose to let most of it go and enjoy Alcatraz. I hated to feel so angry, emotional and on the edge of crying. I really didn’t want to waste my day feeling so down and depressed. I wanted to learn about this fascinating place and hear the intoxicating stories of the prisoners who attempted to escape the Alcratraz island, which was told by a guest author, Michael Esslinger, who wrote a thick, intriguing book about the prisoners of Alcatraz. As a gesture of kindness and truce, I purchased two, autographed books – one for Mr. Shrink Man and another one for me, with my own money. For awhile, our time together was actually quite tolerable.
After we returned from this mesmerizing tour, Mr. Shrink Man attempted to show his apologies some more by spoiling me with a shopping trip in China Town and at Agent Provocateur, a very fancy, upscale, trendy, lingerie store. When we were in China Town a long, white, beautiful, beaded, Chinese gown captured Mr. Shrink Man’s eye. He insisted that I try it on. I still had a heavy – heart, feeling mopey, as well as guilty. I told him that I really did not feel like trying this beautiful dress on. He begged me until I conceded to his wishes. When I reappeared from the dressing room, wearing the long, tightly fitted, beautiful, glittering, beaded, Chinese gown, Mr. Shrink Man insisted that he purchase it for me. I have no clue about how much the dress cost. I felt awful, because I knew that I would eventually have to submit to his sexual wishes to repay him for his kindness, and I wasn’t so sure I could do that. Regardless, of how much I tried to bring my guard down, whenever Mr. Shrink Man touched me or kissed me, my guard went back up again, instinctively. I couldn’t help what my intuition was telling me, despite the argument I was having with myself inside my head. There was something about him and his energy that didn’t mix well with mine. I could not submit all of my will to him, and trust that everything would be okay.
Vivian: “Tell me who it’s worked out for?”
Kit: “What, you want me to name someone? Oh, God, the pressure of a name… I got it. Cinderfuckin’rella.” –Quotes from movie, Pretty Woman
Things only got worse when we walked into an upscale lingerie store, Agent Provocateur. For months, I had been craving to shop in one of these high end, lingerie stores. I had seen their fancy advertisements so many times on the internet and in magazines. I loved their ingenious fashion ads. This store was a Burlesque girl’s dream store! I felt like Julia Roberts in the movie, “Pretty Woman,” as fancy lingerie, pasties, nylons, shoes, and accessories were brought to my dressing room by several store attendants. I had both of their undivided attention, because there was no one else shopping in the store. The higher the cash register rang, the more the rock hard, ball of guilt rolled heavily in my gut. I knew I would be expected to model all of these lavish, sexy, silky, lacey items for my benefactor eventually, when the sun went down and we were alone in his hotel room. How come Mr. Shrink Man couldn’t be as dashing, handsome and as eloquent as Richard Gere? It would’ve made my task to please him so much easier.
“For me sex wasn’t an every day thing, attached to the woman’s cunt was always the woman herself. The woman was the most interesting thing.” –Henry Miller, My Life and Times
I tried with all my might to psyche myself into sexually submitting to Mr. Shrink Man. I tried to convince myself that I could fake enjoying myself. However, the thought of it continued to royally freak me out! No matter how I reasoned with myself to do the mercy fuck and just submit, I couldn’t and wouldn’t do it, regardless of how much money this gentleman had spent on me. Every time he opened his mouth, he seemed to fucking piss me off! I spent most of my energy recomposing myself, pretending to enjoy Mr. Shrink Man’s company. And whenever I had a moment to myself, I spent it on the phone crying to my husband, Mr. C, about how miserable and uncomfortable I was, wishing that he was here to save me from this strange and awkward situation. Somehow I managed to dig deep within me for my reserve of positive energy, to show this man patience and understanding whenever we were together. But, we still managed to get into big, raging fights in the evening, because I still couldn’t bring myself to submit myself to him in an erotic way. He wanted to tie me up and spank me with devices he knew nothing about. I just couldn’t please him. I just couldn’t. It really scared the shit out of me, Henry!
“Meaningful acts require no stir. When things are going to wrack and ruin the most purposeful act may be to sit still. The individual who succeeds in realizing and expressing the truth which is in him may be said to have performed an act more potent than the destruction of an empire. It is not always necessary, moreover, to mouth the truth. Though the world crumbles and dissolves, truth abides.” –Henry Miller, The World of Sex
I eventually had to be honest with Mr. Shrink Man and tell him that I couldn’t stand that he consistently ended my sentences with the wrong words, that he bugged the crap out of me when he ate and talked at the same time, spitting his food out everywhere, and that his idea of tying me up, spanking and fucking me, really freaked me out! I should have kept my thoughts to myself. But, I did not and I upset him greatly. Mr. Shrink Man sobbed like a baby in my arms, blubbering that he was sorry, and that he didn’t mean to piss me off. My soft side kicked in and I held him in my arms until we both fell asleep.
On our last night together, Mr. Shrink Man felt so bad about our stupid arguments and misunderstandings that he made an appointment for me at the Bliss Spa located in the W Hotel, for an hour long massage. This tall, dark and handsome, young man rubbed my body down. It felt so good that I was sexually aroused and moist between my thighs. A large wave of guilt rolled in my gut because I desperately wanted a “happy ending.” And, I didn’t want a “happy ending” from Mr. Shrink Man. I yearned for an erotic release from this young and handsome masseuse Yet, I knew that wasn’t going to happen. So I fantasized about it as I returned to our fancy hotel room, truly hoping that I could give Mr. Shrink Man what he desired.
When I entered our hotel room I observed Mr. Shrink Man stroking his small, fat cock to a high quality fetish flick, staring my good friend, MJ, who was spanking a very pretty, female submissive. I suppose that Mr. Shrink Man thought that the massage and the adult fetish flick would loosen me up. I didn’t have the trust in Mr. Shrink Man as I did with MJ, so my act of submission to this weird, peculiar gentleman, just wasn’t going to happen. Again, we fought for several hours. I had never been so angry and frustrated! In the early morning, around 7:30 a.m. Mr. Shrink Man screamed, “Fuck you!” at me, exiting our hotel room and slamming the door behind him, with a loud bang! That was the last time I saw him while I was in San Francisco.
I felt like shit. My heart was very, very cumbersome, like a dark, copious cloud ready to burst into a violent, rain storm. My mind spun with confusion. I couldn’t understand why I could not permit myself to submit to Mr. Shrink Man. Maybe it was because on one of the evenings we were visiting each other in Minneapolis, he met me at a burlesque show, which I had produced and performed in. By the end of the show, Mr. Shrink Man had persistently asked me to stay with him for the night. I told him that I was exhausted and it probably wasn’t the best idea. Yet, he continued to ask me to do so. Eventually he wore me down. I caved. I had no more strength to refuse him, so, like a weak idiot I spent the night with him. I fell asleep within the first ten minutes of arriving to his hotel room. I was so tired! He was leaving to return to his home, wife and kids in NYC in the morning. I did not know what time it was when I awoke. The dark sky from the night before was fading and the sun was just beginning to rise. “Where’s Mr. Shrink Man?” I thought, staring at the empty pillow beside me. When I looked down the bed, between my legs, I saw a small, lime green dot glow from beneath the thin, white bed sheet. Mr. Shrink Man was getting up close and personal with my vagina with a small flashlight which was attached to his jingling key ring. I thought that I was dreaming. But it wasn’t a fucking dream, Henry. I was so tired I didn’t have the strength to stop him. It was actually kind of erotic. I feel kind of naughty saying that. Yet, deep within, I felt irritated and a bit violated. But, on this particular evening, Mr. Shrink Man’s hands and fingers spoke a different language than his mouth did. They didn’t spit out food while talking or end my sentences with the wrong words. It was a language that kind of aroused me. So, I permitted him continue on. Yet, maybe that previous experience with Mr. Shrink Man was so weird, that it alerted my defense mechanisms on a subconscious level. Maybe this is why I couldn’t do it with Mr. Shrink Man in San Francisco. But, he wanted more than just to explore my cunt with a small, green, novelty flashlight in San Franciso. He wanted to tie me up and spank me with vicious whips and thick floggers and other kinky devices, which he knew nothing about. He had never dominated a woman in real life. He had only fantasized about it and watched lots of kinky porn. I didn’t want to be his guinea pig. Does that make sense, Henry?
“I don’t know the answers as to why people do this or that. I don’t think one does anything deliberately or for reasons that are apparent. The things we do are for reasons far deeper than we pretend and much more obscure.”–Henry Miller, My Life and Times
I was now all alone in San Francisco walking slowly down the warm Embarcadero, towards Fisherman’s Wharf, attempting to call Mr. C on my cell phone several times, but, he didn’t answer. I had called him during the night, after Mr Shrink Man fell asleep, crying again. Mr. C and I talked softly for awhile, until I was calm enough to go to sleep near the window again. This polyamorous, romantic fling wasn’t going so well. I felt like total shit. I felt like an uncompassionate fool. I walked all the way to Fisherman’s Wharf, where I listened to an amazing street performer – a musician, Lao Tizer. His music lifted my spirits for awhile. I even smiled, tipping the musician graciously, and purchased three of his CD’s. I play all three of them still today. Yet, the solace of his music didn’t last as I walked around Fisherman’s Wharf. I had more than enough money in my purse on this sulky afternoon. I could have done some serious retail therapy at some of the nearby shops and souvenir stores. But, I didn’t feel like it. I could’ve indulged in the amazing food or even the book stores in San Francisco, but I knew that wouldn’t make me happy either. Not even a rare edition of a Henry Miller book would make me joyous. I didn’t know what I wanted as I walked through the crowded wharf for hours with a very heavy heart, staring at the slow paced movement of my scuffed, worn out, black and white Nike’s, instead of at the variety of faces in the crowd, which use to amuse me and give me great pleasure.
It was late in the afternoon, and I was still sulking and roaming the hilly streets of San Francisco when my cell phone rang. My heart jumped with delight when I saw that the phone call was from Mr. C.
“Hi baby,” he spoke with genuine warmth and adoration in his voice. “Have you eaten yet?”
“No,” I muttered. I wasn’t feeling very hungry.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“Walking on some fucking hilly street in San Francisco – all alone,” I replied with a sad, quiet, sulky voice.
“Want to get something to eat together?”
“What the fuck do you mean? I’m here in San Francisco and you are in Minneapolis. How in the hell will we manage to eat dinner together?” My voice snapped with irritation, the kind of irritation that rubbed my tonsils raw and thumped like a mad and crazy drummer at my temples.
“Walk back to your hotel and meet me in the lobby.”
“What?” I asked, dumbfounded and confused. I didn’t understand what he was saying, as I quickly switched directions and began walking towards the W Hotel.
Mr. C didn’t say anything else. He just hung up the phone. I’m sure that he had a huge smile on his face waiting for me to arrive. My footsteps became lighter and faster, walking towards my hotel. My frown was rapidly transcending into a smile, my confused thoughts cleared, and my heart beat felt lighter and liberated. As I quickly pushed through the tall, large, glass doors to the W Hotel, my heart beat quickened with love and lust as my eyes darted through the dim lit lounge, and zeroed in on my husband, who looked like the most handsome man in the room. He was wearing a classic, black suit jacket, a crisp light, mint green shirt, and matching black, dress pants, drinking a tall glass of Jose Cuervo and orange juice. His aura radiated with a dignified poise, class, confidence, power, as well as a handsome charm. His eyes twinkled with a great love for his wife. I felt like the luckiest woman in the world!
“Holy shit!” I squealed, tightly wrapping my arms affectionately around his neck – my lips lasciviously kissing him upon his warm lips – long – hard and passionately. “How did you get here so quickly? Why did you spend so much money on a last minute flight ticket to San Francisco?” I asked in a quick chatter.
“I knew that you were having a difficult time in San Francisco,” He replied with a warm grin, “I wanted to be with you, baby. I love you.”
His words immediately transcended every inch of my body into warm, gooey Mia mush. My eyes dripped with large tears of happiness, love and gratitude. I tried to swallow the large, emotional lump in my throat before replying, “I love you too! Very much! Thank you for coming.” I wrapped my arms tighter around my husband’s neck. Mr. C smelled so good! His cologne was familiar and intoxicating. I was deeply in love with my husband – my knight in shining armor – My Prince Charming!
“In the realm of love all things are possible. To the devout lover nothing is impossible. For him or her the important thing is – to love. They do not ask to possess but to be possessed, possessed by love. When, as is sometimes the case, this love becomes universal, including man beast, stone, even vermin, one begins to wonder if love may not be something which we ordinary mortals know but faintly.” -–Henry Miller, Sextet
Later, we walked to Fisherman’s Warf, via the Embarcadero. The night air was crisp and chilly. The vivid stars twinkled bright, reflecting their radiance in the vast ocean. We could even see our breaths as we exhaled or when we talked. It did not feel like June. It felt like November in Minnesota. My nipples were stiff like diamonds and my teeth chattered from being so cold, by the time we reached the seafood restaurant on the wharf. We opted to sit outside, beneath several heat lamps. The view of the bay appeared so romantic. Mr. C’s unexpected, surprise arrival warmed me on the inside. For the first time in days I felt happy. I thought that this dinner was one of the most romantic moments in my life. I felt joy, intense love, gratitude and inner peace.
Before we left Pierre 39, Mr C bought me a thick windbreaker at a nearby gift store, which says San Francisco on the back of it, with red, embroidered print, so I wouldn’t be so cold on our walk back to our hotel. Together, hand in hand, we engaged in long conversations about my adventurous, disastrous time with Mr. Shrink Man, passing many of the cold, hungry and homeless who slept in the parks on the grass or upon park benches. Our hands gripped tighter together, bonding us closer together. We stopped often to engage in a kiss. Warmth radiated from my heart. I adore Mr. C and was extremely grateful to have such a loving, understanding husband.
I took a long, hot shower when we finally arrived to the hotel room which I had shared with Mr. Shrink Man. Afterwards, as I was brushing my long, thick, raven hair, Mr. C gathered up all the toys Mr. Shrink Man had left behind, and laid them out upon the bed in an organized fashion. I stared at them when I exited the bathroom. This time I felt arousal instead of anger, because I completely trusted that Mr. C knew just how to use these kinky instruments of pain and pleasure. For the next several hours, I surrendered my will to him, trusting him completely. All of the frustration that was bottled up inside of me, which occurred from my adventures with Mr. Shrink man, burst out of me with every mind blowing, toe – curling orgasm, releasing its dark, poisonous toxicity into the air, until all of it vanquished from my soul. I was finally feeling like myself again by the time I was released from the ropes and kinky, leather cuffs, and my liberated body now nuzzled comfortably up against my husband’s body. I smiled, feeling deeply comforted, knowing that this experience had to be one of the most romantic events I had ever encountered in my life. And that I was sharing this piece of my wonderful life with my husband and not another lover, like Mr. Shrink Man.
“Love is the only protection; all other kinds of protection lead to war.” –Henry Miller, Stand Still Like the Hummingbird
Several days after I returned home, Mr. Shrink Man sent me a few emails, apologizing for leaving so abruptly and for the virile hostility booming in his voice, as he slammed the hotel door. Mr. Shrink Man said that he wanted to mend our friendship. He even offered me a generous allowance to continue my relationship with him. I passed on his financial assistance. Many months later, I went to New York with Mr. C. I performed burlesque in several shows in NYC, saw the Broadway production of Chicago, staring Usher, who I met backstage afterwards, and participated in a photo shoot with a Brooklyn photographer, who has doing photo shoots of many burlesque performers in NYC, Brooklyn, and with out of state and country, burlesque performers. Mr. Shrink Man asked if I was interested in meeting for dinner with his new mistress, while I was in NY and then asked if I would spend a few erotic hours with them at a high end bed and breakfast, near the fancy restaurant we ate at on Irving Place.
Someday soon, I will tell you how that experience turned out. You might be surprised by the eroticism and awkwardness of that night with Mr. Shrink Man and his Mistress in NYC.
I must end this letter Henry. I did not realize it was getting so late. I’m feeling stronger every day. Sometimes it is the unfortunate times I experience, such as dealing with chronic pain and illness, and many long weeks of bed rest, forces my body, mind and soul to rest. And sometimes, from my repose, I regain my energy and find myself recharged with creativity and inspiration. I genuinely enjoy writing letters to you, Henry, telling you about my life, as if you were my best friend, here on earth. I love you Henry Miller.
P.S. I recently read the play, Flush Game Or the Gospel According to Henry Miller, written by Corneliu Mitrache. The script was so fascinating, that I read the entire script in just a few hours. This writer has such a way with words. Immediately, from the first line on page one, I was mesmerized and enlightened. It’s a brilliant play! I hope to someday see it performed on stage. Corneliu Mitrache is extremely talented, brilliant and a creative genius. It’s nice to read other work which you, Henry Miller have inspired. You still manage to touch the life of others, long after your body has passed on. I just ordered another one of Corneliu’s books on Amazon.com, A Marquis of Our Time. I’m looking forward to reading more of his work. I am hypnotized by Corneliu Mitrache’s energy and passion for life.
Much love, Mia