Letter 49 – B is also for Burlesque, Belly Dancing, Bend It like Beckham, The Benson Hotel, and Two Bad Girls
I’m writing this letter on 7/20/2012 at 12:01 p.m.
Art work by Mia Malone – Jennings (Miamalonejennings.com)
“The One thing we can never get enough of is love. And the one thing we never give enough of is love.” –Henry Miller, Insomnia, Or The Devil at Large
I am typing this letter to you, sitting upon my soft, brush suede brown, living room sofa, alone, at my artist loft. I have just returned from physical therapy. There is a small, beautiful, blue knitted blanket, which use to belong to Mr. B’s mother, casually folded and placed next to me, just in case my feet get cold. It’s placed where Mr. B use to sit as we engaged in conversation, cuddled, or ate dinner together. Because it belonged to Mr. B’s mother, it reminds me of my past lover. I still miss him, but, have acquiesced myself to Mr. B’s decision to cease our relationship. My sofa is very cozy and plush, despite its flaws of having an artist for an owner. There are several speckles of vivid paint, in a wide range of sizes and a mixture of two colors, bluish – green and light purple. The accidental splash of paint stains significantly lowers the décor of my cosmopolitan, upscale, artist loft, which is in the Twin Cities. Large drops of hard and heavy rain sound like native, rhythmic drums as they harmonically collide and melodiously pound upon the large pane of glass, which is my tall and wide, glass patio door, which leads outdoors, to a very large balcony area.
“In Hermann Hesse’s famous book Siddhartha, he has his hero say – “I can think, I can wait, and I can do without.” To me these qualities make a man invincible. Especially, “to wait and to do without.” America knows neither the one nor the other. Perhaps that is why at the early age of 200 years she shows signs of falling apart.” –Henry Miller, Sextet
The day feels calm and sleepy to me. I love that I am on the sixth floor, which is the top level of the complex I sometimes reside in, except when there is a leak in the ceiling. I rent one of the penthouse suites and it is beautiful. Generally, on sunny, lively afternoons, my view is full of the activity of human life in the city, several stories below me. I can hear the sweaty, dirty, construction crew, creating the unique sounds of a metropolitan symphony, with their high powered machinery and their loud, clanging tools. Every single sound falls universally into place, playing a citified din to my ears. It speaks a unique language which somehow calms and comforts me. It gives me the same kind of solace which I feel when I am in NYC, only on a much smaller level. I also think that it is also highly stimulating and awe inspiring, observing a variety of hard working men and women, busy, building the light rail on University Avenue.
“My ideas usually come not at the desk but in the midst of living.” –Anais Nin
As I have been witnessing this amazing form of city transportation being constructed for numerous months, it is like contemplating all of the magic which lives so remarkably inside all of human life, and I marvel at the way ingenuity unfolds right before my eyes as I am living what seems to be an ordinary life. Everything started with a simple idea and soon those thoughts were transcended into something more concrete, and then those ideas were executed by the skillful hands of numerous people, creating something larger than anyone could ever imagine. I am often in reverence at how we, as human beings, do such amazing things each and every day with our bodies, our minds, our spirit, our creativity and our passion. If we are the lucky ones, we get to create some kind of magic each and every day, in our careers, such as advertising, fashion, hair, make-up artists, architecture, tattoo artists, construction, costume design, theatrical set design, teaching, martial artist, shoe designer, music, dance, art, television, drama, etc…the list is endless.
The lush, serene view at my suburban home, which I spend my time here with Mr. C, is a whole different, idyllic landscape. It’s quiet, simple, and very beautiful, with a large yard full of aged, thick and lofty, green leafy, shade trees. The backyard also has thick and tall, aromatic, lilac bushes, a small forest of small, medium, and large bushes, thick and thin shrubbery, tall and thin trees and long, thick, aromatic grass. I also have the miraculous view of natural wild life. I often observe a graceful, red, mama fox hunting for food for her two cubs in the springtime. I sometimes see a flock of large, creepy black crows, reminding me of a story written by Edgar Allen Poe, as they peck at the stale bread I have tossed to them in the back yard. And sometimes I see a small herd of calm, majestic deer, searching for a serene place to rest in the warmth of the sun, near the back of our yard, upon the edges of the small forest. I sometimes even see some of the deer search for vegetation, or eat a scoopful of dried corn, which I may have given them, if we have it in supply. I will even feed stale cookies and sugary cereal to the fat squirrels, observing some of them running around the yard, quickly scampering up some of the tall trees, shaking a couple of the thinner branches hard, until a few lush leaves break away and flutter downward into our serene yard. And upon rare occasions, I will witness a flock of large, wild turkeys strut awkwardly through our back yard, appearing to me like big old buzzards, scavenging for leftover food. I love both my places of residence equally. It’s very difficult to decide which one I prefer better. I have the best of both worlds – the city and the suburbs with alluring, rarely observed wildlife. I truly feel fortunate.
“Everyone says sex is obscene. The only true obscenity is war.” –Henry Miller
A couple of mornings ago, I woke up with a raging, lust-filled fire, burning high between my firm thighs. I haven’t had sex in numerous weeks. I awoke dripping wet with lust, arousal and a pure erogenous ache pounding deep within the voluptuous lower half of my torso! The hot, quivering, overwhelming sensation in my quim was unbearable! I had desperately wished that I was at my loft with the privacy to subdue the horny fire, which was burning out of control deep within me. I had to sneak off to the bathroom connected to my bedroom, which is downstairs, at my home in the suburbs, shortly after Mr. C left for work, rubbing my aching clitoris quickly, until I was causing enough friction with my slender, graceful finger tips to bring myself to orgasm. And it felt so fucking good! However, that wasn’t enough to satisfy my carnal appetite. Later, in the afternoon, I entered my bedroom once again, shut the door, turned out the lights, slipped between my cool, thin, cotton bed sheets, pulled down my wanton, wet panties, and did the kit – kat shuffle with my fingers as well as gratify myself with the intense vibration of my beloved Hitachi Wand.
I luxuriated in the erotic, toe curling sensation, eventually pressing the large, vibrating tip of my favorite toy firmly against my glossy, hot clitoris. I lavished myself, my spirit floating erotically inside a world of intoxicating, euphoric bliss. I exhaled a long, drawn out, silent scream which was filled with all of my pent up energy – my unwanted stress, my undesired anxiety and all of my unnecessary worries and tension. Eventually, my body shuddered wildly, amorously, and gloriously from a very long, hard orgasm. It was abundantly filled with an electrifying, white heat and scintillating, seductive energy. My enraptured release felt so amazing! I was drifting inside a heavenly, euphoric state of mind. I finally felt satisfied – for the moment anyways. As I lay in bed, panting from my over stimulation, my small, perky breasts, quickly heaving up and down, and my heart racing fast and furious, I grinned joyously for quite awhile, before every muscle in my face went slack and relaxed – my eyelids felt extremely drowsy and very heavy. I forced myself to get out of bed before I fell asleep. I still had a lot to finish on the television mural portrait.
I haven’t had sex or a self-induced orgasm in what felt to be a very long time – ever since Mr. B and I, broke up. My self-induced orgasm didn’t measure up to the intense sensation of fucking Mr. B, or my husband, Mr. C, but at least the horny fire between my thighs didn’t burn as hot or as intensely, throughout my day. Not like it did when I was first awoke. I was so horny on this particular morning that I couldn’t even concentrate on the painting I needed to finish. I could hardly walk because my sex ached so profusely. I felt completely obsessed to relieve my horny torment in order to continue on with completing the last bit of my art work.
“Henry Miller always gave me the impression of enjoying a pleasant, if somewhat infantile, flirtation with paint, but in fact his love went very deep, and whatever his positive achievements as an artist may be, his random sensibility drew a great part of its richness from the world of colour, into which he had penetrated with delight long before his arrival in Paris. He outlines this long love affair with paint in the course of his writings, and the papers gathered here form an excellent frame of reference for his admirers, struck off as they are quite spontaneously, at white heat.” –Laurence Durrell, Foreword, The Paintings of Henry Miller
After many, long, numerous months and so many hard working hours, I finally finished the painting which I have been telling you about in previous letters. It’s the one for the television mural project. The local celebrities who I delivered the painting to were so happy when they saw it for the first time. I had been working on it for approximately one year- working more diligently and intensely during the last six months. One of the celebrities I had been painting, in this particular portrait, appeared so happy that she cried when she observed the painting for the first time. It made me feel so good that I can bring such joy with my talent and passion to create art. I hope that this important couple felt all of the love, respect, and positive energy that I feel for them. It felt very good to finally complete this large project! I also feel a warm rush of happiness, because this Twin Cities celebrity couple loved what they saw – what I had created. I fucking live for moments like this!!! I wouldn’t spend half my life creating art, if I did not. I enjoy making myself and others feel good. I love what I do and I love it when others appreciate my creations, as much as I enjoy creating them. It’s an amazing sensation that it is difficult to explain with words. You probably understand what I am trying to convey, Henry, since you were an amazing, passionate artist, when you were alive.
I must end this letter for now. It is almost 5 p.m. I need to pack up my things. Mr. C is picking me up soon to take me back to the suburbs. I will write to you as soon as I can.
I’m resuming this letter on 7/25/2012 at 9:04 A.M.
Good morning Henry!
For several days, I’ve been rehearsing a new burlesque number to perform at our upcoming show. I haven’t performed burlesque over the past few months. I will be using a new snake puppet, who I lovingly named Anaissssss Nin. I am learning how to make it appear as if this snake is seductively slithering up, down, and around my body, while I am infusing the graceful, calm, gliding movements of tai chi and the slow, sensual, hypnotic moves of belly dancing. Even though I feel exhausted from all of the previous work I recently completed on the portrait for the television mural project, and fatigued from promoting the upcoming show and booking new acts, I am doing my best to find an extra supply of energy to rehearse the art of burlesque, this afternoon.
I am writing this letter in small segments to you. I figure a little bit of writing is better than no writing at all. I eventually found my groove by spending my day rehearsing my burlesque number for an hour or so, sitting and resting for five to fifteen minutes, and then I write a few lines to you, Henry. Afterwards, I start the process over again, working for as long as I can withstand, throughout my day. The rehearsals are not easy. I’m learning to mix the three arts of burlesque, belly dancing, and puppetry, fusing them together, and it still seems a bit overwhelming me. But, I am determined to meet this challenge. I have to keep my mind focused upon my sultry, sinuous dance movements and the execution of my body, face and hand movements, as well as concentrating on making sure that my snake puppet, Anaissssss moves slow and sinuously.
“And yes, Zorita had a gimmick. She said she had always had a gimmick; for example, the snake dance. “All of my snakes were named Oscar or Elmer. I know, such corny names, but they looked good in print. They were boa constrictors. My snake routine was a good number. It was sexy and very effective.” –Zorita, Burlesque, Legendary Stars Of the Stage, Jane Briggeman
Performing burlesque on stage is another one of my many passions in life. I have been performing for over a decade. I recall how I would daydream about producing a Dr. Farrago’s Burlesque Theater show at Ground Zero Nightclub, as my body danced, high upon a catwalk, for many hours, my mind drifting deeply into the zone, doing something that I passionately love – Go-Go Dance. I have almost forgotten about both of my passions, the art of dance and burlesque. I also love having the opportunity to wear glamorous make up and a variety of costumes that are glittery, vintage, feathery, rhinestone-y, frilly, long fringed, or full of shiny sequins, many costumes of which I have created myself, found very cheaply in thrift stores or purchased them at my favorite costume store in downtown Anoka. (Someday soon, I will tell you about my fairy godmother who owns that store) For the past many months, I have been so busy with producing and promoting my burlesque show and performing and rehearsing magic with the Illusionettes. I didn’t have the time to rehearse a new dance/burlesque number.
Now, I’m finally finding the strength within me, minute by minute, to be inspired to rehearse a new burlesque number, and getting lost in the art of dance again. I’m finally regaining my strength and creativity after battling many long weeks with whooping cough and learning to cope with debilitating, chronic headaches. I’ve been learning to live my life in the present moment to decrease my stress levels and to eliminate my opportunities to clench my jaws. I am also participating in physical therapy, which seems to be helping. I’m moving forward in life. I’m not going to permit my obstacles in life to defeat me. I am overzealous to overcome them.
I have had this unique, creative, burlesque number in my mind for numerous months – long before I got sick. I bought this snake puppet over six months ago, when Mr. B and I were still together. I feel like a kid again, enjoying life, with the use of my imagination, dance, costumes and creativity. When I was younger, at the age of twelve, I recall how I begged my father to buy me a Howdy Doody dummy, for my birthday. I wanted to be a ventriloquist really bad! I remember how we had to travel far to purchase it at a specific toy store in Apple Valley, MN. (It seemed so very far away as a child to travel from Brooklyn Park to Apple Valley) It was one of my most favorite birthday gifts, next to my large, Nancy Drew book collection. I loved playing with my Howdy Doody dummy, dressing him in a lot of different outfits, chosen from stored boxes of baby and toddler clothes, which we had in our basement. I would pretend to perform in front of a large, imaginary crowd and everyone would laugh at my stupid, silly jokes. I often wish that I still had my Howdy Doody Dummy. My younger sister and I also possessed a lot of Jim Henson Muppets as well, which my father also bought for us as Christmas or birthday gifts – Kermit, Miss Piggy, Rolf, and the Count. I think that my parents sold all of them in a garage sale, months after I moved away from home. I never imagined using puppetry in my adult years, with a naughty monkey puppet named Henry Miller, and a large, seductive snake puppet named Anaissssss Nin. I really like it, Henry. I am having so much fun.
Approximately, one week ago, as I was flipping through the pages of one of your books, The Wisdom of the Heart, which I purchased a few years ago, in Portland, Oregon, at the infamous Powell’s Book Store, I found a single grey-ish colored, possibly from dirt, piece of paper, tucked inside the middle pages of your book, which was folded in half. When I removed it from the book and unfolded this white piece of paper, the top of the stationary reads, The Benson Hotel, in fancy, black scripted letters. It appears as if I have quickly scribbled in blue ink pen, the names of the couple Mr. B and I erotically played with the second time we visited Portland. I remember this trip very well. Mr. B and I had just reunited back together again, weeks before we boarded a plane to spend a relaxing time, as well as have a kinky, sexual rendezvous upon the exquisite, pacific coastline in Oregon.
“Struggle is the most invaluable experience of all. Suffering seems to be the inevitable fate of the creative sensitive types. Poverty, disease, death, unrequited love affairs, and disappointments of every sort fan the flame of the artistic spirit.” –Henry Miller, Reflections
The break up I am presently experiencing happens to be our third break up in six years. Mr. B and I had broken up on two other occasions, prior to this one. The first time we broke up was when his wife had found an email which I had sent Mr. B while they were on vacation in Ireland. The second time, Mr. B was going through a difficult time in his life, due to the unexpected loss of his mother. He also hadn’t published a new book in more than a year. He had no new ideas for a new book either. His creative well was dry. He was experiencing a lot of unexpected transition in his life, which seemed to emotionally mess him up. This trip occurred many months after this specific break up.
A long period of drawn out months had firmly wedged between Mr. B and I. We rarely communicated with each other via phone, emails or text messages, during our separation. Once in awhile I would get a short, brief email from Mr. B. I had missed him greatly, but respected his wishes to separate from each other. I felt as if I had lost one of my best friends as well as a very close, intimate lover, who knew my body, mind and soul so well. Mr. B had been as much a part of my world, as the rest of my immediate family. It’s difficult for me to easily dismiss him from my life, without suffering the side effects of heartache.
I was happy, excited, enthusiastic, but also very frightened, as well as extremely cautious, when we finally reunited again, after seeing each other at an art event we both attended alone, at the Walker Museum in Minneapolis. We snuck off and held hands in the sculpture garden, which I had never seen before. We embraced each other for a long time and kissed near the spoon and cherry sculpture. I lavished in the fatherly warmth he radiated from his body. My heart still raced so fast and skipped beats with love, lust and adoration, when I saw his handsome face and I gazed into his deep, intense, smoky, gray – blue eyes. My heart also felt bruised and sensitive when Mr. B and I began our vacation in Manzanita, Oregon. I didn’t want to experience the awful sensation of heartache, should we break up, after I let down my walls of intimacy once again. I felt very fragile and vulnerable. I knew it would hurt like a sonofabitch if Mr. B suddenly removed himself from my life again. However, my masochistic soul didn’t give a fuck. I was too weak to resist the temptation.
The sublime coastal town of Manzanita is on the beautiful, vivid blue and foamy white, pacific coast line, where there is an abundance of flourishing green mountains and cool, shaded valleys bordering the coast. To me, the area is extremely peaceful and breathtakingly beautiful. I recall back in those days, shortly after Mr. B and I reunited, when I would greatly cherish each and every second that I had with him. I would avidly digest the lush, serene scenery and the passionate moments which we lasciviously shared with each other at night, alone in our hotel. We lived moment to moment, never really knowing when we would see each other again. It made our passion for each other more feverish and frantic. I learned to savor him and every single second as if I were sipping on the finest wine or eating the most exquisite chocolate, or wearing the most lavish dress. I reveled in each and every single second for as long as I could. In the early days of our reunion, I never became too comfortable with the time we spent together. I learned to cherish each moment we had experienced, as if it were our last moments together.
Our walks, hand in hand, upon the warm, sandy coast line, felt resplendent and completely in synch with the Universal rhythm in life. Our hearts and spirits were rich and passionate for life and for each other – a luxurious sensation so divine – no words can truly define the depth of the emotions which I felt back then. I reveled at the beautiful landscape, the verdant green mountains and the large, energetic, roaring blue and foamy white waves. I observed with a large smile upon my face, many dogs – large, medium, and small, chase small, green, tennis balls flying through the salty, misty air, which have been thrown by their loving owners many yards across the glittering, sandy beach. My eyes twinkled with great amusement, shone with adoration and glinted with extreme delight, while observing a variety of dogs run after their loving owners, or retrieve a stick or chase a vividly colored Frisbee as it whizzes high over the beach and incoming tide. Everyone appeared so happy and content. The only emotions I felt were love, lust and an overabundance of joy.
“When each thing is lived through to the end there is no death and no regrets, neither is there a false springtime; each moment lived pushes open a greater, wider horizon from which there is no escape save living.” –Henry Miller, Black Spring
For one of our dinners, we seasoned and grilled our succulent steaks, which we purchased at a nearby grocery store, upon a small, round, black, charcoal grill, outside our hotel room. We worked up our appetites from taking a long walk upon the forever stretching beach. The sun was setting in the background as we picked up empty, beautiful, blue, clam shells that were buried in the beach sand, until the sun completely slipped away and the darkness of the night set in, decorating the dark vaulted sky with the glow of an almost full moon and a gazillion, bright, twinkling stars. Many months after we returned home, I created a portrait of a beautiful, Japanese Geisha, as a gift for Mr. B. Her kimono was created with the blue clam shells which we had found together upon the beach in Manzanita, which I glued and arranged artfully upon the canvas. I can still recall and hear how the large waves were composing a summer symphony as the tide rolled gently inward with curls of blue and white mist – and how the universal melody changed its tune when the tide licked at the sandy beach, making me ponder to myself if it tasted like sweet, brown sugar. I can even remember how the harmony transcended again when the rhythm of the tide retrieved outward into the sea. I can still see this beautiful vision of the Portland Coast inside my mind, as if it were yesterday – of the sun dipping low into the rhythmic ocean as large curls of white foam and blue mist, serenely coil and uncoil. I also recollect Mr. B and me smoking a fat, potent, marijuana joint as we walked the roaring coastline, cupping it in our hand, to be discrete and inhaling the smoke for as long as we could, so the scent wouldn’t be so pungent and obvious when we exhaled. Afterwards, we walked into our hotel room in peaceful silence.
During our time in Oregon, I also felt as if I were caught inside the worn pages of a highly erotic novel, living my life to the fullest, finding joy and eroticism in the simple moments in life. My silent thoughts rode in a seductive rhythm with my arousing breath rate and my heaving chest – my dark brown eyes penetrating his, curiously pondering what will occur next, as if our lives were a strategic chess game. Mr. B stares into my eyes with lust and raw aggression exploding in his. It’s the kind of wicked gaze that frightens and enlivens me, simultaneously. My impassioned body trembles with hot blooded arousal. My sex is so very wet, like a large tidal wave of salty, sexy moistness. My inside walls of hot pink flesh contracted with heat and horniness, opening and shutting like a voracious, eager, little mouth. In a rough, hostile, dominant demeanor, Mr. B pushes me onto the queen sized, hotel bed, alarming me and inciting me, simultaneously. I’m now lying upon my back, my breath rate increasing faster and deeper, moment by moment. The pulsing vein upon my neck palpitates with a quick, wanton pace. My breasts heave up and down and my nipples are very erect, radiating a tingling raw, lecherous heat.
Mr. B swiftly unbuttons my faded, cut off blue jean shorts, briskly slides my tarnished gold zipper downward, and rushes to tug my shorts, as well as my vivid, pink lace panties, down and over my undulating hips. The horny scent of my sex hypnotizes my lover, and the rapaciousness of his lips kiss fervently upon my swelling labia, my glossy folds of wet, carnal flesh, and the underside of my stiff, aching clitoris. My nipples are extremely stiff as tiny pebbles, when he pulls my black tank top up and over my smooth, naked torso, my small, perky, heaving breasts, over my tan, elegant shoulders and slender hands, capturing my dainty wrists above my head with the soft, cotton material of my tank top and the strong grip of his imperious hand. I lived in the moment, digesting it all second by second. I didn’t know if this would be the last trip I would ever take with Mr. B ever again. And I didn’t give a damn. All I cared about was being fucked in the hot, raw and sordid moment.
After we began seeing each other again, a few months prior to our trip to Oregon, Mr. B made no promises or commitments to me, and I was okay with this. We lived each encounter as if it were our last one. I savored every single drop, happy for one more day to spend my time with with someone I deeply cared for. My life without him was like walking a very long journey in a very suffocating, hot desert without water. I know it sounds cliché. But, not having Mr. B in my life back then, made me desperately thirsty.
Mr. B fucked me on that sizzling, hot, summer night in Manzanita with a veracity and passion that bit down to my bones – down to the essential core of me. My body shuddered, quaked, quivered, trembled, tensed and released. I engulfed him with a mad, crazy force and with a wicked, carnal velocity. I submitted every inch of my soul to him as he quickly withdrew his hard, throbbing cock from my soaking wet cunt. I gasped with surprise when he vehemently flipped my body over on the bed, and his large, vicious hand spanked my ass until it was glowing in the night with a hot pink hue. My body writhed and twisted at the waist, I held both of my hands up, gesturing and pleading for him to stop, because the sting of his spanking was much too overwhelming for me to withstand. Mr. B decreased his intensity until his spankings were more titillating than excruciating. My moans of pleasure exhibited to him my satisfaction and appreciation.
Now, Mr. B’s strong, adept fingers pinched, twisted and pulled at my incited nipples, his mouth warmly encasing each of them, his teeth scraping over them and then firmly biting down upon each erect nipple until I moaned, gasped for breath, and seductively screamed, arching my back with bittersweet pleasure. His hand reached over and swept the stray, silky, raven hair from my eyes, in a warm, fatherly way that melted my heart, made goose bumps dance upon my warm skin and made my limbs feel weak and mushy. Mr. B stared at me with adoration and lust. Our eyes locked briefly. A flush of euphoria intoxicated me. I felt dizzy and over stimulated when his hand spanked my warm tender flesh between my thighs, and his fingers poked, prodded, thrust, curled, wiggled, knuckled and fucked my extremely wet, hot and slippery sex. Every single atom in my body danced and exploded with orgasmic delight and an ardent, carnal cadence. I felt an instinctual hunger as I inserted him deeply into my eager mouth. My wet lips encased his hardness, and then suckled and glided upon his hot, thick shaft of pulsing skin, up and down, up and down, and in and out – in and out. His mouth exhibited his gratitude, returning the favor of nipping, licking, gliding and sucking my aching clitoris. I was in a heavenly state of being – my body writhing, wiggling, straining – my toes rapturously curling and uncurling. A very thin layer of beach sand, which clung to the bottoms of my warm, tingling feet, glistened in the darkness like tiny jewels beneath the dim lights and flickering candles.
My mouth opened wide, releasing a long string of seductive, silent screams caused from the agony of our erupting, erotic bliss. Bittersweet torture took my breath away, when I felt Mr. B pour a thin layer of hot candle wax upon my heaving breasts and erect nipples. My body tingled. My euphoria grew more intense. Our tongues continued to entangle, slither and please each other with wild, frenzied enrapture, licking with erotogenic skill upon Mr. B’s very hard, stiff cock. I moaned with seduction, bliss and bawdy pleasure when his tongue plunged, licked, and thrust deep inside the glistening folds, peaks and erotic hollows of my moist, swollen quim. Together, we deeply explored the secret places of each other’s erogenous zones, and we learned each other’s prurient tempo and traversed through each other’s raw, salacious soul, deeper and farther than we have previously traveled. I let down another wall, permitting Mr. B to get a little bit closer to the core of me. I never should have done this. But it’s too late now and my regrets are just a waste of my time.
“The frantic desire to live, to live at any cost, is not a result of the life rhythm in us, but of the death rhythm.” –Henry Miller, Henry Miller on Writing
The breeze from the ocean crept through our large, open windows and tickled and sensuously caressed our naked, sweaty skin – as if invisible lovers entangled in a midnight orgy with us. I was feeling extremely hot and insatiable. I couldn’t get enough fucking. I wanted to keep on having orgasms forever and ever. I never wanted this salacious moment in time to end. The rush of intoxicating endorphins addicted my needy, greedy soul. I highly desired to feel them speeding in my fervid veins! I had an incessant desire to experience a long string of detonative orgasms! I wanted every cell in my trembling, aroused body to erupt like a long awaiting volcano. I craved to ride this mind blowing, culminating high all night long. I never wanted it to end. Mr. B made me orgasm with his hands, his flicking tongue, and with several vibrating toys and various sized dildos for what seemed to be hours, before he told me to make myself orgasm with my favorite toy, my Hitachi Wand! And when my body shuddered and quaked with an over the top, ultimate fucking orgasm, Mr. B fucked me harder and faster, harder and faster – HARDER AND FASTER! My body floated deep within an orgasmic world of eruptive felicity. My almond shaped eyelids were shut half way, and my dark, brown eyes fluttered upward within my head, until only the whites of my eyes glowed in the dim night, as I drifted away into a raw, amorous world. My mind was void of all thoughts as I concentrated on my breath rate, keeping all distracting thoughts away. I was escaping. I was on vacation. I was being fucked by Mr. B.
My lover and I spent two magnificent days and nights at a quaint, romantic hotel in Manzanita. We had an easy access to the beach with a glorious view. We spent our time fucking each other’s brains out, eating great food, visiting intriguing, nearby art galleries, engaging in great conversations, or sitting next to each other in comfortable silence, staring at the beautiful ocean as it rhythmically lulled in and out, up and down the long coastline. I felt happy. I felt alive. I felt utter peace and extreme joy.
“If I heard anyone say of me “Fucking for her is like breathing.” I would agree more than willingly because the expression could be taken literally. My first sexual experience, and many others since, took place in circumstances that could lead one to believe oxygen has an aphrodisiac effect on me.” –Catherine Millet, The Sexual Life Of Catherine M
Mr. B and I were due in the city of Portland at 6 p.m. on the Saturday evening we were vacationing in Oregon. Mr. B told me that we were meeting an intriguing couple downtown at McCormick and Schmick’s for dinner – Mr. Dom and Miss Submissive. He told me we would be engaging in an erotic adventure with another open minded couple, if our dinner went well and if I was up for it. I must admit, I felt curious, as well nervous. I didn’t pack anything nice enough to wear to a fine dining restaurant like McCormick and Schmick’s. I didn’t think we were going to be doing anything fun and fancy. I packed comfortable clothes perfect for the beach. I didn’t know that Mr. B had arranged for an erotic interlude at our hotel in Portland. I didn’t even pack sexy lingerie, which made me even more apprehensive for our upcoming, kinky encounter.
“What’s the matter, darling?” Mr. B asked me, knowing that I felt uneasy about the events he had planned for us, shortly after we arrived in Portland. So, I told him about my clothing dilemma and how I wanted to feel sexy and pretty for this couple and I did not bring the right attire to accommodate the events of our upcoming night. So, soon after we checked into The Benson, and unpacked our suitcases, Mr. B and I quickly walked several blocks until we reached the downtown shopping area, to purchase something pretty and sexy for me to wear. We had a little more than an hour before our dinner reservations and meeting our new guests. I have never shopped so fast for a dress and lingerie before. Or, had I ever showered, styled my hair and applied my make-up so quickly.
We were a little bit frazzled, but we arrived at McCormick and Schmick’s on time. Mr. Dom and Miss Submissive were waiting for us. They were already seated. I thought that they were a good looking couple. Mr. Dom was charming, handsome and highly intelligent. I enjoyed conversing with him. He sent out an aura that said to me that he sought pleasure in being in control and dominating a submissive lover in a highly respectful way. His wife Miss Submissive, was pretty, a free spirit like myself, and full of abundant life and vibrancy. She possessed long, red curly hair, and also liked to be submissive, much like I do. And she has other dominant lovers in her life, other than her husband, much like I do. It was difficult to deny. I felt a unique sisterhood between her and me. I befriended her right away. I really liked her, Henry. It feels pleasant to meet another woman you feel an attraction for, and not a need to compete with, only love.
We made it through our delicious dinner very comfortably. Our conversations flowed like expensive wine. Everyone seemed to get along, which felt very relaxing, enjoyable, pleasant and easy to fall into the erotic rhythm of the moment. It felt right. It’s not often when one can take advantage of a perfect situation like this. By the time the four of us reached our elegant yet simple hotel room at The Benson, I had fallen into the sublime spell of submission. Mr. Dom and Miss Submissive undressed me in silence, none of us said a word as I unveiled my naked, vulnerable, aroused body to this couple I hardly knew, yet, whom I liked and immediately trusted. Mr. B and Mr. Dom attached four thick leather cuffs upon my ankles and wrists, neither of them saying much. Miss Submissive covered my eyes with a dark, secure blindfold. Her touch was very soft, loving and sensual. My world went pitch black and my other senses were heightened. I began to concentrate on my breathing instead of the fluttering thoughts trying to penetrate my serene silence. When my limbs were completely secured and tightly bound to the bed, and my will was no longer my own, I began to surrender all of me, my will, my soul, my body and my mind, to two men and one woman. The only one I truly needed to trust was Mr. B, even though I trusted this other couple instinctively.
Mr. Dom and Miss Submissive took their time to inspect the most exposed and vulnerable places upon my body. I continued to concentrate upon my breath rate, remaining to silence all of the unnecessary thoughts drifting in and out of my mind, in order to experience every sensation to the fullest extent. I was very wet and highly aroused. A racing, rousing sensation of alarm zipped within my fervid bloodstream, when I felt the shocking, stinging sensation of someone spanking me hard upon the tender folds of my velvet pink flesh, which glistened with moisture, high between my thighs, several times with what felt like a long, thick, firm, flat, leather flogger. I was so wet, it sounded like a firm hand hitting the shimmering top layer of water, contained inside of a swimming pool or a bath tub, when the leather collided cruelly upon my blazing hot, stinging flesh.
“What do you say, Mia?” I heard Mr. Dom sternly asked me, when the spanking momentarily ceased, his free hands and fingers were presently pinching and pulling upon my right nipple, causing another deluge of thrill to dampen my panties. My face contorted in anguish, yet, my agony was such a bittersweet, super sonic speed of lust which zipped fiercly to the very erect tip of my throbbing clitoris. Mr. B or Mr. C are not as strict as some Dom’s and do not make me address them with, “Yes Master, No Master, Thank you Master.” I quickly read Mr. Dom’s body language. He was a dominant who appeared like he required to be addressed formerly, like this. Immediately, I softly replied, “Thank you Master,” even though I felt a little silly saying this aloud. Yet, saying this with my dry, quiet voice, also made me fall deeper down the rabbit hole of submission, for some reason. I felt drugged with the sensation of bittersweet acquiescence.
Suddenly, I sensed the smooth, soft, sensual skin of Miss Submissive’s long, lean body, pressing firmly against mine. She was now lying on top of me. My senses stirred with extreme provocation and wild expectancy. My mouth slightly opened after Miss Submissive pressed her lips hard against mine. Soon, our two wet, velvet tongues intertwined together so sinuously and sensuously. I felt inebriated. My cells convulsed with arresting titillation. I could hear one of the men spanking Miss Submissive’s writhing, wiggling, bare ass. The sound of flesh sternly smacking upon flesh sounded loudly in the evening air. I felt her body twitch, contort, and wiggle above me and her hips grind lustfully into mine. It felt so sensual and intoxicating!
Miss Submissive’s thin, lanky, but shapely body inched its way down my body, halting when her head was eye level with my hot and creamy cunt. My arms pulled hard upon the restraints when I felt her mouth engulf me like the ocean waves engulf the coastline. Her mouth instinctually knew my pleasure zones. Her tongue darted and explored. She knew how just how to lick light enough, yet firm enough to make the bottoms of my feet warm and tingly and my back arch high off my hotel bed. My impassioned moans floated upon invisible sound waves in our hotel room, ricocheting off the four walls. I wanted to feel fingers, hands and toys deep within me, pressing seductively upon my g-spot with erotic precision. I witnessed white heated stars burst before my eyes from my orgasmic gratification when I finally felt several of Mr. B’s fingers wiggle deep and firm within me, showing Mr. Dom and Miss Submissive how I like to be fucked with the density of many fingers. Miss Submissive spread my legs wider and further apart when her husband positioned his body between my legs and dominantly plowed many of his fingers deep within me – my back arched higher off the bed and my fervid, moist arousal drenched his skin with my warm, glossy fluid. My erotogenic moans sliced through the thick evening air like newly sharp knives.
“Suck Mr. Dom’s cock, darling,” Mr. B commanded, encouraging me, in a low, eager tone. He wanted to show our new friends my oral skills. I went along with the game and submitted to Mr. B’s request, opening my mouth, inserting my new lover’s cock, sucking upon it like it was rock hard candy, wiggling and wrapping my tongue around his stiff, pulsing dick, sucking, stroking, and licking, as my mind was completely lost in the erotic zone. I completely surrendered my will to the moment, as my tongue continued to flick, suck, lick, and move in a natural, seductive rhythm, up and down and around Mr. Dom’s cock. Miss Submissive purred as she caressed her husband’s balls with the palm of her gentle hand, stroking them in a way that was pleasurable and familiar to her mate. Mr. Dom moaned and groaned with gratification, echoing into the evening air. Mr. B intently observed this carnal scene, stroking his own cock with his hand, up and down in a fast, furious motion. Beads of sweat slowly dripped from his forehead, down upon his cheeks, chin and neck. An electric buzz of pheromones floated in the hot evening air, mixing with all of our sweat, passion, pleasure, sex and sensuality. Our impassioned energy buzzed at an extremely high frequency.
My clitoris was now being salaciously stroked by Miss Submissive’s finger tips with a fast friction. I was caught in a mad frenzy of lust. I could hardly withstand the pleasure I was receiving. My bliss soon transcended into agony. I was at my breaking point and insanely horny! I desperately needed to feel the ultimate, clitoral climax before I am fucked with cocks, fingers, and various toys.
“Please let me make myself come, “I pleaded, hoping my voice would carry in Mr. B’s direction, because I was still wearing the blindfold and could not tell where my voice was being directed to. “Please, please!” I dramatically begged. I fiercely needed to experience the ultimate orgasm much like a drug addict needs their drugs. I greatly desired to escalate my pleasure with a high speed, high intensity toy. I craved to feel maximum gratification! Mr. B plugged in my Hitachi Wand, released my hands from my restraints and told me to make myself orgasm. I felt extremely grateful, pressing the large, vibrating head of my toy firmly upon my glossy, stiff stem of pink flesh. My back arched high off the bed from the orgasmic intensity I was experiencing. My jaws clenched tightly from the agonizing, bittersweet ecstasy. Endorphins raced quickly inside my blood stream, my head swam in a sea of euphoria and my body convulsed from the ultimate power of a massive clitoral orgasm.
“Please fuck me,” I begged for satisfaction dropping my Hitachi Wand upon the glossy, hard wood floor. My mouth and throat were dry from my excessive panting. My toy was buzzing and moving in slow circles from the massive vibration, until Miss Submissive picked it up and pressed it hard against her swollen, soaking wet sex and erect clit. I felt so fierce and horny that I raised my knees to my chest, dramatically desiring to be fucked hard, fast and furious. Mr. B knew just what I wanted and plowed his stiff cock deep inside of me. My moans escalated in volume and diabolical force. I vanquished all of my thoughts and emotions out of my head and consciousness, concentrating only on the euphoria I was experiencing, as the energy built and built and built. The scene of Miss Submissive making her own self orgasm was glorious eye candy to me. The vision was mesmerizing and intoxicating. I could not take my eyes off of her glowing, radiant beauty. I recall wishing to myself, that I could remember this scene forever, so that I could someday transcend the highly erotic images which had been burned into my memory, into art, and put what I had envisioned on that sizzling, hot night, upon canvas with smooth, thick, vivid, acrylic paints.
After I had experienced so many orgasms – so many that I could no longer count how many, my body lay limp upon the bed, like a rag doll without stuffing. I had been fucked so hard and so good that my brain was numb and my limbs felt weak and rubbery. Mr. Dom fucked his wife hard after she made herself orgasm, which was very arousing to observe. After she had climaxed, her husband grabbed her hair, wrapped it around his hand a few times, sternly tugged, and proceeded to fuck this beautiful woman from behind, doggy style, with raw, passionate force. Afterwards, it took at least five to ten minutes before any of us caught our breaths to announce that we were still alive. Once we regained our energy and our balance, we talked for quite some time, conversing and sharing with each other about past experiences, and about how much we enjoyed our erotic encounter with each other. I really liked Mr. Dom and Miss Submissive’s energy and their open and enlightened mind set. I felt good about our encounter and about this new amorous experience. And it felt so amazing to be fucking Mr. B again!
“As I approached middle age, I had two successive relationships, one easygoing and the other emotionally charged, but nevertheless they both followed a similar pattern: I took the time to let the desire I felt for the other soak in, which made that desire all the more pronounced; it culminated in passionate bouts of fucking during which my satisfaction was never as complete as it had been in the inaugural physical contact.” –Catherine Millet, The Sexual Life of Catherine M
While Mr. B and I vacationed in Oregon, after our second break up, I realized I was no longer frightened of getting too intimate with Mr. B and being too afraid to let him get too close to me. I realized during our separation that it was silly of me to be frightened of intimacy with Mr. B, due to my intense feelings for my husband. I realized that I could love two men at the same time. I came to the conclusion that all we ever have in life is the here and the now – the present moment, and not to waste my time on being so afraid to get intimate to another human being. Life is too short to limit my connections with others. There is nothing more pleasurable than sharing our love, our regular and sexual energy, and opening ourselves up to others. The greatest thing on earth is to share your mind, your heart, your body, you unique energy, and your soul with other human beings. The greatest gift we have in this life is to offer unconditional love to others – even our children and family members. And I don’t mean this in a sexual way.
Even though Mr. B is no longer in my life, it does not mean that I cannot capture specific moments in my life, which I shared with him in my lifetime and share them with you in these letters. It helps me recall all of the good times I had with Mr. B. One can never erase that from my memory nor from my past life. And if these letters happen to arouse or enlighten someone else, who might read them, my time was well spent recollecting some of these moments. I only have today. I only have this moment in time. Once it is gone, I cannot retrieve it, regardless of how hard I try. I want others to know that I dared to live my life large, and live my life purely from the heart and from the soul. I feel calm, I feel relaxed. I feel as if I am moving forward and onward in life. I want to continue to live my life as a sexually liberated woman.
The letter “B” also stands for one of my favorite movies, “Bend it like Beckham.” I am often amazed at how the Universe has its way of communicating with me through other people’s creative endeavors, such as movies, televisions, music, art and books. We all engage in something we are passionate about, departing behind a map on how to live our individual paths in life to others, pointing us in the directions we need to journey in our lives like a golden compass.
As I watched “Bend it like Beckham,” for the fifth time, I feel inspired by a brave, talented girl from India. Jessminder’s determination to break beyond her restrictive, ethnic culture, dare to live her dreams playing European football, and talk to an imaginary hero, David Beckham, much like I talk to you Mr. Henry Miller. She inspires me to break beyond my restrictive, Korean upbringing. She offers me inspiration to move forward, removing my fears and doubts about the publication of this novel and the ethnic barriers I will have to overcome. To write so openly about my sexual life and multiple lovers, both men and women, will make my parents freak out, should they ever read my letters to you. May they never do so. Yet, I trust and believe in my dreams. I am strong and will overcome what my parents or conventional others might think of me. I know deep within me, that I was born to create this book of letters to you, Henry. I have loved every inch of this amazing, imaginary journey, which I have taken with you for so many years and months. I cannot believe that this first book of fifty letters is almost complete. Thank you so much. I love you so intensely, Mr. Henry Miller. You have been my passion for over a decade. I have talked with you inside my mind for so many hours. You have inspired me. I cannot express in words must how much a love you. I am grateful to you for everything!
“The difference between me and the other writers is that they struggle to get down what they’ve got up in the head. I struggle to get out what’s below, in the solar plexus, in the nether regions.” –Henry Miller, My Life and Times
I must get some sleep. I have an early morning, physical therapy appointment. Good night, Henry.