Mia Loves Henry Miller – Letter 53 – Autumn Rain, Anais Nin and Wet Dreams
“When she closed her eyes she felt he had many hands, which touched her everywhere, and many mouths, which passed so swiftly over her, and with a wolf like sharpness, his teeth sank into her fleshiest parts. Naked now, he lay his full length over her. She enjoyed his weight on her, enjoyed being crushed under his body. She wanted him soldered to her, from mouth to feet. Shivers passed through her body.” –Anais Nin, Delta of Venus
I had difficulty falling asleep last night. The autumn rain was pounding on the roof top of our suburban home, the trees swayed to and fro in rapid motion by wild wind, and the temperature of the night was dropping quickly, degree by degree. My temples were pounding profusely in tormented rhythm with the rain. My heart was thumping from the torture of my headache. I could find no relief. My dreams were delayed by my suffering and the stress of my lack of financial resources, my children, and my inability to write to you on a regular basis, because of my responsibilities of taking care of Little Miss M.
I never thought that I would be at war with my youngest daughter, Little Miss M’s mother. I would never tolerate a friend who treated me the way that she has. She has been living in a crazy world ever since the death of her boyfriend. She’s doing everything that she can to destroy my contentment. I had just read the court papers which my daughter has filed against me, which was sent to me via snail mail, stating that I had to return to court to fight for Little Miss M’s guardianship and safety, moments before I went to bed. I fumed with frustration, I wept with sadness, I felt bitter with betrayal, and I simmered with anger. My daughter has stated in the court papers that I am slandering her. I am sure that she will think I am slandering her again by writing this letter to you, telling the truth of my life. She has accused me of slander for setting up a trust account to help pay for the care of Little Miss M. I am being honest, typing words of truth, bearing my soul, in hopes for financial assistance, and that other mothers can possibly relate to the difficulties which they may have to battle with their own daughters. I am sure that I am not the only one feeling heartbroken due to the massive cracks in our mother – daughter relationship. I am bearing my soul because if I did not relieve myself with writing this letter to you, I will explode from stress and agitation. I do not believe that writing the truth is an act of slander. My daughter is mentally ill. There is nothing that I can do until she chooses to get help. I used to talk to my youngest daughter by phone five to six times per day. For the past four months, we have not spoken a word to each other. It genuinely breaks my heart.
It was past one o’clock in the morning when I finally drifted off to sleep, escaping into a world which consisted of a multitude of flashing dreams. My inner turmoil was transcending into an erotic dreamscape. The first episode of dreams traveled me back in time, reuniting me with my best friend from high school. It felt comforting to spend time with someone who I had entrusted with my friendship, my inner demons, and listened to my confessions of an adolescent drama queen. Eventually my chimera eclipsed into a flight of fancy where it was a hot midsummer’s night. I saw visions of myself, side by side with a high school lover, embracing each other, naked in a lush and cool grassy park. Sometime during the night, I found myself roaming like a specter in my dreams. I was now in Paris with Anaïs Nin and you, Henry. Anaïs appeared so beautiful, alluring, and provocative, wearing a colorful, long, silk, 1920’s caftan robe, as she lay like a cat in heat on her gorgeous bed. Her milky white skin was exposed from the front opening of her colorful garment slipping open. Her female essence mesmerized me like a snake charmer does a serpent. Her silky skin enticed me even more, which her slipping caftan was now exposing her beautiful thighs. Her raven hair was long and loose. Her skin appeared delicate, soft and creamy white, much like a porcelain doll. Her lips were stained – red as roses. I observed her like a phantom from another world through an ethereal veil.
Anaïs’ erotic escapades began by making love to you, Henry. Your robust hands roamed upon her lovely breasts, squeezing her perky mounds of firm flesh, your fingertips grip her nipples like a vice and then rolled them between your fingertips. Anaïs throat hummed gratifying moans. Her delicate toes curled and uncurled as ecstasy rushed through her blood. Your traversing lips kissed her mouth, neck and breasts with a voracious appetite. Your lips suckled upon her erect nipples. Anaïs’ breath was jagged, her enchanting mouth was open wide, her exotic eyes closed in rhapsody, her mind sensing and absorbing every touch, thrust and wiggle. Your virile hands pushed her silky thighs far apart, causing Anaïs to moan with extreme arousal. Your fingers slicked upon her glossy, swollen labia, tickled and glided upon her arduous clitoris, and delve deep inside her honey hole, her body now writhing in a state of bawdy delirium.
I gasped with envy when your head vanished between Anaïs’ thighs. Your tongue lapping at her fruit like an over anxious child devouring an ice cream cone on hot, summer day. Anaïs’ moans escalated higher, rapidly becoming more frenzied. The memory of her thick, sultry cream abandoned upon your upper lip, when your head bobbed up for air, stained my brain, haunting me in the morning, hours after I had awoken.
I recall an eerie feeling as if I was being watched, when you and Anaïs peered in my direction. You depart Anaïs’ trembling body, and walk, muscular and naked, your skin glowing with sweat, towards the ethereal veil which I had assumed shielded me from your sight. I softly shriek with shocked disbelief when your hand firmly grabs my wrist, pulling me into your fantasia world.
“Bring her to me,” Anaïs pleaded with a lusty, moaning whisper. I witnessed her expose more of her thighs, slipping the silky caftan off her buttery skin. You pulled me completely through my ethereal veil. I was no longer a pellucid spirit in the night. I was a red, hot blooded woman, pulsing with fervid vitality. I could feel my ardent lust pump hard between my legs. The ache was so agonizing, I could hardly walk. When I looked down at my body, my nightgown had vanished. I was completely vulnerable and naked.
It was difficult to breathe when you guided my body towards Anaïs. I sucked down a large doze of fresh air before you pushed my head in between Anaïs’ thighs which quivered with anticipation.
“Taste her,” you spoke with a clear dominant tone.
Her love juice poured hotly from her sex – thick, creamy and wet. Her flavor pleased me – sweet and salty. My head was buried between her luscious thighs, my long, raven hair caressing upon the top of her bare legs. My back arched like a cat in heat, my buttocks rising higher in the air, anticipating your hand to strike hard upon my aroused flesh and your fingers to deeply explore within me. My titillating moans were muffled by Anaïs’ fleshy, pink folds of skin, when I finally received what I so desperately wanted from you. The strikes upon my glowing pink buttocks crashed like cymbals when your hand collided with my naked, firm skin. The music of sensuality penetrated the air. Our moans were sung like a choir, in tones of tenor, muffled alto, and high pitched soprano screams. My ass jutted further backwards to plunge your fingers deep inside me. My head arched backwards, my mouth briefly gasped for air before my tongue was wiggling faster and plunging deeper and more desperate into my beautiful lover. Anaïs was screaming with blissful passion. I felt so loved when she compassionately stroked my long, raven hair, while I licked her swollen clitoris, and plunged my tongue into her honey hole, as she comforted me like a mother would her child. My glossy, wet, stem of flesh stiffened, my sex ached more profusely, and my flowing lust dripped rapidly onto your fingers, knuckles and wrist.
Suddenly, my dream rapidly flashes forward in time. Anaïs, you and I are collapsed upon Anaïs’ large bed. Our bodies are entangled together. Musk permeates the air. I suddenly notice that all the erotic paintings hung on Anaïs’ bedroom wall, were painted by me. You are telling me in soft, raspy whispers, why you like my paintings so much, as your naked, muscular chest heaves up and down, attempting to catch your breath. I don’t remember painting them. I am astounding by the curves, the colors and the eroticism in this collection of artistic portraits. I quickly attempt to record the erotic images of art deep inside my brain, so that I can hopefully find the time to paint them when I awaken from this lascivious dream.
Eventually, I faded from this erogenous reverie , and was briskly dragged back into reality. The dawn was approaching. My loins continued to ache. My panties were soaked with moist lust. I could hear Little Miss M stirring in her bed. I closed my eyes tightly, wishing that Little Miss M would sleep just a little bit longer, so I could remain mesmerized and entertained by my sexual chimera. Soon, I heard her tiny feet shuffle across the hardwood floors and her little body, invading my side of the bed, pushing me closer to Mr. C. When my body presses tightly against my husband’s warm body, a surge of erotic energy tingled up and down my spine. I desperately wished that it was just him and me in the bed together. Unfortunately, this was not the case. I had to contain my sexual energy, slightly awaken from my lust-filled dreams, and attempt to find comfort in a crowded bed.
Finding comfort in a crowded bed never occurred. I was forced to completely wake up from this sensual dream and start my day taking care of Little Miss M. I have not felt the glorious emotion of sexual satisfaction for numerous months. Mr. C and I did not have the opportunity be intimate with each other on our wedding anniversary, due to taking care of Little Miss M. I have not had the opportunity to self – satisfy myself. I feel like I am going to explode into a million pieces soon, if I can’t find a way to relieve my sexual tension and escape from my daily stress.
The sensual images of my dream linger inside my mind throughout my day. The ache between my thighs haunted me. I daydream for time alone with Mr. C – or for time alone with myself. Unfortunately, I do not know when that will happen. Our nights and days continue to be occupied with the responsibilities of being a guardian of a small child. For now, my sexual escapades are contained deep inside my dreams.
My life is not always full of eroticism, glamour or excitement. I don’t always have a dazzling life as a burlesque star, a magician, an artist and an erotic writer. When I am not producing a burlesque show or slowly slipping off my elegant, glittering costumes, nylons and lingerie on stage, when I am not writing erotic letters to you, Henry, when I am not traveling to exotic or adventurous cities, such as Manhattan, San Francisco or Paris, I am living an ordinary life. I do not have the magic answers on how to publish the great American, romance novel. I do not have the correct answers on how to become a famous artist or to produce a successful burlesque show. I can only wing it as I move forward in life and hope that success will follow. Today, I am just a woman who is starting her life over, becoming a guardian to a very special child, who I love dearly. I will protect her and love her as best as I can, even if that means that I sacrifice my dreams.
For many years I have fantasized about becoming a published author, touring the world on a successful book tour. I have dreamed of observing my art work on famous gallery walls. I have worked hard, and more often than not, I have worked for free to build my career and my name, hoping that it would lead to something fantastic and financially rewarding someday. I have dreamed of a romantic, sexual life with Mr. C and that we would travel the world together, creating new adventures and erotic memories as we grow older in our lives. However, my road in life has drastically changed, since the death of Little Miss M’s father. I honestly don’t know if I will ever see my dreams materialize. All that I know is that I still have a loving, patient, understanding husband, a beautiful granddaughter, loving stepchildren, and close friends, who I hold near and dear to my heart.
The number thirteen has always been a magic number for Mr. C and me. We met on Friday, March 13, 1998. I imagined publishing the first book of fifty letters written to you, Henry, this year – 2013. I have been diligently writing this blog for almost two years. I still have a lot of re-editing to do, in order to get the first fifty letters ready for publishing. I have almost 18,000 hits on my blog. I expected my life to magically change for the better at the age of forty-five, when my children had become young adults. However, with the overwhelming responsibilities of taking care of Little Miss M, who has suddenly come into my life, and enduring the traumatic war between my youngest daughter and me, I do not know if my dreams will ever materialize. I often wish for a fairy Godmother to swish her magic wand to transform my life and manifest my dreams. It feels like all of my hard work, over the course of many years, has been for nothing. Presently, my days are now spent helping Little Miss M grow and develop into a fabulous, beautiful, stable, successful woman. I can only hope that I can make that happen, and that all of my sacrifices in my life to do so, are worthwhile.
Today, I feel extreme sadness that my life has not gone as I had originally planned. I try to flow like water down a raging river, with all of the changes and obstacles which have recently come into my life, as best as possible. Maybe my first book of fifty letters written to you, Henry Miller, will someday be published and maybe it won’t. But, I refused to give up. I have to keep trying to manifest my dreams, even if the process is slow and the outcome is unexpected.
I know deep in my soul that I was born to become a successful writer and artist. I was also created to be a maternal figure for others – to love and to cherish them, regardless if they hate me in the end. Sometimes we don’t always get what we desire. I have always done my best to be a good person, a good mother, and a good friend. I cannot do any better than I already have done. At least I have had the ability to travel in my life through literature, dreams, fantasies and real life experiences, prior to Little Miss M coming into my life. I am grateful that I have journeyed onward with my life with the gift of your numerous books depicting your sexual and enlightening life, Henry. I am definitely not an expert in life. I am just a woman trying to do the best I can to live each minute of my days as best as possible. It has been gratifying to experience the adventures which I have already journeyed, whether they have consisted of good or bad experiences. My life is an amazing, emotional roller coaster ride, full of climaxes and down slopes. I am left in this moment in my life, ready to uncover whatever mysteries are in my future. I will never give up on my dreams, regardless of what comes my way. I am not ashamed to be the sexually enlightened woman that I have become. I will not apologize to others. Nor will I feel shame for what my family members may think of me as I continue to slowly compose these letters to you, Henry. I have never required expensive, lavish, name brand fashions, a fancy house, a luxurious sports car, and a glamorous, rich life. I have only required your wisdom and guidance through the literature which you have left behind in your myriad of books, to help guide me as I continue onward to live my life. I have to believe that my investment in purchasing your books and my time reading them will eventually pay off. I have sacrificed so much of my life, contributing my time to reading, writing, art work, and taking care of my family. At this moment in my life, I feel that my dreams may never prosper. I have to hang onto a small thread of faith. I cannot believe that my efforts will be for nothing.
I must end this letter Henry, Little Miss M is full of mayhem today. It makes it difficult to write.
Bisous, Mon Amour,
“I had a feeling that Pandora’s box contained the mysteries of woman’s sensuality, so different from a man’s and for which man’s language was so inadequate. The language of sex had yet to be invented. The language of the senses was yet to be explored.” – Anais Nin, Delta of Venus