mia loves henry miller

Letter 19 – The Nightclub, The Gothic, The Kinky, and the Land of the Misfits Toys

“I masturbate often, luxuriously, without remorse or after distaste. For the first time I know what it is to eat. I have gained four pounds. I get frantically hungry, and the food I eat gives me lingering pleasure. I never ate before in this deep carnal way. I have only three desires now, to eat, to sleep, and to fuck. The cabarets excite me. I want to hear raucous music, to see faces, to brush against bodies, to drink fiery Benedictine. Beautiful women and handsome men arouse fierce desires in me. I want to dance. I want drugs. I want to know perverse people, to be intimate with them. I never look at naïve faces. I want to bite into life, and to be torn by it. Henry does not give me all this. I have aroused his love. Curse his love. He can fuck me as no one else can, but I want more than that. I’m going to hell, to hell, to hell. Wild, wild, wild. ” –Anais Nin, Henry and June Diaries, page 179

12/21/2011 4:37 p.m.

Dear Henry Miller,

I’m in a hurry. It’s the last days before Christmas – America is in chaos! I need to go shopping tonight. I’ve put things off far too long. I must get this pre-holiday stuff done. However, I’m finding a little bit of time to write to you. I want to tell you about a place that has been so important to me and to the story of my adult life – my kinky, erotic nights at the Minneapolis nightclub, GZ.

“She’s a very kinky girl…the kind you don’t bring home to mother…” Rick James, Super Freak lyrics.

12/22/2011 9:18 a.m.

I finished most of my holiday shopping. I’m so relieved – most of it is done! Mr. C and I even found the time to get a haircut. My hair is so long, thick and heavy! I had a few inches taken off the length to reduce some of the burden of having long hair. My home is looking more colorful, vibrant, cute and classic, as each day approaches near Christmas Eve. It’s hard to imagine that a year has almost passed since my mother in-law died. She was very ill this time last year, suffering with congestive heart failure. I miss her. We used to cook together during the holidays. Now, I’m the main woman of the house, which I’m finally taking the time to decorate it in my style. It had looked so drab with neutral colors, mostly browns and rusts, with a little hint of green.

My stepdaughter will be surprised when she comes over tonight, to help me with the last bit of cleaning and cooking, before company arrives, and after, we meet at the venue we are performing our New Year’s Eve Burlesque show. I have been decorating with colorful fabrics, miscellaneous knick – knacks, pictures of NYC, art work, and two oriental, black and white screens. I’ve dramatically increased the energy in the living room, where I write my letters to you, to a much higher level. I even put a painting of you in here, above our fireplace, to inspire me when I write. I also love looking at your handsome, debonair face.

Since, my time is short because it’s the holiday season, I’m going to cut, paste and revise a diary entry about the nightclub, into this letter to you, which was published in an early edition of Mindcaviar.com, year 2000.

* Beginning of MindCaviar.com Diary Entry – 2000 *

“People living deeply have no fear of death.” –Anais Nin

Ever since I can recall I’ve been intrigued by the realms of BDSM. My first fantasy in regard to this lifestyle occurred during my grade school years watching old, Count Dracula movies in the school gym on Saturday afternoons. I loved it when the damsel-in-distress would be chained to the dungeon wall, a helpless victim to her prey. For whatever reason, it intrigued me. As an adult, I love the feeling of surrender and acceptance, as well as the eroticism and sensory stimulation.

My husband and I have been involved in the BDSM lifestyle almost since we’ve met. He is always my Dom and I, his submissive. I prefer it that way. We are not a vanilla sex couple. We are equal outside of the bedroom yet, in the bedroom, I prefer to be a woman to my man, and allow him to do to as he will (within reason of course). I’m a person who loves to experience creativity and role play. It’s what makes my sex life with my husband more interesting and what continues to keep me feeling awake and alive.

There’s something I enjoy so much about surrendering and trusting in another. When my eyes are blindfolded, my sense of touch is heightened. When my arms and legs are no longer in my control, I learn to let go to the moment and find satisfaction in every sensation. It’s as if I’m trying to gather up every impression from every second and bottle it up, so that I can reuse the memory later on. I have orgasms without ever having penetration– by the simple pleasure of being played with by my husband’s toys and other sensuous devices.

“I must be a mermaid. I have no fear of depths, and a great fear of shallow living.” –Anais Nin

The first night I went to GZ, I observed the sinful, metal chair on stage along with the resident Dominant. I sensed a chill travel down my spine and the instant need to be tied up and spanked. Sometimes my quick impulse to do what I want can be one of my downfalls, but sometimes it can work to my advantage. I have such a voracious appetite for life -the zest to feel everything and experience it all sometimes consumes me.

I couldn’t bite my tongue any longer – I could no longer resist this sinful temptation. I finally walked up to the stage area, asking this handsome Dom, “So who gets tied up in that chair?” I stared at the perplexing, metal apparatus with curiosity and a warm wetness between my thighs. He told me it was generally used for performers, but that I could be the one to get the treatment that night. I practically ran up on stage; I felt like a little kid again, excited as if I was about to go on a frightful ride at the fair.

My heart pounded fast with arousal, trepidation, and uncertainty when I sat down in the cold, metal chair, which was suspended from the ceiling with heavy pieces of silver linked chain. Soon, I felt a black, leather blindfold restricted my sight, I felt two, wide leather cuffs being fastened to my wrists, and then I was bound to the upper sides of the chair. After, more leather cuffs were applied to each one of my ankles and I was then attached to a metal “T” bar, which was extended before me at the bottom front of the chair.

Consternation mixed with titillation dripped slowly within, like a continuous fluid running through a hospital intravenous line – when I heard the hoisting of the chains and felt myself move toward the ceiling. When the chains ceased a few feet up, I felt the tease of a soft, sensuous feather caress lightly on my skin. Instantly, my body melted with a warm sensation which made my panties soaking wet.

Suddenly, the warm feeling ceased – I felt a cold shiver travel through me. This dominant stranger was now tormenting the upper part of my chest and arms with a piece of cold ice. My back arched high, almost out of the chair when the icy crystals started melting and I felt an arctic stream flow down my heated skin until it slipped beneath my black leather dress, freezing my perky breasts.

When the ice had completely melted, he pulled the top of my dress open, inserted the tongs which had previously held the ice, until it reached my cold, stiff nipples, which sent another gush of wetness onto my panties. My body quivered –I moaned with pleasure when he pinched my extremely, sensitive skin, and then moved his hand back and forth to make the tongs vibrate until I almost reached orgasm from the stimulation.

Shortly thereafter, while I was attempting to catch my breath, I felt the tongs being released and a fresh piece of ice skim over my skin which was exposed on my chest above my dress – it felt exquisite, and so sensual. My body squirmed in the metal seat again, attempting to savor the cool, pleasing sensations, until scalding drips of hot wax interrupted my gratification. I didn’t want this man, who I didn’t know, to see me flinch. I did all I could to remain still and endure the heat. In time I found pleasure within the pain, causing the wax to feel almost as good as the soft, brushing strokes of a feather.

By this time I was feeling extremely stimulated, my hips were grinding hard into the seat of the chair-I was so wet with the need to be satisfied. However, my drenching desire for penetration didn’t come and I began to feel the sting of this dominant man’s cat o’ nine tails whip against my heaving chest. Instinctively, my chest rising to meet the biting tips of soft, cruel leather, revelling once more in the pain. A salacious shiver moved through every part of me when I felt his cat o’nine tails travel down my body until it whipped between my spread thighs, near my soaking wet sex. The biting sting made my body grind, gyrate, shiver, and moan from all of the sensations I was experiencing, and I wanted to be fucked! Oh, so bad! I could hardly wait to get home to have my husband satisfy my desperate, aching needs.

This Dominant, handsome man must have sensed how aroused I was, because soon I felt a large, vibrating device, move across the tips of my nipples, beneath my bra. Slowly, his toy moved down my body until he was teasing me with it on the outside of my thighs. Rapaciously I moved my hips until I could get the vibrator to pulsate on my aching clit. When the toy was exactly where I wanted it – my hips vehemently lifted high, my back arching again, pulling away from the cold, metal seat. My mind was in Lala Land, mushy and euphoric. My senses were being bathed in a warm, intoxicating pool of orgasmic bliss.

“Cerulean blue and Indian yellow, she decides, colors, that is all she can think about, colors, as the burning heat between her legs slowly diminishes to a slow steady ache.” –Karen Moline, Lunch page 136 My body shook hard with my excitement. I’m pretty certain that the people, who were observing near the stage, knew that I was enjoying myself by my extreme reactions. Eventually I collapsed back into the chair, and then felt my weak, trembling limbs being released one by one until I was free again. I sighed with disappointment for I didn’t want my session to end. I wanted to experience so much more. * End of MindCaviar.com – Diary Entry 2000 *

12/25/2011 6:30 p.m.

Merry Christmas Henry! I’m exhausted. Yet, I feel good to spend time with my family during Christmas. We had an amazing, slow cooked, roast beef dinner with many other dishes, appetizers, and desserts. It’s finally over. I finally have some time to relax, and write a little bit more to you.

“The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.” –Nelson Mandela, Autobiography

I recall how apprehensive I felt to even go to GZ for the first time. Friend’s of Mr. C and I, had asked us to go with them, several times, a few months prior to actually going. I still think fondly of them. If it wasn’t for them introducing us to one of the most eye-opening, richest experiences in my life, I wouldn’t have adventured into six sensual years – journeying into realms I never dreamed of – performing with MJ as her submissive and being as a very passionate Bondage A-Go-Go dancer, loving to wear sexy, glittery costumes, slipping deep into the dance zone, my feet and body carrying me away into another world – a place so surreal, serene, uncomplicated, and blissful.

This nightclub is located near the French Catholic Church in NE Minneapolis, where my paternal, Polish grandmother, who I was very close to, would bring me almost every Sunday. It made me feel so guilty, at first to have such sinful fun at GZ. I eventually rid myself of Catholic guilt, seeking pleasure in my erroneous, erotic adventures.

“The birth of the butterfly is one of the most mysterious and miraculous things in biology. It’s a good illustration that, ‘Out of the ashes rises the Phoenix,’ or ‘Out of evil comes good.’ The butterfly was just a lowly worm in its beginning. The worm didn’t live with the moment to moment expectations of sprouting wings and taking flight. He lived a useful and productive life, the life of a worm. And he had to die as a worm, to be born as an angel.” –Henry Miller, Reflections

Back in the day, the nightclub would be packed, wall to wall, with a variety of so many unique individuals – gay, transgender, beautiful, sexy women dressed in vibrant, shiny fetish attire with long elegant, black whips or crops in hand. Dominant men with floggers, leading a beautiful submissive female slave, tightly bound in an alluring corset and wearing a glamorous collar – around GZ by a silver chain leash. Lovely girls rode upon the pony boy who would often give rides to the sexy, female customers and dancers, around the dance floor. Submissive men lavishly licking on a gorgeous woman’s foot upstairs, while observing MJ torture a willing, almost naked submissive woman or man.

My eyes would stare at all the beautiful, sensual, talented Go-Go dancers, costumed extremely skimpy and very sexy – their lean bodies, dancing, twirling, their shapely hips, erotically gyrating, bumping, and grinding, upon cat walks, inside ornate cages, upon wooden dance pedestals, or a dimly lit stair landing. My heart pounded with envy and excitement, observing them. I had this desperate ache inside me to become a Bondage A-Go-Go dancer – it was a deep, lusty need – a powerful hypnotic desire – grasping me so fervently – so tightly, holding me a captive and not letting go! I wanted to become part of this place from the moment I entered the doors. It became an obsession, a thrilling place to experience life, a place where I could just let go, be completely liberated to be myself, during submissive performances or while I was dancing – it was like an amazing, blissful dream.

Eventually, with persistence, passion and tenacity, I became a regular submissive, performing with the Dom who generally occupied the down stairs stage area, during the beginning of my GZ journey. After, several weeks, my need to be a Go-Go dancer hadn’t diminished. I finally found the courage and asked the owner of the nightclub, permission to dance inside the cages, catwalks, and pedestals. My wish was granted. I was elated, feeling like a kid again. I practically ran to one of the dance posts – I never left it, unless I had to pee, to take a smoke break, or perform with MJ or the Dom, until the end of the night. Every muscle in my body ached the next day. I could hardly move – only smile with a happy, intoxicated twinkle in my eyes. I eventually got used to the vigorous work outs on dance nights at GZ. I found my balance in a pair of shiny, slick black Go-Go boots. I found that I could slip into the zone dancing, as well as I could slip into sub-space as a submissive. The sensation was enthralling!

Now, whenever I encounter a task I don’t prefer, or when I’m creating art or when I am writing, I think of myself high on that catwalk, dancing until my heart’s content, smiling from living life with zeal and thrill, and then I surrender to the moment and let whatever happens occur – to allow myself to create art or write under the influence of being in the same serene zone I slipped into when I danced at GZ. It helps me to find my hypnotic flow – my creative groove.

For almost two years, since the day I walked through the doors of GZ, I felt distant from everyone who worked at the nightclub. Being an intense writer and artist, I lack in my social skills. I’m more of an observer than a social butterfly. I’m grateful for Mr. C and his immense social skills – he balances my inability to communicate well. I’m a better writer and artist.

“I am now absolutely at one with my destiny and reconciled to anything which may happen. I haven’t the slightest fear about the future because I have learned how to live in the present.” –Henry Miller, The Cosmological Eye.

I wasn’t ever initially hired at the nightclub. I just showed up early every Thursday night, before any of the other performers, because I was so anxious for the night to begin. I was a writer and artist by day, isolated from other adults with my work. I also had two small children, a young teenage stepson, a husband, and a household to run. I needed an escape from my isolation, and my mommy and housewife monotony. My nights dancing and performing were like valium – it mellowed me out – helped me deal with domestic stress. I absolutely loved getting dressed up so sexy, wearing glittering costumes, wearing dark, glamorous make up, and inventing creative hair styles. I figured that if GZ didn’t want me there as a performer and dancer, they could tell me to leave. That never happened. I danced and played hard every Thursday and eventually, Saturday night, for over six years. I would be the first dancer on and the last dancer to leave her post, with a huge smile on my face from the moment I started, until the moment the night ended. I loved every last second of each night, passionately dancing to the industrial tech, techno – trance music, or house music, wishing I could make those moments last forever.

My financial wealth sucked during those early days. It was soon after 911. During the most difficult times in my life and the most memorable times, I would make the best out of nothing – spending hours sewing or beading my costumes, for the nights I danced and performed at GZ. I used whatever fabric and materials were available to me, as well as diligently shopped at thrift stores. I also spent so many nights with my old friend, my Kenmore sewing machine, which I purchased in the late 80’s, shortly after my first son was born. It has stood by me for so many long, tiring hours. I worked hard before, during, and after my nights at GZ, sewing, dancing, performing, and writing about my experiences the day after, to publish in my column at MindCaviar.com. I also worked very hard to gain my status at the nightclub, passionately in love with dancing and performing. No words can describe the exaltation I felt when I was at the nightclub.

“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.” –Dr. Seuss

Sometimes it’s a good thing, that I’m naïve, free spirited, and brave enough to just be me, and wasn’t initially a part of the in crowd at GZ. I had no clue that my vibrant colored costumes blinded the eyes of the Gothic, who frequently attended. Instead of wearing the “all famous” gothic black, I wore vibrant reds, illuminating whites, glittering silvers, shimmery aqua, glittering gold, etc…I was too wrapped up in my own world to even care about what others might think. I had no idea if people in the large crowds hated or liked me. I just continued to show up, week after week – costuming myself in any fashion that appeased me. I wasn’t really looking for friends or fans – I was just doing what I loved to do!

“I never kept up with the fashions. I believed in wearing what I thought looked good on me.” —Bettie Page “For years I had my hair parted down the middle in a ponytail, tucked down around the sides… Well, I went and cut the bangs, and I’ve been wearing them ever since. They say it’s my trademark.” —Bettie Page

In the beginning, I would have all of my make-up on for my upcoming evening at GZ. My thick, long, glossy black hair was generally styled in Bettie Page fashion, which took me hours to curl. I was already costumed for the night. I had been doing my hair like this for several years before I ever knew about pin-ups and Bettie Page. It wasn’t until I saw my very first video of Betty Page, playing on one of the large screens at GZ, did I see the resemblance between her hair and mine. I would wear a long coat over my very sexy, skimpy outfit, so I wasn’t overexposed leaving my suburban home and walking into the nightclub. I didn’t use the dressing room at GZ for two years. I didn’t know the other performers very well either. I sometimes felt lost in the dark. I often thought during those early days, if I am doing anything wrong, someone will tell me, and make me leave. If not, I’m here to dance my heart out, and thrill the crowds with erotic performances on stage. In the early days I never missed a night at GZ. I could tell you a thousand stories about my adventures there. But, I won’t tell you about every single detail in this letter. I will intermittently tell you more details as I progress with these letters to you, in time. I think you will find them highly entertaining Henry.

I will tell you just a little bit more in this letter, then I need some sleep…

Eventually, MJ sought me out, taking the time to get to know me. She was aware that I had an erotic web site – she wanted to talk with me about it. She was thinking about starting her own web site. My web site was a lot of work, with writing, modeling, and creating erotic art work, but taking a lot of hits at this time, with the help of Mr. C, Jamie Joy Gatto and MindCaviar.com. From the moment I met MJ, I thought that she was beautiful on the inside and out, down to earth and very humble. We are very similar, yet, so different – polar opposites. If it wasn’t for her, I don’t know if I ever would’ve connected with so many people at GZ, or the Minneapolis area. Eventually, I became a regular fixture at the nightclub, performing in erotic skits, naughty scenes, and Go-Go dancing high on the catwalk, often playing and dancing with really hot and sexy women.

“The world is simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls, and interesting people. Forget yourself.” –Henry Miller

I have met some of my best friends at this nightclub – a place where I never imagined myself connecting with anyone. Over the years, MJ opened my eyes wide, connecting me with so many intriguing, spicy, eclectic, unique individuals. What I enjoyed the most was that GZ was a place like no other, entertaining people from all walks of life. What I originally thought was dark, weird, and at times disturbing, I found later was people with good hearts, enlightened minds, free spirited individuals, kinky people, sexy couples and flavorful, one of kind friends. Yet, the common thread was that none of us really fit anywhere else – GZ was the land for the misfit toys. What some could appear as frightening were only a large mass of people who openly expressed their individuality, their artistic expression, and their genuine uniqueness, and sexual preferences. A deep, rich painting of people gathered at GZ – People with vibrant, colorful Mohawks, numerous piercings, large or excessive tattoos, wild and sexy fetish gear, men with foot fetishes, the Gothic, the weird, the enlightened, and the perverse.

Over the course of time, I embraced them all. There was simply never anything to fear. It was the people who appeared normal, wearing the same brands of shoes, purses and clothing as everyone else, who began to frighten me. GZ and MJ opened my eyes to a whole different world. I’m so glad that I took the jump down Alice’s imaginary hole, dropping into a land too unique to fully describe. I’m happy that my friends, who I consider family, all seem to belong with me in the land of the misfit toys. Not all of us really fit, but somehow we naturally belonged at this unique club, Ground Zero. I wouldn’t want it any other way!

Finished this letter 12/26/2011 9:59 p.m.

Good night Henry,

Much Love,

Mia

“Let me be, was all I wanted. Be what I am, no matter how I am.” –Henry Miller, Stand Still Like the Hummingbird