mia loves henry miller

Letter 22 – Into the Night with Mr. C, Jacuzzi Jets, Dorothy, Munchkins, and the Yellow Brick Road

“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. Such individuals do not fall in love, they simply 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

1/2/12 1:09 p.m.

Dear Henry Miller,

When Mr. C and I first met, we took many long drives – weekend trips, either in Minnesota or nearby states, when I didn’t have my kids and he didn’t have his. Sometimes our trips were so profoundly erotic, they remain stuck in my memory, haunting me, until I write them down. I still love it when we are able to get away, taking a long road trip, adventuring to a place we have never visited. It’s in the car, travelling somewhere new, when I get to connect on a deep level with my husband. We are focused on each other – not distracted by work, telephones, household chores, computers, televisions, etc….It’s one of my favorite things to do with Mr. C. I love to experience new destinations, new sexual experiences, and create new memories with him. It revitalizes us as a couple. It recharges our love life. It re-ignites energy within each of us, which I feel is so important.

It was over a decade ago – an extremely hot summer evening – the humidity unbearable. I wanted to look nice for Mr. C. We were in the beginning months of our dating phase. It took me over an hour to curl my hair, put on make – up and dress in something sexy to wear – a hot pink summer dress, Its thin straps elegantly criss – crossing in the back, with only a small pair of white laced thongs beneath it.

“The richest love is that which submits to the arbitration of time.” –Lawrence Durrell

Mr. C was very happy with my appearance when he arrived, showing his gratitude by kissing and pawing at me like a hungry tiger. Mr. C had planned a mysterious rendezvous for us, but first he had a surprise for me. My heart raced with apprehension, arousal and thrill, when he showed me a new toy he bought at Fantasy Gifts on his drive to my home. It was my first look at kinky type gear – two nipple nooses connected by a pretty thin chain. The little pink man in my boat stood stiff, blood pumping fervently, the head glistening with wetness, when Mr. C unzipped my dress, letting it slide to the floor. With commanding hands, he applied the nooses to each stiff, stimulated nipple. His right hand pulling tightly on the cold chain linking them together – making the nooses tighter around my nipples, making me feel as if the titillation I felt in my nipples was somehow connected to my clit – a bawdy fire blazed between my firm thighs.

My aching desire to be fucked was unsatisfied – only heightened when Mr. C blindfolded my eyes with a long, soft, silk scarf, pulling up my dress, zipping it, and then firmly leading me to our car. He left the torturous toy upon both nipples, which were still zipping with pain. After we got into our vehicle, Mr. C reached over, snuck his hand beneath the front top of my dress, tugging on the pretty chain dangling between my breasts, a couple more times, before we drove off into the night. The pain and pleasure stole my breath away – rushing adrenaline intoxicated me.

A summer storm brewed above, as we began our long drive – a destination, which still remained to me – unknown. I could see through the scarf, bright flashes of lightening slashing the slate black sky. I heard large drops of rain pounding hard upon the car’s windshield and rooftop, and the fast sound of windshield wipers, swiping quickly to clear away the down pour. My head tilted with curiosity when the car stopped, approximately a little over an hour after we left my home. Mr. C permitted me to take off my blindfold – we were at a gas station. I was relieved. I needed to pee.

“Sometimes in the street, or in a café, I am hypnotized by the “pimp” face of a man, by a big workman with knee-high boots, by a brutal, criminal head. I feel a sensual tremor of fear, an obscure attraction. The female in me trembles and is fascinated. For one second only, I am a prostitute who expects a stab in the back. I feel anxiety. I feel trapped. I forget that I am free. A subterranean primitivism? A desire to feel the brutality of a man, the force which can violate? To be violated is perhaps a need in woman, a secret erotic need. I have to shake myself from the invasion of these violent images, awaken.” –Anais Nin, Diary 1934-1939

“Take off your panties when you are finished in the bathroom,” Mr. C instructed, before I opened the car door. “I don’t want you to come back with them on, understand?”

Another fervid flush of thrill and arousal moved through me like a mad fever. I loved the rousing sensation of Mr. C’s domination. Until then, I had never dated a man so strong and domineering. I was the one who was in charge, in my ten year marriage to my ex-husband. I felt a deep sense of security in submitting my life over to someone else for a change – someone who I completely trusted. I nodded my head, understanding his request, turned around, walking into the gas station horny as hell, heading for the ladies restroom.

My curls wilted from the rain – my hair now cold, straight, and wet. I wanted to do the two finger shuffle while in the ladies restroom stall, but held back. I yearned to be driven to the insane edge of my horny – madness by my lover, not by me. I denied myself, obediently slipping off my panties, shoving them in my purse, and walking out of the gas station with a naughty grin. Until then, I’d never done something so daring.

“’Let me see if it hurts inside,’ I whispered, withdrawing my hand and deftly slipping it under the filmy shift and up her cunt. The juices were oozing from her; her legs slipped farther apart, responsive to the slightest pressure in my hand.” –Henry Miller, Sexus, book one and two

“Spread your legs,” Mr. C instructed, shortly after, I got back into the car, buckled my seat belt, and after he removed the painful nipple nooses. My eyes watering from the torment of blood rushing back into my nipples. Yet, the pain was bittersweet, only heightening my provocation.

Soon, we were back on the road, driving again on a dark, quiet highway, thunder roaring in the background, lightening still slashing the sky with anger. Immediately, I obeyed Mr. C’s command, my hot, rousing thrill rising again to an extremely feverish level – my anticipation to be played with and penetrated, was unbearable! My heart was beating fast, galloping at a race horse pace, when Mr. C’s right hand abandoned the steering wheel, his arm reaching over towards me, his hand now groping between my legs in the darkness, feeling the heat radiate from my sex.

My head tipped back in the passenger seat, my eyes shut, concentrating on every single satisfying stroke. My erotic moans orchestrated with the thunder rolling in the distance. Every once in awhile a car, truck, or SUV would zip past us, oblivious to what was going on inside of our car – what was steaming up our windows from the inside – we were lost in our own private, impassioned world.

Mr. C’s imperious hands and deft fingers moved confidently – around and around, up and down, in and out, flicking, curling, fingering, and moving in synch with my lusty body. I quivered with electric energy each time he took me to the brink of orgasm, greedily sucking in the energy caused from the friction of his hand and the electrifying energy of the twilight storm. I sighed with disappointment, even muttered with frustration, when the movement in his hand would suddenly cease. Mr. C cruelly made me impatiently wait a bit before playing again with the drenched, insatiable parts of me. When he began again, he didn’t stop until my body quivered relentlessly, barely capable of handling anymore. The pleasure of his hand was driving me insane with pleasure.

“Please…stop…”I protested in a quiet whisper, unsure if I really wanted him to. It felt so good, yet my sensitivity to the pleasure was almost agonizing, making my body squirm, twitch and turn with every touch.

“Please….stop…I can’t…please…stop…” I continued to softly whine, protesting his torment, uncertain if I could handle much more.

Regardless of my soft pleas for him to cease, my body continued to squirm, quiver and arch, as if his fingers and my hips were perfectly choreographed with my body’s desire and sexual rhythm. I continued on, somehow finding the strength within me to move forward in time, welcoming his strong, powerful fingers to flick, tickle, rub and dance across my glossy clit, teasing me for what seemed forever. Every once in awhile Mr. C would plunge one finger or two deep, deep within, curling and thrusting inside my contracting, wet, swollen walls of pink flesh. But never long enough for me to orgasm with great strength, power, energy and release.

“Tell me what you want?” He firmly demanded. “I won’t stop until you tell me what you want.”

I couldn’t utter a word. His torment continued until it was hours after midnight, and we stopped at a large hotel in Grand Rapids, MN. By then, I was insanely mad to be fucked! I was very surprised by our hotel suit in Grand Rapids, Minnesota, admiring the king size bed, with four, large, wooden posts to easily bound my limbs to, with my wide, anxious eyes. My clit pulsated hard with rushing blood, fantasizing about what would occur in that large bed.

My curiosity awakened, hearing water running in the bathroom. Mr. C was no longer by my side. When I entered the small, dimly lit bathroom, I was delighted to see a deep tub with several silver Jacuzzi jets – its silver faucet outpouring hot, steaming water. When it was full, Mr. C stripped my body bare, held my hand, guiding me with his despotic body language, no words spoken, into the deep bath. Instantly, my body relaxed, felt loose, and soothed, when my naked body immersed completely, into the large, deep tub – Jacuzzi jets pulsating streams of hot water, swirling the water around me, pounding delightfully into my sore muscles from the long car ride.

I shut my eyes, luxuriating in the gentle, sensual sensation of Mr. C dipping my head further back into the water, to get my hair wet. His hand caressing my head with shampoo, bubbly lather sticking to his hands. Like a gentle parent would their child, he rinsed my hair and rubbed conditioner into it, smoothing it into my silky strands. When he rinsed it out, he rubbed a small bar of hotel soap over my chest, around my breasts, my tender nipples, my areolas, and southward to my highly sensitive cunt, cherishing and cleansing my body – every inch of it. He made me feel so nurtured, safe, liberated, and sexually enlightened – awakening a lusty, sex craved demon inside me.

My chocolate brown eyes rolled upward in bliss, my long eyelashes bordering my almond shaped eyes, fluttering in erotic shock, when Mr. C positioned my body in the tub so that one of the Jacuzzi jets pulsated hard and fast between my thighs. The pounding intensity on my love button drove me wild, insane, plunging me further and further into a surreal, lecherous, mind-blowing realm.

Sometimes, my eyes drifted in and out of focus, occasionally glimpsing at the wicked smile of satisfaction Mr. C exhibited on his face – he enjoyed his control of me – feeding off the energy that my acquiescence gave to him. Our power exchange was like jumper cables on two high voltage car batteries. My strong surge of orgasms continued on and on, my body fatigued from so many muscles in my body contracting and releasing, for such a long time.

“Her eyes were closed, her nerves asleep, but under his hand her body slipped down a dune into warm waves lapping over each other, rippling her skin…sensual thrusts wakened the dormant walls of flesh, and tongues of fire flicked towards his hard lashings piercing the kernel of mercury, disrupting a current of fire through the veins. The burning fluid of ecstasy eddying madly and breaking, loosening a river of pulsations. The core of ecstasy burst to the rhythmic pounding, until his hard thrusts spurted burning fluid against the walls of flesh, impulsion within the womb like a thunderbolt.” –Anais Nin, Aphrodisiac

The heated moisture continued to flow from my sex, even after Mr. C guided me out of the tub, gingerly, attentively, and gently drying my naked, wet body with a plush, hotel towel. He even took the time to brush my hair – the sensation so sensual and loving. After, he led me into the bedroom, took out four silk scarves from his overnight bag, and bound my wrists and ankles to the four-poster bed.

Mr. C’s lips and tongue trailed down my naked, vulnerable body. I gasped with surprise, and then moaned with blissful pleasure when his tongue whipped and flicked ever so lightly, back and forth upon the highly sensitive tip of my clitoris. The bottoms of my feet and toes tingled with a hot, sensuous sensation. I was a bound, helpless, submissive lover to Mr. C. His hands and tongue enslaved me to him. My sexual appetite increased second by second. I felt voracious. My hips wanted to buck high, but couldn’t due to my restraints were pulling tightly on my limbs. Mr. C knew how bad I wanted to come, but he wanted to torture me with pleasure until I was completely mad with the desperate need to be fucked!

“Please let me make myself come, please, please, please!” I begged. Eventually, my arms and legs were released from the imprisoning scarves. It was extremely late – after 3 a.m. Mr. C handed me a powerful vibrator; giving me permission to make myself come. I could hardly keep the tip of the vibrator upon my clit, it was so sensitive – the palms of my hands so sweaty. A long string of silent screams escaped my mouth, sounding like a soft hissing from a tea-pot, when I finally climaxed.

“Fuck me!” I demanded, “Fuck me now! Please!”

And so he did, his pounding thrusting cock shooting me further and further into an idyllic, ecstatic, explosive dimension. Desperately, I flung both of my legs over his shoulders so I could feel him pound me deeper and deeper – my fleshy, wet walls constricting tighter and tighter around his hard, thrusting flesh. I felt enormous tidal waves of peaking orgasms move through me like a violent waves on a stormy sea. My body dropped on the bed in a heap of exhaustion, when we both eventually came. It wasn’t very long, before I was fast asleep. My mind drifting into exhausted darkness – a blank dreamscape without words, sounds or pictures.

The next morning I was extremely hungry! We went to a small, greasy-spoon café, in the quaint town of Grand Rapids. I was devouring a huge stack of pancakes, oozing with butter, and dripping with thick maple syrup, when I looked out the large glass café window, saw several, life-sized characters from my favorite book – The Wizard of Oz – I bubbled over with excitement and thrill! Mr. C and I had no idea that Judy Garland had grown up in Grand Rapids, Minnesota, and the town of Grand Rapids was celebrating her birthday. Apparently, they do this every year.

I used to read the Wizard of Oz to my kids at night, when they were younger. I have always loved the philosophical metaphors in the story. I used to travel with my family, north to the cabin, when I was a kid. We stopped in Grand Rapids on our way there, all of the time. It was the last big town before we reached Marcel, Minnesota, where the cabin was. My father would buy my brother, sister, and I, comics and Mad Magazines, at one of the town drug stores.

The cabin we stayed at in the summer, had been previously owned by Hugh Beaumont, the father from the hit television series, “Leave it to Beaver.” He was the only star I knew of back then, who once resided so deep in Minnesota’s northern country. I had no idea that a movie star like Judy Garland, grew up in a town, very near the cabin our family would vacation at – a movie star whom I adored – until my highly erotic road trip with Mr. C.

“Grand Rapids is a beautiful, beautiful town, its right in the middle of the iron ranges of Minnesota, surrounded by lakes.” –Judy Garland, talking about her home

I was enamored, anxious to see what was going on across the street – at the Itasca Heritage Center Museum. The waitress gave us a little bit of history about Judy Garland and the reason we saw The Tin man, The Lion, The Good Witch, The Bad Witch, Dorothy, and the Scarecrow. I shoveled in the last bit of my pancakes, pleading with Mr. C to take across the street to see the festive celebration and people dressed as my favorite, story book characters.

Mr. C insisted that I have my photo taken with all of the characters from the Wizard of OZ. I did so – my smile as big as a child on Christmas. We visited the museum, which had numerous Judy Garland artifacts, and walked upon the circular, Yellow Brick Road, reading dedications on the bricks, which were endearing, outside the museum in the courtyard.

Afterwards, we went to Judy Garland’s home, visiting where she once lived as a child. I viewed everything in her small house with awe. In her backyard, there were so many festive things going on, in celebration of her birthday. Mr. C and I even got to meet several of the original munchkins from the Wizard of Oz movie, and bought autographed photos from them.

My mood was upbeat with happiness as we began our drive home. We had the perfect weekend – sex was amazing! I felt re-charged! The afternoon heat was subsiding – the summer evening brought in cooler currents of air. Humidity loosened it’s grip. My suffering from the afternoon heat, slowly diminishing.

We stopped at a place just out of Grand Rapids, to purchase several pints of fresh, delicious strawberries. We didn’t eat them until we reached Mille Lacs Lake, where we stopped to enjoy the beautiful scenery, the fresh air and the ripe, juicy fruit. It was the perfect summer evening near the enormous, fresh water lake. The large waves lulled me into a semi-serene state – the soft wind blowing my hair in my face, tickling my cheeks with the ends of a few stray strands.

I knew that I was falling deeper in love with Mr. C and it enthralled and frightened me, at the same time. It was almost the end of our weekend rendezvous. I didn’t want it to end. I knew that regardless of my fear of intimacy with Mr. C, that I wanted him in my life. I didn’t want to have to say goodbye to him after such an amazing weekend.

And it was difficult to do so when Mr. C pulled up in my drive way. I was so scared of him getting so close to me, and so deeply in love with him, back in those early days. Sometimes I would hold him at an arms distance – sometimes I would pull him closer. I am sure my ambiguity was very confusing for Mr. C. in the beginning. Eventually, I surrendered my fight and just loved him. I still do to this day – more and more every day. We’ve shared so many amazing, erotic journeys together. It’s hard to believe that we’ve been together almost 14 years. We’ve had so much fun – time has zipped by fast.

“Love is complete and utter surrender. That’s a big word, surrender. It doesn’t mean letting people walk all over you, take advantage of you. It’s when we surrender control, to let go of our egos, that all the love in the world is there waiting for us. Love is not a game; it’s a stage of being.” –Henry Miller, Reflections

1/3/12 7:30 p.m.

I can hardly keep my eyes open. My head is nodding and bobbing, my eyes closing often, my consciousness drifting into sleep for a few seconds, at frequent intervals, until I snap my head up again, awakening, and peering at my computer screen with blurry eyes. I’m still tired from the big New Year’s Eve show. I must end this letter – too tired to write any longer.

Good night Henry!

Much Love,

Mia

(Photography by David Gustafson)