Friday, January 23, 2009

"Mariola and the High Priest of Grooviness"

[The Following is an Excerpt from Vince Ynzunza’s upcoming Psychedelic Erotic Novella ‘Mariola and the High Priest of Grooviness’]

London had shaken her to her core. Gone were the swingin’ sounds of the 60’s and the Mod-Cut pubic regions of her former lovers and suitors. Mariola sighed and flicked the end of her Virginia Slim, barely missing the edge of her pearl ashtray and singeing the inside of her thigh with a minuscule spark of fire. How she missed the fire! At one time, the furnace between her thighs would harden the most flaccid of pottery into a work of impeccable art; a Ming Vase, a statue of a dancing unicorn, even a glorious series of psychedelic tobacco pipes! But those days were gone. She certainly hadn’t passed her expiration date; it was merely a case of dissatisfaction. What man could pleasure her like he had? What man could utilize the amorous forces of Grooviness to seduce her like he had done on so many passionate nights? No one, she thought to herself. Not one of them.

Mariola finished her cigarette and moved to the edge of her bed where she could access her record collection. She had thousands of albums but kept the essentials in an immaculate pink and purple wooden crate beneath her box spring. Her delicate and sensuous fingers danced timidly over the tops of the vinyl as she scanned the titles. What would it be tonight? Sgt. Pepper’s? Hot-Buttered Soul? Head? Oh God, she wished! She gingerly pulled out a copy of Crimson and Clover by Tommy James and the Shondells and gazed at the cover. What colors! Soft and vibrant tones in the background, a bloody heart and clover in the foreground, and those five fabulous lads in the center; this would be perfect! She gently placed the record on her turntable and set the needle down on the title track. The groovy riffs shattered the lonely silence of her room and she laid herself back onto her pillow and smiled to herself.

Now I don’t Hardly Know Her

But I think I could Love Her

Crimson and Clover

Mariola’s right hand slowly crept down her navel and playfully teased at the lower corner of her black Kool Kitchen nightie, her mood-ring clad finger delicately inserting itself under the tight lace and barely getting a sense of the building moisture that was beginning to consume her lovely, lower regions.


Well if she come walkin' over

Now I been waitin' to show her

Crimson and clover

Over and over

That was her mandate. She gently thrust two fingers into the wet love cave, and gently teased her eager clitoris, a stroking motion, then bereavement, and then another motion; over and over. A slight exclamation of auditory passion escaped her succulent lips as she arched her back and threw her left hand over her face, as if to contain the ecstasy that was about to escape; if she didn’t, it would surely take complete control of her sleek, writhing figure and she would be lost forever within its handsome grasp. She had to contain it! She had to become its master. Suddenly there was an abrupt knock at the door!

“Who the bloody hell could that be?” she asked herself, sitting up in self-coital frustration. Her hand was still inside of her. She removed it and timidly walked to the door.

“If this is Arthur again, I’ll bloody kill him!”

She threw open the door, forgetting for the moment that she was still in her custom and revealing nightie; the words ‘KOOL KITCHEN’ over her soft and supple breasts, her right nipple curiously protruding through the first ‘O’ in ‘KOOL’.

It was him! The High Priest of Grooviness; the man who had pleased her like no other could, the man who had raised the bar so high, the man who had ruined all other men for her!

“It’s you!!” Mariola stammered. “I thought you were in the Far East, searching for psychedelic relics of the Zappa Dynasty…”

“I’m back.” The High Priest of Grooviness said defiantly, his wavy brown hair silhouetted against the harsh yellow dim of the hallway light. “And I’ve come prepared.”

Without hesitation, The High Priest of Grooviness inserted himself into her bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him. Mariola stepped back, partly out of fear but more out of unbridled excitement. He stared down at the ‘KOOL KITCHEN’ embroidery that covered her heaving bosom.

“That just won’t do.” He smiled.

A bright neon yellow laser emitted from his forehead and dissolved Mariola’s tiny nightie into a wisp of purple smoke, its sensuous trails unfurling around her head and forming cartoon-like “smoke hearts” and “groovy cum bombs”.
Mariola was completely naked. She liked it. She seductively lilted backwards into her welcoming bed and coyly motioned him over with her wet finger.
The High Priest raised both of his hands and snapped his fingers simultaneously; the entire room melted into oblivion and in its place, an amorous sex dungeon of pastel kitsch and flower power emerged. He quietly reached down and with a wild purpose in his eyes that she had never seen before, opened up his robe.

“You dig?” He asked.

Mariola nodded. She did indeed, dig.

[DJ Ola’s Kool Kitchen Radio Show can be downloaded from on the WSG Audio page!]

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