Invaders from the Outer Rim (2 page)

“Oh my God, I love book club,” gushed Jennifer.

“It gets better,” Lisa said. “When the pirate pulled down his pants, he had six penises!”

“What?” Suzy said, choking on her brownie.
 

“Big penises?” Erin asked.

“Average at first, but they grew until they were ten feet long and supple but still firm. And the tips had beautiful rosy cock heads. I was in complete shock. My pirate gently stripped me naked in a tender and loving way. Then his cocks started wrapping around me, grabbing my wrists and ankles until I was helpless. He pinned me to my bed playfully. I wasn’t scared because from the moment he walked into my room, I felt an ethereal calm wash over me. A sense of deep intimacy and emotional trust.”

“I never get that with my husband,” Margo moaned.

Lisa beamed. “Exactly! I totally surrendered to my pirate and let him penetrate my ass and pussy at the same time with his two remaining penises. It caused the most powerful orgasm of my entire life.”

“Fucking hell,” Jennifer said, blushing. “That is hot.”

“I better make more drinks,” Caroline announced.

“Refill, please.” Lisa held out her glass, and then continued her story. “Double penetration has always been a big fantasy of mine, but Hank would never do that. He’s scared of competing with another man. Anyhow, when my pirate climaxed, all six of his penises shot jizz everywhere. My bed was drenched in cum, and I was swimming in cum. I bathed in pure sensation. When I opened my eyes again, my pirate was gone—vanished—and the sheets were clean and dry. I worried that he was a hallucination from the new antidepressants I’m on—but there’s this.”

Lisa rolled up the sleeves of her blouse and displayed weird red marks on each wrist. She expected her girlfriends to gasp, or call her insane.
 

Instead, Nancy Grillo set her cocktail down on the table and patted Lisa on the knee reassuringly. “Look at my marks.”
 

Nancy unbuttoned one of her cuffs and showed Lisa a similar deep red discoloration on her own wrist. Lisa’s jaw dropped, but no words escaped.

“The only difference,” Nancy said, her lips curving into a smile. “My lover was a centaur, not a pirate.”

 
“I had the best sex of my life yesterday with one of the noble knights from King Arthur’s court,” Caroline interrupted.
 

Nancy scanned the circle of women in the book club. “That makes three of us who’ve had sex with hot mystery men. I wonder—which of you lucky ladies is next?”

“This can’t be happening,” Erin said. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

Caroline shrugged. “Who cares? I just want more. My knight had an enchanted cock.”

Lisa’s eyes widened in surprise. “How was it enchanted?”

“It shot magic sparks.”

“But who are these men? Where do they come from?” Suzy asked.

“Visitors from another world,” Nancy offered.

“I don’t believe in extraterrestrials. Could it all be a dream?” Jennifer wondered.
 

“It wasn’t a dream. I’ll show you my evidence, if you want.” Caroline started to unbutton her shirt.

Margo Baker waved her off. “Keep your clothes on, Caroline. Nobody wants to see you naked.”
 

“Any psychologist in the county would commit us to an insane asylum for this discussion,” Erin Tanaka told the group.

“We don’t have asylums anymore,” Caroline answered, sipping her cocktail. “We have Xanax and Prozac.”

Nancy nodded. “As members of this book club, we’re the smartest women in Santa Maria. We should realize we’re being sexually awakened instead of shamed for the way we look or for wanting a more interesting fuck.”
 

“Nancy’s right,” Caroline said. “My medieval knight was kind and courteous and totally pampered me. Besides leaving me breathless with the passion of his lovemaking, he treated me like a lady. Wherever these men come from, whatever they are—it doesn’t matter. Sex with them is an empowering experience. I took advantage of a unique opportunity.”

“Okay, I’m on board,” Suzy Maurer said. “How do I find my alien lover?”

Nancy looked at Caroline and Lisa, and then answered. “You don’t find him, he finds you.”

3

Sheriff Olsen’s patrol car slowed at the familiar rusted mailbox with the name Brown hand-painted in neat red letters. He braked to a complete stop before turning up the rutted dirt lane that led to the Brown family farm. The Browns were one of the original families to settle the Santa Maria Valley. They had been continuously farming three hundred acres since the 1870s when the first farmer Brown arrived in the wake of the Civil War and married a Chumash Indian girl.

The sheriff’s car bumped up the lane and pulled to a stop beside the Ford SUV that belonged to Dr. Victor Valdez, one of Santa Maria’s top veterinarians. The back door of the SUV was open, but nobody was inside.

Olsen sat in his cruiser, not feeling good. It was an odd morning in Santa Maria. There had been a spate of weird prowler calls during the night and three broken windows. The midnight calls were the kind of mischief Olsen usually expected on Halloween not in high summer. Bizarrely, someone had picked the locks on two dozen businesses in the unincorporated areas of the valley. When the outraged shop owners arrived in the morning to find alarms disabled and doors ajar, each merchant called Olsen. Various items were moved around, including two washing machines that were stacked near an exit. Nothing was taken, except for five cases of Molson’s ale stolen from Far Western Liquor down in Orcutt. For Olsen, missing beer was solid evidence it was damn teenagers. The little bastards probably learned the art of lock picking on the Internet.

A deeply tanned woman appeared on the porch of the farmhouse and waved to Olsen. He climbed out of the car and waved back.

“Doc is out in the barn with Ted,” Mrs. Brown said. She pointed to a faded red building not far away. Olsen nodded and walked toward the barn, the morning sun like fine grit in his eyes.

It was a relief to step out of the harsh light into the cooler barn. But Olsen immediately regretted it. There was a sickly smell in the barn. Not the normal animal smell. Not warm straw and hearty dung. Instead, the evil odor was electrical and medicinal, and Olsen felt his stomach turn on the donut and black coffee that sat heavily there. He found Doc Valdez standing with farmer Ted Brown.
 

Dr. Valdez wore a stethoscope as he listened to the breathing of a five-year-old Holstein cow.

“Hello, Doc,” Olsen said. Then he noticed the frown on farmer Brown’s face. “Ted? You called? What’s going on?”
 

“Somebody’s fucking with me,” Brown said.

“Can you be more specific?”
 

“Sheriff, I’ve been working like hell to run a grade-A organic certified farm. Last year I got the official kashrut stamp from the rabbis. And now somebody’s fucked me over. Some GMO-loving high-tech company is the only way it could happen.”

“I don’t understand,” Olsen said.

“Neither do I. You explain it, Doc.”

Dr. Valdez took off his stethoscope and hooked it around his neck. He was an older man, but still wiry and strong, with precise brown hands.

“I can’t explain it,” Dr. Valdez said. “Back in Mexico, we’d say it was the miracle of Saint Guadalupe.”

“This ain’t Mexico. Talk sense.” Olsen was growing impatient.
 

“Sheriff, I examined these cows last week. All were normal, healthy cows producing milk. Today, they are all six months pregnant.”

“So?”

“They were not pregnant last week,” Valdez said.

“Maybe you missed that,” Olsen said.

Dr. Valdez laughed. “Sheriff, I’d be insulted if I weren’t so amazed. But the story is stranger yet. How did these cows get pregnant?”

“I assume they met a bull,” Olsen guessed.

“Farmer Brown doesn’t own a bull,” Dr. Valdez said. “He only owns an ox named Mickey.”

“Let’s show him what they done to Mickey,” Brown said.
 

Valdez motioned for Olsen to follow. They exited the barn and came to a paddock. Inside the fence was a healthy Hereford ox. As soon as the animal saw them, it charged the paddock fence and swung fierce horns in a red rage.

“See how damn mean Mickey is now?” Brown said.

“Seems like a normal bull to me,” Olsen said.
 

“Ain’t no bull, he was castrated into an ox,” Brown scoffed. “Don’t you know nothing about animal husbandry?”

“Not much. Maybe you better explain,” Olsen said.

Valdez shook his head. “Male-born cattle if left intact grow into bulls. You cut off a bull’s balls, and he becomes a steer. Then in a few years, he matures into an ox. But in all my professional practice, I have never seen this. It appears Mickey’s long-lost sexual organs have completely regenerated. He is no longer an ox, but is a bull with a magnificent penis and testicles to prove it.”
 

“But that’s not possible—is it?” Olsen said.

“It’s those agribusiness fuckers,” Farmer Brown said. “Their voodoo DNA is poisoning the water.”

“That’s impossible, Ted,” Dr. Valdez consoled Brown.
 

Olsen was at a loss. This whole morning had gone totally loco.

“Boys, unless you got real evidence of a crime committed, there’s nothing here but four pregnant cows and an angry bull. I can’t work the justice system with that,” Olsen said.

“Oh, we got a crime all right,” Farmer Brown snarled. “Let’s show him, Doc.”
 

“Look over here, Sheriff. One last thing and the queerest of all,” Valdez said.

Together they walked a dozen yards to a metal shed. Olsen heard a soft buzzing as they came to the door.

“What’s in here?” Olsen said.

“Murder, plain and simple,” Brown said. Then he opened the door.

At first Olsen couldn’t comprehend what he saw. A huge pile of flesh, like something from a slaughterhouse. Flies swarmed in the half-light. A strange smell of citrus and burning plastic emanated from the mound of flesh. Olsen almost gagged.

“What on earth is that?”

“It’s what’s left of Cookie, one of my best milking cows,” Brown said.

“Was she butchered?”

“No,” said Valdez. “I am quite expert in bovine anatomy. What you see is impossible. This is a cow, but turned inside out. Like if you took a coat, turned it inside out, and put the lining on the outside. This is a cow inside out.”

“My God, why would anybody do that?” Olsen sputtered.

“I have a theory,” Valdez said, rubbing his chin. “I think somebody wanted to look inside the cow and see how it worked.”

“But why?” Olsen said.

“Perhaps to understand the sexual anatomy,” Dr. Valdez said, scratching his head.

4

Jennifer Waters was in her late thirties but moved with the weariness of a much older woman. She sighed heavily as her baby, Ava, started crying again. Jennifer lifted her only child and carried the girl to the diaper-changing table in the bedroom. Ever since she could remember, Jennifer had dreamed of having children. The day she discovered she was pregnant was the happiest of Jennifer’s life. Then her husband abandoned Jennifer for a student at the junior college where he taught. The little witch that stole him away was nineteen and crushingly, a tight-bodied former gymnast.
 

Jennifer’s life had been a struggle ever since. Nobody warned her single motherhood was endless work. She really needed the break on the day the babysitter came and Jennifer could attend the Big Beautiful Book Club, a rare personal indulgence. Normally, she’d have to wait another month until she had another real adult conversation with her book club friends. But this week, Erin Tanaka’s wedding was on Saturday. If only Jennifer could find a date. But who’d want to go with her?
 

Changing Ava’s diapers, Jennifer wiped a tear from her eye. After a husband exits, being a solo parent is terribly lonely. She started humming “Amazing Grace” to Ava, struggling to lift the sad mood.
 

A man standing behind her joined in, singing softly. Jennifer whirled in surprise, though the singer’s voice was tantalizingly familiar.
 

He was shorter than Jennifer, but radiated an amazing presence, with flowing golden blond hair and mesmerizing blue eyes. She couldn’t help but stare into them longingly. It literally looked like the ocean when you dove into sparkling depths. And his facial hair was scruffy and grungy-looking but sensuously appealing. So cute!
 

“Need a hand with that?” the man said. He walked closer and skillfully helped Jennifer put a fresh diaper on Ava. While he did, she studied his dishwater-blond hair and his flannel shirt, jeans, and Converse sneakers. Her heart raced when she dared to say his name. “Kurt Cobain?”

“That’s correct.”

“Are you a ghost?”

“I’m what you want,” Kurt said.
 

“Oh my God, you look exactly like Kurt.”

“So touch me.”

Jennifer reached out and touched his arm.
 

He grinned. “I’m real, baby.”

“I can’t believe this. Your music got me through my horrible teenage years. You spoke to me.”

“I’m singing to you now. Feel my skin.” Kurt unbuttoned his shirt.

She put a hand on his bare chest and felt the heat and sweat and hints of salty unwashed dirtiness. At the same moment, she also felt a wetness starting between her legs, signaling a long-dormant sexual excitement that was the answer to her prayers.

Kurt took her hand. “Come with me.”

“But I can’t leave Ava.”

“She’ll be fine.” Kurt hummed a five-note lullaby and the baby stopped crying instantly. A smile appeared on Ava’s tiny face as if she was hypnotized.

“Okay,” Jennifer said with relief. As a mother, she instinctively knew Ava was safe.

Kurt guided Jennifer out the door and into a tubular hallway glittering with kaleidoscopic colors. Throbbing music assaulted her ears. It was raw and primitive, and with every breath Jennifer took, the sparkles in the hallway changed color and the music shifted with them. This place was definitely not Jennifer’s apartment complex.