Invaders from the Outer Rim (4 page)

Erin gasped. “Sounds like heaven.”

“It gets better. A second tongue protruded from his mouth and teased my clit. I’ve never felt anything like it. Antonio’s two magic tongues each had exquisite sensitivity, neither moved too fast, and he expertly varied the pace, keeping me right on the edge of going over the falls. The pleasure was unbearable. He instinctively knew what to do as if he was reading my mind. He was such an expert pussy licker, he even knew when to ease off without me telling him. He was totally in tune with my body. Almost like I was licking my own pussy, as crazy as that sounds. He moved his double tongue in all directions, just like I’d do it to myself if I could. Then a
third
tongue slithered from his mouth and started very gently working my butt hole. I don’t know how many orgasms I had, but soon I passed out from pleasure. When I awoke, I was sitting in my car in my driveway. The motor wasn’t even warm. I don’t know how long I’d been there.”
 

“Did you get any of those marks Lisa and Nancy showed us?”

“I didn’t think so,” Suzy said. “But I went to my gynecologist, and Dr. Klein noticed a strange mark on the inside of my vagina that wasn’t there during my last checkup.”

“What kind of mark?”

“Just a small turquoise circle about the size of a doorbell button. When Dr. Klein touched it, I saw flashes of light and was immediately aroused. It was like I had a new super clitoris hidden inside me. She put a camera up there, took some pictures, and showed me.”

“Let me guess. The circle is an alien mark?”

“It’s not just a mark. I think it’s a way to communicate with them. Like a call button that rings far away. Maybe in another galaxy.”

“Suzy, that’s nuts,” Erin said. “Why would you even think something like that?”

“Because every time Dr. Klein pressed my magic clit button, I heard a strange warbling sound in my inner ear. I felt like someone was answering a long-distance call. I went home and tried it, fingering myself to an amazing instantaneous orgasm and sure enough, the same strange noise and faintly, as if from a great distance, I heard Antonio’s voice whispering ‘bella signora.’
 
I looked it up and that means ‘beautiful lady.’ ”

Both women said nothing for a dozen breaths.

“What’s happening in Santa Maria?” Erin worried.
 

Suzy shook her head, without a good answer. “When you’re having great sex, you never stop to ask why it's great. You simply enjoy it.”

“Why does this have to happen right before my wedding?” Erin started taking off her gown, frustrated. “All these stories are just too weird for me.”
 

“I don’t care how weird it is,” Suzy said. “If an Italian prince wants to fall in love with licking my pussy, I’ll let him. It’s nice to be wanted and told you’re sexy. Especially by foreigners.”

7

Sheriff Olsen sat in his patrol cruiser studying the building across the road. Grace Baptist Church was a low-slung concrete building, tan in color with a roof of faux red tiles. The architecture evoked the Spanish roots of old California’s mission culture, a modern nod to the region’s history. It was an impressive building, large and perfectly groomed with manicured greenery bespeaking a large congregation supporting a beloved church.

Olsen had studied the map in his office and determined this was the location where the crop circles pointed. He believed coming to the church would reveal something. But nothing looked out of place. He’d driven McCoy Lane countless times over the years. The scene was the exactly same as any other day. Admittedly, Baptist churches rarely required much law enforcement.
 

He wouldn’t learn more sitting and brooding. With a grunt, he climbed out of his car and walked into the church.

Pastor Scott Baker greeted Olsen with a warm handshake and a smile of white, uneven teeth. Scott was forty-three, handsome, professional, and dressed like an office manager. “I’m shocked. To what do we owe this visit, Sheriff?”

Olsen grinned. He knew Pastor Baker slightly from town council meetings. The pastor repeatedly invited the sheriff to sample a Sunday sermon but Olsen declined each offer politely. Olsen only believed in what he could put his hands on.

“Pastor, I’m not here to join your flock, sorry.”

“It’s never too late. What then?”
 

Olsen felt a little silly. He couldn’t come right out and say the church was at the intersection of four bizarre crop circles. If he did, the pastor would surely think it was time for an all-new, all-sober sheriff.
 

“Any trouble lately?” Olsen asked.

“What kind of trouble?” Pastor Baker smiled.

“Odd things. Problems on your radar?”

“You mean kids spraying graffiti on the church bus?”

“No.”

“Because they did that last month. Somebody sprayed ‘Jesus equals anus’ on the side. Can you believe it?”

“Just being teenagers,” Olsen said.

“Teenagers back in Texas didn’t do that. They had respect for the Lord.”

“This is California. Here teenagers are capable of anything,” Olsen said. “Any other strange occurrences you’ve noticed lately, anything out of the ordinary?”

Pastor Baker gave a reluctant nod, then met Olsen’s eye. “Maybe you mean the aliens? Our visitors from outer space?”

Olsen felt his heart skip a beat, but he didn’t let any excitement show.

“Keep talking,” Olsen said.

“We don’t take confession in our church, not like the Catholics, but people often confide in their pastor and seek guidance. In the last week, dozens of my flock have come to me with stories so strange I have been shaken to the core.”

“You don’t look very shaken,” Olsen said.

“Believe me, I was. But I’ve had a few days to process the news, think it over, and consult the Bible for an understanding in the word of God.”

“Really?”

“Yes, that’s what I do.”

“And what’s your explanation?” Olsen probed.

“I see two possibilities. One is we are seeing an outbreak of mass hysteria.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I did my Google research, Sheriff, and it’s a very real phenomenon. Collective delusions can spread rapidly through rumors and fear. Doctors have studied many cases of spontaneous hysterical symptoms demonstrated by more than one person.”

Olsen thought about the real evidence he’d seen at the crop circles. Crushed plants a mile wide wasn’t a delusion; it was undeniable physical damage.

“What’s your other explanation?” Olsen asked.

Pastor Baker smiled. “I got it from my wife, Margo.”

“What did she say?”

“It could be a miracle. I mean a true miracle.”
 

“Are you kidding?” Olsen stifled a guffaw.

“We modern Baptists do not explicitly include miracles in our sermons, but without question the Bible describes miracles. Actual miracles performed by our Lord, Jesus Christ. Miracles are recorded facts in the Bible. In those bygone days, miracles were common. Perhaps the time of miracles has come again to a troubled Earth.”

Olsen’s head started throbbing. His years of service didn’t prepare him for policing crop circles, mass hysteria, or miracles.

“Pastor, maybe you’ll think I am a sinner or a fool, but I don’t like either of those explanations.”

“I understand, Sheriff. You’re a practical man.”

“I am.”

“I suppose there is a third explanation, but I find it hard to accept,” Pastor Baker mused.

“Tell me,” Olsen said.

“Just this: the aliens are real.”

Olsen gulped. But at least someone was voicing his worst fear aloud.
 

“If they are real, what then?” Olsen said.

“Sheriff, whatever’s happening, we’re in God’s hands.”

“Maybe. But the Santa Maria Valley
is my responsibility.”

“The flock here is my responsibility as well,” Baker agreed.

Olsen studied the pastor and got a sense of why the community liked this man. His deep conviction was soothing, especially in troubled moments. A thought occurred to Olsen.

“Pastor, does the Bible say anything specific about dealings with aliens?”

“I had the same thought, Sheriff, and as a matter of fact it does. The Bible tells us of powerful nonhuman visitors from the sky, taking the forms of men. In the Old Testament there are recorded appearances seen by Abraham, Hagar, Lot, Jacob, Moses, Joshua, Gideon, David, Daniel, and many others.”

“What? Really? I never heard of that,” Olsen said.

Pastor Baker smiled. “Back then, people didn’t call them extraterrestrials or aliens. They had a better name for them.”

“What name?” Olsen asked, taking out his notebook.

“Angels.”

8

Pastor Baker’s wife Margo sat in a chair at Paradise Nails & Spa, a beauty salon located in the Crossroads shopping center. Gisele, the Vietnamese technician, diligently filed a toenail to make Margo’s feet beautiful for the big wedding two days away.

“Gisele, do your customers ever tell you strange stories?” Margo asked.

Gisele looked up. She wore a surgical mask to protect herself from inhaling skin and nail filings. “What’s on your mind, Miss Margo?”

“Sex stories about strange men.”

Gisele giggled. “I hear gossip like that every day. It’s my job.”

“Has it been weirder lately?”

“It’s always weird.” Gisele shrugged. “If you like, I can lend you a book by Pat Califia. She does a nice job of explaining how our weirdest sexual desires are both normal and healthy. What color polish do you want today?”

“Neon pink. I always love that pink,” Margo said.

Rolling thunder blared outside the salon. It was the roar of big engines. Both women looked out the window. A biker gang was parking in the shopping center lot, and Margo saw twenty Harley-Davidson motorcycles representing the pride of the Black Roses Motorcycle Club. The leader of the gang, Big Daddy Rose, ambled into the nail salon. Gisele lowered her surgical mask and smiled.

“Can I help you?” she asked.
 

Margo’s heart raced. Big Daddy Rose was six feet, eight inches of solid ebony with broad shoulders and an ivory smile. He smelled of sweat, sunshine, and gasoline. In total, a heady mix that was irresistible to the pastor’s wife.

Big Daddy Rose splayed a hand and studied his fingertips. “See that? Working on an engine really fucks up your hands with grease and grime and shit. I need a deluxe pedi and mani.”
 

Gisele gestured at the seat beside Margo. “You can be next.”

“Sweet.”
 

Big Daddy Rose lowered his bulk into the chair. He smiled at Margo. “Your hair looks fine. The frosted tips make your eyes sparkle.”

Margo blushed. She stared back at Big Daddy Rose and felt a wild thrill of possibility jolt her. Gisele ignored the interaction as she applied pink to Margo’s toenails. For the first time, Margo noticed the strange red welt around Gisele’s left wrist. There was a ringing in Margo’s ears. She hiccuped twice. Her vision swam drunkenly.

Pow!
Margo was riding on the back of Big Daddy Rose’s Harley and hugging him tight. His body was hard muscle. They were racing up the Pacific Coast Highway followed by the entire Black Roses motorcycle gang. The wind beat at her face. She squeezed Big Daddy tighter still; it was like wrapping her arms around a bull. How did she get here? Nothing made sense. She felt pure euphoria riding on the bike, the massive engine singing a hot song between her legs, vibrating her core. Suddenly blinded by the sun glinting off a mirror, she felt a buttery warmth wash over her.

Margo was in a ramshackle clubhouse. Spare motorcycle parts were strewn everywhere. A ratty couch took up one corner; in another was a color TV and a refrigerator stocked with cheap malt liquor. Hardcore rap droned from blown speakers. The tang of the best marijuana hung sweetly in the air. The place reeked of danger and taboo.
 

Big Daddy Rose strutted over to Margo. Slowly and deliberately, he began stripping off all her clothes. He hesitated, and his eyes met hers with an unvoiced question.

She tensed. “Don’t stop.”

Her vagina immediately moistened, and her nipples grew hard.
 

“Say what you want,” Big Daddy Rose coached.

“I want it all,” she groaned. “All of you.”

Members of the Black Roses jostled in around her, their eyes consuming her naked figure. She was titillated by the attention. Being desired by so many good-looking, dark-skinned bad boys all at once swelled her ego. Could she take them all?
 

“She’s so fine,” one of the Black Roses whispered.
 

“Bootylicious,” another said.
 

“Don’t just stand there,” Margo purred. “Come and get it.”

As the men got naked, she saw these were no ordinary humans. Margo always enjoyed a secret thrill watching the beauty of black athletes in motion. She loved the Olympics and the perfection of the Jamaican sprinters. To her they embodied a sacred coiled power incarnate. The Black Roses all looked like those athletes, except for one jaw-dropping difference. Each sported multiple penises, quivering in the air like eager hands reaching out to caress her. She counted twenty men, some with three dicks, others with six or nine. Margo was swimming in a sea of black snakes, except they were all throbbing cocks. She grabbed one and started sucking, deep-throat-style. Another penis filled her pussy, others probed her anus. Multiple cocks embraced her from all angles dripping sweet creamy jizz. Margo entered a heaven the Baptist church would never sanction. She loved being the nasty queen bee of an African alien hive. It was every unholy fantasy she ever dreamed amplified ten times. Margo thought she might literally float away on silky warm alien waves, when Big Daddy Rose stepped in. He took Margo by the hand and guided her away from the group.

“Only me with my lady now,” he said.

Margo beamed at Big Daddy Rose. He lifted Margo up, all two hundred pounds of her, like she was a feather, and hoisted her over his shoulder. Then he carried her away into privacy. There was a glowing purple mattress on the floor. He threw her on it.