Invaders from the Outer Rim
Eric Coyote and Walt Morton
Genre: Sci-Fi Erotica
Date of Publication: August 2, 2015
Number of pages: 52
Word Count: 12,800
Cover Artist: Walt Morton
Every small town has secrets but when Sheriff Olsen begins an investigation of weird events in Santa Maria, he discovers close encounters of the kinkiest kind.
Invaders from the Outer Rim is a mind-bending tale that explores the unfulfilled desires of the female psyche.
Literary critics agree this collaboration between award-winning authors Eric Coyote and Walt Morton is a groundbreaking achievement in erotic science fiction.
Available at Amazon
“You want a fill-up on that coffee, Sheriff?”
Sheriff Danny Olsen was seated at a booth in Shaw’s Restaurant, enjoying an end-of-shift coffee. He looked up at the waitress and took note of the ample breasts barely contained in Darleen’s stained uniform. Olsen remembered a time thirty years ago when Darleen was crowned queen of the annual Elks Club parade. Back then she was the most eye-catching woman in town. She was still pretty, if you didn’t look too closely or the room was dark.
“Darleen, I am full to the eyeballs.”
“Let me hot it anyway.” She splashed steaming coffee into the sheriff’s cup. He stirred it in.
After she left, Olsen spiked the brew with a touch of whiskey from his pocket flask. If he started drinking a few minutes before he was off duty, too fucking bad. He had seniority in the Santa Maria substation, which served all of the unincorporated areas of the Santa Maria Valley, including Casmalia, Orcutt, and Garey. His turf was a sparsely populated agricultural hub stuck in the middle of California, but there was always plenty to do. Traffic accidents, family disputes, and petty crime were a part of daily life across America, and the valley was no different.
Olsen’s train of thought was rudely interrupted when two men sat at his booth uninvited. Olsen recognized both locals. Jack Grillo ran the Golden State realty office and Bob Lomax owned an auto parts store.
“What’s up, boys?” Olsen asked. He hoped the strong coffee odor covered the smell of whiskey on his breath.
“Sheriff, something’s wrong,” Lomax said. “Like what?”
“It’s our wives,” Grillo whispered.
Olsen studied the two men. They were his contemporaries, early fifties in age. Both were flabby with sagging beer guts and sparse white hair that looked greasy. While Olsen wasn’t as fat as either of them, he wasn’t the trim lad he’d once been. After he started going bald, Olsen shaved his head, gaining some comfort in the summer heat.
“If you’ve got trouble with your wives, that’s not my department. I’m a law officer, not a marriage counselor.”
“It ain’t like that, Sheriff,” Lomax said. “I tell ya, something weird is going on.”
Olsen watched Lomax’s trembling hands. The man seemed genuinely frightened, and the sheriff reconsidered their plight. What would put this man in a panic? Bob had been a reliable fixture in the town’s business community for years and led the Rotary Club fundraisers. It was damn odd to see him so upset.
“Bob, what do you mean? I’ll need specifics.”
Lomax’s face flushed and his voice caught. He shook his head and looked at his buddy next to him. Grillo leaned forward and spoke for both of them.
“Sheriff, you remember the funny lights in the sky the other night?”
Olsen definitely remembered. The phone in the sheriff’s substation rang off the hook the previous Sunday with over a hundred complaining calls from residents of the Santa Maria Valley.
“I do,” Olsen said.
“What about that?” Grillo said.
“Jack, we checked it out. People claimed fireworks, northern lights, an outdoor laser concert, and fifty other crazy ideas.”
“So what was it?” Lomax cut in.
Olsen looked him directly in the eyes. In his several decades of law enforcement, Olsen couldn’t recall a meeting so oddly awkward.
“It was military helicopters flying to Point Hueneme,” Olsen said.
“That’s horseshit, absolute horseshit!” Lomax exploded. Then he put his face in his hands.
Olsen eyed Grillo, who bobbled his head and frowned. Had they both gone mad? Grillo looked ready to cry, and Lomax was visibly shaking. They weren’t obviously drunk. What was going on?
“If you want my help, I need damn honesty. I’ve interviewed plenty in my time, and there’s something you two ain’t saying. What is it?”
The men shared a pained look, then Grillo nodded, giving in. “You tell it first,” Lomax said.
“It’s my wife,” Grillo told Sheriff Olsen. “We’ve been married thirty-two years. We’re good Lutherans. Nothing wild about us. Suddenly she shaves all the hair off her pussy and wants me to lick it. She makes me suckle on her coochie parts.”
Sheriff Olsen’s professionalism kept him from laughing, but he could see both men were agitated and dead serious.
“Jack, it’s not unheard of,” Sheriff Olsen said. “If you good ol’ boys consult the Internet you’ll find plenty of experts advising oral pleasures to spice things up, especially in a long marriage.”
“You don’t understand, Sheriff. She said ‘he’ told her to do it. The other man,” Grillo moaned.
Olsen blinked and took in the data. “What other man?”
“The sneaky bastard came in the night while Jack was out bowling,” Lomax interjected.
Olsen sat straighter, suddenly worried. He’d hate to discover a rapist preying on older married women but it would not be unheard of. Perverts lived in towns of all sizes.
“A burglar or a pervert?” Olsen asked.
Grillo shook his head, unable to say more as tears came to his eyes.
“Neither one. It was a spaceman!” Lomax yelled. “One came to my house, too.” Lomax was now sweating bullets and Grillo looked ready to have a stroke. “Spaceman?” Olsen said. “That’s crazy talk. Listen to yourself, Bob.”
Grillo wiped away his tears before he spoke. “Sheriff, I’m not gonna bullshit you. I’ll say it plain. My wife’s pussy tastes like something alien was down there.”
About the Authors:
Eric Coyote and Walt Morton both attended the University of Southern California’s prestigious film school, which is (in retrospect) poor training for anyone writing erotic science fiction.
Eric is the author of the ultra noir detective novel The Long Drunk, named to Kirkus Reviews’ Best of 2012. Walt’s debut novel American Ghoul is a dark fantasy beloved by fans and food critics.
Both men live in Venice, California, but almost never go to the beach, and neither surfs.