Australia Is Buying My Book with an Aussie Character!

HYPNO-TALKERS OF ZLAR FOUR-IN-ONE Cover

Right now, the ebook The Hypno-Talkers of Zlar FOUR-IN-ONE is number 9,736 in the Australia Kindle Store. Yay!

I’ve written four stories in the “Hypno-Talker of Zlar” series, in which aliens from Zlar kidnap Earth women onto small spaceships, take the women to the Zlarian mothership, and turn the women into surrogate mothers for Zlarian alien babies. How the Zlarians get Earth women to board the small spaceships: by hand-held devices, hypno-talkers, that each look like a computer tablet but with two push-buttons and a speaker grille. The Zlarians hypnotize the women to board the little spaceships; when the women awaken from their trance; it is *ominous music* too late.

I am a writer of softcore-porn mind-control stories, so I was mainly interested in what happened when the alien hypno-talkers fell into the wrong hands. (Meaning, ordinary American men looking for sex.) But I was also exploring the idea of “Why would aliens kidnap Earth women? And what would it take to get the aliens to stop?” So from time to time in the four stories, I returned to what was going on with the Zlarians and the Earth-women kidnappees.

In Book 3 (Revenge at College), one of the little spaceships lands in Wheat City, Kansas—but instead of this spaceship kidnapping more Earth women, nineteen previously-kidnapped women walk down the ramp. These women come from every part of Earth—France, Africa, and Argentina, to name just three. Fortunately for the kidnappees, one of their group is a native English speaker who can talk to the American characters.

But she is not American herself. No, she is Sheila Blackburn of Brisbane, Queensland, in Australia. She soon becomes a major headache for the U.S. Army, after the Army re-kidnaps the just-released women.

****

I wanted a returned-kidnappee character to be a native English speaker but not be American. My first impulse was to make her English. But then I thought about how the Zlarians would wind up with their English-speaking kidnappee. The Zlarians care nothing about Earth’s national boundaries, politics, or history. I’m sorry, UK readers, but the British Isles are tiny, compared to the rest of the world; so to the Zlarians, hitting the UK would be near the bottom of their list. Much higher on their list would be hitting Earth’s major continents. Which means that my not-American, English-speaking woman would have to be either Canadian or Australian.

Now, having pissed off the United Kingdom, let me piss off Canada. Even though the USA and Canada are geographic neighbors and I’m American, I have never been to Canada.

I have, however, visited Australia.

I went on a month’s vacation/holiday to Australia when I was twenty-four. (When was I twenty-four? Sometime between last year and 1770, which was when Captain James Cook claimed Australia for the British Crown.)

I visited Perth and Sydney, with a side trip to Canberra (Australia’s national capital). I traveled from Perth to Sydney by airplane; I regret not having made that trip by train. I found the Australians to be friendly, and I enjoyed their company (despite their puzzling fondness for Vegemite spread). I bought a book on Australia history—which for an American, is fascinating reading at times. (For instance, in 1865 a bunch of disgruntled Confederates emigrated from North America to Australia.)

In Sydney, I lived on meat pies. (For Americans, a meat pie is like a pot pie but with a thicker bottom crust, so that it can stand on its own when it’s out of its pie pan.)

Anyway, all this personal history of mine is how I came up with the character of Sheila Blackburn from Brisbane, Australia, who was kidnapped and in vitro fertilized by aliens, but who now finds herself in Kansas, USA.

(And yes, Australia, I’m very aware that sheila is Australian slang for a desirable woman.)

****

Here is the sales blurb and sales links.

Aliens from Zlar need Earth women to make Zlarian babies. How do the aliens lure the women onto the spaceship? With hypnotic alien technology.

What happens when this hypnotic technology falls into the wrong hands?

What will the U.S. government do when its conspiracy to hush up the alien raids is threatened?

Who will become unlikely heroes? Who winds up getting the girl(s)?

This book holds four stories—

The Hypno-Talker of Zlar—Kevin, an old man, can’t stop his women neighbors from walking onto a spaceship. Then the U.S. Army shows up, and things get worse instead of better.

Hypno-Talker’s First Download—Kevin has put complete plans for building a hypno-talker on the internet, but Netizens think the thing’s a scam. One desperate man downloads those plans, builds a hypno-talker, and tries it out. This is his story.

Revenge at College—A sorority girl publicly humiliates a nerd. But Jerry finds a way to get even.

Nerd Saves Women—Nerd Egbert decides to rescue nineteen women and a sick alien who are being held prisoner by the U.S. Army, merely for walking off of a spaceship. Egbert’s goal seems impossible—for one thing, his only weapon is a wooden sword.

This is the compilation of all four “Hypno-Talkers of Zlar” stories. This book is 88,600 words.

Fiction > Erotica
Fiction > Humorous
Fiction > Science Fiction > Space Opera
Fiction > Short Stories (single author)
Fiction > War & Military
Fiction > Thrillers > Technological
Humor > Form > Parodies

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Why I Wrote THE MIND-POWER AVENGER

THE MIND-POWER AVENGER Cover

Introduction
Sometime when I was a preteen, I watched an old movie (1950s) on TV. The villain, a mad scientist, had a young woman who was a hot babe (by 1950s standards) standing nearby. She was blank-faced and obviously hypnotized. “Kill [the hero],” the mad scientist ordered his hypnotized slave. She walked away; the next scene showed her attacking the hero, trying to kill him. Of course she failed spectacularly.

Even though I was not interested in girls (yet) when I watched that movie, I knew that eventually I would be interested; and I knew that normally, adult men (of which the mad scientist was one) were very interested in beautiful women. After I watched the scene I’ve just described, I wondered why the mad scientist used the hypnotized beauty as a soldier (a job which she was clearly unsuited for), rather than use the entranced beauty for … whatever men did with beautiful women. (At age ten, I was clueless about sex.)

Roughly ten years later, when I recalled that scene, I realized that the mad scientist had been indeed using the hypnotized beauty for sex—but the prim 1950s movie had not shown those times.

This scene with the mad scientist and his sex slave, in some forgotten 1950s low-budget movie, was my introduction to erotic mind control. I have been interested in the topic ever since.

Sometime between 2000 and 2009, I discovered http://www.MCStories.com, a website where people posted mind-control (MC) porn stories. After reading enough stories, I discovered that in some of them, the mind-controller was out-and-out evil; he would destroy someone’s life on a flimsy pretext or for no reason at all. (For instance, turning a momentarily impatient Starbucks barista into a one-dollar streetwalker.) Anyway, I decided that I did not like mind-control stories where the mind-controller was sociopathic. In the other direction, I read stories where the mind-controller was a truly nice guy—when he wasn’t boinking a babe, he was trying to make life good for her. “Nice-guy mind controllers” realized that because they could control a woman’s mind, they now had responsibility for her life; and nice-guy mind-controllers took their responsibilities seriously.

So needless to say, when I wrote my first two stories for MCStories, “Names Have Power” and “Three More Wishes,” those stories featured nice-guy mind controllers.

Once I started writing stories for publication, I mostly continued to write nice-guy mind controllers. Only James Upton (The Bimborg) and John Fairchild (Ye Olde Book of Magic) have an attitude of I’m going to use my mind-control powers to get sex with a hottie, and I don’t care about the woman at all. Some of the heroes of my stories are motivated by a need for vengeance against a woman who “done him wrong.” Kevin MacDonald (The Hypno-Talker of Zlar), Odysseus Popeil (Hypno-Talker’s First Download) and Jerry Green (Revenge at College) are this way—they don’t always act like choirboys, but the reader understands why, and the reader understands that this is not how these characters normally behave.

But these characters are truly nice toward the women they’ve mind-controlled—

• Tim Hanson (Names Have Power)
• Marvin Harper (Three More Wishes/One More Genie/More Genie Problems/Marvin and Fatima THREE-IN-ONE)
• Charlie-Bob Owens (The Bimborg)
• Egbert Whitehall (Nerd Saves Women)
• Jimmy Bailey (Bimbo-Midas)
• Charlie Moore (Ring of the Wizard Vampire)
• John Bradford (The Mind-Power Avenger)

Some years back, I had an idea
The idea was this: When a nice-guy mind-controller is not schtupping hot babes, how else is he using his mind-control powers? He is righting wrongs that only he can make right again.

We all know that there are bad guys who do evil things but don’t need to worry about consequences. If they’re crooked cops, other cops will lie for them. Crooked lawyers can pretty much use the court system as their personal playground. (Google “Prenda Law”; what Steele and Hansmeier did was outrageous—yet nothing has happened to them.) Rich guys can hire lobbyists to bamboozle legislators into passing weaker laws; rich guys can bribe legislators directly; and if government investigators do come, rich guys can hire lawyers to create legal smokescreens.

So what I’ve done was to invent a hero who can bring belated justice to those kinds of bad guys. Unlike Batman, John Bradford doesn’t punch out the bad guys; unlike the Punisher, Bradford doesn’t shoot the bad guys. If the bad guys subject John to a metal detector or a patdown, they discover he’s carrying no weapons. So the bad guys think John Bradford is harmless and they underestimate them. BIG mistake—because John Bradford is a mind-controller, and a powerful one.

In this and future books, John Bradford will be able to find out who the bad guys are (no matter how much they try to hide their true identities), John will be able to get to the bad guys (no matter what kind of gatekeepers and bodyguards they have), then John will deal out justice.

I’m looking forward to writing those stories, for the same reason I enjoyed watching episodes of “Tales from the Crypt.” That reason is: John will bring justice to bad guys. Justice, at its most basic, means “Nobody can shit on someone else and get away with it.”

 

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THE MIND-POWER AVENGER: Now for Sale

THE MIND-POWER AVENGER Cover

Ploryunv, an alien, is stranded on Earth, and eighteen-year-old John Bradford helps Ploryunv fix his spaceship. In the process, Ploryunv uses an alien device on John—the result is that John now uses all of his brain. John, besides becoming smarter, now can read minds, take control of another person’s body, and plant suggestions in someone’s mind that she thinks are her own idea.

With his new mental abilities, it would be easy for John to score sex with hot babes. BUT—

The same day that John gets his new mental powers, John’s parents are murdered by mobsters. John decides to use his new powers to hunt down the scumbags and to take deadly revenge on them.

Sex with hot babes will have to wait for later.

This is the first story in the THE MIND-POWER AVENGER series. Think what The Shadow would be like if he weren’t so prissy about using his “power to cloud men’s minds”; or imagine The Punisher with mind-control powers. John will rid the world of evildoers who, because of money or lawyers or a gold badge or hired muscle, think themselves safe from justice.

Fiction > Action & Adventure
Fiction > Mystery & Detective > Amateur Sleuth
Fiction > Science Fiction > Alien Contact
Fiction > Thrillers > Crime
Fiction > Coming Of Age
Fiction > Crime

Tags: action, alien, alien contact, coming of age, crime, female virgin, male dominant, male-female, mind control, murder, oral sex, revenge, virtue rewarded

The novella is 25,900 words.

 

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THE MIND-POWER AVENGER: First Three Chapters

THE MIND-POWER AVENGER cover

Chapter 1
On the Run

Early Saturday morning
Sometime between bedtime and dawn
A house in suburban West Burlington, Iowa

My shoulder was being shaken. “John, wake up,” Dad said.

It was an ordinary night, leading into an ordinary day. In my dark bedroom, the clock said the time was—

“Lemme sleep,” I mumbled, as I tried to turn over.

Dad slipped into his “controlled” voice—

“John. You’re eighteen. I need you to act eighteen. I need you awake and helping us.”

By us, Dad meant Mom and me. I was the only child of Josh and Jen Bradford.

Usually Dad slipped into his “controlled” voice when he was angry but would not let himself show it—when he was talking to a difficult customer at Bradford’s Furniture Paradise. But Dad had also spoken in “controlled voice” whenever weather in Iowa had acted especially crazy.

Dad is scared of something, I thought. I completely woke up in an instant.

Seconds later, I was on my feet and pulling on my clothes. Dad said, “As soon as you can, back your car up to the garage and pop the trunk.” Dad rushed from the room.

****

Minutes later

I walked down to the dark curb and started my car. Motion caught my eye: Two dark shapes moved across my rear-view mirror.

The garage door was open, and all the lights were on. Mom’s and Dad’s Ford Expedition SUV was turned around, facing the street, and was parked on the driveway almost to the grass. The back of the SUV was open, granting access from the garage.

I backed up my old Impala next to the SUV and popped the Impala’s trunk. Dad immediately yanked the trunk-lid as high as it would go.

Meanwhile, I had set my car’s parking brake. I was just about to turn off my headlights and shut off my engine, when I saw—

Mom standing on the front porch of the Olsens’ house, with Fatso on a leash.

(Fatso was our Greyhound dog. The name was Dad’s idea of a joke—no matter how much dog food any greyhound eats, the dog always looks like a starveling.)

I saw old Mr. Olsen take Fatso’s leash. He and Mom said a few more words, then Mom hurried off the Olsens’ porch, straight for our house.

As soon as I killed the Impala’s engine and climbed out of my car, Dad said, “John, there’s a bag of dog food in the laundry room, and another bag here in the garage.—”

WHUMP. What made that noise?

“—Carry both bags of dog food over to the Olsens’ porch.”

My brain was still trying to figure out the WHUMP. I looked in my trunk—now there was a big olive-drab canvas duffel bag in there. “Dad, what is that?”

Dad answered in “controlled voice”: “Something that never leaves your trunk, till I say it’s safe. Got me?

“Um, sure, Dad.”

He nodded. “I need you to haul dog food over to the Olsens’ now. Go.”

As I was carrying two big bags of dog food across the street, I thought, Now we won’t be unique anymore. Nobody else I knew—none of my relatives, none of my friends, none of my neighbors, none of my former classmates at West Burlington High School—owned a greyhound dog.

It was only later, as I was carrying armfuls of clothes and throwing the clothes onto the back seat of the Impala, that I realized, Not having a greyhound with us makes it harder for someone to trace us.

****

A half-hour later
In the garage

The SUV and my Impala were all loaded up, mostly with ugly piles of clothes. We had chosen speed of loading over grace—if we had not had a cardboard box in the house to put things inside of, we had not bothered with driving to an all-night Wal-Mart to beg boxes.

I did not ask Dad why we did not drive over to Bradford’s Furniture Paradise and pull cardboard boxes out of the Dumpster. I already knew that the cardboard boxes that came to the Receiving dock of a furniture store were usually way too big to fit in an SUV, much less my car.

Anyway, now we were ready to leave—for where, I still had no idea—when Dad held out a hand to me and a hand to Mom. “Give me your phones.”

Mom and Dad exchanged looks, then Mom opened her purse. But I hesitated. “What do you need my phone for? I have pictures on it. And apps.”

“John, I don’t have time to explain.”

Please, John,” Mom said, “give your father your phone.”

It was obvious: Mom was scared of whatever Dad was scared of. So I handed over my smartphone. Dad disappeared into the house. When he returned to the garage, his hands were empty.

I thought, If we used our phones, we’d be easy to track. Without our phones, we can be tracked only by credit cards.

Dad said to me, “Stay behind us on the road, but close enough that you can see what we’re doing. If we get separated, we’ll pull onto the shoulder so that you can catch up to us. If you need to talk to us, honk your horn three times and I’ll pull onto the shoulder. You got all that?”

I nodded.

“One other thing: Don’t speed, don’t run any lights. Do nothing so any cop notices you.”

Again I nodded.

“Great. Let’s go.”

Mom and Dad got into the SUV, I got into the Impala, then I followed the SUV down the driveway.

Under a black, nighttime sky.

Thus I left the house where I had lived since I had been three years old.

I was sure I would never see that house again.

****

Map of IA, NE, and SD

A little after nine that morning

In Fort Dodge, Iowa, my parents’ SUV and my Impala were parked at the edge of a grocery-store parking lot. Dad told me to pop the Impala’s trunk. Dad was holding packing tape in his hand; Mom was holding an empty cardboard box and a paper grocery sack.

Once the Impala’s trunk lid was up, Dad told Mom and me to stand close to the trunk, “so other people can’t see what I’m up to.”

I asked, “What are you up to?”

Dad did not answer with words. He unlocked the padlock on the olive-green duffel bag—which now I noticed, had his name and initials and his Social Security number stenciled on it. Dad reached into the bag and pulled out light-blue shirts with Bradford stenciled on the shirts, bell-bottom blue jeans, and a weirdly shaped brimless white cap—

Then Dad pulled out cash. Lots of cash. Handful after handful of cash.

I choked. “Dad, where did you get all this?”

It was Mom who answered: “John, it’s best you not know.”

It took forty-five minutes, but Dad pulled out at least 106 thousand dollars in bills; I know the amount because Mom and Dad counted it. Dad put $106,483 in the paper grocery sack, and taped the sack shut. Mom wrote on one side of the sack, “To pay off Bradford’s Furniture Paradise loan.”

After that, things were almost normal. The paper sack full of cash was placed in the cardboard box (message-side up), the box was taped shut, and the box was addressed to the loan officer at the Community Bank back home. Then we drove around till we found a post office, and Dad mailed the box.

In the parking lot of a post office in Fort Dodge, Iowa, Dad explained, “The West Burlington Community Bank loaned me money for the furniture store. I had to default. This has always bothered me, but now we’re square.”

Naturally, I had questions then. Neither Mom nor Dad answered my questions.

Before we parted to get back into our respective cars, Dad looked at me and repeated, “My seabag never leaves your trunk. And you don’t open your trunk for anybody but your mother or me. You understand?”

****

The next day, we arrived in Crawford, Nebraska. Crawford was where my cousin Danny owned a junkyard. Dad and I swapped out our Iowa license plates for Nebraska license plates (of which Cousin Danny had plenty).

By then, I did not feel an urge to comment on the swapping-out of license plates. I had figured out that we were fleeing from someone. The police? The FBI? Interpol? John Gotti? The Russian Mafia? It would have been nice to know what resources our mysterious opponent commanded, but Dad and Mom still were being closed-mouthed.

After we swapped out the license plates, I asked Mom and Dad, “Now where to?”

Mom said, “South Dakota.”

I asked, “What’s in South Dakota?”

“Good question,” Dad said. Mom and Dad had another looks-conversation, then Dad opened the SUV’s door and pulled out the road atlas.

Dad opened the road atlas to the page that showed South Dakota. “What’s in South Dakota?” he repeated.

Dad looked up at the sky, as his finger stabbed down. Then Dad looked down and lifted his finger. He announced, “The town of Fishy Lake is where we’re going.”

On the South Dakota map, Fishy Lake was a dot a little west of Sioux Falls.

We arrived at the real Fishy Lake, the town, the next day in late afternoon.

Chapter 2
Normal Life—for a Few Days

We arrived in Fishy Lake, South Dakota, 2-1/2 days after we fled West Burlington, Iowa. The first thing we did in Fishy Lake was to stop at Martin’s Family Restaurant.

Once we had been seated at a booth, Mom said, “I need to call Joan Olsen. About Fatso.”

Dad said, “No, Jen, you don’t. Otherwise we might as well buy an ad in the New York Times: ‘We’re in Fishy Lake.’ ”

I asked, “Why do you need to call Mrs. Olsen about Fatso?”

Mom said, “Because I didn’t tell Harold that Fatso is allergic to shellfish, so read the ingredients before you buy dog food. Fatso almost died when he was a puppy, and I don’t want his death on my conscience.”

Dad said, “If it keeps my family safe, I can let all sorts of things bother my conscience.” Dad shot Mom a look.

By now, Mom had pulled a five-dollar bill from her purse. As she stood up, she said, “It will be one phone call, Josh, and it won’t even be my phone.”

Mom walked away, asking other customers whether she could “rent” somebody’s phone. Meanwhile, Dad was muttering, “Jen, I left your phone on the kitchen counter just so I wouldn’t have to worry about this exact shit.” Dad huffed in annoyance.

When Mom returned to our booth, she was biting her lip. After she sat down, she leaned forward and said quietly, “Last night, our house was broken into.”

****

It turned out that Fishy Lake was nineteen miles from Sioux Falls, South Dakota; and Sioux Falls was within rock-throwing distance of Iowa’s northwest corner. Sioux Falls was nowhere close to West Burlington, Iowa—but couldn’t Dad have picked a place in west South Dakota? If the geography also bothered Mom or Dad, neither one mentioned it.

It took less than a day to rent a house in Fishy Lake. Perhaps the rental process was quick because Dad paid for the first month’s rent, the last month’s rent, and the security deposit all with seabag cash.

As soon as we could, the three of us went to the local DMV office. We got South Dakota plates on our cars, and applied for South Dakota driver’s licenses. Admittedly, we did this not because we were law-abiding citizens but because these actions made our cars unnoticeable again.

A day after this, Dad landed a job as a salesman at Furniture USA in Sioux Falls. This annoyed Dad for two reasons. The bigger reason was that going from furniture-store owner to furniture salesman was a big comedown. The second reason that Dad was unhappy was that Furniture USA in West Burlington had been the main reason that Bradford’s Furniture Paradise had struggled to stay in business these last few years.

Meanwhile, Mom papered Sioux Falls with résumés for bookkeeper, but these things take time. For the moment, Mom was back to being a housewife.

I took a job at Chick-fil-A. The job turned out to be what I expected, except that their “You get Sundays off” rule did not have any wiggle-room or fine print in it.

In theory, guaranteed Sundays off meant that I could plan on spending Sundays with my mother, and either Sunday mornings or Sunday evenings with Dad.

In practice, I was not spending any more time with my parents than I had to, since we had arrived in Fishy Lake. By Sunday, it had been eight days since I had been roused from bed and we three had fled the only home I had ever known; and yet my parents had never offered any explanation for their panicky behavior.

So Sunday, I slept late, ate breakfast with Mom (Dad was already at work), then I climbed into the Impala. I spent the entire day (and some of the night) driving aimlessly around rural southeastern South Dakota.

The last time I saw Dad alive was Saturday night. The last time I saw Mom alive was Sunday morning.

Chapter 3
I Meet Ploryunv the Alien

I found the abandoned farm on Sunday afternoon, while aimlessly driving on some farm road. A big “FOR SALE” sign was visible from the road. The farmhouse was surrounded by a white picket fence; the half-acre of grass enclosed by that fence was knee high. I found nothing in the barn except some moldy hay and a rusty tractor-seat. The farmland that surrounded the farmhouse and barn was not tilled, and only weeds grew there.

I cannot say why I parked my car at that abandoned farm and walked around, instead of driving on. Maybe because of the novelty of the place—I was a city boy, and I had never seen a real farm before. But part of the reason I stayed at that farm was because how alone I was there—I knew only two people in all of South Dakota, I did not want to talk to either of them, I did not want to talk to anyone else, and here I was where not even a chicken could be seen.

So I sat on the hood of my car, which was parked by the empty barn, and I listened to birds and breezes as I watched the sun go low in the western sky.

I watched the sun set.

Ten minutes after sunset, I watched a spaceship come down from the sky and land in the weedy field.

****

I saw no falling fire like what a meteor makes, or an Earth-made spacecraft performing atmospheric re-entry. Instead, I heard a rumble and I felt a downward wind that made my ears pop. Also, a moving part of the sky shimmered.

I ran around the corner of the barn to watch the shimmer-thing hit the ground. But it did not—at least not forcibly. Twenty feet off the ground, I heard a loud hisss—like air brakes venting—and the shimmer-thing gently dropped onto the dirt of the neglected farm-field.

The shimmer-effect stopped; I was looking at a spaceship.

On the spaceship, a rectangular piece of the hull lifted up, revealing a door underneath. This door opened from top to bottom, becoming a ramp.

An alien walked from inside the spaceship to the top of the ramp.

The alien was about four feet tall. He had thick, wrinkled skin, like an elephant; but his skin was the light yellow-green of an avocado. His arms and legs had no joints; they curved as needed, like tentacles. Each leg-tentacle and arm-tentacle ended in a three-fingered (three-toed) appendage with suction-cups at the very tips.

The alien had a face like a human, with nose and mouth, and ears on the side of his head. But the alien’s eyes traveled on horizontal tracks on his face that started on just outward of the nose and went out and back to just above the alien’s ears.

When the alien first appeared at the top of the ramp, both of his eyes were on the side of his head, like a bird’s eyes. For a minute, maybe two minutes, the alien stood there, not moving except to turn his head back and forth. One “hand” was holding what looked like a computer tablet in a green case; the other “hand” was touching something inside the ship and beside the door.

By now I was forty feet in front of the ramp. I did not move closer, wanting to not frighten the alien. Eventually the alien’s eyes tracked forward to either side of his nose, and the alien tilted his head down to look straight at me. The alien walked down the ramp.

The alien spoke; his tablet spoke to me in Russian. I walked close to the ramp and replied, “This is not Russia. Do you speak English?”

The alien heard my words (translated), then spoke. The tablet said, “Duly noted. Is this Canada or Oosa?”

I replied, “You are in the United States of America. And the abbreviation is pronounced ‘Yu-Ess-Ay,’ not ‘Oosa.’ ”

“Duly noted. My name is Ploryunv.”

“My name is John.”

Ploryunv taught me how to greet someone by bumping our arm-tentacles together, and I taught him about greeting someone by shaking hands.

Then Ploryunv paused, and his eyes slid to the side of his skull. “Will you help me, John of Earth?”

“I’ll help you if I can,” I said. “What help do you need?”

“The uranium-235 oxide in my ship-engine is chemically contaminated. Can you bring me more engine-grade uranium-235 oxide?”

No way,” I said. “Only the USA government can give you this. The problem is, if my government learns about a space alien in South Dakota, I don’t know what exactly will happen next—but you repairing your ship and flying away won’t be what happens next.”

“This is unhappy-making. What about you bringing me pure Uranium-235, and I react it with oxygen myself?”

“Same answer. I cannot, and if you asked my government, my government would grab both you and your ship and never let you go.”

“Again this is unhappy-making. What about you bringing me natural uranium of mixed isotopes?”

“Same answer. I’m sorry.”

Ploryunv worked his tablet then, holding it horizontal as the “fingers” of his other “hand” tapped the tablet’s surface. I was surprised to see that three-dimensional images and diagrams appeared (and soon disappeared) a few inches above the tablet.

About ten minutes later, Ploryunv said to me, “Crystalline carbon, I can use it as a catalyst to remove the contamination. Or is crystalline carbon also blocked by your government?”

I did not know what he meant by crystalline carbon; the alien had to show me a three-dimensional diagram. It turned out that he meant diamond.

“Yes,” I replied, “I can manage that.” I was sure there was enough cash still in the seabag for me to go to a pawnshop and buy a ring set. But I did not have the key to the seabag; I would have to ask Dad for the key.

I told Ploryunv, “If worse comes to worse, I won’t be able to bring you the diamond till tomorrow, and I’ll need to bring another Earth man out here to meet you.” I added bitterly, “Don’t worry, he’s great at keeping secrets.”

It was almost full dark by then, but I was worried that at sunrise, anyone flying overhead (a U.S. Army helicopter, for instance) could see the spaceship. I said as much to Ploryunv. It turned out that while he could not fly his spaceship out into space, he could move it along the ground just fine. He blew air out the bottom of his spaceship, and I gave him guidance with the headlights on my Impala, and between us, we got his spaceship hidden away in the empty barn.

I drove home carefully in the darkness, writing down landmarks, road signs, and trip-odometer readings, so that I could find the abandoned farm again. By the time I was driving on the streets of Fishy Lake, I was in a good mood. I’ve met an actual, no-shit space alien! And better than that, I’m going to help him out!

Jeez, I was so naïve about my future.

My good mood vanished when I turned onto my street.

Three Fishy Lake police cars, two unmarked police cars, two ambulances, a Sioux Falls PD crime-scene van, and a TV-news van, all were parked in front of my house.

 

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THE MIND-POWER AVENGER: New Cover Picture

THE MIND-POWER AVENGER cover

As I told you in an earlier post, I’m working on a new story about a mind-controller who chases down bad guys who are “above the law.”

Here is the unofficial sales blurb for the book—

Ploryunv, an alien, is stranded on Earth, and eighteen-year-old John Bradford helps Ploryunv fix his spaceship. In the process, Ploryunv uses an alien device on John that enables John to use all of his brain. That same day, John’s parents are murdered by mobsters. Yes, John has mind-control powers now; and yes, John uses those powers to get sex; but mainly what John wants is payback against scumbags who think themselves safe.

This is the first story in the THE MIND-POWER AVENGER series. Think what The Shadow would be like if he weren’t so prissy about using his “power to cloud men’s minds”; or imagine The Punisher with mind-control powers.

To repeat: In this the first book, John goes after the lowlifes who murdered his parents. (And yes, at one point in the story, a bat flies up against John’s window.)

Two New Stories Are in the Works

RING OF THE WIZARD VAMPIRE Cover

There are two stories that I’m working on right now.

(And alas, The Inseminator is not one of those stories; it’s still stalled.)

Ring of the Wizard Vampire

Mage Draco was not only a nasty vampire, he was also an evil sorcerer. But then Mage Draco was slain on Charlie’s front lawn. Now Charlie has claimed for himself Draco’s ring, which can hypnotize and reprogram vampires, vampire minions, and unbitten humans. But just because the nastiest vampire is now ash does not mean that the vampire problem in Suburba is over. When Charlie is not scoring hot babes, he’s fighting pale bloodsuckers.

The Mind-Power Avenger

Ploryunv, an alien, is stranded on Earth, and eighteen-year-old John Bradford helps Ploryunv fix his spaceship. In the process, Ploryunv uses an alien device on John that enables John to use all of his brain. That same day, John’s parents are murdered by mobsters. Yes, John has mind-control powers now; and yes, John uses those powers to get sex; but mainly what John wants is payback against scumbags who think themselves safe.

This is the first story in the THE MIND-POWER AVENGER series. Think what The Shadow would be like if he weren’t so prissy about using his “power to cloud men’s minds”; or imagine The Punisher with mind-control powers.

NERD SAVES WOMEN (HTOZ4): “I’m Done Writing” and Sales Blurb

NERD SAVES WOMEN front cover

Cover art rendered by Doug Sturk a.k.a. Sturkwurk

I have finished the writing of Nerd Saves Women (Hypno-Talkers Of Zlar no. 4). Now the story goes on to editing and ebook-formatting. It should be up for sale within a week.

Here’s the sales blurb:

This is the fourth and last story in the Hypno-Talkers Of Zlar series.

Egbert Whitehall is a nice guy with a problem—

Three days ago, he and Lourdes Taylor saw nineteen naked women and a diseased little lady Zlarian alien who had just stepped out of a Zlarian spaceship in Wheat City, Kansas. One of the nineteen women was an Australian, Sheila. Now the Australian government is claiming that the U.S. Army kidnapped Sheila, the other women, and the alien, but the Army is denying everything.

When Lourdes tells Egbert that the Army is indeed holding the nineteen women, he is determined to break the women out. But how? Egbert is only a nerd mechanical-engineering-major college student.

Meanwhile, Zlarian spaceships still are kidnapping human women in order to turn them into surrogate mothers for Zlarian babies. But Egbert isn’t worried about that, because it’s way above his pay grade.

All this international news discussion about alien kidnappings and U.S. Army kidnappings embarrasses the White House. And the president, and those who act on behalf of the president, have a lot of power to hurt anyone who embarrasses the president further.

During all this other action, people with hypno-talkers still are reprogramming other people’s brains.

Tags: alien invasion, aliens, Australian, conspiracy, damsels in distress, erotica, female almost-virgin, female-female, FF, humor, hypnosis, male dominant, male-female, MC, MD, MF, mind control, oral sex, police chase, rescue, straight to bi, submissive female, vengeance

The story is 37,800 words.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: All ebooks by this publisher are free of DRM (Digital Rights Meddling).

EDIT: Added 2014.08.14—
Buy Nerd Saves Women (Hypno-Talkers Of Zlar-4) now! You know you want to.

Chapters 1 and 2—FREE!
Kindle
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NOOK EPUB

Or buy the whole shebang, The Hypno-Talkers Of Zlar Four-In-One. Just one dollar more! (For ebook.)

Paperback
Kindle
Kobo EPUB
NOOK EPUB

First Announcement: HTOZ4 (Hypno-Talkers Of Zlar, Book 4)

I haven’t come up with a title yet. No cover picture is in the works. The only things I can say for certain:

• This story will wind up the “Hypno-Talkers Of Zlar” series. So at the same time that the HTOZ4 ebook comes out, we’ll also start selling a paperback and an ebook for the entire “Hypno-Talkers Of Zlar” compendium/omnibus/collection.

• Egbert the nerd will get laid in fine style in HTOZ4.

• A character in HTOZ4 (the main character?) will be a spy, likely for the Central Intelligence Agency.

• Lourdes Taylor wants to solve the Zlarians’ sick-female medical problem, so that the aliens will leave Earth voluntarily. The U.S. Army wants to drive the Zlarians away from Earth by force. The Zlarians have no hope of anyone finding a cure for their sick-female problem, and the Zlarians aren’t about to leave Earth without such a cure; and the Zlarians aren’t worried about the U.S. Army even a teeny bit. Meanwhile, Australia wants Sheila back.

More details as they become available.

EDIT: Added 2014.08.14—
Buy Nerd Saves Women (Hypno-Talkers Of Zlar-4) now! You know you want to.

Chapters 1 and 2—FREE!
Kindle
Kobo EPUB
NOOK EPUB

Or buy the whole shebang, The Hypno-Talkers Of Zlar Four-In-One. Just one dollar more! (For ebook.)

Paperback
Kindle
Kobo EPUB
NOOK EPUB

THE HYPNO-TALKER OF ZLAR—First 1-1/2 Pages

Hypno Talker front cover

Chapter 1
Aliens Invade

Five minutes before the flying saucer landed in the street, Kevin MacDonald was mowing his front yard.

The day was warm for April, so Kevin was wearing tan shorts and a “Creedence Clearwater Revival Forever!” t-shirt.

As Kevin was pushing his mower, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning to look, he saw that Judy Miller and her daughter Karen had stepped through the gap in the hedge, and now stood in a corner of his yard.

Kevin let the mower die as he smiled at the sexy thirtyish blonde and her teen daughter. “Hey, ladies, what’s up?”

Judy smiled at him. “Mister MacDonald, Karen’s spring band concert is tonight, and I invite you to come with us.”

“ ‘Us’?” Kevin said. “Is Sam coming too?”

“Nope,” Judy said cheerfully. “Hubby’s at some hospital in Eugene, Oregon, waiting for parts. Gone three more days, at least.” Sam was a traveling X-ray-machine repairman.

As Kevin walked across the lawn, he said, “I’d love to go to your concert, but there’s a problem. Karen, you still play flute, that right?”

“First section, third chair!” redheaded Karen said, beaming.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re good,” he said to Karen. “The problem is, Vietnam gave me high-frequency hearing loss. I’ve heard you practice through an open window, and half the notes you play, I hear quiet, and lots of notes I can’t hear at all. So thanks, but I’ll pass.”

Kevin wasn’t telling the whole truth. It was almost painful for him now, being around high-school kids. They all had so much youth, and energy, and optimism! When he’d been drafted in 1970, he’d had youth and energy too, but he’d lost the optimism forever in ’Nam.

But Kevin was not declining because he didn’t like his neighbors. Judy kept herself looking hot for Sam; and whereas Millicent had rationed sex to Kevin with an eyedropper, Judy the MILF gifted Sam with sex by the bucketful. Meanwhile, Karen was the kind of good student and happy person that comes from knowing that her parents are devoted to each other.

Now Karen said, “That sucks, losing your hearing.”

Kevin laughed. “No lie. The original reason I became an Electrical Engineer was so I could design better stereos.”

“We can’t talk you into coming?” Judy asked. “Karen graduates in two months. It’s your last chance to hear great flute-playing!”

Kevin smiled and shook his head.

Judy squeezed his arm. “If you change your mind before six o’clock—”

Karen blinked. “What is that?” she said, pointing. A second later, the sun was blotted out by something in the air.

“Shit, it’s a flying saucer!” Kevin exclaimed.

SNIP

Buy The Hypno-Talker Of Zlar now! You know you want to.

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Kobo EPUB
Nook EPUB
Apple iTunes Bookstore
Page Foundry/Inktera EPUB

After you’ve read the first story, buy the second story, Hypno-Talker’s First Download, today! Let a great story continue.

First two chapters of short story HYPNO-TALKER’S FIRST DOWNLOAD—FREE!
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Apple iTunes Bookstore
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After you’ve read the first two stories, buy the third story, Revenge At College, today! Find out why you should never mess with someone who’s got a hypno-talker!

First two chapters of short story REVENGE AT COLLEGE—FREE!
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Apple iTunes Bookstore
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Then finish up the series with Nerd Saves Women. Plot threads get tied up, damsels get rescued, and the good guys live happily ever after. (The bad guys, not so much.)

First two chapters of short story NERD SAVES WOMEN—FREE!
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NOOK EPUB

New story (and series) just started: THE HYPNO-TALKER OF ZLAR

The Hypno-Talker Of Zlar

Cover art rendered by Doug Sturk a.k.a. Sturkwurk

Instead of writing another long novel, I’m starting a series of short stories, each of which I’ll publish for three dollars. Eventually I’ll publish all the short stories in an anthology.

Here’s the basic premise:

• Aliens from the planet Zlar land their flying saucer on a suburban street, then kidnap humans for mysterious purposes. To get the humans to go onto their spaceship, the Zlarians use a handheld device that gives subliminal commands to humans.

• To be specific, the Zlarian device takes a digitally recorded spoken command, then digitally changes the pitch of the “voice” to an ultrasonic frequency. (Think “helium balloon on steroids.”) When the ultrasonic command is played back, humans don’t consciously hear the command, but they obey it.

• Kevin is an old man, an electrical engineer who, thanks to a stint in Vietnam, has high-frequency hearing loss. He is unaffected by the Zlarian technology.

• Kevin can’t stop his neighbors, Judy and Karen, from becoming mind-controlled and walking into the flying saucer. (Judy is the MILF blonde on the cover; Karen is the redhead.)

• I’m skipping lots of interesting parts of the story, because I want your three dollars!

• When the dust has settled, Kevin has written a how-to article on how to build your own hypno-talker, from parts you can buy at any well-stocked electronics store; and the article is posted to a pirate site. Anyone, anywhere in the world (provided he knows enough electronics) now can build his own hypno-talker.

Later stories will be about guys who build their own hypno-talker, and what happens when they use it.

EDIT: As of 2014.06.27—

Buy The Hypno-Talker Of Zlar now! You know you want to.

First 1-1/2 pages of short story THE HYPNO-TALKER OF ZLAR—FREE
Kindle
Kobo EPUB
Nook EPUB
Apple iTunes Bookstore
Page Foundry/Inktera EPUB

After you’ve read the first story, buy the second story, Hypno-Talker’s First Download, today! Let a great story continue.

First two chapters of short story HYPNO-TALKER’S FIRST DOWNLOAD—FREE!
Kindle
Kobo EPUB
Nook EPUB
Apple iTunes Bookstore
Page Foundry/Inktera EPUB

After you’ve read the first two stories, buy the third story, Revenge At College, today! Find out why you should never mess with someone who’s got a hypno-talker!

First two chapters of short story REVENGE AT COLLEGE—FREE!
Kindle
Kobo EPUB
Nook EPUB
Apple iTunes Bookstore
Page Foundry/Inktera EPUB

Then finish up the series with Nerd Saves Women. Plot threads get tied up, damsels get rescued, and the good guys live happily ever after. (The bad guys, not so much.)

First two chapters of short story NERD SAVES WOMEN—FREE!
Kindle
Kobo EPUB
NOOK EPUB