Noone Else on Earth

  Chapter One

  He was too damned good-looking.

  Julie Turner leaned back in the rickety wooden chair, bracing her scuffed sneakered foot against the table leg. Spread out before her were photos of a dozen or so scantily clad young men. Directly in front of her lay a slim stack consisting of twelve lean bods. Right on top was the one who had caused her to exclaim out loud to the empty strip club she ran for her dad.

  She couldn’t believe it was actually going to happen.

  It had been her idea to add stripping to the regular weekend karaoke and Ladies’ Night Happy Hour at the once decrepit beer and burger joint.

  She’d come home with an MBA and three years’ experience as the regional manager for a chain of gift shops headquartered in Alexandria, Virginia, to find her widowed father slowly sinking into a morass of unpaid bills and the club rundown and floundering. She really hadn’t planned on coming home to stay. She was content with her new life in Virginia, but her dad had turned those puppy dog eyes on her just like he used to do on her mom, and she’d caved. Using all the skills she’d learned over the past years, she’d taken over the management of the place and finally, after almost a year, had started turning a meager profit. All spiffed up, the bar was slowly acquiring new customers and regaining old ones.

  But it still needed something different to draw more traffic. Something unique. It took the luncheon reunion with three of her high school girlfriends to spark the stripping idea.

  They called themselves the BBGs -- the Big Bad Girls -- for their weight and their daydreams. Naughty fantasies of making out with the jocks that didn’t give them a second glance were a favorite scenario. Going down to Cancun and flashing their boobs, modeling lingerie for Victoria’s Secret, marrying an international playboy -- all harmless, silly dreams they thought would never come true because they were beyond the realities of succulent plump women.

  They sat around a scarred wooden table in the back of the bar, nibbling on fried onion rings and sipping their third (or was it their fourth?) round of Sea Breezes, when Connie Majors, full-bosomed, blonde, beautiful and unofficial leader of the BBGs, took another bleary-eyed look at the forty-year-old bartender and sighed with unfeigned lust.

  “Damn, I’d love to get a look at Gary nekkid as a jay bird. Too bad he’s married and my husband’s best friend.” She took another deep sip from her glass and belched delicately. “Think he’d strip if I offered him money? I’ve got a twenty here someplace.”

  Tory Johnson shook her head. At a size twenty, she was the most statuesque of the group. Her voice was as lush as her figure. Tall and Rubenesque, she’d yet to find either a worthy lover or a worthy stage for her singing.

  “Know who I’d want to see stripped down to his jock strap? Rick Hartman. Remember when Mrs. Dochter made him sing that duet with me for senior assembly?” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All that rehearsing of “One Hand, One Heart.” I never forgot his face when we finally performed it. He actually looked like he ...” She stopped and shook her head. “Nah. Cathy Mandan. She had her nails in him so deep.” She giggled. “Oh, well. Just a thought.”

  Patty Donohue, eyes blue as the Irish sky, hair curly and fiery as a sunset over Galway Bay and skin milky white with nary a freckle, sighed so deeply her size 40D breasts almost popped out of her halter top.

  “Tony Dominguez. Black leather slacks, black t-shirt, black leather jacket and boots. And that Harley.” Another deep sigh. “He gave me a lift home from church on his bike one time. My father almost puked up his beer.” One more sigh. “I saw him once. Naked.” Her voice took on a dreamy tone. “He was swimming over at the quarry. I was taking a shortcut after one of our BBG bitch sessions. It was late. It was hot. I thought I’d take a dip. And he was there. Right at the quarry edge. The moon shone down on him. He looked like a statue.” She took a deep gulp of her drink and continued. “He was so ... big. All over. Then he dived. The splash was so loud, like thunder. I couldn’t move. He swam to the middle, treading water. He flung his hair out of his eyes, then swam to shore.” She paused, but no one spoke. “He sloshed to the bank where he’d left his clothes and stood there. His head cocked as if he’d heard something. Me? I didn’t wait to find out. I ran home.” She closed her eyes. “You know, I thought I heard him call my name.” She shook her head. “Couldn’t have been. But that’s who I’d like to see naked. Again.”

  Julie looked down at her empty glass, then up again at three expectant faces.

  “You want to know whose equipment I’d like to see?” She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She giggled. “Maybe a whole line-up of guys strutting their stuff.” She looked at her friends’ amused faces. Then, a thought struck her. “Why not? Would you spend money to look at a bunch of naked men dancing and moving on stage? Do you think there are enough women in the area who’d pay to see them?”

  “You mean like Chippendales?” Connie asked. “With enough promotion, could be. But where would you get the men?”

  “A contest!” Patty’s eyes twinkled. “With prizes.”

  “Good prizes.” Tory spoke with authority. “And a female mistress of ceremonies.” She looked at Julie. “You.”

  “Me? Are you outta your mind? I’d look ridiculous up on stage with a bunch of lean, muscled guys.”

  Tory snorted. “C’mon, Julie. You’ve got a damn cute figure. And I’d kill for that long, black hair. You could give Shania Twain a run for her money.”

  Now it was Julie’s turn to snort with disbelief.

  “If Shania were sixty pounds heavier. But you know, the stripping idea isn’t bad at all. Tory, do you think you could convince the radio station to publicize it once we figure out the details?”

  She shrugged. “I could try.” She chuckled. “I could call in some favors. I’ve filled in for everyone at WKTY. The General Manager owes me.”

  “I could help with fliers and ... you need a website. Let me work on that.” Connie’s voice brooked no argument.

  Julie nodded. “You’re right. A website. We’d need a new name for the place. What could we call it? Joe’s Joint just won’t work any more.”

  “Real Bad Boys.”

  “Perfect. It’s perfect, Tory. Trust you to think of the right name.” Julie turned to the others. “Well, girlfriends, what do you think?”

  Connie giggled. “I think you better pass this by your dad first. He’ll have a conniption fit!”

  Oddly enough, he didn’t. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t have to spend 24/7 at the place, and he was loving it. And loving the sweet little widow who ran the Curl & Swirl Beauty Shop in the two-street-long downtown. With a sigh of thanks that Julie’s college smarts actually were paying off, he gave her his blessings.

  So here Julie sat staring at a pile of pictures of hunky men and wondering what she’d gotten herself into.

  Because the guy she was staring at was just too damned good-looking.

  * * * * *

  Mike Winsted’s fingers blurred as he typed at above normal speed on the laptop’s keyboard. His lips thinned to a grim line as he thought of the events that had brought him to the sleepy, little town in the middle of southern Pennsylvania.

  Years, he’d spent too many years chasing the sex-sucking vampire who preyed on carnal energies to sustain his own life force. He didn’t kill his victims. He left them devoid of all sexual desire and sensation. Their ability to fuck -- impossible. Marriages were broken. Relationships ruined. Often, either the prey or their loved ones committed suicide. Sometimes angry mates or lovers murdered them.

  The creature surfaced for a few months, then went into hiding. But it left an invisible trail as it traveled. Minute shards of sexual energy literally flowed behind it. Only recently
had a device been developed that could trace this spillover. And it had led to this town.

  Mike, tracer par excellence for Esperience, sighed as he entered the latest data he’d accumulated. He ran tired fingers through his thick long hair and leaned back in his chair.

  Tzahyad the seducer. For each location he staked out for hunting, he chose a different lure. And changed his appearance. The tracking device could only pick up energy surges, not the actual emission source.

  It was that lack of refinement that had cost Marta, his last partner, her life. She’d gotten too close, and Tzahyad had taken more than just her sexual drive.

  He’d taken her life.

  She’d underestimated Tzahyad’s sexual power and left herself open for him to drain every particle of passion. But, he’d also discovered her Esper ID tattoo. He’d released his corrosive sperm into her body, leaving her writhing in agony and dying in Mike’s arms. She’d begged him to kill her, to put an end to the excruciating pain.

  He had.

  Mike figured he owed her.

  This time he followed Tzahyad’s trace to a rundown motel outside of the little town of Greenrock. A gaudy flier posted in the convenience store next door to the motel also held Tzahyad’s signature essence, but he was no longer at the motel. The manager couldn’t remember the person who rented room sixteen.

  Mike found the website for Real Bad Boys under new management and looking for men willing to take off their clothes for fun and prizes. Object: to become one of the Real Bad Boys, stripping for women of all ages.

  And he knew why Tzahyad was interested. For Tzahyad it would be a ticket to a buffet of delicious desperate females. And males.

  Mike sighed. His cover was deep. Tzahyad was still unaware of the tracing device and Mike’s existence. There was nothing to differentiate Mike’s parallel world body from a body of this world. His Esper device would keep him anchored on Earth as long as necessary to capture or kill Tzahyad. Then he could return to his own world and get on with his life.

  And try to get over his guilt and grief for Marta’s death.

  He needed to keep close tabs on the bastard. Mike hated like hell to participate in something as ridiculous as a stripping contest. But he had no choice. He opened up the email server and prepared to send a glossy photo of himself stripped down to his jockstrap to Miss Julie Turner.

  * * * * *

  Julie frowned at the picture that had been sent to the Real Bad Boys stripping contest page. The guy scared the crap out of her. Not that he wasn’t good-looking. He just made all of the other men pale out of existence. His long, dark-chocolate hair caressed broad shoulders that tapered down to a rock hard flat belly. His thick brows shaded deep blue eyes. His lush bottom lip was rescued from femininity by a thinner upper lip and lean cheeks. His fingers curled around the top of startling white, tight jocks, as though about to pull them down.

  He was so hot he sizzled.

  She leafed through the other photos and paused. This one also drew the eye. But not because he looked dangerous. On the contrary, he personified the boy next door. Baby blue eyes that crinkled at the corners and a crooked smile that invited laughter. His short, curly blond hair tipped the edge of his ears. He posed at the side of a swimming pool, his European cut bathing suit leaving little to the imagination.

  Julie put the two pictures side-by-side and frowned. Both of these men drew her. She sighed, shrugged and put their photos on top of the pile. They could both audition. Maybe one of them would move like a robot and she could avoid going crazy.

  * * * * *

  Tzahyad took position at the end of the bar in the honky-tonk twenty miles from his current base of operations. Honky-tonk. What a word. The Earth language he’d assimilated was full of odd words and phrases. All part of the necessary protective camouflage. He flexed his cock. It fairly ached to plunge into a hot, wet, receptive pussy. Pussy. Another strange word to describe the female core. And for him, it was the core. The source of his power. He had hoped to avoid feeding so soon, but there was just so much easy prey.

  He spied his objective attempting to extricate herself from the clutching paws of a slobbering local.

  Perfect.

  It was always the same. For an easy troll of females all he need do was find the local drinking place and wait for some crude male to put the moves on an unappreciative woman. Swooping in as the brave hero, he would rescue her. From there, it was easy to get her alone and feed.

  He lifted his butt from the bar stool and sauntered over to the brassy redhead. No wedding band. He grinned. Even more perfect.

  “He bothering you, darlin’?”

  The redhead looked up and smiled. “I’m sure I can handle him myself.”

  The boor belched and leaned over the redhead’s shoulder, his fetid breath causing her to shudder. He draped his arm lower, his hand hovering just above her breast.

  “I certainly hope so, honey. I’d just love for you to handle me. Please.”

  Tzahyad stepped forward, grasped the fool’s hand and brought it back sharply. He heard the crack as it broke and watched passively as the man emitted a high-pitched scream and stumbled away.

  “I think you really hurt him. Good.” The female grinned. “Thank you. My name’s Sandy Burr.” She licked her lips. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  He nodded and slid onto the now empty stool next to hers.

  “I’m Joe. Joe Burrows. Whiskey for me. Neat.”

  The bartender picked up his order, and they engaged in meaningless chitchat for a while.

  He smiled winningly. “Let’s cut to the chase. I don’t have any socially transmitted disease, and I use a condom. I have my own car if you don’t want to wait until we go to my motel.”

  For a moment, Sandy stared at him. He could see her weighing his bold come-on. He touched her hand, sending a surge of his stored sexual energy to her.

  She licked her lips. “I don’t normally do things like this.” She glanced down at his thick cock straining against his fly. “But you did save me.”

  He smiled again and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Isn’t this the fantasy you’ve always wanted? A brave, handsome stranger saving you and then giving you the best fuck you’ve ever had? Tell me it isn’t, and I’ll leave.”

  Sandy stared at his face. And looked again.

  Gorgeous. Gorgeous. And he wanted her. She could see it in his eyes. They seared her. Her nipples tightened and a vivid image appeared in her mind of his mouth on her breasts suckling those aching points.

  She made her decision.

  Standing up, she threw down more than enough cash to pay for their drinks. She took a deep breath and turned to her rescuer. “I’m ready.”

  He grinned. “I know.”

  He ushered her out of the smoke-filled bar into the fresh air of the summer night. His hand on the small of her back sent a charge that zoomed straight to her pussy.

  The parking lot seemed too bright for anything more than getting to a car and driving to a motel, but Tzahyad couldn’t wait. The female was so sexually charged right now, she was sending off sparks visible only to his eyes.

  He’d parked his vehicle as far in the back as he could near a group of trees. A neon light lit up the area around it, but that was easily taken care of. He directed a line of energy to the blue-white glow and it sizzled and then went out, sending sparks into the air.

  Sandy jumped. “Did you see that? The light just blew. Scared the sh-- oops.” She giggled. “Sorry.”

  Tzahyad smiled. “No need to apologize. Why not consider it a fortunate event and take advantage of the dark? My car is parked by the trees there. And I want you.” He swung her around so her breasts pressed tightly against his chest. He squeezed one firm globe. “I want you. Now.” He drew a condom from his pocket. He smiled. “As I told you. I am always prepared.”

  She giggled again. “I knew you were some kind of Boy Scout.”

  She ambled toward his car, her tight clothes outlining the curves of her re
ar. He pictured her bent over the hood of his vehicle, her ass white in the moonlight. And he thickened.

  She stumbled a bit on her three-inch heels, and he gloated. The ridiculous footwear many of the Earth females insisted on wearing made them easy to control. He thought of those heels pointed high in the air as he fed on her snatch. And he licked his lips.

  The shadows gathered as Sandy reached the small copse of trees. There was only one car parked close by the gnarled trunks. She turned and leaned against the driver’s side door.

  “This yours?”

  He nodded.

  “Not too flashy.” Her voice sounded a bit disappointed.

  “It’s a rental. My other vehicle is quite different.”

  He moved closer to her, mere inches away, into her personal space. She didn’t step back. She ran her fingers down his soft, black leather jacket, liking the feel of the expensive material.

  “Are you a traveling salesman?” She laughed. “Please don’t tell me you sell insurance. You’ll ruin your image.”

  He threw his head back. The moonlight revealed his strong white teeth as his laughter rang out. “No. I’m no salesman.” He shrugged. “I just enjoy traveling.” He ran his hands down the bare skin of her arm. “You meet such interesting people that way.”

  Sandy shivered. Though the night was fairly warm, his fingers left a trail of energy that made her weak. She grabbed onto his arm for support.

  “Are you all right, Sandy? Perhaps you’d like to sit down? I’ll open the car.”

  He moved her further down the side of the vehicle and opened the driver’s door. Reaching around, he released the back door lock. He drew her into his arms and away from the car, opening the door with one smooth motion.

  The back seat was folded down revealing a space more than wide enough for two people. “Perhaps you’d prefer to lie down, baby.”

  Sandy looked up into his eyes. So hot. His eyes were so hot.

  She nodded, toed off her shoes and let them fall down on the backseat floor. Crawling onto the wide, flat area, she gave Tzahyad a delightful view of her wriggling ass. She twisted around so she was leaning back on her elbows, her skirt hiked up above her hips. Her skimpy thong couldn’t conceal her thick brown curls.