B la Book 1 Target GirlChapter 5
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Béla Book 1: Target GirlChapter 7 free porn video
Béla perched, bare toes in the snow on the roof of her cabin, and watched the sun come up over the mesa. She waited patiently for the intruder in her cabin, whose mind she had detected as she approached, to come out. He would have to, eventually, unless he was using the kitchen sink as a waste disposal unit. It was almost winter now, and he just might do that.
The squatter had been asleep when Béla arrived. Probing his dreams, she picked up odd images of impossible memories for a person who had lived but a single lifetime. She had hoped he would wake before the sun rose, so she could press further into his mind and find out what he was doing here. Plus, it would be nice to get out of the cold.
With the rising sun, her abilities to feel others faded into the background static that had been with her every day of her life for the last century or so, with the occasional momentary relief she experienced during a solar eclipse.
Every ten years or so, the noise in her head got so bad it gave her daily headaches for the next year or two. That had only begun happening around the turn of this last century. It had been nine years since her last headache. She calculated she had another year or two to go, then the following year or two was going to be pure hell, again. If she could, she would spend most of it in a basement, or somewhere underground.
There was no wind, so she spread her fragile wings toward the sun, seeking what little warmth she could get. It was pretty stingy with its heat when it was this close to the horizon.
Her reverie ended abruptly with the slamming of the screen door below her perch. She folded her wings down and became 'human', again.
An old man stepped out through the cabin door and waddled unsteadily toward the outhouse. The morning sun sparkled off the frozen ground, showing him where the slippery spots were. He walked carefully down the uneven pathway, carrying the little bucket that she kept in the bedroom of the cabin for emergency usage during the night when it was too cold to go outside to pee.
'Mr. 'Belview', I presume?' Béla thought to herself. 'Why are you still here?'
She dropped down behind him to announce her presence.
"You're still here," she said, folding her arms across her cold, bare tummy.
Startled, the old man turned around awkwardly, looking for the person who had addressed him.
"An' yer still naked!" he said, once he spied her. "Is that yer normal condition?"
"It's my traveling condition, when it's necessary," Béla answered, impressed by this old coot's ability to recover from a surprise.
"Well, good fer you," the old man said, "I thought you might come back. Now, if'n you'll excuse me, I'm on my way to the crapper!"
He turned away from her and waddled toward the outhouse, waddling faster as he got closer to it.
Instead of going into the warm cabin to wait, Béla followed him. Holding the door open behind him, she watched unashamed as the old man dropped his coveralls and sat down, heavily, on the wooden seat.
"You gonna watch?" he asked, sarcastically mimicking her.
Béla didn't answer.
"Suit yerself!" he told her, then cut loose with a huge amount of gas, making the boards rattle. Once the pressure was down to a comfortable level, he looked up at her amused face.
"I know what you are, you know," he said.
She raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue.
"Yer one o' them magical creatures," he said, looking her in the eye, half-laughing as he spoke, "like one o' them Wood Sprites. Whenever they use magic to transport themselves, whatever they're wearin' gits left behind. They can only travel naked, like you. And, also, like you, they like to run around and dance naked in the snow."
Béla briefly wondered if there was actually a species like that on this planet, one that she'd somehow missed, then realized he was pulling her leg.
"So you think I'm a Wood Sprite?" she asked, starting to grin.
"Well, how else did you get behind me like that?" he reasoned.
She shrugged, making her breasts bounce. "I just dropped in."
He grunted. He sounded gruff, but his expression told her he liked looking at her bare breasts, especially her cold-hardened nipples. She folded her arms more tightly against her ribs, pushing her tits up and closer together, deciding to talk to him for awhile. Maybe he could tell her something interesting, like... 'Why are you still here? There are no supplies - you would've starved to death before spring, trapped in forty feet of snow.'
Instead, she asked, "You need any help in there?" mockingly waving her hand in front of her nose to dissipate the odor of his board-shaking release.
"Nope," he told her.
At his answer, she pivoted around, leaving the outhouse door to slam shut behind her, allowing him his privacy and some protection from the fresh gust of wind that just whipped through. Also, she was standing in the weak morning sunlight now, grateful for what heat she could feel from it.
"You helped me enough the last time you was here," he continued, talking through the closed door. "Now I got an arrest record."
"You already had an arrest record," she told him, turning her head sideways and talking to the door behind her. "Besides, you didn't give them your real name, 'Mister Belview'."
A few seconds later, he was grumbling out through the outhouse door, talking as he sidestepped down the uneven path.
"I didn't have to," he grunted. "They tol' me who they thought I was, so who am I to argue with the sheriff – 's a good way to get shot, squabblin' with people carryin' guns."
Béla laughed. "That's because somebody looked up the name of the owner on record before they came out here. This place is registered to Belview Estates. Betty Belview, to be specific."
They traveled back toward the cabin, Béla matching her pace to his shuffle.
"So, I imagine that would be you?" he asked, looking up from the rocky path for a moment. "They told me they were looking for somebody named Béla.
"Wilson, wasn't it?"
"You have a good memory," she complimented him.
"Yeah. I had an overnight stay, complements of the local sheriff, and didn't have too much else to think about," he told her. "Then when you didn't show to press charges, they had to let me go.
"I suppose I should thank you fer that, anyway," he added, hopping ahead of her and opening the screen door like a true gentleman.
Then he raised his left hand to an imaginary hat brim and drew little circles in the air with his fingers as he dropped his hand back down. Béla smiled at his quaint gesture.
"And then you came back here," she said, not quite asking a question.
"Yep, and so did you," he replied, straightening up and looking directly at her. "An' prob'ly for the same reason – to get away.
"So, what is your name, anyway?" he asked. "Is it Béla or Betty or something else? I don't think it's really Béla. Where did you get a name like that?"
"Oh, I saw an old vampire movie a few years ago," she told him. As she spoke, she realized that it had been fifty years since she saw that movie. 'A few years ago ... a century ... just the other day, wasn't it?'
An incredible, lonely feeling sneaked past her guard and shot through her gut, lasting only a few seconds before she clamped down on it. She looked at her predatory squatter and decided he hadn't noticed anything unusual.
"Bela Lagosi was the name of one of the players," she continued. "I liked his name, so eventually, I took that name as my own and made it a little more Rumanian – Byla – like a Gypsy. But 'y' doesn't sound like 'e' anymore, and nobody pronounced it right, so I just added an accent to Mr. Lagosi's first name, and pronounce it like a long 'a'."
"Haw!" the old man barked. "Clever! So something I wrote actually affected the fabric of reality!"
Béla looked at him again, this time puzzled by his words. He gestured toward the cabin door, once again inviting her in.
"By the way," he asked, "What happened to that mouth you had on you, anyway?"
Tired of standing naked in the freezing cold, she pushed her way in front of him and through the cabin door.
"Somebody shot it off!" she said sullenly as she squeezed by and into the warm kitchen.
Admiring her naked body as she pushed past him, the old man saw the still-healing scars of the gunshot wounds on her back.
"Hooee! I guess they did!" he cackled.
He followed her in, watching her bare butt sway from side to side as she crossed the room. She twisted her body around and landed on the couch, wincing at the pain in her back.
"Why are you in my house?" she asked, looking up at him.
Moving slowly, he raised the lid on the iron Franklin built into the wall between the kitchen and the bedroom and dropped a log onto the dying embers of last night's fire.
"You'd have a hard time," he said, frowning and trying to look stern, "proving this place actually belongs to you today, Béla, or Betty, or Bee-Bee, whatever your real name is, Betty 'Boop' Belview."
He carefully sat his old body down in the stuffed chair across from her and looked at her, feeling smug.
Béla looked at him for a moment, deciding what to say next. This old coot knew who she was, and she had no idea who he was. She decided someone from her old Chicago days finally tracked her down. After all, he knew all the names she'd used in the last seventy or eighty years.
"If you're looking for the mob money, it's gone," she told him, flatly. "I spent it."
"Haw!" he laughed, again, "so that's what that was all about!"
Béla wondered what he meant. She waited, knowing she'd have her answers soon enough.
"No," he continued, "I'm not looking for your gangster boyfriend's money. I don't care about money. I came here specifically looking for you, magical creature that you are."
Béla smiled, suspicious. "You don't seriously think I'm a Wood Sprite..."
"No, I don't," he answered. "I don't think I've said your real name, yet, either, Betty, or Béla. What is it, anyway?"
She decided to tell him, "Hethemtima. My friends called me 'Hattie'."
"Sounds Arabian," he said.
"Sumarian," she corrected him.
"So," the old man conjectured, "you're a little older than you look. Well, so am I."
Béla gazed at the old, wrinkled man and wondered how he could look any older.
"Humph. I knew a woman like you, once," he said, clearing his throat like he was starting to tell a long story.
'At last, maybe some answers from this old codger!' Béla thought to herself.
She shivered involuntarily as her bare body warmed up and hoped his story would be entertaining. She was starting to feel a little light-headed. She needed more energy than she had readily available to finish healing, and was starting to feed on her own living tissue.
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