Shooting in Hannah - Version Bravo
by Lubrican
Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14
Chapter Ten
When Phoebe asked me why I didn't have a girlfriend, I'd punted by saying that my last relationship had ended
badly and I didn't have the strength to jump in the fray again for a
while. I
let her think two years was 'a while'.
By then we'd arrived in Joplin and I was looking at street
signs, making my way to our destination.
"Look. Let's just have some pizza and maybe get to
know each other a little better and have a nice time.
That's all that has to happen. I don't want
you to be afraid of me."
"I'm not afraid of you," she said.
"You're just worried I'm after your body."
"Well? Isn't
that really what men want?"
I looked over at her.
"Well, you're good looking, and intelligent.
That's attractive, but it doesn't mean I'm
going to try to jump your bones."
There wasn't much more conversation before I pulled into
the parking lot. It was crowded.
The inside was even more crowded, and noisy
to boot. The mixture of machine sounds,
bells, whistles, dings, and all the chatter made it difficult to have
any
meaningful verbal discourse. Instead we
followed Chris around, watching while he played games and won tickets.
We ate pizza and then went to the prize booth
to transform the fistful of tickets I had into toys of various types.
Chris played with his new treasure on the way home.
Phoebe and I basically chit-chatted about
inconsequential things. The seriousness
of our discussion on the way up wasn't there on the way back.
I walked them up to her door and Chris ran inside to
secure his booty in his room. Phoebe
turned and looked up at me.
"Thanks. I
had a good time."
I could tell she meant it. A
good night kiss, of course, was out of the
question, so I didn't even think about that.
"I did, too.
How do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Keep up with him."
She smiled for the first time since I'd asked her out.
"You get used to it."
"I'm exhausted," I said.
"Maybe you can sleep late, tomorrow," she said.
"Yeah," I said. I
took the plunge. "So ... shall we do
this again sometime?"
"Go to Chuck E. Cheese's?"
"Or something," I said.
She hesitated, but only long enough for me to recognize
it as hesitation.
"Yes," she said.
"Okay."
I returned to my car feeling uncharacteristically happy.
What happened with Phoebe is part of that second book I
mentioned, which I'm trying not to write at this time, but there are
things you
have to know about her for the rest of this book to make sense.
She was like a
frightened fawn, practically unable to eat because of all the
interruptions of
raising her head, twitching her ears, and looking everywhere for
danger.
Patience won her over, though. Chris
was completely different. He was just a
little boy and, because he knew
his mother loved him more than anything else in the world, felt
invulnerable.
To him I was just one of Mommy's rare friends. Over the years that
would change
as he realized I loved him, too, and that others might some day choose
to do
the same. When you go looking for love, that's when life gets scary.
The patience I mentioned required a full year to bear
fruit. The "fruit" in this
case, to put it indelicately, were Phoebe's succulent, small, but
unbelievably
sensitive breasts, with their delightful strawberry nipples. The very
first
orgasm I ever gave her was by simply spending half an hour on those
nipples.
I'm sorry. I'm getting way ahead of the story. When I
remember that first bit of physical intimacy we shared that was beyond
a kiss,
I still get fired up. I'll slow back down and continue in a more
chronological
manner.
I said our relationship wasn't normal or uncomplicated.
An example of this was that it wasn't until our fourth or fifth date
that we
kissed. It was a very simple, very quick good night peck. On the next
date,
when I took her home, she put her hands on my arms and the kiss was
longer. The date after that I got two
kisses, the first a little lingering and the second our first real,
romantic
kiss. After that one she stood back and just looked at me for a good
ten
seconds.
"I like you," she said, as if she were
surprised.
"I like you, too," I said, smiling.
A month later, even though we had been out on a dozen
dates and had spent hours trading gentle kisses, we didn't refer to
each other
as "boyfriend" or "girlfriend" in any verbal way. Our
co-workers at school knew we were going
out, but we didn't display the kind of public affection that most
couples
display in that situation.
We never talked about what was going to happen next.
We talked about pretty much everything else,
from philosophy to politics, but not about what either of us wanted
physically.
Just before the kissing started that year, Hannah's
monthly visits to me finally began to be stressful.
The problem was that she wasn't getting
pregnant. She still loved being with me,
but wanted that child. That was complicated, too, because it was
impossible
that Hannah and Phoebe would never meet.
It wasn't unusual for Phoebe to bring a pile of papers to grade,
and
Chris, to my house to spend the evening.
I had a PS4 and Chris was just like other kids his age, so he
was
entertained while she graded her papers and I graded mine.
On other nights I went to her house and did
the same. On yet other nights we just
spent time together.
It was on such a night (at my house) that Hannah showed
up and walked in holding her bag like she lived there and was just back
from a
trip somewhere. She knew who Phoebe was,
of course and, as already stated, Phoebe had seen me out with Hannah
before we
started dating. Phoebe and I were
sitting on opposite sides of the table with stacks of paper between us.
Chris
happened to be taking a nap at that moment. That's what we called it when he had to go to bed at my house, and then go home later.
It was late, around ten in the evening.
"Oh!" said my sister, standing there
wide-eyed.
Phoebe just stared at her.
"Hi," I said, jovially. "I wasn't
expecting you." I looked at my watch for some reason and said, "It's
Wednesday."
"I'm sorry," she said. "I had some
vacation and Austin couldn't go anywhere, so I thought I'd come see my
little
brother."
What she was talking all around was that the calendar
said she was ovulating and she was frustrated that that condition
hadn't
arrived on a weekend for over a year. If
you can't get Mohammed to the mountain, then bring the mountain to
Mohammed.
"You're welcome anytime," I said.
"I didn't mean to interrupt your ...
date?" She looked at Phoebe.
I did, too, just to see what her face looked
like. What I saw wasn't what I expected.
My sister is really quite beautiful. She's
active and after she had her daughter
she got back in shape. What I usually
see on other women's faces when they look at Hannah is either jealousy
or
concern (that the woman's man is also looking at Hannah), or sometimes
even
hate. Well, hate might be a little
strong, but a lot of women have disliked Hannah from the first time
they saw
her.
I was fully aware that such responses usually came from
someplace in the woman that had self-image issues, or something like
that. I didn't think Phoebe had that issue.
I felt like she was pretty satisfied with her
looks. Of course she wasn't
"looking" for a man, either, so whether she was attractive or not
might not have meant as much to her as it did to other women.
What I saw there was frank admiration, expressed by a
half-formed smile and eyes below a brow that didn't have a single
furrow in it.
Her eyes looked curious.
"You must be Phoebe," said Hannah. "I've
heard so much about
you. I'm Hannah." Her
face went blank and then her lips made an
"O". She looked at me with raised eyebrows and said, "Please
don't tell me I just screwed up."
She looked at Phoebe's face again.
Phoebe got it before I did and she astonished me by laughing!
It wasn't that she'd never laughed.
She did that more and more often these
days. But I'd never seen her let loose
with a guffaw. She looked away from
Hannah at me, with my confused face.
"She's afraid I'm somebody besides Phoebe. She
thinks she might have ruined a date with some other woman."
"Oh," I said.
"I am Phoebe," said my maybe-could
be-sort of girlfriend. "We're
grading papers."
"Thank goodness," said my sister. "It's
taken him decades to get a girl to
go out with him more than twice and I didn't want to ruin anything."
"I'm not tired of him yet," said Phoebe in an
offhand manner. "You want something to eat? Drink?"
"Don't bother," said Hannah. "I
know where everything is. You go on with
what you were doing."
Hannah headed for the kitchen and I looked at Phoebe.
"She seems nice," said Phoebe. "Why
haven't you ever introduced us before this?"
"I don't know," I said. Actually
I did know. The first time Phoebe
mentioned Hannah, it
was as "that blond girl I was obviously in love with."
That got changed to "love so much"
when she found out about our familial relationship, but I had always
remembered
that. Phoebe liked studying people and she had great intuitions, honed
after
having had such bad ones with Chris' father.
I was pretty sure if Hannah and I were around Phoebe together,
that
intuition might cause me trouble.
And now, as it were, trouble had come a-knockin'.
I was right about Phoebe's intuitions, but not for the reasons I would have thought. "Trouble" wasn't Hannah in a direct sense.
All other things being considered equal,
Phoebe wouldn't have thought a visit from my sister was out of the
ordinary. Siblings visit each other all
the time. The problem was ... well ...
perhaps that should wait. I'll let
Phoebe tell you about that a little later. Let's just say I didn't
think about "trouble" in any particular sense when Hannah showed up that night.
Hannah puttered in the kitchen making hot chocolate. Ten
minutes later Phoebe got up and said it was late, and gathered up her
papers in
preparation for leaving. Phoebe went to
my bedroom and got her little boy up from his nap in my bed.
When they came out, Hannah was sitting where
Phoebe had been sitting, sipping from her mug.
Chris was one of those kids who didn't mind naps at all and,
after
taking one, got up cheerfully to go on with life, even if that meant going home and back to bed. He
came and asked who Hannah was and then hugged
me as they left.
Phoebe hugged me, too, and gave me a peck on the cheek.
Then I was alone with my sister.
"She likes you," said Hannah.
"I like her."
"No, I mean she really likes you."
"And you know this after having spent three minutes
with her exactly ... how?"
"A woman can tell."
"I'm so happy for you," I said.
"And I'm happy for you, Bobby. Don't
be like that. If I'd known she was
going to be here I'd have called ahead before I arrived."
She blinked. "Speaking of calling, I
need to call Austin."
She did that, telling him she was safely there, and then
moved her bag to the bedroom. I followed
behind her simply because I loved looking at her, no matter what she
was
doing. I felt the same way about Phoebe
and she often reacted to one of my stares by stopping whatever she was
doing
and saying "What?!" Hannah
knew I was there somehow and spoke without looking at me.
"I'm ovulating. That's why I took time off from
work."
"Ahhh," I said.
She sat on the bed and began unbuttoning her blouse.
"Austin has been very patient with us," she
said.
"More patient than a few billion people would
believe," I admitted.
"I love you both.
I love making love with him and I love coming here, but it's not
fair to
him. You need to get me pregnant,
Bobby. We're going to stop with
two."
By now creamy skin was exposed between the open edges of
her blouse. She was wearing a powder
blue lacy bra that supported breasts that had grown slightly when she
breast
fed Cynthia and then stayed heavier than they had been before.
Before Cynthia there was just enough sag to
her breasts to create shadows under them.
Now there was a crease below them that you could hide something
long and
thin in. Her areolas had gotten bigger,
too, and darker. Her nipples were now
"permanently" erect, meaning the little cylinders always sat proudly
and the tips of her breasts were never smooth.
Despite these changes, they felt the same in my hands, or
against my face. I had tasted her
mother's milk only once while she was nursing Cynthia.
I had gone to visit them and when it got
late, she stayed up with me talking while her husband and baby went to
bed. Finally she yawned, stretched, and
said she was going to bed. While she
would not have sex with me for other than procreational purposes, hugs
and kisses
were fine, and she gave me a hum-dinger of a set of those.
"You always make me horny," she whispered into
my lips.
"Me, too."
"I wish I could have two husbands," she said.
"I could live with that."
She stepped back and raised her T shirt, exposing
milk-filled
breasts.
"I have to go feed our baby. Want to get me
started?"
She moaned as I sucked and suddenly there was a burst of
sweet, warm milk in my mouth. She pushed
me away gently.
"I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."
"I'm kind of glad you did. I'd
forgotten what Mom tasted like."
"Ewww, Bobby!" she said, slapping me on the
shoulder. "I'm going to go feed
Cindy and have my husband make love to me."
"As it should be," I said.
I always remembered that little taste of milk whenever I
got to see and touch her breasts. I must
have a breast fetish of some kind, because it wasn't unusual for me to
spend an
hour sucking, licking, and massaging them.
She usually got so fired up that she made me stop and pay
attention to
other places on her body.
Well ... one other place on her body.
Then I would slide in and out of her wet heat as long as
I could, which usually meant after she had an orgasm and started
teasing me
about how I was about to make another baby take up residence in her
womb.
She took off the blouse and turned her back to me.
"Get my bra?"
I knew this was the start of teasing and I knew she was
already fired up. She could 'get her
bra' twice as fast as I could.
I released the clip and slid my hands under her arms,
then up to cup her heavy globes. I squeezed the fat nipples and she
laid her
head back on my shoulder.
"I love this and I love you, but we can't keep doing
this," she moaned. She turned and put her nose against mine. "Please
get me pregnant tonight."
"I'm your man," I said.
"That's what you've said for the last six months.
You're not being very manly."
"I have donated at least several billion eager sperm
cells to the cause," I said.
"All I ask from you is one little egg."
"I'm doing that now.
I can't help it if every time I drop one it's either the
beginning of or
the middle of the week."
"Let's not fight," I said. "Let's make a
baby instead."
So we did. Or
tried, as it turned out. In fact we
tried three times that night, each time propping a pillow under her
butt to
tilt things and encourage my swimmers to go deeper in, rather than seep
out
through swollen, maroon labia.
I left her in bed the next morning and went to school, as
usual. It seemed like a perfectly normal
day. I had lunch with Phoebe, who asked
me how Hannah was. Our routine was to
spend evenings together doing the myriad of things teachers have to do
on their
"own" time. Lesson plans had
to be done, papers graded, activities planned and so on.
I asked her if we were going to meet at her
house or mine that night.
"What is Hannah going to do on vacation in
Neosho?" asked Phoebe. "Are
you taking her to Joplin?"
"She just usually relaxes when she comes to
visit," I said. "She reads a lot."
"If you don't have any plans I'd like to invite you both
to dinner tonight. My house. I'll
cook."
"Okay," I said. "I'll ask her."
When I got home, Hannah was waiting and eager to make
love.
"Phoebe invited us over for dinner," I said.
"Okay. What
time?"
"She said she'll have it ready in about an
hour," I said.
"That's plenty of time," she said.
Then she pulled me to the bedroom.
When we got to Phoebe's I was wondering about something
Hannah had said to me. She said she knew
Phoebe really liked me because women can tell.
I wondered if Phoebe, who was definitely a woman, could tell
that
Hannah's womb was packed with fresh spunk as we walked into the door.
Did my sister look 'well-fucked'?
Phoebe was busy in the kitchen, though, and we were
ushered in by a proud Chris, who demanded we explain who we were
through the
door before he opened it.
Hannah went off to see if Phoebe needed any help and
Chris pulled me to the table to help him finish setting it.
He dumped silverware in disarray beside
plates and I brought order to that. He
couldn't reach the glasses, but demanded that I hand them to him so
that he could
put them on the table.
The meal was plain but delicious, boneless chicken
breasts on a bed of rice covered in cream of chicken soup, and a green
bean
casserole. When we were finished, Phoebe
said to leave everything and she'd clean up later.
"You know what I think?" said Hannah. "I
think you and I should go for ice
cream and the boys can wash the dishes while we're gone."
Phoebe looked startled.
"I have tons of stories about my little brother
growing up," said Hannah.
"What a delightful idea!" grinned Phoebe.
"Now wait a minute," I said. "You
can't expect Chris to do all that
work."
"Of course not," said Phoebe. "I
expect you to do the work and for him
to supervise." She grinned.
Actually, it wasn't bad.
We made a game out of it, where Chris brought me "broken
robots" that had to be cleaned and "repaired". Then
we put the robots (and parts of robots)
in their 'storage compartments' until there was nothing left to repair.
He wanted to show me how high he could score
on a game on his tablet. Then we watched
some children's programming on Netflix.
We were doing that when the girls got back, still giggling and
talking.
"You're in trouble now," said Hannah. "I
told her everything."
"I'm not worried," I scoffed. I
was pretty sure Hannah had not, in
fact, told Phoebe everything.
"I have many questions for you," said Phoebe,
smiling. "Such as, did you really cut a big piece out of your aunt's wedding cake before the
reception?"
"It was chocolate, and I was only ten," I said.
"Boys will be boys."
There was a little more banter and then Phoebe said it
was time for Chris to go to bed. She
also suggested he didn't need to hear of my exploits as a boy, and that
it would
only put ideas in his head.
After he was down we sat around talking some more.
It wasn't about what Hannah had told her,
though. We just chatted about life in
general. We stayed until ten-thirty and
when Phoebe yawned I said it was time to go.
That night, as she lay under me, her hips undulating as I
made long, slow strokes into her heat, Hannah said, "I like her a lot,
Bobby."
"Me, too," I said.
"Have you done this with her?"
"Actually, no," I said.
"Why not?
You've been going out with her for months!"
"I just get this feeling we aren't ready yet.
Her relationship with Chris's father left
some scars."
"She mentioned that.
She said you've changed her opinion about men."
"We've kissed a few times," I said.
"I think you could do more. Don't
let her get away. I think she needs you
and you need a good
woman."
"I already have a good woman," I said, powering
into her and rubbing her clit with the base of my cock.
"I'm Austin's woman," she groaned.
"You know that."
"I do," I said. "I'm jealous that he gets
to do this whenever he wants to."
"You're not allowed to be jealous," she said.
"Now cum in me and make a baby.
That's something he can't do."
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