Shooting in Hannah - Version Bravo

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

Chapter Thirteen

Waking up the next morning wasn't all warm and fuzzy. I woke up first and got up to use the bathroom. When I came out, Phoebe was sitting on the edge of the bed, running her fingers through her hair.

"I'm late," she said. "I have to go get Chris."

"I'll take you," I offered.

"No. That's okay. I need to go home. I need a shower."

I followed her out of the bedroom to the front door.

"When will I see you again?" I asked.

"I don't know. After I get cleaned up I'm going to call Hannah."

"You have her number?"

"Yes, she gave it to me."

"Do you feel any better at all?" I asked.

She looked up at me, her brown eyes serious.

"I don't feel worse," she offered.

"I guess I'll take what I can get," I said.

"That might be what got you into this mess in the first place, Bob."

Then she was gone and I was left to wander around my little house, wondering what was going to happen. I tried to call Hannah, to update her on what had transpired, but my call went to voicemail.

Things didn't seem to be getting better. I didn't hear from either woman all weekend. I levered myself out of bed Monday morning and went to school. At least it was something to do that would take my mind off of my troubles. I hadn't brought my own lunch that day, so I got a tray from the cafeteria and took it to the teacher's lounge. I was twirling spaghetti on my plastic fork when Phoebe appeared as if by magic and sat across from me.

"Hi," she said, opening her brown paper sack and reaching inside it. She brought out a plastic container that had what looked like meatloaf in it. A zip lock bag containing carrots and celery followed, and an individually boxed tiny lemon pie I recognized as having come from Wal-Mart.

"Hi," I said. "I'll trade you lunch."

She looked at my tray and said, "The green beans always look so anemic."

We spoke a few more times as we ate, but not about what was on my mind. It was possible we were both just avoiding a sticky issue, resting from tilting against that particular dragon for a while, but I worried that, in her mind, she had decided we'd just be friends and was already acting on that plan.

Before I knew it the time allotted for mid-day nourishment had expired and Phoebe stood up. She paused and looked at me.

"Hannah and I had a long talk."

"Okay," I said, carefully. "Am I allowed to ask about it?"

"We don't have time to discuss it now."

"I'd be happy to take you and Chris out to dinner tonight," I offered.

"That would be acceptable," she said. "Pick us up at six?"

"I'll be there."

"Thanks."

I went back to my classroom. When the bell rang I was still thinking about the last thing she'd said: "Thanks." Not, "I can't wait." Not, "I'm looking forward to it." Not even "I'll be glad to get this situation resolved." Just, "Thanks." She could just as well have said, "I have to eat, so I may as well let you pay for it."

"Mister Carpenter?"

My head jerked as I came back to the real world. Julie Grisham, my eager, young, straight A student was sitting in the front row, as usual, her hand up. Some dim place in my brain told me she'd called my name more than once.

"Yes?"

"You were just standing there. Are you okay?"

"Fine," I said. Then I had a thought. "Probably. It depends on whether or not the zombie apocalypse has started or not."

The room had been noisy, but it suddenly got quiet as every head turned to stare at me.

"Let's talk about that," I said. "What do we know about zombies?"

I got blank looks.

"Anybody?" I prompted.

"They aren't real," came a voice from the back.

"How do we know?" I asked. "None of you have ever seen a quark, but they're real."

Spending half an hour on discussing the science of why zombies (as commonly described) could not exist in a Newtonian universe finally got my mind off of my woman problems.

The kids also had a good time.

I took them to a place called Grizzlies, which was known for truly amazing burgers, but also served things like chicken fried steak, fried chicken, pot roast, and other things like that. They had a set of crayons at each table and the tables were covered with sheets of butcher paper torn off a big roll so the kids could draw as much as they wanted to. Chris set to with glee.

After the server took our drink order, I leaned back and just looked at Phoebe. I felt lucky I was getting to do that. She saw me staring, but it didn't make her uncomfortable, which made me feel even luckier. I remember this, actually feeling lucky, because of what happened next.

"I talked to Hannah," said Phoebe.

There are a number of responses to that kind of opening. "You already told me that" is one. "How is she?" perhaps, or maybe, "And what did she have to say?" "What's going on in her part of the woods?" might seem apropos. My situation was a bit different. None of those normal responses seemed appropriate. In fact I couldn't think of anything to say at all.

Phoebe looked at Chris and said, "We discussed your play dates."

"Oh?" I raised my eyebrows. What the heck did that mean?

"I told her I understand why she might want to have more play dates with you."

Ahhh. Now I got it. Chris was here. She had to talk in code.

"So there was ... discussion? About ... um ... more play dates?"

"Yes. They want very much to increase their progeny."

"That really is the only reason we were having play dates in the first place," I said.

"I know. We had a long talk about that. Hannah asked if she could make more play dates with you."

This was delivered in a normal voice, but I expected to see non-verbal communication. I looked at her but saw nothing.

"And what did you say?"

"I told her I felt like one more addition to the group might be acceptable."

"Really!" I have to admit I was a little dumbfounded.

"Yes," she confirmed.

"Okay," I said. "And what, then?"

"And after that no more play dates."

Now you understand why I remember feeling so lucky. The agreement they had come to was astounding. Actually it was astounding that Phoebe stuck around to enter into an agreement at all, much less one that meant the man she was interested in would father another woman's baby one more time. Part of the astonishment was that Phoebe had just made it clear she wasn't going to just cut her losses and walk away. That, alone, made my heart race. You might think the idea of getting to keep shooting in Hannah would have been uppermost in my mind but it wasn't. What was most important to me, at that moment, was that there might be a future that included Phoebe in my life.

Turns out talking in code is a good idea.

"No more play dates? Why not?" asked Chris, suddenly. "Play dates are fun!"

"They are," I said, trying to make his interruption go with the flow.

"Except if they're like this one," he observed, crayon poised above paper. "This one is kind of boring."

"We're not on a play date," said his mother. "We came here to eat. You know that."

"I know," he said, going back to work. "It's still boring."

I looked at Phoebe, who looked calm, cool and collected. I couldn't get over the concept that Hannah had asked for Phoebe's permission to let me get one more baby in her. Phoebe didn't appear to have any anger about it. There were no little tell-tale signs of discomfort or angst, no tapping of a fingernail on the tabletop, no frown.

"That's very generous of you," I suggested, tentatively.

"I think so, too," she said, staring right at me.

I had to ask.

"Who will I have play dates with after that?"

She didn't bat an eye.

"Don't get the cart ahead of the horse," she said.

"Can I take that to mean that mean I have a horse?"

"Let's just say it's possible you have access to a horse," she said.

"Goody!" piped Chris. "Can I ride your horse, Bob?"

It wasn't seamless, though as far as I could tell things were relatively painless. Phoebe and I went out two or three times a week, and the relationship seemed as stable as I could have hoped for. I have a suspicion that Phoebe and Hannah stayed in contact, because whenever Hannah called to let me know when she'd be coming, Phoebe always seemed to have something to do on those nights. Generally that was only one weekend a month, though.

Hannah never talked about their agreement. She simply moaned under me, exhorting me to do my best to defeat one of her eggs. "Defeat" probably isn't the best word to use in that context, because her willingness to be naked with me and open herself to my love held nothing but hope. "Defeat" also usually has a negative context, but in this case something would be built and cherished and loved.

It took three more months before we finally killed the rabbit. Hannah visited one last time (as my lover) to tell me the news and celebrate our success at making another baby. She cried a little, and clung to me, lurching up against me as I slowly slid in and out of her.

"I'm going to miss this," she whimpered.

"You have Austin," I reminded her.

"Yes, and I love doing this with him, too. It's just different. With you I know it could get me pregnant."

"It did get you pregnant, I reminded her.

"Yes, but this is the last time. From now on you're going to be Phoebe's alone."

"Unless she breaks up with me," I said.

"She won't. She's crazy about you, Bobby. I hear it in her voice. She's been so patient."

"To be honest I don't think she wants to take things much farther than they already are."

"Then you're not paying attention."

I slid in and rotated, trying to coax an orgasm out of my sister.

"You have to remember to do that with her," gasped Hannah. "You have no idea how wonderful that feels."

"I have some idea," I said. I felt like spewing but didn't want it to be over yet. She was staying the night, and I knew we'd make love at least once more before she left, but I still wanted this to last.

"She's going to love this, too," panted Hannah. "She needs a good man in her life. She's so lucky it's going to be you."

"We'll see," I said. "I still think she's reluctant to go farther. All we've done is kiss."

"She's waiting until she has you all to herself," gasped Hannah. "Don't stop, I'm almost there."

I didn't, and I felt her body begin the series of movements, both inward and out, that signaled she was having an orgasm.

While she did it I released my semen into her body, drenching her with as much liquid love as I could.

We slept for a while and then woke to cuddle and make the beast with two backs again in the middle of the night. The next morning she rode me, letting me pull her thick nipples one last time. I gave her my last dose of incestuous sperm, superfluous as it was. She kissed me for a minute and then got up. She didn't shower. She said she wanted my gift inside her as she drove home.

When she left I felt a little empty. A very important phase in my life was over. Most of the world would say that was a good thing, that we should never have done what we did in the first place. But to me, it was as if I'd lost a piece of myself.

Five hours later I called Phoebe and told her the news that Hannah was pregnant.

"I'm glad," she said, quietly. "They wanted this very badly."

"Hannah didn't tell me to thank you, but I know she'd want that. You let her have something no other woman would normally allow."

"I understood her need," said Phoebe. "How are you doing?"

"I don't know. I don't think it's sunk in, yet."

"Want some company?"

"Do you want to keep me company?"

"I'm willing, if you need me there."

"I need you. I just feel presumptuous about asking you to do even more."

"If you think the only reason I let you get Hannah pregnant again was to make her happy, you're sadly mistaken," said Phoebe. "I have a horse in this race, too, you know."

That was a fairly vague statement, but one I could read potential into. Still, I didn't want to push it.

"Careful. If Chris hears you say that he'll want to ride it." I was trying to lighten the mood.

"He can't ride this horse, Bob."

"What does that mean, exactly?" I asked.

"Why don't I come over. We can talk about it."

"Okay."

She brought a bottle of wine with her. She did not bring her son. Ten minutes later we were sitting on the couch, turned sideways, facing each other.

"Thanks," I said. "For coming," I added, in case she didn't understand.

"I didn't know what else to do," she said, taking a long swig.

"Believe it or not I understand that. I don't know what to do, either."

"I don't think you understand at all," she said. "Your life has been relatively normal."

"I don't want to get into an argument," I said, "but I doubt even one out of a hundred people would say what happened between Hannah and me has been normal," I said.

"I'll grant you that, but at least it was done out of love."

"That's true," I said.

"I think that might be why I'm so frustrated right now," said Phoebe.

"Ah," I said as my heart sank. "I get it. I loved another woman and that means you can't trust me," I guessed.

"That's ridiculous," she snapped. "I trust you more than any man I've ever met."

"Even though I kept it secret from you what was going on with Hannah?"

"Of course you did. Nobody would have admitted that up front. I get that. You're not the problem, Bob. It's me that's the problem."

"I don't see how you could feel that way," I said. "I'm the one who went all perverted and did things nobody would approve of."

"You're not a pervert," she sighed, emptying her glass. "All you did was help someone you love who was in an untenable position. If others could have talked to Hannah like I did they'd understand, too."

"I doubt that," I said.

She refilled her glass and leaned back to look at me. I decided to just wait and take whatever came. I was surprised when she finally spoke.

"I wish I'd had a brother like you. I might not have gotten in trouble if I'd had a brother to help me like that."

It hadn't been as "easy" as it sounded like she thought it was, but I didn't think this was the time for that conversation.

"We always look back and wish things had been different," I said.

"I'll bet Hannah doesn't wish that," she sighed.

"The point is, we're always stuck with where we are. The key is to keep going, to try to make things better in the future," I said.

"That's the problem!" she shouted. "I don't know how to keep going! I've never had a normal relationship with a man. I didn't have a normal dating life. Rodney was my first boyfriend, my only boyfriend. After what he did I was afraid all men were like that. It was easier to just shut men out of my life. Or I thought it was easier. Then I let you past my walls. You're not like Rodney at all. You're caring and generous and patient. And yet, here I am again, in a crazy relationship that's anything but normal. But you love me. I can feel that, Bob, and I've never felt that from a man before."

"I do love you," I said, softly, infused with courage I had no idea where came from.

She set her glass on the coffee table and didn't lean back. Her eyes seemed to bore into me.

"I want to feel normal," she said.

"I'd love to help you with that but I don't know how," I admitted. "As you already know, I'm not very normal myself."

She stood up, suddenly.

"How long have we been going out?" she asked.

I thought for a moment. "Chuck E. Cheese's, last September," I said.

"For a whole year of dating all we've done is kiss," she said. "I felt something in those kisses, but you never tried to do anything else."

"The very first thing you told me was that you didn't want an adult relationship," I reminded her.

"Yes," she said. "And you had Hannah."

"Occasionally," I said, carefully.

"But now you don't."

"Yes," I said.

"You gave her up for me."

"Yes."

"And for all you know, when it comes to us, there may never be anything but a few more kisses."

"I can't think of any woman I'd rather be around and only get to kiss her," I said, trying to be gallant.

And then, with no explanation, Phoebe unbuttoned her blouse and took it off. She was wearing a white bra, very plain, that somehow bulged with breast flesh, even though she was only in a B cup. Looking right at me, she reached behind her in that way only women can do and released the catch on the bra. With a little shrug the straps fell off her shoulders and the bra dropped as if made of lead.

Her breasts had not grown during either her pregnancy nor while she nursed Chris. Either that or she'd been board flat when she got pregnant. They were the kind of breasts that a coconut bra would have covered perfectly, with long, almost angry looking nipples of a dark pink hue.

"Take off your shirt," she said, softly.

I stood up and pulled my T shirt over my head without comment. I had no idea what was going on, but I wasn't about to try to slow it down. Without looking down, she moved her hands to her belt and loosened it. Her fingers manipulated the button and zipper and she finally lost eye contact with me as she bent over and pushed her jeans to the floor, stepping out of them. She stood up adorned only in lilac-colored boy shorts.

"Your pants, please," she said.

It was almost clinical, except her voice held no note of distance or unconcern. I could already feel my body reacting to her, but didn't hesitate to divest myself of my pants. I didn't slouch or try to hide the fact that my briefs were bulging when I stood up. When she glanced down at them and then licked her lips, that was all it took to bring the last bit of steel into my penis.

She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her boy shorts, hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then bent over to push them down to join her jeans on the floor beside her. When she stood up I could see the stain of a blush rising from her upper chest, past her neck and onto her cheeks. Her fluff of dark pubic hair was the perfect counterpoint to the hair surrounding her face. She said nothing, but the way she just stood there made it obvious she expected me to reciprocate.

I did. My erection bobbed in front of me, pointing at her as if it were a dog's nose, sniffing the air.

We probably stood there, just looking at each other for thirty seconds. I had this eerie feeling that we had somehow taken on the maturity of our students and were like eighth graders who were fascinated with each other's bodies, but afraid to do anything more than just stare.

"Kiss me," she said, softly, proving Phoebe was not afraid after all.

We had kissed dozens of times. Those kisses had started as antiseptic cultural exchanges, unspoken messages that we enjoyed each other's company. They had matured into genuine notes of affection to each other, and had eventually generated some real heat. That heat had never led to anything further, unless you call happy hugs something further. My hands had never touched her body anywhere "sexual" though. She had rubbed her cheek against my beard several times, and it had been obvious she liked this little bit of intimacy we shared, but most of our intimacy had been on a more spiritual level.

This kiss was something an order of magnitude higher on the intimacy scale. I don't mean that our being naked was responsible, though it was undeniable that it helped. We did move against each other during that kiss, and I could feel her rock-hard nipples combing through my chest hair. But somehow all that was secondary to what our lips were doing. It was as if we were hungry, and each other's lips were the only food left on Earth.

Then her hands left my back and went to settle on my butt cheeks. They squeezed, with authority, as if to say, "This ass is mine and I can squeeze it anytime I feel like it."

I reciprocated, and her loins bumped mine in a, "Yes, I like that very much, thank you," kind of way.

We made out for what seemed like ten minutes, just kissing each other over and over again. Instead of taking me to the bedroom, however, she led me to the couch. She sat down and leaned back, patting the seat beside her.

"I need a favor," she said, panting gently.

"Anything," I replied, sitting on the edge of the seat beside her.

She cupped her breasts.

"Touch them," she sighed.

She didn't specify in what manner I should do that, so I chose my mouth as what I would touch them with. I didn't ask permission to suck them. I just did it. And she did nothing to discourage that. Instead she lay back and moaned pitifully as I went back and forth, sucking and chewing her nipples. Then she had an orgasm. It was as if that orgasm was already there, like milk inflating her breasts, aching to burst out. I didn't taste anything, of course, but it was obvious she was having an orgasm. Hannah had never come that fast, regardless of what we'd been doing.

I sat up, letting her catch her breath. Her head rolled and glittering eyes surveyed me.

"Nobody ever did that to me," she panted. "I think I love that more than sex."

"Curses," I groaned. "Foiled again."

She smiled.

"Your patience will be rewarded in time." One hand went lazily to cover her puff of nether hair. "But not tonight, please."

I had been shut down. That said, it had been a gentle stomp on the brakes, so I didn't feel like I had to jump up and get dressed.

"How grossed out would you be if I did this?" I asked, reaching to stroke my cock a few times.

"Very," she said, her voice suddenly sharp. "Rodney liked to do that and then 'decorate' my face. I never felt more like a slut than when he did that."

My hand left my penis as if it were red hot.

"You're not a slut," I said.

"I know that now," she said. "Rodney was a mistake in more than one way. He tainted my view of men, and he tainted my view of myself. It took years before I worked my way out of that. Then I met you, and I began to hope that all men weren't the same."

I decided not to get back into the conversation about how amazing it was that her view of men had become 'untainted' by a guy who fucked his sister, getting her pregnant twice. I didn't think that would help at all.

"I'm glad to have been able to restore your confidence in men," I said.

"Man," she stipulated. "You're different than other men I've known."

I wondered if she was thinking about Hannah after all.

"Do you want to get dressed?" I asked.

"No," she said, sitting up. "I need another favor."

"Okay," I said, wondering what it could be. She's already indicated we weren't going to have sex. "What?"

"I want you to let me do this."

Without warning her hand came to replace mine, gripping my cock. Slowly she pressed downward, uncovering the knob, and then bent over to firmly suck that knob into her mouth.

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