Shooting in Hannah - Version Bravo
by Lubrican
Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14
Chapter Fourteen
It was obvious she'd done this before. Obvious. It was
also obvious it had been for shithead Rodney before he knocked her up.
I tried not to think about that and
concentrated on how very good she was at it. She explored my penis
almost
eagerly and handled it as if she'd found a new favorite thing to
fondle. I lay
back with my head on the backrest of the couch and groaned.
Not only was she good at it, she could tell when I got
close. I felt her tense up and stop,
freezing as if she was afraid to move lest I spurt in her mouth. I
reached to
caress her hair, but that was all. Even
if this was all I got I counted myself lucky.
Then, suddenly, she was off to the races again, sucking,
stroking, and humming as if she was happy.
I got close and she stopped again. This
time she didn't freeze, but gripped my
penis with a grip that had steel in it.
She waited five or six seconds and then went after it again.
She did that four times before she didn't stop me again,
just sucking as I croaked, groaned, and spewed in her mouth.
I heard her swallow once and the vacuum
cleaner attached to my penis never flagged.
She kept sucking until I was fully soft, and only then did she
sit back
up.
I watched as she used the back of her hand to wipe her
mouth.
"Thank you," she panted gently. "That was
even more different than I hoped it would be."
"Any time," I gasped. "Any time at
all."
She laughed, and her face lit up. After all the somber
looks that had been on her face these last few months, it was a delight
to see
her smiling happily.
She licked her lips and swallowed again.
"You taste better than ... him." She
tilted her head. "If I'd have
stopped like that when I was doing that for ... him ... he'd have
slapped me
around."
I sat up, suddenly angry.
"I will never lay a hand on you that way," I
said, tensely.
"I wanted to believe that," she said. "Now
I know for sure."
"You have a funny way of proving your
hypothesis," I said.
"I didn't like doing that for Rodney," she
said.
"You didn't have to do it for me," I objected.
"I know, but I wanted to ... to see if it was the
same." She brought her hands to her
breasts and squeezed them. "I am delighted that it wasn't."
"You still don't ever have to do it again," I
said.
"That's what's so amazing," she said. "I
liked it. No, I enjoyed it. It
was completely different. I was thinking of all these things, the past,
Hannah,
you. But it was so different than anything I felt before that it was
like I'd
never done it before."
"Trust me, it didn't feel like you'd never done it
before," I sighed.
"Rodney was very demanding. I didn't understand how
abusive he was until years later."
"I'm so sorry, Phoebe," I said. "No woman
should have to endure that."
Suddenly she burst into tears, sobbing, shaking
uncontrollably. I moved to enfold her in my arms, but that was all I
could
do. She cried like that for a long time
and finally settled into hiccupping, more gentle misery.
"H-h-he was killed in a b-b-bar fight," she
moaned.
I squeezed her and she looked up at me with red-rimmed,
tear-filled eyes.
"I was glad!" she gasped. "I hoped
he was being tortured by Satan!"
I hugged her harder and kissed the top of her head.
It took another five minutes before I began to feel her
relaxing in my arms. She seemed to need
to confess, and I wanted her to let it all out.
"It was six months after Chris was born, after Rodney abandoned us. I was
miserable. My parents were still angry at me and I had this little baby
to take
care of and I knew I had to finish school, but it was so hard!"
I gave her a quick squeeze.
"When I found out he was dead I wanted to dance in
the streets. And then I realized what kind of person that made me ...
to
celebrate another human being's death."
She clung to me with surprising strength.
"I think it was probably a normal response,
considering the circumstances," I said, hopefully.
She finally sat up and separated from me, leaning against
the back of the couch. I made myself
look at her face instead of her breasts.
"That's what my therapist said, too," she
sighed. "My parents put me in
therapy when I swallowed half a bottle of aspirin."
"Good," I said. "I'm glad they did."
She stared at me for half a minute.
"Most men aren't interested in damaged goods,"
she said.
"You're not damaged goods, Phoebe," I said,
patiently. "Come on. Surely you
know that."
"I guess so," she said.
"You had a rough go of things for a long time, but
that's all in the past, now," I said, earnestly. "You're a great mom
and a great teacher."
She stared at me a few more seconds.
"And I have a great boyfriend."
"I wouldn't go that far," I said,
smiling.
"I wasn't sure, but I'm feeling better and better
about him," she said, speaking of me in third person. "At least you
can understand why his little scandal might not have seemed as
horrifying to me
as some others would have thought it."
She blinked several times. "His actions were based on love,
instead
of anger, intimidation, and domination."
She leaned closer to me.
"Instead of being repelled, I was fascinated. I
wished I could feel love like that."
"I think you can," I said, softly.
We were both emotionally drained. Hearing
about her nightmare had sapped my
strength, just as telling me about it had sapped hers.
We sat up and got dressed. For some
reason I still don't understand now,
I picked up her clothes and helped her into them. She
did the same.
"I've never put a man's clothes on for him
before," she commented.
"Neither have I," I said.
"I would hope not." She smiled.
"You know what I meant."
"Yes. I hope you do that again some day."
"Well, that would mean we have to take them off,
first," I reminded her.
"Of course," she said, carelessly. "I have
a feeling that's going to happen many times in the future."
"Like now?" I asked, only half kidding.
I could feel my penis twitch in my pants.
"Like later," she said, poking me with a stiff
finger.
"I'll be patient," I vowed.
I finished covering her and she kissed me with a quick
peck.
"As I said, your patience will be rewarded."
"Oh trust me," I said. "It already
has."
"You're sweet," she said, standing back.
"I'm not used to that."
"I hope someday you can't imagine not being
used to it."
She cocked her head.
"We'll see."
I'm sure you don't want to hear the details of how our
physical relationship progressed, and I don't want this to become
boring. If it was already boring then you
wouldn't
have read this much of it, and I want the message I'm trying to convey
to be
heard.
And that message is this: Go for it.
I know that sounds trite, but it needs to be said over
and over again, because life bombards us with problems that try to beat
us down
and make us forget that there can be joy and love in our lives.
We get so wrapped up in trying to exhibit
this or that set of social skills, or in trying to find the dream job,
or in
making enough money to buy that thing we think will make us happy, that
we
forget the best things in life are small, even common.
I'm not saying you have to give all your worldly wealth
away and become an ascetic. I suspect some ascetics aren't happy
either. All
I'm saying is that you should find someone you love, and who loves you,
and
concentrate on that. That will bring you contentment, joy, a feeling of
self-worth ... happiness.
And yes, I know the concept of "true love" is
also trite. But it was made that way by
frustrated people who refused to forge a loving bond with someone
because they
kept thinking, "I can do better."
Phoebe could have done better. My
'rap sheet' as a human being was
extensive, literally as long as my arm, if you put the pages end to
end. My
relationship with Hannah was something the vast majority of women could
never
have gotten past.
But the hunger in Phoebe's psyche, the hunger for the kind of love she sensed between Hannah and me,
overpowered her rational mind's objections.
That and the fact that she had seen on my face the look of a man
deep in
love with a woman ... and she wanted a man to look at her like that,
too.
Even my relationship with my sister is an example of what
I'm talking about. Was it
"usual"? Nope. Would
anyone else have approved? No one
except maybe other brothers and sisters in similar relationships. Was
there a
real future for us as lovers? Parents?
Not really.
Basically there were hundreds of reasons not to fall in
love with my sister, or her to fall in love with me.
But we went for it. Sure, it was a
herky jerky journey, looking
something like the shambling gait of a zombie.
Including the groans and moans, to milk the analogy.
But once we'd tasted that little flavor of
love, we went for it anyway. As it
turned out, while a life together as a married couple wasn't in the
cards, I
did get to have children with her.
We love those children.
What's more important is that Phoebe loves them, too.
Their kids and our kids are always thick as
thieves at reunions, and exchange a week at each other's houses each
summer.
That's because Phoebe decided to go for it too ... with
me. Damaged me. Oddball me. Incestuous
fucker me.
It wasn't easy. It
was a shambling zombie walk, too, though not as long a one.
I've never asked her about it, but I had some suspicions
for a while that she was punishing me for hurting her with Hannah.
While she might have accepted that
relationship, or at least the concept of it, that doesn't mean it
didn't hurt
her. Like a broken bone, there is pain,
followed by gradual, slow healing. If the break is set clean, then
maybe nobody
can ever tell it was broken, once it knits.
Other breaks heal badly, bent, or with constant pain.
Lifelong pain.
I said punishing me.
Let me explain.
We kept going out.
About every third time she'd get a sitter for Chris and spend
the night
at my house.
She always got naked, and got me naked, too.
She always kissed me hungrily, like a woman in the throes
of passion.
And we did everything in the world together.
Except have intercourse.
We could make the 69 for hours and love every minute of
it. Her orgasms were accompanied by
squeals and gasping giggles. I got the impression she was surprised by
each one
and delighted to be able to have it.
When she decided to make me spurt she was a woman possessed,
stroking,
sucking, squeezing, whispering things like, "Come on, baby, give Mama a
little taste."
I knew she wasn't afraid of my penis. What I mean is that
when we lay there together, kissing and snuggling, she had no problem
with my
boner poking between her legs. More than once our gyrations caused the
tip of
my cock to part her outer labia. All she did was either roll or reach
to move
it so it wouldn't go in any deeper, but she kept kissing me.
A skeptic might argue she was trying to frustrate me
enough to ask her to marry me, using intercourse as a bargaining chip.
But she didn't act that way.
She never said, "I wish we were married
so I could feel okay about having sex with you," or something like that.
What she did say, more than once, was simply,
"Not yet." She said nothing
about what combination of events might announce when "yet" might
arrive.
I'm sure there are people out there saying, "No way.
It would be too frustrating to be in that kind of relationship."
But I wasn't frustrated at all. Not really. I
loved being around her, seeing her, getting to touch her.
I always got my rocks off, usually more than
once a night on 'those' nights. I loved
being around Chris, too. I liked
teaching him things and playing games with him.
Life was fun. So I wasn't
frustrated.
Actually, what caused "yet" to arrive was her frustration with things.
I had, by now, uttered the three big ones to Phoebe on
more than one occasion: I love you. The
first time had been as my prick spurted into her mouth, so maybe that
one
doesn't count. Maybe something in my
subliminal mind told me that, because the next time was after we'd been
cuddling while watching a movie. Phoebe
must have had a streak of nudist in her, because being naked with me
(on those
nights somebody else was taking care of Chris) was pretty normal.
We weren't like a lot of couples who get
naked, frolic around, get up and get dressed to eat, and then get naked
again
to frolic some more. She got rid of the
'middle man' and just stayed nude.
That wasn't why, during a very intense part of the movie,
when the viewer's attention was being demanded by the tenseness of the
action,
that I turned my head and said, "I love you," to her.
I just felt it well up inside me, so I told
her. She gave me the briefest of
glances, said, "I know. Thank you," and gave me the briefest of pecks
on the lips before looking back at the screen.
Phoebe was a good movie-watcher.
If it wasn't worth watching, she stopped. If it was, she got
into it.
I didn't wear it out, but I'd said it again.
What I had never gotten was the return phrase
everyone seems to expect. That didn't
bother me. I wasn't saying it to get her
to say it back. I just felt like telling
her how I felt. And I knew she felt
something deep for me. I was like a
movie. She hadn't gotten up and walked
away. She was 'into' our relationship.
I don't know what straw it was that broke the camel's
back. When it happened I had just licked
and sucked her pussy for half an hour, paying particular attention to
her clit,
which was large and prominent. I'm told
some clits try to hide inside their sheaths. They still respond to
pressure,
but don't come out to play, so to speak.
Phoebe's wasn't one of those.
Hers fairly erupted. I have come
to believe that's why Shithead was able to control her.
Between her nipples and her clit, Phoebe
could have an orgasm within ten minutes on any given day.
She didn't actually need to have a
penis in her vagina to get off easily.
One time I got on my hands and knees and the only part of my
body that
touched hers were my lips, sucking gently on one of her distended
nipples. She writhed and reached for me,
but I pulled
away, teasing her. When she finally got
the idea, she lay there and let me suck.
She had an orgasm within five minutes.
Anyway, after sucking her clit until she squealed and
giggled, I crawled up to lie beside her while she caught her breath.
"Your beard smells like me," she commented.
"Then my beard smells delicious," I said.
I already knew she didn't mind kissing me
after such an exercise.
Then, whatever it was that caused it to happen,
happened. Tears began leaking from the
corners of her eyes.
I didn't expect it, and was concerned.
"Hey," I said, sliding my hand from her hip to
her ribcage.
"I'm fine," she sniffled.
I didn't really know what to say. In
such situations I have been known to say
something stupid.
"So those are tears of happiness?"
"No," she sighed. "It's just
that I want ... to be able to
tell you ... that I love you, too."
"I think you just did," I said, softly.
"No I didn't.
I said I wished I could.
But I'm too scared. I'm convinced fate won't let me be that
happy. Something will go wrong, I just
know
it."
"Phoebe ... do you love me?" I asked.
There was a long pause and she took a deep breath.
Her perky breasts pushed out from her
chest. She released it in a shuddering
sigh and closed her eyes again. There
were two ways to interpret that shuddering sigh. Either
she couldn't say it ... or she wished
she was in love with me but wasn't. I
could understand that. She knew about Hannah.
"It's okay," I said, softly. "I
understand if you don't."
Her eyes popped open and she rose as if she weighed
nothing, to sit on her calves beside me.
"But I do!" she yipped.
I smiled.
"There. Was
that so hard?"
She sat there, looking down at me. Her
eyes strayed to my penis, which was as
long and hard as it had ever been. She
reached to grip it, almost tentatively.
"Do you want to put this inside me?"
I just told the truth.
"I do."
"The last one of these that went inside me got me
pregnant," she said.
At last I understood her reluctance, the source of all
those, "Not yet"s.
"I can understand how that might dampen the desire
to engage in that particular pastime," I said, trying to be supportive.
"Oh, my desire isn't dampened," she snorted.
"Not in the slightest."
"I can understand that, too," I said.
What can I say? I
already mentioned how inept I am about saying stupid things.
"I'm not on birth control," she said, softly.
My inept phase persisted.
"Oh."
She closed her eyes and took a breath. It
came out in a groan.
"Rodney was such an asshole to make me this
way."
Finally, my brain kicked inept in the balls and let me
say something worthwhile.
"I'm not Rodney."
Her eyes opened.
She had maintained her grip on my penis, which might have caused
a
philosopher to reflect on the fact that, while thinking about a man she
hated,
about a penis she hated, she had nonetheless kept in contact
with a
different penis. Perhaps this was a
penis that didn't offend her.
"No. You're not," she said. "You
have no idea how often you remind
me of that fact."
"I won't leave you," I said.
"Not even if you get me pregnant?" Her eyes
were serious.
Inept crept back in under the radar.
"I got Hannah pregnant and I haven't abandoned
her," I said.
Inept finally registered its existence with my girlfriend
and she frowned.
"That's just stupid, Bob."
"I get that way sometimes," I sighed.
"You're getting soft," she said, squeezing my
cock. "Don't get soft."
"It's probably part of being stupid," I said,
helplessly.
"You're not stupid," she said. "You just
say stupid things sometimes."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Don't be sorry," she replied, stroking me
several times. "Be hard!"
"What do you want?" I groaned.
She leaned over me until her face was right above mine.
"I want you to make love to me. I want you to
promise you'll never leave me. I want this ... what we have ... for as
long as
possible."
The conditions that had led to the softening of my
manhood suddenly reversed. I could feel
it happen.
"Then marry me," I blurted.
She stroked my cock several more times.
It was easier now because I was rock hard
again.
"Is that just your balls talking?" she asked.
"No, Ma'am," I said.
"Are you asking me to do that just so you can put
this in me?"
"No," I said. "You can get dressed and go
home right now. I'll ask you again tomorrow."
"You'll have to ask Chris," she said, sitting
back up. "He's the man of the house, right now."
"Then I'll beg him for your hand," I said.
"This seems sudden," she said. Her
hand was still gripping my cock. A memory
popped up of me, asking Phoebe out the first time, and her saying that
the
request seemed 'sudden.'
"Really? Gee,
we've only known each other for three years. I admit, of course that
we've only
been going out together for eighteen months or so. Maybe it is pretty
sudden." I tried to keep the sarcasm in my voice to a minimum.
"Don't you dare get soft again," she commanded,
ignoring the sarcasm.
"Phoebe," I groaned. "I love you. You're the one who said you didn't want an adult relationship, but I fell
in love
with you anyway. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. I
don't
know what you want."
"I told you what I wanted," she said, calmly.
"And a girl has options. One of them is changing her mind."
"About what?" I whined.
"About this," she said.
With that, she straddled me and brought the tip of my penis
to the labia it had kissed so many times.
She made it kiss them again, swabbing it between them several
times. The tip caught in her opening
and, without comment, she flexed her thighs, lifting herself a little,
and
scooted forward.
I watched in awe as my prick was swallowed in one, smooth
lunge, until it disappeared as if by magic.
I still felt it, of course, surrounded by a heat that was
familiar. I did not, however, think even
once of why that felt familiar.
Hannah did not enter my mind as the black-haired, elven
beauty on top of me sighed, put her hands on my chest, and then fucked
me like
there was no tomorrow.
Something told me to just lie there, and let her do her
thing. To be honest, we weren't 'making love' in one sense. I think she
was
pleasuring herself ... allowing herself to be pleasured in
this way,
with something inside her that, historically, had negative
connotations. I
think she was torn, wanting something but being afraid of it at the
same time.
She was a normal woman, with normal desires, but had been fighting
those
desires for half a decade. Perhaps
"fighting" is the wrong word. She had chosen abstinence over having
to deal with the turmoil of being fully sexual. She was abstaining from
"Rodney."
Now, like a child convinced there is a monster under the
bed, she had finally gotten a flashlight, gotten down on her knees, and
looked
into the darkness.
Happily, for me, all she saw were some dust bunnies.
"Okay. Yes," she panted. "I'll marry
you."
Then I reached for her nipples and helped her have
an orgasm.
"You didn't cum," she said, panting into my
ear.
"It's okay," I said. "I had a great time
watching you have one. Besides, you said
you weren't protected."
"I don't think you understand," she said.
"That's quite possible."
"I normally keep sperm as far away from my womb as
possible," she said.
"That's understandable," I said, thinking about
Shithead.
"That doesn't apply to you," she whispered.
"You want to have more children?"
"If I can raise them in a stable home, with a loving
father ... yes," she said.
"How soon can we get married?" I asked.
"You haven't asked Chris if we can," she
replied.
"I'll deal with Chris," I said. "He and I
are buddies."
"Yes, you are.
That was a point in your favor, by the way."
"When he caves, how soon can we get married?"
"Are you in a hurry?"
"I don't want you to have to walk down the aisle
with a specially made dress."
"What do you mean?"
"Bulging belly?"
"Oh. Do you think that will happen soon?"
I thought about Hannah. And Austin.
"Well, I'll take the risk of pointing out that I
have a history of being pretty virile, and Chris proves you're fertile.
I may
have honored your wish to avoid this adult relationship we find
ourselves in,
but that's all dust in the wind, my beauty."
"You're a satyr," she observed.
"When it comes to you I will be."
"Pandora's box," she sighed. "I've opened
Pandora's box."
"You said the magic words. They were, 'Yes, I'll
marry you.'"
"So you
really meant that."
"Of course I did."
"I want so much to believe this is happening,"
she sighed.
I squeezed her.
I was pretty sure she'd come around.
She just needed to go for it.
So there you have it.
Hannah and I 'went for it' in the sense of exploring life and
love, even
though it was taboo. A lot of good came from that. I'm fully cognizant
of how
lucky we were, how many bullets we dodged, and how many breaks we got. Then Phoebe and I 'went for
it' and
the same thing happened. Minus the bullets and taboo part.
Chris made the momentous event into something trivial.
"I'd like to marry your mom," I said.
"That would make me your stepfather and we'd all live together from now
on."
"Okay," he said, not lifting his eyes from the
Legos he was playing with.
"You might end up with a brother or sister to play
with," I said.
"That would be cool," he said.
And that was it.
Phoebe laughed.
That night she got a sitter.
And that was the first night Phoebe's 'chant' of
"Don't!" and "Stop!" became ... "Don't
stop!" It was also the night I shot
in Phoebe, instead of Hannah.
Phoebe was pregnant when she walked down the
aisle, but the baby had been in residence for only a month, so none of
the
guests knew about it.
Now, when we get together, Hannah's and my son and daughter
play with Phoebe's and my son and daughter. Chris lords it over them,
what with
him being so much older than they are, but they all get along famously.
Hannah and Phoebe are close in a way those philosophers
might reflect on, in terms of two women understanding each other
because they
love the same man, in similar, but also different ways. Their heads are
together a lot, as Austin and I play games with the children. I don't
know what
they talk about, though I did overhear one comment one time.
"He makes good babies," said Hannah.
"Yes, he does," Phoebe replied.
Then I got out of range of hearing, and saw them laugh
about something.
I wonder if they were still talking about me.
The End
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