Shooting in Hannah - Version Bravo

by Lubrican

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


If you've read Shooting (in) Hannah - Version Alpha, the beginning of Version Bravo of this story will seem familiar. It shares some text with the first version. It goes in a different direction, though, telling the story in a different way and actually containing different characters. They have the same names in both books, but their personalities aren't the same at all. They, like all of us out here in reader-land, are different unique individuals, yet share many of the same emotional drivers and behaviors.

Chapter One

They say fact is stranger than fiction, and I'm here to tell you that's true in spades. I learned that from Hannah, my sister.

Hannah is older than me by ten months, but a lot of people who don't know us think we're twins. We both have blonde hair and the same slim build our father has. Or had, back when Hannah was born. I still do but Hannah got a whole bunch of our mother's genes, developing curves all over the place. It's not "cool" to say out loud that your mom's a stone fox, even when your friends comment on that. You're expected to punch them in the shoulder. The fact is, Mom modeled for several years until she got too big up top. After she had Hannah I guess her breasts got bigger and then stayed that way. According to her you can't be too big up top and get modeling jobs. At least other than for porn.

When puberty starts making women out of girls, there is a tendency to bring with it insecurity about how appealing they are to the opposite sex. According to top models, even the most beautiful women feel this insecurity. The odd part is that it starts long before they're actually looking for a guy to pair up with for life. It doesn't matter what they look like, they think they don't look good enough to be interesting to the opposite gender. The big advertising firms are well aware of this and play on it, trying to sell women things that will "fix" them. My mom got over that, thanks to my dad. He fell in love with who she was inside, not the hot swimsuit model he got to go out with him a couple of times. And she fell in love with a man who loved her that way.

Of course that's ancient history. Well, except for the fact that Mom still looks really good ... not that I'd admit that to anybody. And she's pretty comfortable with how she looks, now. Her daughter, however, is not. It's been that way for the entire six years since I was ten. Personally, I think it started when she had her first period, but since we don't talk about that kind of thing in our family, it's just a theory.

Anyway, whether it was because she was insecure or for other reasons, Hannah did all the things sisters do to their brothers as they grow up. Like making my life miserable. She ratted me out whenever she knew I did something against the rules. She told one of my girlfriends I was cheating on her and another one that I had an STD. That, of course, was ridiculous. She knew there was no way in the world I was sexually active. She was just trying to mess with what passed for my love life.

Not that that made any difference. I've never gotten a girl to let me do more than kiss her and maybe cop a feel of a boob, now and then. Truthfully, my girlfriends all know she's full of shit. I'm a nice guy. It's just how I was raised. When I started dating, my dad sat me down and gave me this long lecture about how women are precious and should be treated with nothing but respect. I suggested he needed to give the same speech to Hannah, except about how boys should be respected, too, and he just laughed.

Hannah, of course, feels like since she's older she should get to boss me around. It doesn't help that - even though we were both the same age at that time of year - because Hannah was just enough older than me, she got to start school a year before I did. So now she'll be a senior when school starts again and I'll just be a lowly junior. I get better grades, but that doesn't mean diddly to anybody.

So now you can understand why, one morning, when Hannah came into my room (without knocking) and said, "Hey little brother, I need you to do something for me," I was less than enthusiastic about doing it, even though I didn't know yet what it was.

"No," I said. I was trying the direct approach.

"Do it and I won't tell Mom and Dad you lied to them about going to Kevin's and went to the mall instead," she said, sweetly.

Crap! How the heck did she find out about that? One of her menagerie of friends probably saw me and reported to her on my movements. It wouldn't surprise me if she had a whole spy network out there with orders to keep a list of everything they ever saw me do. In any case, I knew better than to deny it. She'd have rock-solid evidence.

"Mom and dad aren't here today," I pointed out. They were gone to a wedding, one between people they'd known in college and we didn't. That was good because I hated going to weddings.

"Do it and I won't tell them about the mall when they get home," she said, patiently.

"Why didn't you tell them already?" I asked, sarcastically.

"A girl needs leverage sometimes," she said, smiling.

I knew I was screwed. I actually thought that: "I'm screwed." Which, by the way, is kind of ironic, as you'll see later.

"What is it?" I groaned.

She held out her smart phone. I didn't have one, yet. You have to be a senior in our family before you get a smart phone. She had argued that as soon as she graduated from her junior year, that made her a senior, and Mom and Dad went for it. I had argued that, by that argument I was a junior and, since they did driver's ed in your junior year, Dad should take me out and let me have some practice driving the car ...
but nobody went for that. She always gets her way.

"I need you to take some pictures of me. I want to send them to Steve."

Steve was her boyfriend. He's a jerk. He's a bully, and he thinks he's tough. But he's just a jerk. He doesn't mess with me because he's into Hannah. And maybe because I have two inches and thirty pounds on him. I'm tall, like Dad.

"Go in the bathroom and take a selfie, like thousands of other stupid girls do," I said. I waited for her to get mad at me calling her stupid.

But she didn't.

"I am not stupid," she said. "I want something nice, sexy, and I don't want it to look like I'm hiding in the bathroom to do it."

"Sexy," I said, picking one word out of her whole little speech to highlight. "Dad would love to hear you say that."

I still expected her to get mad. I was hoping she'd stomp off and leave me alone. But again, she didn't. She sat down on the edge of the bed instead.

"Come on, Bobby. Please. Steve's been looking at other girls while he's out with me. He even said that Evelyn Morris was looking pretty hot when we saw her at the movies. I'm worried. I don't even think I know how to be sexy."

Wow. I was shocked. It wasn't so much what she'd said, but that she'd said it at all. She was actually trying to explain herself to me - me, the brother she wouldn't normally give the time of day to! Still, doing just about anything for her could turn out badly, especially if her expectations were not realized. I tried a different approach.

"I think you're worrying for nothing. You're plenty sexy," I said.

"Thank you," she said, as if I'd simply complimented her choice of fingernail polish. "But you're my brother. You have to say things like that. I'm still worried I might be losing him."

"Who are you?" I asked, amazement filling my voice.

"I'm your sister, you dork," she said.

"No you're not," I replied. "My sister would never talk to me like this."

"Who else am I supposed to talk to?" she groaned. "I can't just go up to Mom and tell her I don't feel sexy and casually ask her how I can turn that around. And that's definitely not something you bring up with your friends, unless you want to be the joke of the week."

Her mention of the menagerie caused a thought to flicker through my mind that I was being set up for something. This was some kind of prank. But the look on her face was really strange, not like she expected somebody to rush into the room and start yelling about how I thought my sister was sexy or something.

"Does that really bother you?" I asked.

She slumped. She was either the best actress I'd ever seen, or really worked up about this.

"Sometimes," she sighed. "I know Mom says I shouldn't worry about how I look, but sometimes I can't help but think about it. I see all my friends or some girl like Evelyn Morris and I feel like I'm not as pretty as them. I worry Steve will dump me for a sexier girl."

"Okay," I said. "That's just ridiculous. And I'm not saying that because I have to. Being your brother has nothing to do with it. I might be related to you, but I'm not blind. You're twice as good looking as Evelyn Morris. Second, Steve's a jerk and you could do way better than him. He wouldn't be dumping you, he'd be setting you free."

"I don't want to be free," she said. "I'm a senior, and senior girls who don't have a boyfriend are losers."

I groaned.

"That's ridiculous, too. Come on, Hannah. I know you have a brain. Use it. Is Tanya Clarke a loser?" Tanya was a cheerleader and very popular. She not only didn't have a boyfriend, she didn't even date. She told everybody she was waiting until she got to college where there would be some men who don't think it's funny to fart in public. She actually said that! She did go out in groups, but never hung with any particular guy.

"She's the idiot, not me," said Hannah. "She could have guys fighting over her if she wanted to."

"Why is it so important for guys to fight over you?" I asked.

"Because then you know you're cute," she said.

I had an epiphany. There were pictures of Mom on the walls in Dad's library. It was just a bedroom that he was using as a home office, but he called it his library. These were pictures from her modeling days and they were of her in all kinds of situations. Like in one she was standing on the hood of a race car with a trophy in her hands. She was wearing a bikini in that one. There were half a dozen of her on a runway, modeling clothes. I remember there being a bunch of them of her in her underwear, too, when I was younger, but they disappeared after Dad caught me staring at one of them one time. I was thirteen at the time.

I'd seen Hannah staring at those pictures too, and each time she did that she said, "Mom's so pretty!"

"Hannah," I said. "Mom was a model. She had makeup people and wardrobe people and they made her look like she did. But she's just as pretty now as she was then. You are too. You're worrying about stupid stuff. Don't waste your time. If Steve doesn't appreciate you then you'd be better off without him."

What she wasn't telling me was that Steve had been putting pressure on her to loosen up and "do things". What he meant was get naked in the back seat of his car and spread her legs. He had hinted that if she didn't, another girl would. He was full of himself like that. What he was full of in reality was shit.

"Bobby, will you do this for me or not?" she asked.

It was obvious she wasn't going to give up. I guess I caved.

"Okay. If you want sexy pictures, I'm your man," I said. "I've stared at thousands of them."

That last part slipped out.

"I know you have, you pervert," she said. She said it gently, though.

"One should not call another a pervert when one wishes for the other to take slutty pictures of her," I said.

"I don't want slutty. I want sexy," she said. She held out the phone. "And I like Steve, so stop saying that about him."

I thought about it.

"Okay," I said. "I'll do it ... but not for Steve."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll take them, but they're for you, so you can see how good you look. If you decide to let that twerp look at them that's your business, but I'm taking them for you."

She tilted her head and examined me.

"I know I've treated you like I didn't like you, but that's not true."

"Of course it's true. You did treat me like you didn't like me," I said.

"What I meant is I always knew you were a good guy."

"Then why try to make girls think I'm a low-life?"

"It's what sisters are supposed to do," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

"And where did you get this nugget of wisdom?"

"Oh, around, I guess," she said. "I'm sorry. I won't treat you like that anymore."

"Come on," I said, sitting up. "Who are you really? What planet do you come from? Why did you choose my sister's body to take over?"

"Ha - ha," she said. "Please?"

"If this is some kind of joke ..." I warned.

"It isn't. I promise."

Which is how we ended up in the back yard by a line of Forsythia bushes along the fence. They'd been bright yellow, but the blossoms were gone now and they were a deep green shade. Hannah stood in front of them and struck a pose. She looked good. That was all there was to it. I already knew that, of course. She'd been cute as we were growing up. All my aunts had taken pains to point that out. Not that I had thought about that then, but I did notice when the front of her shirts wasn't flat anymore, and her butt got bigger. I didn't think my interest in her boobs and butt was a bad thing. I noticed every girl's breasts, and I liked a butt that had filled out and got round.

She hadn't cut her hair since I could remember and today it was in a ponytail that went clear down to the small of her back. Her hair is that golden blond that has highlights of red and brown in it. It was late May. School had only been out a week and it was still chilly in the mornings. I was wearing a pair of my summer shorts, but had put on a hoody. She had on faded and torn jeans with a pink T shirt that had something on the back, but was plain in front. She'd gotten it when she walked five miles to make money for breast cancer research. I thought that was appropriate since she had a rack to be proud of, but of course I didn't say that.

She stood there, looking good, and I took a picture. I peered at it on her phone. She looked awkward standing like that. I looked around and saw the Adirondack chairs by the birdbath that Mom and Dad sat in sometimes, to read.

"Over there," I said. "Sit on the arm of one of the chairs."

"Why?" asked my sister.

"Just do it."

"Don't be so bossy."

She went, though, and perched on the chair. This looked much better, more natural. I took a shot.

"You definitely look good," I said.

"Really? But do I look sexy?" she asked. "How about this?"

She tugged the hem of her T shirt upwards, exposing her flat abs and belly button, which had something shiny in it.

"I didn't know your belly button was pierced," I said.

"Neither does Mom," she said. "Cindy did it at a sleepover. You can't say anything. If they knew they'd freak out."

"They," of course, were our parents.

"It looks ... sexy," I said, taking a picture.

"Does it? You think Steve will like it?"

"That jerk will salivate over it." I took a couple more. "Can I ask you a question?"


"How much have you done with him?"

"Bobby!" she said. "That's private." She pulled the shirt higher. Suddenly I could see the naked swells of the bottom of her breasts. Obviously she wasn't wearing a bra under that shirt. She pulled a little higher. I couldn't see her areolas, but it was close and my imagination got going. "How about this?"

"It's ..." I didn't go on. I couldn't very well tell her I wished she would pull a lot higher. A lot. I took a picture. I felt something happening in my pants, and got nervous. What was happening?

"I think we're done," I said. "If you get any sexier it's going to get pornographic."

"Let me see," she said, excitedly. She let the shirt fall and came over to me. She peered into the camera and flipped through the pics.

"Wow," she said. She turned to me and hugged me, holding me tightly. "Thank you so much!"

Then she stepped back and looked down. I knew I was busted because I'd felt my erection press against her.

"Do you have a boner?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"No," I said. What else could I say? When she hugged me and I felt it push against her, there was nothing I could do about it because it happened too fast.

"You do!" she said, looking at the bulge in the front of my loose, cotton shorts. "You got a boner because of me?"

My doubts were back. Here was a perfect chance for her friends to jump out of the bushes, cameras in hands, having taken video of me getting a stiffy for my own sister. Such videos would be gleefully posted on social media and my life would be over. Anger flashed and I just reacted to what I assumed was really going on.

"Fuck you," I snapped. It just came out.

"Well, I can't very well do that. You're my brother, Bobby."

Now I have to say, here, that I was suddenly confused. I'd just said something to my sister that would normally have made her go ballistic. Not only that, in the past, she'd have stomped off to call either Mom or Dad and reported my ... indiscretion. At a minimum I just assumed she'd be disgusted and shriek about that.

But she hadn't done that. She'd responded in a way so differently than I'd expected that I was at a loss. She was frowning, but that's all she was doing. I didn't know what to do, so I just tried to get it over with.

"That's not what I meant," I said. "I'm sorry. You can tell your friends to come out now."

"Friends?" She sounded confused. "What friends?"

"The ones who will post videos of me getting a boner for my sister," I snarled.

She blinked.

"There are no friends, Bobby. It's just me. Just us."

I looked around, suddenly feeling foolish.

"Sorry. I'm a little freaked out right now."

"Because of the boner?"

"Would you please stop talking about that?" I groaned.

"But you do have a boner," she said, looking down at the front of my pants again. "I felt it when I hugged you, and I can see it now, making a big dent in your shorts."

If that wasn't bad enough, she pointed one manicured finger at it.

Being freaked out makes you defensive. It can also make you say things you might regret later.

"Yeah, I bet you have a lot of experience feeling boners against you," I growled.

"No I don't," she said. "Not really."

"What about Steve and his ginormous dick?" I said, sarcastically.

She stepped back.

"Bobby. I was just teasing you. I haven't done anything with Steve. I haven't done anything with anybody."

"So you're telling me you're a virgin," I said, my voice tight.

"Well ... sort of," she said.

"You can't be sort of a virgin," I said. "You either are or you aren't. I should know."

Hannah stepped back another step and folded her arms under her braless breasts.

"I think we're getting off track. All I wanted you to do was take some pictures of me. I teased you and I'm sorry for that. Don't be mad."

"I don't think we're off track at all," I said, heavily. "I am your brother and I'm supposed to look out for you. Of course I care what guys try to get away with when you're alone with them. The idea that you're not a virgin makes me crazy!"

Hannah stared at me. Once again, she didn't react like the sister I'd grown up with.

"Bobby, there are lots of ways a girl can lose her cherry that don't involve a boy at all."

I blinked, obviously startled by what she'd said. I felt like she could almost see the gears turning in my head.

"Oh," I said, softly. All the bluster and anger in me faded away. "I didn't think of that."

"That's hard to believe," she said. Her face got calm. "Don't guys do that ten times a day?"

"Not ten," I said, my voice distracted. I blinked again and my face showed surprise at what had slipped out of my mouth.

"Oh?" Her voice teased again. "How many, then? Fifteen? Twenty?" She grinned.

"I'm not telling my sister how often I ... do that," I said, my voice tight.

"We weren't talking about you," she said, sweetly. "I just meant guys in general."

"I don't know how often other guys jerk off," I snapped. "It's not like we talk about it at lunch."

"Oh," she said, lightly, putting one finger up to the corner of her mouth. "Us girls talk about it all the time. You know, sharing tips and ideas and all that."

The shock on my face was genuine and she laughed.

"I'm kidding," she said. "You're so easy to get to. Besides. I actually lost my cherry to tampons ... not what you were thinking about."

"I'm going to go lie down for a while," I said, my voice tight again.

"Come on, Bobby," she wheedled. "We were having fun."

"You were having fun," I said. "It wasn't fun for me."

"I know, but that's just because I was teasing you. I said I'm sorry about that. I won't do that anymore. I promise. Come on. Just take a few more?"

"Which brings us back to you wanting to show them to Steve, the douchebag, who doesn't deserve to touch your hand, much less any other part of you," I growled.

"Bobby," she said softly. "A girl has to have a boyfriend. If she doesn't, people think she's a loser."

"Then find a guy who's worth you," I said. "Like I said, you could have any guy you wanted."

"No I can't," she said. "Guys aren't crawling all over me, Bobby. I admit Steve's got a lot of flaws, but he's all I have right now."

"I don't get that," I said. "I mean you're funny and smart and gorgeous. I know guys see that because they talk to me about you all the time."

"Really? They talk about me?" Her eyes were wide. Her whole countenance was one of eager anticipation.

"Yes they do," I said. "Guys mess with me frequently about how good you look."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You know," I said. "They come up to me and say things like, 'Hey Bob, seen your sister naked lately? What's it like when a babe like her comes out of the shower naked? Does she shake her titties at you?' Then they laugh and poke me and that kind of shit."

"You don't see me naked," said Hannah.

"I know that," I snapped. "But they think about it like what they wish it would be like if they were your brother." I changed my voice to a high pitch, my tone sarcastic. "Does she sleep in the buff, Bob? Do you help her shave her pussy, Bob? I bet she has a snapping pussy. Have you tried it yet? Does she know the best bone is the one you get at home?"

Hannah was shocked. I could see it on her face.

"They do not!" she gasped. I didn't say anything and she stared at my face. "Really? They say shit like that?"

"All the time," I sighed. "It makes me want to kick that shit out of them. It also lets me know what every guy who you might date thinks about doing with you. It's driving me crazy. And now you want me to take sexy pictures of you so you can give them to guys like that!"

"I'm sorry, Bobby. I didn't know."

"Well, now you do," I said.

She stood there, obviously just thinking about all this.

"You're right. It would be stupid to give pictures like this to somebody like that."

"They'd post them online and then they'd be out there forever," I said.

"Okay. I won't give them to anybody," she said, softly. "They'll just be between you and me, okay?"

I blinked a few times while I thought about that.

"That's kind of weird ... don't you think?"

"Why? Someday maybe I'll meet a good guy, like you, and I'll want to be sexy for him. I still want to learn how to be sexy, even if it isn't for Steve. So who else can I practice on?"

"Just because you take a picture doesn't mean you can't delete it later," I said.

"You don't want them?" Her voice sounded strange, maybe a little hurt. I think it was part of that insecurity I mentioned, where a girl is worried about what some guy thinks about her. In this case, me wanting sexy pictures of her was the salve to her wounded self-image. A self-inflicted wound is still a wound.

I paused. The fact was that I did want them. But could I admit that to her? For sure I couldn't admit what I was suddenly feeling about my big sister. My body had already spoken up, but I couldn't voice that kind of interest. Sure, I'd noticed she was a babe, but never once had I thought about doing what I suddenly thought about doing while looking at that picture where her boobs were almost exposed. How do you admit to your sister that you might jerk off while looking at her picture?

"It's okay," she said, turning to leave. "I know I can't compete with the really beautiful girls."

"Don't be stupid." It was out of my mouth before I could think about it. She turned back.

"Why is that stupid? It's true."

"I already told you you're gorgeous," I insisted.

"That's sweet, but you don't really believe that. You don't want any pictures of me because I'm not really sexy."

As I indicated, there was a lot going on in my brain at that moment and I didn't have time to think about this. If I had, I might have pointed out that it was a little odd for a sister to want her brother to think she was sexy. If I'd been older and wiser I might have realized this was just about battling her insecurity. Instead, I just reacted in the moment.

"I didn't say I don't want them," I said. I felt nervous.

"So you do?"

"Maybe I do," I said, leaving it at that.

"Okay!" she said, all bubbly again. "So we could take some more?"

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