Shooting (in) Hannah - Version Bravo

Shooting (in) Hannah

Version Bravo

by Robert Lubrican

Original Edition

Copyright 2023 Robert Lubrican

License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Bookapy.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The right to use cover art was purchased at freepic.com

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Table of Contents

Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen

Foreword

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 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 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 don't measure up. 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 real men. 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 who grew breasts, and whose butt 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?"

"Sure?"

"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.

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

"No," I said. What else could I say? When she hugged me I felt it push against her, but 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 crap 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. 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.

"So we could take some more?"

Chapter Two

"You actually want to keep going?" I asked. This was hard to believe.

"Bobby, getting these pictures taken has been crazy fun," she said.

"They're just pictures," I said.

"Actually ... they're pictures that gave my own brother a hardon," she said. "How fantastic is that?"

Fuck! I'd hoped she'd forgotten about that. The fact that she'd remembered (and was even celebratory about it), got in the way of me noticing that, magically, her self-doubt had disappeared and she was on the "Hey! I'm sexy!" bandwagon. She confused me further by walking up to me and invading my personal space. She looked right into my eyes. I could smell the scent of her body lotion.

Part of what I didn't have time to think about, at that juncture, was that things were going on in Hannah's mind, too. She really had set out to try to feel sexy by having me take some mildly risqué pictures. My reaction to that was more confirming to her than anything else could have been. The fact that it was her brother doing the confirming didn't come across as strange to her because she actually did love me. Later I'd find out she felt terrible (once in a while) when she made my life miserable, but she was confused about life. She hated it when I was mad at her, but didn't know what to do about it. She really was acting in the "role" she thought she was supposed to portray as my sister. When I responded to her in the way she wanted other guys to respond, it flipped some kind of switch in her and her whole attitude changed. Suddenly, this boy she actually liked, confirmed in her what all girls want to have confirmed. That it was her brother doing the confirming didn't matter to her. She gave me a hint of all this when she spoke to me.

"Hey. I don't mind and I swear I'll never tell anybody. Honest. It made me feel good."

"Your own brother getting a hardon made you feel good?" My voice was incredulous.

"Well ... I know how picky you are about girls," she said. "I've seen the girls you date. You have high standards, little brother. And I didn't even show you any of the good parts. You made me feel really good, Bobby."

"You made me feel ..." My voice faded.

"Horny?" Her voice was impish, but the smile on her face was warm.

"I'm not supposed to get horny in that situation," I said.

"If I don't mind, why does it matter?" she said.

"It's just weird," I said.

"I suppose. So ... should I show you some of the good parts? Those would make hot pictures, don't you think?"

"Shit, Hannah!" I barked. "Don't tease a guy like that!"

She kept staring into my eyes.

"Who says I'm teasing?"

"What's going on here?" I groaned. "This is crazy, Hannah."

"I don't know," she said, shrugging. "I for sure can't flash any other guy. That would be crazy. But I want to. I mean I want to know what that would be like, but I can't just go out and do that to some guy. That's how you get a reputation. But this is home and you're my brother. We love each other and nothing would happen. You wouldn't tell anybody and I wouldn't either. But I'd get to see how it feels."

"You want to show your ... body ... to a guy?" My eyebrows rose.

"Have you ever shown a girl your dick?" she asked.

"Of course not," I said, jerking at both the thought and her casual usage of "dick."

"Okay, have you ever wanted a girl to see it?"

"I don't think so," I said.

"Wouldn't you like to find out if a girl thought it was pretty or not?"

"Pretty?" My voice rose.

"Okay, handsome," she amended. "Haven't you ever wished you could do that and that the girl would be impressed?"

"I guess I never thought of it as ... impressive," I said.

She sighed with obvious frustration.

"Okay. Have you ever wanted to see a girl naked?"

"Of course," I said.

"Well, girls want to see a guy naked, too," she said.

"They do?" I was obviously surprised.

"Of course. Both sexes want to see the other naked. It's just basic biology, Bobby."

"Well the girls I know sure don't want to get naked," I said.

"That's because it's dangerous to do that," she said, patiently. "It creates all kinds of problems if you do that willy nilly. But the desire is still there."

"Okay, that makes sense," I said.

"But if it's you and me, then all those problems aren't there," she said.

"Wait. Now you want to see me naked?"

"That's not what I meant," she said. Her head tilted. "But now that you mention it, that is a good idea."

I stared at her.

"You have to tell me what planet you're from," I sighed.

She laughed.

What's more, as she did that, she pulled her shirt all the way up and flashed her boobs at me.

******

We were in my bedroom again. To be honest, I don't remember getting there. Hannah was sitting on the bed and I was in my desk chair, which was rotated away from the computer and facing her. I wasn't taking pictures. That's because I couldn't believe what was going on and insisted on talking about it, instead of doing it. I know that probably doesn't fit the stereotype of a teenage boy, but that's how it was.

"Of course I didn't plan this," said Hannah. "It just happened."

"This just isn't you," I said.

"Of course it is. Who else could it be?" she said. "I'm not an alien, so get that out of your head."

"What I can't get out of my head is that my sister wants to get naked with me," I said.

"I know. It's crazy," she said. "Before today I would have been freaked out by the very idea. But before today there was no situation in which I could do what I want to do. I mean I couldn't do anything with Steve because he'd think it meant the wrong thing. Maybe it's because I feel safe with you."

"You feel safe with a guy who got a boner for you," I said, dazed.

"Not just any guy," she said. "You. I know you'd never do anything to hurt me."

"Well sure," I said, recognizing the same feeling inside me.

"So what could it hurt?" she asked. "It's not like we're going to have sex or anything."

"You realize, don't you, that you're asking your brother to play doctor," I said.

She grinned. Then her face went expressionless.

"You won't believe this, but Janet Sinderson told me she did exactly that. She and Todd played doctor when they were like eleven or twelve. And get this. He popped her cherry while they were doing it!"

"Todd Sinderson fucked his sister?" My voice sounded like I was a soprano.

"No, it wasn't like that. He just put his finger in her and tore her hymen."

"And she told you this?"

"Well, she might have had a little too much of her father's peach brandy that night. It was a sleepover and her parents were out on a date night."

"You got drunk?" I groaned.

"No. I tasted it, but it was like drinking cough syrup. She liked it, though. She liked playing doctor too. If she was telling the truth, she and Todd still ... mess around."

"You have got to be shitting me," I moaned.

"Nope. So it's not like we'd be the only two siblings who explore a little. Like I said, who else are you going to do that with? You can't do it on dates. It's too dangerous and sooner or later everybody will find out."

"Wow," I said. "This is so strange."

"Can I ask you a question. A serious question?"

"Go ahead," I said.

"Do you want to see me naked?"

It was crunch time. I tried to avoid it.

"What if I do?"

"Just answer the question," she ordered with her big sister voice.

Do or die time. In for a penny, in for a pound time.

"Yeah," I sighed. "I do."

She didn't cackle. This was no prank.

"I know it sounds strange, Bobby, but that makes me feel really good," she said, softly. "Thank you."

"I get to ask the same question," I said, hesitantly.

"Desperately," she said, without any pause at all.

"You're kidding."

"Steve gets hard every time we make out," she said. "He's put my hand on it before. But I can't look at his. That would be disaster. He'd want me to jerk him off or even worse. But that doesn't mean I don't want to see it." She licked her lips. "Seeing yours, though, wouldn't be like that. So yes, I want to see you naked too, Bobby."

"Wow." That was all I had.

"You don't have to actually take any pictures, though."

"It would probably be better if I didn't," I said.

"Yeah."

"Can you imagine what would happen if they found something like that?" I asked. "Dad would have a heart attack."

"Mom would have a stroke," she agreed.

"Okay, so no pictures," I said. I realized I still had her phone in my hand. I reached behind me to put it on my computer table.

We sat there for a bit.

"So ... what now?" I asked.

"I think we should go together," she said. "At the same time."

"Okay."

She reached for the hem of her shirt. I could see her face getting pink. I did the same thing.

"On three," she said.

"Okay."

"One ... two ... three!"

We both pulled. I almost ripped my ears off trying to get my shirt over my head so I could see.

There they were. Her previous flashing of me had been so unexpected I hadn't actually seen all that much. The hazy image of pink nipples perched on darker areolas was replaced by the real thing. She just sat there, looking tense.

"Well?" She sounded nervous.

"Beautiful," I sighed.

"Really?"

"Oh fuck yes," I sighed again.

I saw her whole body actually shudder. I stared at her breasts as they jiggled slightly. Her nipples looked fat.

"This isn't really fair," she said.

"Why?"

"Because I've seen your bare chest a hundred times."

"Oh. Yeah. So I guess we should ... go on?"

"Yes," she said.

I stood up and reached for my belt. She stood, too. Her shorts had a hook on them and elastic in the waist, instead of a belt.

"No counting," I said, suddenly. "That makes me feel like this is some kind of goofy game."

"Okay," she said.

She pushed and I watched as more and more of her abdomen came into view. I realized I wasn't moving and jerked, shoving my shorts clear down to my hips in one, convulsive push. This caused a bit of a problem because I wasn't wearing underwear. Our parents had never bought me boxers, and briefs chafed my groin sometimes in the heat. I still wore them in the winter, but it was past that time, now.

The problem was that I was rock hard and my cock got caught in the shorts as I pushed, bending it downwards. When it's hard it doesn't point downwards. My convulsive decloaking meant that, when the cloth finally cleared the tip, it bounced upwards with such force that it slapped against my abs. Then it just bobbed, weaving around a little bit, like a bird dog trying to sniff out a pheasant.

She'd been watching all this, of course, and when my bird dog got busy she froze, with her shorts at her hips, too. She didn't stay frozen for long, though. She let go of her shorts and they dropped like they had rocks in the pockets. She stepped out of them daintily shucking her shoes at the same time, as if she'd practiced doing that a hundred times. That left her in white panties with little red hearts all over them.

It turned out I'd frozen, too. I thawed and let go of my shorts, expecting them to do the same thing hers had. They didn't. I had to bend over and push them down. Then my right foot got caught in them as I tried to pull that foot through the leg and, suddenly, I was hopping on the other foot. That didn't work, because it was caught, too.

Of course I fell down. And of course she laughed. I said, "Shit!" and rolled to sit on my naked buns. Hannah was suddenly there, her hands reaching for one of my shoes.

"Let me," she said, pulling.

Together we got my shoes off and then my shorts.

"You're cute when you're flustered," she said, giggling.

"At least it only happened in front of my sister, instead out on a date," I said.

"See? I told you this was a good idea!"

She helped me stand up and we ended up facing each other. We were most assuredly in each other's personal space, but she didn't step back. I looked down at her breasts, and couldn't help but see that the tip of my bird dog was about an inch from that shiny bauble in her belly button. I looked back up to find that she was staring down there, too.

"I still have on my panties," she whispered.

"Yeah," I replied.

"This is making me nervous," she said.

"You want to stop?"

"No!" she said. "It's just ... different than I thought it would be."

"How?" I asked. I wasn't trying to carry on a conversation so much as keep her talking so I could stare at her breasts. I wanted to touch them.

"I thought I only wanted to look."

I heard my own convulsive gulp as I realized the possible significance of her words.

I couldn't think of anything to say, so I didn't say anything at all.

"I'm going to take my panties off, now," she said, not moving.

"Okay," I whispered.

Then she did step back a pace and, as if they were burning her skin, pushed her panties down and stepped out of them with that same dainty movement.   She moved back again and stared at me, her feet not quite together, her arms hanging at her sides. Even I could tell she was holding her breath.

"You look like you're a soldier, standing almost at attention," I said.

"What?" She sounded confused.

"Relax," I said. "You're still gorgeous. Trust me on that."

"Oh."

Then she went through this series of what I can only call "adjustments", moving her hands here, then there, and moving a foot this way and that, trying to find some pose that felt comfortable in her current condition. I wanted to laugh, but I could tell she was getting frustrated. Meanwhile my eyes were bouncing around in their sockets like pinballs.

"You do shave," I said. My voice cracked and my mouth felt dry. She had what I had heard referred to as a landing strip.

"I have to ... for my bikini," she said.

"Lie down on the bed," I said.

"The bed?"

"Yeah. Just lie down on your side and hold your head up on your elbow. Like you were in bed reading or something."

She looked around the room as if it was hard to find the bed and then back at me. Then she went to the bed and crawled onto it, giving me my first, very quick look at puffy pussy lips below a very pink butthole. She flopped down and assumed the position I'd suggested. Whether it was from modesty or it was just more comfortable, her top leg sagged forward, her knee bending a little, until the knee hit the covers.

"Like this?"

"Perfect," I said.

"Really?"

By this time I was feeling a little heady. This whole thing was like some drug that made you feel giddy and happy. I put my hands on my hips, jutted them forward and shook my cock back and forth.

"Does this look like I'm lying?" I asked.

She giggled.

"What you look like is ridiculous."

"You're beautiful, Hannah," I said, moving towards her. I had to step over clothes and shoes carefully, so I wouldn't trip again.

"I can't believe that," she said.

"Come on," I groaned. "Look at the evidence. I know we said no pictures, but I'd kill to have one of you like that." I gripped my cock and stroked it once before realizing what I was doing and jerking my hand away.

"I am looking," she said. "I just can't believe it."

I got to the edge of the bed and stopped. I had no idea what to do next.

"You touched it," she said.

"Sorry. It was just instinct."

"No, I don't mind. It was ... hot."

"You want me to touch it again?"

"Yes," she whispered. Then she looked up at me, anguish on her face. "Am I a slut, Bobby?"

"Of course not," I said. "Don't be silly."

"I want to watch my brother jerk off, Bobby," she moaned. "There has to be something wrong with me!"

I sat down on the edge of the bed. We were separated by less than a foot. My penis jutted up from my groin like an anti-aircraft gun.

"Maybe this is going too fast," I said.

"Bobby," she moaned. "I feel like there's something inside me that's going to explode if I don't do something. But I don't know what to do!"

"Maybe you need to jerk off," I said.

She flopped onto her back and covered her face with both hands. I'm ashamed ... sort of ... that my eyes immediately went to her pussy lips. I expected them to be tight and closed, like the shape of a camel toe, but they weren't. Instead the outer lips were smooth, but split by something pushing through them that was wrinkly and darker. I know now it was her inner lips, exhibiting that she was aroused. They glistened with her juices.

"Hey," I said, as I heard what sounded like the beginnings of sobs. "It's okay. We can stop ... get dressed ... calm down."

Her hands came away from her face. Her eyes were shining.

"I know this feeling, Bobby," she said. "This is how I feel after a date, when I had a really good time. When that happens I have to ... but I can't do that in front of you!"

"It's okay," I said. "Go to your own room. I'll stay here."

"I don't want to go to my room!" she shouted.

"Well what do you want?" I shouted back.

She didn't answer. Instead she burst into tears, spread her legs and her right hand dove between those legs, mauling her pussy. It was like she was trying to rub those lips off her body.

"Ohhhhh," she wailed. "Bobby, don't hate meeeee."

I stood up. This was shocking on one level, but things were much too complicated to have only one level. On another level I recognized that my sister was in pain, emotional pain. The funny part was that the instinct to protect her was stronger than anything else at that point and, even though I started stroking my prick, what I was thinking about was trying to get her to stop crying ... to help fix the pain.

"It's okay," I panted. "You're not bad. This is normal. I feel the same way, Hannah. See?"

I jacked my cock for her, as if it was a magic wand I was pointing at her and casting a spell of calmness with.

Astonishingly ... it worked!

She lifted her head and, through teary eyes, stared at me.

"Yessss," she hissed. "Do that. Do it with me."

To be honest, I don't remember what happened then with anything near crystal clarity. I think my brain was finally on overload and I operated on pure instinct. Maybe it wasn't pure instinct. By that I mean pure instinct in that situation would be for the male to mount the female and fertilize her. I didn't do that, of course. I think I thought about doing that, but was incapable because all my body could pull off was ... well ... pulling off ... to make a bad pun.

Meanwhile she acted out with her fingers what I wished I could do, using them to push deep inside her juicy pussy, flashing them in and out and then flattening them to whip back and forth across those bulging, wet lips. She sounded just like the sound track of a porno video, making all those noises, except they sounded real instead of fake. I don't think I've ever watched a porno where the soundtrack made me feel like it wasn't contrived. This, though, was passion transformed into sound.

Then she drove her fingers into her one last time, clamped her legs closed, pulled her knees up and went into a fetal position as she made noises that brought to mind torture, perhaps, agony for sure, but also sweet release.

Those sounds did me in. I don't even remember jacking off, but I do remember when it was time to spurt. I didn't even think about stepping back. My overloaded brain didn't have room for that kind of consideration. I just spurted. It came out like it always did, a long, slim, white cord of fluid about a foot long, followed by another one almost as long, and then two or three more that were dying gasps, rather than anything substantial.

Both the initial jets landed half on and half off her body, on her hip and thigh. Then I staggered back, dizzy, and stood, woozy, just trying to maintain my upright position. The desk chair was only a couple of feet away and I wobbled over to it to fall hard enough into it that it rolled a foot.

I saw Hannah's hand appear from between her legs and go to explore my assault on her soft skin. She lifted her head to look as her already wet fingers dragged through my spooge.

"This is you," she panted. "Isn't it?"

"Yeah," I gasped. "I'm sorry."

She rolled onto her back, her heels a foot apart, completely unashamed about exposing herself to me completely. She lay limp, her hands at her sides.

"That was incredible," she sighed. "It's never been like that."

"Me, too," I said. It was just an automatic response, but as I thought about it, she was right.

It had never been like that for me, either.

Chapter Three

Now remember that what I just described in the last chapter took place over the space of two hours on a day after there had been years of discord between us. Thinking back on it now, it reminds me of one of those movies where the guy and girl hate each other for most of the movie, except the audience knows they're really drawn to each other and don't want to admit it. Then there is the scene where there's a breaking point and they suddenly can't keep their hands off each other. And they live happily ever after and all that crap.

In many ways, I think those pictures I took, which led to the conversation we had, was that breaking point in the 'movie' that was our life. Except that we didn't fall all over each other and declare our undying love and have sex etcetera and so forth.

But we also didn't feel all weird about what had just happened. There was no tension. Hannah didn't jump up and run out of the room, or cover her body up. I just sat in the chair, still feeling weak, but I didn't feel like I needed to move. Hannah did move, but only to get on her side again and face me. She looked ... sexy.

"That's a good pose for you," I said. "That would make a mondo sexy picture."

"You want to take one?" she asked. "Just for you?"

"I think we've already had this conversation," I said.

"I know, but there are ways to hide things on a computer. Or you could just put them on a thumb drive and hide that."

"That's tempting," I admitted.

"The thought of you looking at a picture of me like this and doing what you just did makes me feel all hot inside," she said.

"I'd rather see you like this ... in person," I said.

"That won't be any problem," she said, softly.

"You mean we're going to do this again?" I asked.

"Lots of times," she said.

I felt my dick twitch or, more nearly correctly I felt my dick try to twitch. It was still exhausted from its previous cum.

"Things have happened kind of fast," I thought out loud.

"Not really," she said.

"How can you say that? Up until two hours ago I'd never seen you naked at all."

"Remember what I told you about Janet and Todd?"

"How could I forget?"

"That was last summer. I couldn't stop thinking about them ... imagining what they might be doing. And then I thought about you. I watched you talking to girls and they always smile or laugh. I can see it in their eyes that they like you but you're too chicken to ask them out."

"Every time I do ask a girl out you do something to screw it up," I accused.

"Yes, I do," she said. "Did. I'm sorry for that and I promise I'll never do it again. I just got upset because it's so easy for you and so hard for me."

"You've got that backwards," I said. "You're the one with guys panting after you all over the place. Girls don't rush up to me and beg me to ask them out on a date."

"All those guys want to do is see me like this," she said. "And all those girls are worried that if they do go out with you they'll want to do naughty things."

"Yeah, right," I said.

"You said guys talk to you about me," she said.

"Yes."

"Well girls talk to me about you, too."

"Really?"

"You're the kind of guy who is dangerous, Bobby, because you're fun to be with and smart and you don't think the world wants to worship you. You're tall and kind of hunky. That all adds up to being the kind of guy a girl wants to get naked with, and since that's way too dangerous, they think it's safer to just keep their distance."

"But some girls do go out with me and none of them are dying to get naked with me," I argued.

"That's just for status," she said.

"Status."

"Yes. It's like you're the lion, and after they go out with you they can say they went out with the lion and didn't get eaten. They brag about it, except not in actual words."

"That's crazy," I said.

She shrugged. "Maybe, but it's the way things are."

I felt rested. Suddenly sitting in a room naked with my equally naked sister felt strange again.

"You hungry?" I asked.

"Starving."

Ten minutes later we were dressed again and standing side by side in the kitchen, making sandwiches.

She leaned against me at one point, and it felt nice.

And that's how my sister and I became best friends after years of contention.

******

It's important to say, here, that Hannah and I didn't seek each other out for daily masturbation orgies. It wasn't like that at all. There was a new closeness between us, but that didn't mean our libidos went crazy.

Sure I still jerked off every day, and I usually thought about her when I did it, lying there on her bed with my spunk still staining her hip. I assume she still masturbated, too, though she didn't say anything about that.

She went out with Steve three days later. It was a Friday night and our parents were in Hennesey, fifty miles away for a Bridge tournament and had decided to make a romantic weekend getaway of it. I was supposed to go out with Jennifer Tunway that night but she'd called and said some family obligation had popped up and she couldn't go.

I had watched three episodes of a show called The Sniffer on Netflix. It was good, interesting because it's all filmed in Russia and it shows things about Russian life that I'd never seen before. The problem was that the sound was all Russian with English subtitles and I got tired of trying to read those and watch the action at the same time, so I went to my room to just read. I was doing that when Hannah came in from her date.

"Bobby?" she called out.

"In my room," I yelled back.

She appeared in my doorway. She'd dressed "sexy" for Steve in tight shorts and a shirt that showed that bellybutton ring. Her hair was down. She looked good. There was an instant during which I hated Steve for getting to spend time with her looking like that, but it passed. I knew she wasn't fooling around with him.

"How'd it go?" I asked.

"Not so great," she said.

"Why?"

"Steve wanted me to jerk him off."

"Please tell me you didn't," I said.

"I didn't."

She just stood there and I had sudden doubts.

"Are you saying that because I told you to, or because it's the truth?" I asked.

She came in and sat on the edge of my bed.

"There was a point where I wanted to," she said.

"But you didn't."

"If I did that it would only encourage him," she said. "He's bad enough as it is."

"But you wanted to." I know my voice sounded angry. I was a little angry.

"I didn't want to touch his, exactly," she said. "I just wanted to know what it would feel like to touch one."

"Oh."

She looked at me.

"I thought about touching yours, actually."

What she had thought about touching reacted in my shorts. I was lying on my back and the front of my shorts was right there next to her. I saw her look at the bulge as it moved.

"I don't understand this," she said.

"What?"

"You're getting hard for me again. I like that. Why do I like that?"

"I have no clue," I said.

"Show it to me," she ordered.

I put my book aside, arched on my heels and head and shoved my shorts down to my thighs.

"It's not actually hard," she said.

She was right. It was 'in the act' of getting there, but wasn't fully erect yet.

"Be patient," I said. "It will get there."

"So I like it when you get hard for me, and you do get hard for me, so that means you like doing that."

"I guess so."

"It sure is a good thing Janet told me about her and Todd," she said. "If it weren't for that I'd think I was insane right now."

"I don't think you're insane," I said.

"I want to jerk off my brother," she groaned. "That has to be insane."

Her admission was like a shot of adrenaline to my cock and, almost instantly, it matured to full bonerhood.

"And you want your sister to jerk you off," she whispered.

What do you say in a situation like that?

"I guess I do," was what came out.

******

I make it sound like all this was seamless and easy, but it wasn't. There was a lot going on in both our heads. Masturbating in front of each other had been a huge leap. The thought of touching each other was like stepping off a cliff. Granted, she hadn't said anything about me touching her, but I think that concept was somehow intermixed with arriving at a place where she could touch me.

"Let's go to my room," she said, standing up.

I didn't ask why she wanted to change rooms. I didn't even think about why she might want to do that. Looking back on it I think she felt safer in her own space. I found out later it was because her bed was a queen and mine was only a full.

I had kicked off my shorts before I followed her and she abandoned me, standing naked, to go to the bathroom. That bathroom opens up into both her room and mine. It has locks on both doors. I assume she used the facilities because she was still dressed when she came out.

She stood, just looking at me for a minute.

"You make me feel so hot," she said.

"You are hot," I said.

"No, I mean inside. I don't feel anything like this when I'm with Steve. I get excited. I get horny. But I don't feel like this."

"How do you feel?" I asked.

"I feel like I want to be naked for you."

"I like that idea," I said.

"In bed with you," she added, softly.

I'll be honest. My mind kind of exploded at that point. In the first place, no girl had ever said anything like that to me before. In the second place the first girl to say it was my sister. In the third place it was entirely possible for me to look at her as someone other than my sister. It was crazy.

"That would be a bad idea, though," she said.

I think I said something along the lines of, "Urrgh."

Then she laughed! Her face lit up and she laughed! But it wasn't a laugh of derision. She looked honestly joyful.

"I love it when you do that. We'll be fine."

And then she took her clothes off. It wasn't exactly a striptease, not in the sense that her movements were practiced, or planned to take a while. She just looked at me as she took things off. I think she was watching to see if removing this or that piece of clothing got a reaction from me.

That was a preview of Shooting (in) Hannah - Version Bravo. To read the rest purchase the book.

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