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 Hanna Chapter 3

   Love Threatened





   We did not have a good year...

   We had a GREAT year!

   The football team was disappointing, though.

   Even though I red-shirted that year, I knew I'd be starting next fall--I
was a lot better than the senior who started at tight end and his sophomore
backup.  I knew that Coach was saving me for that extra year at the end of
my college career when, hopefully, both the team and I would be better. 
That was OK.  Hanna was a year behind me.  This way, I'd still be in school
for her senior year.  We both were determined to graduate and wanted to do
it together.

   Hanna enjoyed the year, too.  She had to transfer to a different high
school, because we were living on the university campus--a two-hour drive
from home.  Since day care was included in my scholarship, she ran on the
cross-country team in the fall and played basketball in winter, as well as
track in the spring.

   Meanwhile, with Coach Ullrich's blessing and encouragement, I'd been
allowed to compete in track for the university.  I rapidly learned that I
wasn't even in the race in middle distances, but that I could really throw
the discus.  Apparently my size, strength, and long arms, with the blessing
of superior coordination, made me a `natural' for the event.

   That spring, Hanna and I were even able to compete in some `open' meets,
where we were paid to appear!  (We were scrupulous about running everything
through the university athletic department, so that we would not lose our
amateur standing with the NCAA or the AAU.)

   I won the discus event in all the dual meets, and was second only once,
to the national champion, in an open meet.

   Hanna didn't win, but was respectable in the jumping events in the open
meets.  She tore up the high school competition.  Her stomach and leg
musculature is phenomenal, as is her arm strength.  The weight of her boobs
was a difficulty--it was both more to lift off the ground, and affected her
center of gravity--but she had the strength to overcome that.

   (It always amazed me that, at rest, she was smooth and sleek, like a
lingerie model, and didn't look at all like the muscle-bound, angular
female athletes we often see.)

   She'd been best in state in both high jump and pole vault and set a
state record.  At the state meet--held at Autzen Stadium on the university
campus--she tied her state record to win the pole vault, and achieved a
personal best to win the high jump.  Coach Myers, the track coach, assured
us of her own `full ride' scholarship in the fall.  (And, like me, she
earned a couple of small academic scholarships, too.)





   We moved home for the summer, into our `chicken coop,' to spend some
time with our families and to let his grandparents spoil Jason rotten.  We
took outrageous advantage of the `built in babysitting', when we went to
track meets here and there--including a couple in Europe, where Mom and
Jason came along.

   It was astounding how much an `amateur' could make at track--just for
showing up--if your name was in the news.  I came to really appreciate the
discus.  It was, for me, an easy event and provided very welcome income for
our family.  (It sure beat hell out of the usual summer job!) Hanna had to
work a lot harder at her events and constantly improved in competition
against the best in the world, but she wasn't normally in the top three,
like I was.

   Jason was growing and happy and our parents were glad to spoil him! 
Even my brothers got into the act.  I had to lay down the law about some of
the things they were teaching him.

   We managed two weeks at dad's cabin on the lake, while the grandparents
cheerfully took care of Jason.  The boat ran well and I got in some good
fishing and a lot of constructive loafing.  Hanna griped that I made her do
all the work but that wasn't true.  She was just griping for effect and
enjoyed herself as much as I did.  I chopped all the wood for the fires we
enjoyed in the evenings and did the heavy cleaning, as well as all the work
with the boat.

   She especially enjoyed teasing me with a bikini at least two sizes too
small.  I got even though.

   Mid-day the fishing isn't all that good anyway, so I pulled the boat
into a deserted grassy shore.  After sandwiches washed down by sodas, Hanna
removed her top--to get an `all over' tan, you know--and stretched out on
the grass.  I lay beside her, and gently began petting and stroking, just
teasing with my fingertips... until her arousal became evident when she
peeled off her bikini bottom, and jerked my swimsuit off, too.

   Not to be hurried, I increased the tease by adding my mouth to the
stimuli, kissing everywhere.  Paying attention to the soft spot at the back
of the knees is a lot of fun... Near her center, I kissed and licked the
crease where her thighs join the hips, then up to visit her breasts, and
then a nibble behind the ears.

   By that point she was pleading, whimpering in need.  When I finally
moved above her, she grabbed me to try to force me in.  I just froze, until
she relaxed and let me control things.

   Rubbing the head of my cock up and down her slot ensured adequate
lubrication--she was soaked.  I paid special attention to her clit, and was
rewarded with an explosive orgasm before I even started to shove it in.  I
just rubbed up and down through her labia until she `came down' a bit, then
smoothly entered her.

   Her legs and arms encircled me, and she enjoyed a second intense orgasm
as soon as she felt me touch her cervix.

   This was marvelous--I am one who gets off more on my beloved getting off
than worrying about my own pleasure--and I'm never disappointed.  By the
time we were sated, Hanna could barely speak and I was exhausted.  But we
had in mind to do it again, soon.

   Her hard body was so strong and so limber, we were able to achieve some
remarkable positions during our vacation--once even making love with her
doing a head-stand in the shower.

   Why?  Just because we could.

   It was a loving, joy-filled time for us and we still treasure the
memories, laughing uproariously when either reminds the other of some of
the crazy, fun things we did.

   Living with her was always fun.  Her cheerful attitude and quirky sense
of humor made it so.  ... I'd learned to avoid her volcanic temper.





   By the time fall football practice started, we were rested and ready for
school.  I was the heir apparent at tight end.  Last year's backup wanted
to start, but he just didn't have my size, speed, or ability to catch
footballs.

   The competition was much stiffer than I was used to--everybody on the
field had been a `star' in his high school.  Our team was very good, I
thought, until I actually played against some of the other schools in the
PAC-10.  It was an education that, thankfully, I absorbed quickly.

   Without modesty, I can honestly say that the competition spurred me to a
new level of play.  I learned the tricks--legal and not--that defensive
lines use against the offense, both when I was blocking and when I was
getting out on a pass pattern.  I learned how to pass block and block down
for a sweep against some of the best and most agile defenses in the
country. I learned how to get loose to get into the pattern and how to run
the patterns crisply.

   Most of all, I learned how to catch the ball, knowing I was going to get
hit.  And how to hold on to it, once I caught it.

   I still needed to learn to recognize defenses and adjust routes on the
fly.  That would come in another year or two.  But I was learning and
improving.  Coach Ullrich was pleased.





   One of Hanna's classes was "Calculus for Students Who Are NOT
Engineers"--though that wasn't its official title.  Not as rigorous as the
classes for science and engineering majors, it was tough enough.

   Hanna soon made friends with a girl in the class, Holly Irons.  Holly
was very pretty and reasonably bright.  She and Hanna were comparable in
many ways, except height.  Petite--about 5 feet one--and curvy, Holly was
more a `bubbly' type, where Hanna was just fun.  Hanna enjoyed a good joke
and was an accomplished practical joker.  Holly's sense of humor was
warped.

   Holly attracted men like bees to honey.  She often called Hanna for help
on an assignment she hadn't had time to complete herself...because she had
dates most nights.

   More than once I heard Hanna on the phone with her.  "Holly, you've just
got to learn to say NO.  You can't go out every night of the week and
expect to get good enough grades to graduate.  Now, promise me you won't go
out again until Friday."

   Holly always promised.

   And always broke her promise.

   Her problem was that she really liked men.  She honestly thought she was
searching for the ideal man, to marry and settle down.  But she liked them
all.  Lots.  And had no problem with going to bed with most of them, which
kept them coming back whenever they were horny--most of the time for
college guys.

   She often had dinner with us.  Usually about once a week, on that one
evening she didn't have a date.  Her conversation was hilarious, as she
related her various adventures during the past week.  But after a couple
glasses of wine, she'd turn serious and wonder if she'd ever find "Mr. 
Right".  Hanna would assure her that she would.  "Just keep kissing the
frogs.  There's a prince in there somewhere."

   Personally, I was glad Holly only visited about once a week.  Very
attractive and sexy, she flirted with me outrageously.  Hanna laughed it
off and so did I.  But I knew she was available if I wanted it.  And she
knew damn well she was testing the water.





   We had a good season and finished third in the PAC-10.  UCLA and
Washington both beat us.  But we got invited to the Aloha Bowl and had a
game after Christmas.  I caught three long passes, as well as a bunch of
`dinks'.  My touchdown put us ahead and we never trailed after that.





   Holly, by spring, had fallen in and out of love a half-dozen times. 
Most of her romances broke up when her `true love' realized that she was
incapable of an exclusive relationship.

   Hanna gave her a shoulder to cry on and her cheerful, positive
steadiness to lean on.

   But by spring, we both, though we liked Holly a lot, were convinced
there was something wrong.

   Probing gently, Hanna became convinced that Holly was addicted to
sex--if slightly kinky, so much the better.  I didn't disagree, but thought
there was more to it--maybe some childhood abuse or other psychological
trauma.

   The football team had a psychologist on retainer, who was available to
anyone on the team.  I made an appointment to consult her.

   "Dr.  Rabb, thanks for seeing me."

   "Any time Gary.  What's your problem?"

   "It's not mine.  Really.  Hanna and I have a friend who seems addicted
to sex.  I think there's something more there than simple addiction to
orgasms.  I think, in fact, that her problems are rooted in her past. 
She's a really sweet girl and we want to help her.  But I wanted to check
with you before I get into something that will do more harm than good."

   She thought about that for a moment.  "Gary," she said, seriously, "this
kind of thing is best left to professionals.  My advice to you and Hanna
would be to distance yourselves from this person as rapidly as possible."

   "And then what would happen?"

   "I have no idea.  But it would probably be messy.  And it wouldn't get
all over you... Gary it's not your problem.  Don't borrow it from your
friend.  This kind of thing doesn't lend itself to a quick fix from an
amateur.  I repeat: Get out of it NOW."

   "Doctor, I can't do that.  I don't turn my back on friends, ever... Now,
here's what we thought we'd do.  Please tell me if this can cause harm--and
what to look for or do if we have a chance to help as a result of this...."

   She didn't like it, but she helped.



   - - + + + + + -





   Hanna and I were on the track team together, which was fun.  For both of
us, sports was kind of our `office'.  It was through our athletic prowess
we were paying for our education and most of the family expenses.  In a
very real way, it was how we made our living.  Being able to `work' with
Hanna, outside of our normal joint workouts, was pure pleasure.  She was
fun on the trips, too.

   One thing I especially appreciated was the quality of coaching we got.
(Oregon is known as a track Mecca, and the coaches were all superior.)
Hanna's heights increased, as she mastered better techniques.  By the end
of the season, she usually won in the dual meets and often in the larger
events.

   I had put on another ten pounds for football and, since it was mostly in
my upper body, I kept it there for track.  It all helped me throw farther.
(I plain wasn't strong enough for shot put at that level.  And
concentrating on discus was enough, with the schoolwork I had to do and the
study the football team required even in the off-season.)

   Hanna set a university freshman record for pole vault, in our fourth
meet--against Cal, as I recall.  Even after having Jason, and needing to
lift her big boobs over the bar, her legs were strong and springy enough to
put her among the best at the jumping events.

   And at that point in the season, my throws were the longest in the
country.  But then my main competition, a guy from Alabama, beat my
distance in an open meet.  No problem, I'd see him at an open meet in June.

   Although she jumped good and `placed' in the conference meet, Hanna just
missed qualifying for the NCAA track meet.  She was mildly disappointed,
but not crushed.  She still had another three years.  Meanwhile, I'd won
all the late season meets and won NCAA easily.  The team ended up fourth,
though.  We didn't have the sprinters we needed.





   We arranged for Holly to spend the summer with us.

   She told us that she could spend the summer with her mom, but that she
was really an outsider there, any more.  Her mom always had a `boyfriend'
and didn't really want the constant reminder of her real age that a
daughter in college provided.  Her dad had disappeared several years before
and Holly had no idea where he was--nor desire to find out.

   Her attitude towards her family was negative.

   We wondered what had happened to make her feel that way.

   Our hope was that, surrounded by our families--and their warmth and
love--she'd open up and we could begin to help her.

   At first, I thought we were succeeding.

   Then we found her, one afternoon, in bed with my brother Derry.  After
they were done, Hanna told Holly she felt that it was a pretty shitty way
to repay us, seducing her brother-in-law.  Holly wept and said she'd be
good but that she was soooo horny and he was soooo sexy...

   A week later, finding him alone, she came on REAL strong to Aiden. 
Hanna had told our parents about her problem and what we were trying to do
for her.  Asked if it wasn't a bit more trouble than she was worth, Hanna
assured them that Holly was a good person who was just really messed up. 
So Aiden just grabbed her wrists in one of his big paws, and turned her
over his knee.

   He was surprised, about the second smack--hard enough to leave red marks
through her jeans--when Holly started to moan.  "Yesss, daddy.  I'm a bad
girl.  Please don't hurt me daddy..." Her face took on a sly look.  "I'll
give you a blowjob with your fuck, if you don't hurt me... Momma expects me
to do her later today, and I can't if you hurt me."

   With that to go on, we all surrounded Holly with love, but insisted she
tell us what was going on.

   It seems that when she was just turned nine, her father raped her.  When
she protested, and cried, he beat her, fairly brutally, while his cock was
penetrating her.  This became the pattern.  She'd get beaten, then raped...
or both, simultaneously.

   She'd gone to her mother.  Still very young, she didn't know what to
do--and wasn't experienced enough to know that her mother's response was
not typical.  Her mother raped her too.  And demanded sex from her daughter
frequently thereafter.

   When her mother started having frequent men around--both before and
after Holly's dad took off--she sometimes demanded Holly have sex with
them, thinking her preteen daughter would keep them interested longer.

   By the time she got to college, Holly knew all about being raped and
used.  She also knew that the ideal was one man and one woman who loved
each other and were exclusive.  That sounded heavenly to her.

   She just couldn't do it.

   Sex, to her, was such a cheap commodity that it was completely divorced
from love.  She understood that most people didn't think that way, but
didn't understand why.  Sex, when she could choose the time, place and
partner, was a nice thrill, and one she couldn't get often enough.  It had
nothing to do with love.  It was like smoking a cigarette--and about as
important, emotionally.  She often thought she was in love, and promised to
be exclusive to the current object of her affections.

   Problem was, she'd get horny, and someone else would be handy, and she'd
soon be in bed humping his socks off.

   All we could do was surround her with love and prevent her from engaging
in casual sex.  It wasn't easy, but we started to see some real progress.
Holly was sleeping better at night and wasn't obsessed with sex all the
time.  She started taking more interest in other things around her.  In
fact, she started to turn into a really wonderful person... the Holly we
all knew was there somewhere.



   - - + + + + + -



   Hanna's lawsuit against Dick Pritchard came up for trial.  She'd joined
all the other kids who'd been injured in Dick's attack.  (The `wrongful
death' suits by the parents of the two students killed in his shooting
spree would come up about six months later.  My slander suit against his
parents would not make it to trial for at least two more years.)

   It was an interesting event.  Dick's dad had put most of his assets into
Dick's name, as a tax dodge--barely legal.  Then we'd arranged the court
order that essentially `froze' those assets, so they'd be available to pay
the judgments against Dick--and his lawyers couldn't strip them for fees
first.

   The word around town was that Dick's parents were having a tough time,
since they'd been using those holdings as collateral for other deals they
had been promoting.

   But the funniest part of it, from my standpoint, was that Dick's lawyer
had to get the judge to allow him a set fee from the property.  Without
that, Dick couldn't get a lawyer to defend him in this civil suit, or the
wrongful death suits.

   Actually, the thing never went to trial.  The lawyer settled with
everybody by dividing up what Dick had.  Most of it was real estate that
had to be sold to determine the exact amount available.  This included a
nice office building downtown.  Hanna's dad, Aiden, suggested we'd take
that, as Hanna's part of the settlement.  The appraisal was low, he felt,
and showed a value less than Hanna's share.

   Aiden wanted the building and Hanna could earn a good rental income from
it.  Mostly, he needed more space for his company.  He'd have preferred to
own his offices, but didn't mind paying rent to his daughter.  Part of the
deal was that he handled the rentals for the rest of the space.

   When Hanna and Aiden went to inspect the building after it was
transferred to her, they found the Pritchards moving out of the best office
suite in the place.

   Giving a glare that would have frozen them solid, if possible, Mrs. 
Pritchard hissed, "I hope you're happy!  And I hope this place gives you
nothing but trouble!  You've done all you can to ruin us.  Well, I hope you
get it all back, double!"

   Her husband just glared at them and hauled boxes of files out to a
U-Haul.

   Turns out, several drains were plugged--the plumber said it had to have
been deliberate.  And the electrical system was all messed up, though the
electrician straightened it out easily.  He said it was sabotage, but done
by an amateur.

   Hanna's dad just attributed it to spite by evil-minded people and forgot
about it.

   We heard later that they'd done similar things to some of the other
properties that were sold to satisfy the judgments against Dick.  But it
backfired on them.  The word rapidly spread through both realtors and
contractors that Pritchard had done those things, and his contracting
business, already hurt, ended.  No one would do business with him under any
circumstances.

   The grapevine reported that the Pritchards blamed Hanna for all of
this--and me by association.  Their reasoning, according to the rumors, was
that none of this would have happened if Hanna hadn't blatantly teased
Dick, coercing him into coming on to her a bit strong, and then humiliated
him so cruelly and publicly.  It seems that the fact that their son
attempted to rape her, hit her several times, and had a reputation for
being `over the line' with his dates, just didn't appear on their horizon.
They would not--COULD NOT--accept any blame for themselves or their son. 
So it must be Hanna's fault.

   My parents were worried about it.  "Gary, those people HATE," Mom said
one evening.  "You kids be careful."

   One of the stupidest things I ever did was shrug off her warning.





   Dick, meanwhile, was exhausting his appeals.  The federal courts all
turned him down, and he couldn't even get an appeal to the Supreme Court.
His execution was scheduled for sometime between Thanksgiving and
Christmas.

   - - + + + + + -



   That fall, the football team looked stronger than it had in years.  The
students and alumni were excited about our prospects.  None of the coaches
or team was talking Rose Bowl--but it was sure on everybody's mind.

   I had a great fall practice and was solid as the starting end.  I'd
reached six feet, five inches and two hundred thirty-five pounds.  I didn't
have blinding speed, but I could motor right along and my reflexes were as
good as anyone's.  My patterns were crisp and I'd learned how to fake out a
cornerback--at least, some of the time--and could usually get separation
from the defenders.  Most important, my size, ability to jump, and good
hands allowed me to catch passes in traffic and hang on to the ball.

   Our quarterback was very good.  (He later made a career in the NFL as a
solid journeyman.) He could get the ball to the running backs with maximum
deception and delivered his passes with a good touch.  And he had the arm
to zing it in there, when that was needed.  Of necessity, he and I became
friends.

   Don `Godfather' Morrison was a member of one of the premier `jock'
fraternities on the row.  He was also the one who kept the house GPA high
enough that they weren't suspended.  A guy who loved a good party and had a
reputation for going through women like popcorn at a movie, he was bright
enough to know when to call it a night and tuck it in.

   Don and I soon became known as the `odd couple', after the movie.  Most
people didn't realize that Don was closer to `Felix' than I.  Had things
turned out that way, he could very easily have settled into a relationship
like Hanna and I had and that would have been the end of his life as a
party animal.

   From my standpoint, his best feature was that he was loyal to his
friends.  He visited our apartment often and usually stayed for dinner. 
Though he obviously appreciated her beauty, he never hit on Hanna and never
even hinted that he would if encouraged.  We appreciated that.  We'd study
or talk, or work over the playbook.  Hanna was always a part of
things--keeping it fun--and Jason became his little buddy.  Once in a
while, he'd get a `faraway' look in his eyes, when he looked at Hanna and
Jason.  We asked him about it, but never got an answer.  "It was another
life..." he said and changed the subject.

   I learned Don and his thinking.  And we both learned what the coaches
were teaching us about recognizing defenses, and how to adjust to them. 
The result was that, though a tight end, I caught more passes than any
other receiver.  Don and I enjoyed making the other look good.  He'd throw
one out there as far as he could, counting on me to get under it.  Or I'd
adjust and make the catch when he couldn't get it where it should be.

   We won our first five games easily and were four and oh in the PAC-10.
But Don went down in game six with a cracked rib.  He was only out three
weeks, but it hurt.  We had Rose Bowl dreams, but Don was a key to their
fulfillment.

   The backup quarterback, Chuck Grey, was a sophomore with a great arm,
but not much experience.  Fortunately, he was smart and he'd been working
hard, preparing for his big chance.  We managed to beat USC and Washington
State in tough games.

   Meanwhile, Don spent a lot of his time in our apartment.  He explained,
"The reporters all know the number at the fraternity.  If I'm there, I have
to answer the phone--constantly.  Here, I can be myself, relax and heal,
and keep up with my work... Have I said that I really appreciate your
having me around so much?"

   "No, Don... only once or twice this week," Hanna laughed.  Jason
demanded a seat in his lap, then promptly collapsed in sleep, as children
his age do when they are tired.  Don again got that look in his eyes.

   "Don," Hanna asked, "won't you tell us what bothers you?  You have a
deep hurt, and it involves a child, or I'm a dim sum."

   With a sad smile, Don said, "You're anything but a dim sum and you know
it.  OK.  I'll tell you about it.  But I have to know that it will never go
any farther."

   We both swore to keep his secrets, and he told us his story.

   - - + + + + + -



   When I had just turned sixteen (Don told us), my sister, Kathy, was
fourteen.  She is one of those girls who can be mistaken for twenty-five,
when she puts on makeup and dresses `adult'.  She also has a mature outlook
and the sweetest spirit I've ever known.

   We'd always been best friends, sort of like you two.  I never understood
other boys who talked about girls like something slimy, or as if they were
from some different planet.  Kathy and I knew all about our physical
differences and that we looked at things from a different perspective.  But
it was no problem.  We shared our similarities and celebrated our
differences.

   Like most kids, we'd `played doctor'--though it wasn't a big deal, as
we'd been open with each other about everything, including our bodies, as
long as I can remember.

   I'd been thinking about girls as sexual beings for a couple years.  Then
Kathy came into my room one evening, from the bathroom we shared.  She was
naked, from her shower.  I remember thinking that she was beautiful.  Her
breasts were swelling and her hips were no longer straight up and down, but
were pleasant arcs from a pinched waist.

   She was excited.  "Don, look here!" she waved something at my face.

   "Look at what?"

   "I'm having a period!"

   "So?  That's what girls do."

   "Dummy.  It's my first period.  Now I'm a woman.  I can have babies!"

   I stood and embraced her and told her I thought it was great.

   A week later, she was back, crawling naked into my bed.

   "Kathy, what the hell are you doing?"

   "I want you to teach me about sex," she stated in a straightforward way.
... Well, I said we'd always been open with each other.

   I was sixteen.  I would be lying if I said I wasn't turned on.  But I
had to be honest.  "Kat, I'd love to.  But I'm not sure I know any more
about it than you do."

   "You mean, when you go out with Vikki, you don't...?"

   "No.  We don't....  Kat, I... Damnit, I'd really like to teach you, but
it isn't fair!"

   "Huh?  Why not?  We can teach each other."

   By that time, my cock was doing ALL my thinking, and I agreed.  Kathy
and I did teach each other.  We learned what the other liked and didn't
like; where to touch and where to stroke.  After a couple months, either of
us could get the other off in less than four minutes.

   "Don, there's one thing left," Kat told me one evening, as we lay
panting on her bed.

   "No, Kat.  We can't do that."

   "Why not?"

   "It's wrong.  It's incest..."

   "So?  What we've been doing isn't?"

   You know how it is when you're sixteen...

   It was no contest.  Kat won.

   It was fantastic!  More wonderful than my wildest wet-dream.

   She seemed to feel the same way about it.  We couldn't get enough.  We
were soon, literally, addicted to sex--with each other.

   [Hanna and I looked at each other.  We certainly knew where he was
coming from.]

   For the first two months, we were crazy.  Then, at least I had sense to
start buying and using condoms.  We hated them, but Kathy was not willing
to ask Mom to put her on the pill.

   That went on until the summer after I graduated from high school.  Kathy
finally asked mom about the pill--said she'd been having real trouble
fighting her urges.  She'd rather be safe than all of us be sorry, she
said. So she saw the gynecologist and got a prescription.  When she started
taking the pills, she thought she was protected immediately, not knowing
she needed a month or so for them to become really effective.  I didn't
know any better, either.  So we had unprotected sex--and she got pregnant.

   [By this point, Don was close to sobbing.  We could tell that this was
the first time he'd talked about this with anyone.  Hanna put an arm around
him and held him, while I got a glass of wine for us all.  After wiping his
eyes, thanking Hanna, and taking a gulp of wine that deserved more
attention than he gave it, he continued.]

   Somehow, the fetus was damaged.  Kathy carried it long enough to know
she was pregnant--morning sickness and all that.  She figured she'd been
pregnant eight or nine weeks when she miscarried.

   Of course, Mom and Dad had fits, when they learned she'd been pregnant.
And they hadn't a clue who the `dirty bastard' who'd knocked her up was.  I
didn't know about it until I went home one weekend and Dad cornered me for
a confidential talk--he wanted to know if I knew who it was.

   You could say the miscarriage was the best thing that could have
happened to us... I've told myself that a hundred times.  And Kathy and I
tried to convince each other...

   WE DON'T BELIEVE IT!!

   I'm sad because that baby--it would have been a girl, Kathy tells me, my
daughter--would be about the age of your Jason.  And I never wanted to put
my beloved sister, my best and dearest friend, under that kind of stress
and pressure.

   She didn't tell me, when she knew she was pregnant.  She wanted me to
come here, and be the varsity quarterback, and get an education and the
career she feels I deserve.  She didn't want to hold me back!

   [The sobs finally wracked him.  When he recovered, he continued.]

   After that, she won't have anything to do with me... Oh, she's polite,
even warm, when we have a family get-together.  But she isn't willing to
have a private cup of coffee with me.  And, Gary, she's not just my best
friend or even just my sister: She's the only woman I'll ever really love!





   Hanna and I were quiet for a while, after Don finished.  I silently
refilled his glass, and topped off Hanna's and mine.

   After he seemed calmer, Hanna asked, "Where is Kathy now, Don?"

   "She's still living at home, going to the community college."

   "Does she have a boyfriend?  What is she doing with her life?"

   "I don't think so.  All I know about her is what mom tells me when I
call home on Sunday afternoons."

   "Is she mad at you?  Does she blame you?"

   "You know, that's the part I REALLY don't understand.  She doesn't seem
mad.  When we are together--Christmas and Thanksgiving, for instance--she's
always looking at me.  And she's nice to me... She just won't be alone with
me, even to talk."

   Hanna was having an intuition attack... I recognized the symptoms. 
After a few moments, she said, "Don?  Would it be OK if I try to get to the
bottom of this?  I have some ideas, OK?"

   "Sure," Don said.  "It can't hurt.  And I'm real tired of chasing pussy,
anyhow.  Pussy is easy.  Love is what's hard."



   Hanna got Kathy's schedule--I have no idea how--and called her during
the day, when her parents were not likely to be home.

   "Kathy?  This is Hanna Rogers.  I don't know if you remember me... My
husband Gary and I were at your house this summer, for brunch one Sunday."

   "Sure.  You have that darling little boy... Jerry?  JASON!  ... Sure. 
What can I do for you, Hanna?"

   "Could you come visit us?  I think we have a lot more in common than any
of us dreamed.  And I'd really like to get to know you better.  There's a
couple of things I especially want to talk about."

   "What's that?"

   "Takes too long.  Come see us.  I'll give you all the details."

   They arranged that Kathy would come down on Friday afternoon, two weeks
later.  We had a home game, so Don and I would be busy until Saturday
evening, but then we'd be around, too.

   - - + + + + + -



   When Kathy arrived, the girls became good friends immediately.  Kathy
was more beautiful than I'd remembered.  Models would kill to look as good
as she did.  And she was a truly nice lady.  She was sweet, but not in a
cloying or phony way.  She genuinely liked people and wanted to be nice to
them.  Yet she was tough enough to do what was necessary, in her view, to
protect herself and those she loved.

   By Friday night, the girls were best buddies.  I went to bed early and
took a Melatonin to make me sleep.  I always need to get my sleep the night
before a game.

   The girls stayed up and played with Jason until he crapped out, too. 
Then they sat around and drank wine and talked.

   Hanna got the story from Kathy.  Kathy was afraid that, if she
encouraged him, Don would want to live with her and have babies....  The
problem was, she wanted that, too.  More than anything.

   "I don't dare even be alone with him, Hanna.  I'd tear his clothes off
and fuck him into the ground.  Before I was done, he'd know exactly how I
feel... Then we'd never be able to live normal lives."

   Hanna smiled at her.  "Well, it seems to me you have three choices. 
First, you can continue as you are and both of you stay miserable forever.
Second, you can figure out some way to be together.  Or third, you can find
partners who will let you be with each other--maybe best if they really
love each other, too."

   Kathy smiled through her tears.  "Do you know any other brother-sister
pairs who feel like we do?"

   "As a matter of fact..." Hanna said, drawing it out.

   "Come on!  Don't tease me.  This is too serious for teasing."

   "Sorry, Kathy.  I know it is... Do you know Mark and Gloria Lansing?"

   "No.  Who are they?"

   "Don knows them.  Mark plays football, from love of the game.  He gets
in occasionally, in the fourth quarter when the coach empties the bench. 
But he's a neat guy.  Gloria, his sister, lives with him.  She's very
pretty.  They are both juniors here.  Neither date.  I'll bet anything..."

   "...they have the same problem we do?" Kathy finished for her.

   "Yep."

   "How can we find out for sure?"

   "How 'bout we go have a little girl-talk with Gloria?"

   Kathy liked the idea.

   Saturday morning, the girls met.  They soon confirmed that Hanna's
suspicions about Mark and Gloria were right on the money.  Before they left
to go to the game, they'd hatched a plan.

   - - + + + + + -



   Hanna told me to bring Don, who didn't know Kathy was visiting us, home
with me after the game... we won, by the way... When we arrived, he was
surprised to see Kathy there with us.  He was even more surprised when she
gave him a big hug and a kiss that was anything but sisterly.

   Kathy said, "Don, we have to talk.  Hanna, will you two excuse us?" as
she dragged him by the hand into our guest bedroom and closed the door.

   We soon heard the unmistakable rhythm of a bed being stressed by two
people making vigorous love on it.  Then there was a long quiet time,
punctuated by an occasional exclamation of shock or wonder.  Finally, the
lovemaking began again, with a softer, more loving cadence.

   We'd been holding dinner an hour and a half when they finally emerged.
Both obviously fucked out.

   Both obviously VERY happy... and very much in love.

   After a quick wash, they sat at our small table.

   "Hanna, you're a witch," Don accused her.

   She smiled, and winked at Kathy.  "Not really.  I just like to do nice
things for friends."

   - - + + + + + -



   During Thanksgiving break, we celebrated a double wedding.  Mark Lansing
married Kathy Morrison.  And Don Morrison married Gloria Lansing.  The way
the two happy couples behaved, one wasn't sure who had married whom.  Since
Mark and Gloria already had a house near the campus, and there was plenty
of room, their new spouses just moved in.

   Gloria was pregnant before Christmas.  Kathy wanted to finish school
first.  But she certainly wasn't lacking for a large male organ filling her
and filling her womb with its seed.

   - - + + + + + -



   Dick Pritchard had run out of appeals.  Barring a last minute change of
heart by the governor--not very likely, since he had run on a `law and
order' platform--Dick would die the ninth of December.

   Although they were careful what they said in public, I heard a rumor
that Dick's parents still held Hanna responsible and would seek vengeance
if he were executed.

   When the day approached, we were a `two-day wonder', as the press
hounded us for comments.  Our only comment was a statement issued for us by
the university press office: "We deplore the unlawful taking of human
life--of murder.  The penalty for murder requires execution as punishment
and deterrent.  We have no quarrel with that.  We have no other comment."
It drove the news people--and other liberals--crazy.

   Pritchard's lawyers tried, as a last ditch tactic, to get a statement
from Hanna that she had provoked Dick into the attack.  She immediately
repudiated that, publicly.

   "At no time did I provoke, tease, coerce, lead on, or in any other way
incite Dick Pritchard to attack me or any other person.  On the contrary,
because I was willing to go on a date with him, he assumed that I was
willing to have sex with him.  When I refused, he attempted rape.  I did
not allow myself to be his victim.  If fighting to defend myself against
the most heinous assault against a woman there is, is incitement to murder,
then we are all living in a country that is vastly different from what I
was taught in school and in my home.

   "I really don't care if Pritchard is executed or lives the rest of his
miserable existence in prison--but I won't be used as a pawn in his legal
maneuvers, nor as an excuse for the despicable and cowardly crimes he
committed by his own choice." - - + + + + + -



   Meanwhile, Don and I had football games to win and women to love.

   It was humorous, in a way.  Gloria enjoyed the attention she got, as
Don's wife.  A very pretty blonde who looked like a stereotype "Texas
Cheerleader", she was worth anybody's attention.  But she quickly became
uncomfortable with it.  Only a very few of us knew why--that she shared her
brother's bed at night, and the baby she carried was not Don's.  Don
adopted the position that his wife disliked publicity and that he respected
that.  His family would stay out of range of the cameras.

   Mark and Gloria quickly became very good friends with Don and Kathy -
besides being married to them - soon, in fact, all four could honestly be
said to be `in love' with the others.  Gloria's second child was her
husband's, and her third, her brother's like the first.  Kathy, too,
enjoyed and loved the times with Mark almost as much as with Don.

   Although she stayed out of the spotlight, Gloria was more `pushy' than
Kathy.  And Mark was much less ambitious than Don.  Soon, Don was in charge
and Gloria was the one who got things done.  Mark took care of
`arrangements'.  A business major, his ambition was to be a CPA.  His
personality was suited for the work, with orientation to detail and getting
it `right'.

   Kathy carried her share and quietly charmed everybody.  No one noticed
or if they did, cared, that Kathy was more often at her brother's side than
her husband's.  She promoted both men, as well as her own future, with a
reputation as a straight arrow, who was as nice a woman as anyone could
hope to meet and cute as a cocker puppy.

   Hanna and I hoped for the best.  They were surely happy.

   We lost only one game--to the team that did go to the Rose Bowl.  We had
to settle for the Cotton Bowl as a consolation prize.



   On the ninth of December, Dick Pritchard was executed.  We refused to
speak to the press.  The university press officer issued a statement that
we were glad it was all over, so we could move on.  He added that the
university would prosecute anyone who trespassed on university property for
the purpose of harassing or stalking us.

   We had a couple of weeks to study for finals and then a week for the
tests.  Meanwhile, the coach had us working out daily, so we wouldn't get
rusty.  Finals week was a zoo for everybody.  We were given five days off
for Christmas, then we'd have to be back on campus for two days of workouts
and the flight to Dallas.

   - - + + + + + -



   Hanna, Jason and I were pretty tired puppies when we turned the corner
down the block from our parents' homes.

   Then the windshield exploded.

   By reflex, I jammed on the brakes.  Then my athletic instincts kicked in
and I punched it.  I guess it was a good thing, because the rear window
exploded next.  I laid rubber down the block and into the long driveway to
my dad's house.

   "You OK?" I gasped at Hanna.

   "Yeah.  So's Jason."

   Jason!  Damn.  I hadn't even thought of him.

   As I braked to a stop, I realized that we'd been shot at, by something
heavy.  A deer rifle at least, or shotgun with a slug.  I looked around as
well as I could through the broken glass and holes in the front and back.
Not seeing anyone, I told Hanna to get into the house, using the side door,
so she didn't have to climb onto the porch.  I took little Jason in my
arms, shielding him with my body, as we made our way to the door and into
the house.

   Mom was in the kitchen and came running when she heard us.  Then she
stopped short when she saw us.

   "Gary, there's blood all over your face!  What have you done?"

   I hadn't been aware of it.  "First things first, Mom.  Call 911, right
now!"

   Hanna looked better than I did, though flying glass had caused a couple
of small cuts on her, too.  I didn't have anything serious, just a lot of
little glass cuts.  Even Jason caught a couple.  I was relieved that he was
OK, but really pissed that someone had tried to hurt my family.

   When the cops arrived, we quickly told them what had happened.  They
looked, but couldn't find signs of any shots being fired, much less where
they came from--much less WHO they came from.

   The evidence of my face and my car was clear, though.

   Of course, the cops wanted to know if I had any idea who did it.  Mom
answered for us, "The Pritchards, of course.  Dick was just executed for
murdering his schoolmates.  His folks always blamed Hanna and Gary for
that. And we know they are vindictive people."

   Asked if we had any proof, we said we did not, beyond what they'd said,
and their reputation.  The cop asked how we could accuse them, then.

   "Hey!" Mom was really ticked off, "You asked if we had any idea who did
this.  We do and we told you.  You didn't ask if we could prove our
suspicions."

   The cop sheepishly admitted she was right.  He was a patrolman, not a
detective.  But he seemed to have his act together--his briefing to the
detective who showed up was concise, complete and accurate, as far as I
could tell.



   I called Coach Ullrich, to tell him what had happened and ask him to
keep the media away from us, if that could be done.  "I can handle it here,
Gary.  Better have your dad arrange for his lawyer or somebody up there to
speak for you.  Don't worry about getting back here.  I'll fix a ride for
you.  Can somebody there get your car back here when it's fixed?"

   "I think so, Coach.  Thanks."

   "Happy to help, Gary.  Sorry about the trouble."

   We thought if Hanna and I stayed close to home we'd be OK.  But that
afternoon, dad had a tire shot out as he pulled into the driveway.  And the
next day, mom's car was vandalized in the supermarket parking lot.

   Fortunately, the police were as pissed off as we were.  Dad called the
Deputy DA who had prosecuted Dick, Paul Fleischer.  He'd heard about the
attacks on us--and had taken steps to protect himself and his family.

   "I can't do anything directly, until the police make an arrest," he told
dad.  "I can and did tell them that I feel your suspicions are valid and
that the Pritchards are behind it all, if not doing this themselves.  I
told them I would get the warrants if they request a wiretap or other
surveillance of them and will help in any other way I can.  This is clearly
not sane behavior."

   "You mean, they'll walk after a couple of years in the state hospital,
even if they are caught?"

   "No," he chuckled, "that's not what I meant.  I meant that these people
are clearly obsessed.  But I won't let them walk."

   So we placed `run flat' tires on all the cars and called the insurance
company.  The next day, (the day before Christmas) we got a registered
letter, canceling our insurance!

   I can't recall seeing dad that angry.  First he called the agent and
read him off, ending with, "For over twenty years, I thought we were
friends, Frank.  Now we have a problem, NOT OF OUR OWN MAKING, and we get
canceled?  I don't call that friendship, or service!" After he slammed the
phone down, he called a friend from his lodge, who was a very close friend
of the Governor.

   Christmas Eve we went to church, for the candlelight service.  We had an
unobtrusive police escort when we did.  And when we returned home, we found
that a couple of windows in the O'Malley house were broken, with bricks
thrown through them.

   The next morning we were pretty subdued.  We opened our presents and
appreciated the love and care that went into the selection of the
gifts--but the gaiety was missing.  Little Jason reaped an enormous haul,
with the grandparents trying to outdo each other.  But even he caught our
mood and was quieter than normal...

   Shortly after lunch, we got an unexpected call from the Governor.  First
he wished us a Merry Christmas and wanted to hear from me that the honor of
the state would be upheld New Year's Day--which I was happy to confirm. 
Then he said he'd spoken with the Insurance Commissioner.  The company that
had canceled our insurance would face a stiff review of its underwriting
and claims practices, and have serious questions to answer if they wanted
to continue to sell insurance in our state.  Meanwhile, he had arranged
coverage with a top-line company.  Even with my brothers learning to drive,
insurance would not be a problem.

   That was a big load off our minds.  It's nice when the Governor gets mad
on your behalf.

   Even with that resolved, Dad and I were mad.  Hanna's dad was white
around the lips.  It wasn't fear--he'd been a SEAL during Vietnam and
Grenada.  We would not live this way.  If the police couldn't do anything,
we'd take steps ourselves.  For a start, my brothers and I kept watch on
the two houses.

   That paid off immediately.

   Hanna's dad, Aiden, taught us--and we quickly picked up the basics we
needed.  We stayed in darkened rooms and took care not to get close to the
windows.  With powerful binoculars and my old telescope on its tripod, we
could get `in the face' of anybody driving or walking by.  One of my
brothers noticed a car that he didn't recognize as belonging to the
neighborhood.  It was always parked nearby, but seldom in the same place
for very long.

   Dad got a name and address from the plates--it was stolen, four days
previously.

   Aiden had a better rapport with the police, so he called Sergeant Jones
and told him what we had.  The sergeant wasn't assigned to our `case', but
said he'd get on it.  And he'd make sure a capture and arrest happened--he
didn't want Aiden to start behaving like a SEAL, if he could avoid it.

   They did it right.  The guy they scooped up was a lout--a 26-year-old
laid-off construction worker with a rap sheet that went three pages.  He
readily confessed to the shooting and vandalism, once he'd gotten over the
`what you hasslin' me for?' crap.  A `real classy broad'--to him, that
meant a woman not dressed like a hooker--had paid him $500 and promised him
another $500 for the harassment, and $1,000 each if he could shoot Hanna or
me.  He didn't have to kill us.  The price was the same as long as we were
hit.

   How was he going to get in touch with her, if he succeeded?  Well, she
called him every other night at a phone booth in the middle of the Walmart
parking lot.

   The police set up a sting.  Sergeant Jones promised to supervise it
himself.

   "This woman probably calls from a cell phone, in a car where she can see
the phone booth.  I have an officer who looks a lot like our friend.  We'll
put him in his clothes and use a little makeup.  With luck, we'll catch
her."

   It was the night after Christmas.  The stores were closed and there
weren't many people around.  The parking lot was pretty bare.  The police
used three vans and four unmarked cars that could quickly block the exits
from the lot.

   As soon as their actor entered the booth, the phone rang.

   "Yuh."

   "Did you do it?"

   "Yuh.  But couldn't hit none of `em."

   "What did you do?"

   Chuckle.  "Shot out their windshield.  Shot out the old man's tires and
fucked up the broad's car.  Then I threw some bricks through the windows of
the other house.  Couldn't do more.  Want me to keep tryin?"

   "If you can.  I'd really like to see one or more of them shot.  Can you
do that?"

   "Mebbe.  Try.  I need more bread, you know?  I need that next $500."

   "OK.  Turn around.  See the blue Caddie?"

   "Yuh."

   "There's a package under the rear bumper.  I'll call you here tomorrow
night.  Same time."

   "Yuh."

   A black Lexus, fifty yards away, held a woman talking into a cell phone.
There were no other people around.  The police vans quickly moved to
bracket the Lexus, so it couldn't move.  She tried, anyway, ramming them
both, hard.  All that did was piss off the police.  Ordered out of the car
and face down on the pavement, she tried to run and was rapidly tripped,
thrown to the ground, and cuffed.  Then she was `patted down' none too
gently by a pair of cops who were really pissed about what she'd done to
their van.

   A search of the car yielded two pistols, a submachine gun, a cell phone,
and a purse with the identification of Estelle Pritchard--as well as two
phony IDs with the same picture.  They also found, under the rear seat, an
ounce of cocaine and a lid of grass.

   Sgt.  Jones was very pleased with the evening's activity.  The quality
of the recording on the phone wasn't bad, either.

   Aiden, Hanna's dad, wasn't so sure.

   "Yeah, you got the queen bee and one of her drones.  But where's the
king?  Can't you get a warrant and go get him, too?"

   "Don't think so," Sgt.  Jones said, honestly.  "If we hadn't caught her
cold, we wouldn't have enough to hold her."

   "Come on.  With the drugs, you have probable cause to search their
apartment, or wherever they're living.  Call Mr.  Fleischer.  See if he
can't get a warrant."

   They did, and were able to get the warrant.  Aiden insisted on going
along on the raid.

   The police went to the apartment and knocked.  The response to, "Police.
Open up!" was gunfire through the door.  One officer was wounded and
another had the wind knocked out of him, when his flack jacket was hit.

   At the first shot, Aiden sprinted around back, to cover the rear.  He'd
come armed as a matter of course.  It was dark in back of the building, but
he could see a window opening and a man trying to get out without jumping.
The guy was facing the other way, so Aiden just walked up behind him,
shoved his pistol in his ear, and said, "Drop the piece, bud, before I blow
your brains out the other ear."

   Startled, he tried to wrench himself away and swing around to bring his
weapon to bear.  A rank amateur, he didn't stand a chance.  His brains did
exit the other ear--and the hole above it.

   One of the cops came running up.  "That was a neat piece of work, but
you should have left it to us."

   "Nah.  You guys would have lost him this time.  This way, he's not going
anywhere.  The taxpayers won't have the expense of a trial or prison for
this louse, and my family won't have to worry about him any more."

   The cop's teeth shone in the moonlight as he grinned.  "You do make a
compelling argument.  I'll testify that it was a good shooting...and the
suspect was warned."



   In the morning, an alumnus from the area arrived in a new Town and
Country, to take us back to school.  One of my brothers would drive my car
down in a couple of days, when it got out of the shop.

   I had a bowl game to prepare for, and play.



   New Years Day, Don and I had a good game, but the Nittany Lions were
just too much for us.  We were always in it and they knew they'd been in a
dogfight, but our defense couldn't keep them from making key first downs.
   Our final ranking in the coaches' poll was 17th.  Not too bad.