Rooming with Hannah

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The following is a true account of my time subletting a room from a very nice couple. It does have a slow build-up and may not really be suitable for a quick one-handed read, so to speak.


After six years in the Marine Corps I was out and very exited about being a free man again, and home, instead of in the sweltering heat of Baghdad. After the relentless pace of life as a grunt, I found civilian life a welcome change. I had managed to complete my first two years of college during my time in the Marines, so I would only be here for my last two before moving on to graduate school. My financial obligations were light, as my G.I. Bill paid for my tuition, but I opted to try and sublet a room to live more frugally and avoid dipping into my savings. Also, after living in such close quarters with so many good friends for so long, living alone in an apartment seemed too foreign.

During my first week in town, I stayed with a Corps buddy and kept a close watch on the postings for rooms, finally finding one that seemed promising. It advertised a room for rent with a young married couple with a three-year-old child and warned that ‘freaks, layabouts, party boys, smokers, druggies and lunatics’ need not apply. Sounded like just my type of people, so I called them and scheduled a meeting for the next day.

I arrived at their home at just a bit after eleven in the morning and saw that it was an older, Victorian styled home common to the area and constructed in the earlier part of the twentieth century. Though a bit dilapidated and not in the best neighborhood, I thought that it certainly had character. Parking my Jeep on the curb, I walked through the gate and into the nicely maintained yard. I noticed the smell of orange blossoms in the hot summer air and could see a few children’s toys on the large porch.

Hoping that this would pan out, I put on my most friendly expression and rang the bell. I had felt no need to dress to impress and other than my uniform I owned no dress clothing of any kind. As a result, I was in my most comfortable khaki shorts, a black Marine Corps t-shirt bearing the logo of my old unit and my favorite pair of Japanese ‘zori’ flip-flops. My black hair at the time was no longer quite “high and tight”, but still marked me as military. Standing on the porch, I could feel a few beads of sweat from the hot, dry California air running down the back of my shirt and wondered absently if I should get more sunscreen. I’ve got the swarthy skin that’s common to Sicilians, but thanks to the blazing sun of Iraq, I was still quite tan.

When the door opened up, I was pleased to see a friendly looking man who appeared a few years older than myself. He was also a bit taller and heavier, though by no means overweight. He looked quite strong, actually. His brown hair was much longer than my own and the style, when combined with his clothes, gave him sort of a ‘hepcat’ look. We shook hands and he introduced himself as Brian, the man I had spoken to on the telephone. Though he was several years out of uniform, I could immediately peg him as a military man, and he confirmed this when we shook hands and I saw the Marine Corps tattoo on his right forearm that matched my own. I immediately approved. Most people get tattoos to be unique, but Marines get them to be the same. He asked if I was prior Corps and I explained with a grin that I had been recently reintroduced into the wild, so to speak.

The living room was large and decorated in an eclectic blend of Georgian and Mexican furniture. There was a panel of Mexican masks that I recognized from Dia De Los Muertos arranged on the wall over the fireplace, and a small Catholic altar on a table with three spindly legs in the corner held a red novena candle burning next to a statue of the Virgin Mary. There was a decided Latin American flair to the house, and I wondered if his wife was from South of the border.

The centerpiece of the room, however, was a large wooden coffee table that sat low in front of an old divan styled sofa that proved to be far more comfortable than it looked. We sat down on it and while we waited for his wife, Hannah, to put their son down for his nap we made small talk about the units we served with and discovered that we were both stationed at Twenty-nine Palms with ‘the fleet’. He explained that he worked as a fireman and had a rotating schedule of two 24-hour days per week and that he would be doing a lot of overtime during fire season. He also informed me that he and Hannah had been married almost six years and had a three-year-old son. Brian was at the time thirty-three and Hannah had just turned twenty-nine, not too much older than I was. The one concern that Brian did express was that a young boy might bother me, and I assured him (quite truthfully) that he would not. Brian and I got on well and I felt fairly confident that I would get the room at this point.

Hannah joined us in the living room wearing a flowery, loose skirt and a ankara escort sleeveless peasant blouse. Brian introduced us and I looked her over. I found her to be attractive, but not beautiful. A definite girl next door who was on the more attractive side of plain. She had very thick chestnut hair pulled into pigtails and then braided. I thought it made her look rather like a German milkmaid, but it was cute nonetheless. Her eyes were a very nice shade of hazel, and her expression was open and friendly. We exchanged pleasantries and she and Brian led me to the room that was to be mine, should I decide to take it. As she led the way I saw that her body was curvy and lush, with a decidedly hourglass shape to it and her legs looked strong and toned.

The room was kind of bijou, but since I owned almost nothing, I didn’t really need a lot of space. It had two small closets that would hold all of my clothes, but the big selling point was a small room that connected to it making the rough shape of an ‘L’ and giving me two rooms for the price of one. Although the second room was small, it looked as though it would fit my futon and leave enough space to walk in and move around to make my bed. It was about the size of our ‘hurricane closet’ in my family’s home in Charleston, South Carolina, but it would do nicely for anad hocbedroom.

Brian informed me that the room was three hundred a month, which seemed more than fair, since I would pay no utilities and have full kitchen access, though I would have to share a bathroom. They made a formal offer for the room, and I accepted by shaking hands with Brian and writing him a check for the first and last month’s rent. He gave me my key and said that I could move in the following day after they gave it a good cleaning, though it looked fine to me as it was.

I arrived bright and early the next morning to unpack my things and get settled, which took about three hours. While I was in the process of doing so, Hannah knocked on the door and peeked in, holding up a beer for me.

“Do you need any help?” she asked with a smile.

I shook my head, but gladly accepted the beer. The house was old and had no air conditioning, and was actually uncomfortably hot.

“Not especially, but you’re welcome to stay and chat if you like.” She accepted and sat down on the captain’s chair that I kept for my computer in the larger of the two rooms. She looked over the room, which was Spartan to say the least, and eyed the shadow box full of my Marine Corps memorabilia and then spoke, her voice clear and pleasant.

“So how long were you in the Marines?”

“Six years,” I responded as I sat down on the floor to take a break from unpacking. I took a sip of the cold beer and it was a welcome bit of relief from the heat. She gave me a look that prompted me to continue talking about myself, so I elaborated.

“I enlisted when I was eighteen because I thought it would make a man out of me and give me some discipline and direction.” It felt like a pretty standard, unimaginative answer, but it was true.

“And then you went to war?” She asked, but gave no hint with her tone of voice whether or not she approved of it.

I nodded in response, but said nothing because I didn’t want to discuss my experiences there. Although I returned home somewhat edgy, I wasn’t traumatized, like my father was when he returned home from his own war. After finishing the beer she brought for me, I resumed unpacking and she lent a hand, hanging up my clothes for me and talking about her own life. She was a graduate student in Spanish at the same University that I attended, and had a passion for all things Mexican. She had a particular fascination with the Oaxaca region that I didn’t understand, as I couldn’t tell one region from another and spoke very little Spanish. I would be taking a course this term, though, and told her as much.

While I listened to her, I got the distinct impression that we were really very different people and I began to wonder if we could talk about anything of substance without arguing. She was something of a hippy-dippy and certainly a staunch liberal, while I considered myself a conservative. She informed me that when she was younger she had lived in a hippy commune and that her name there was “Moon-Dove”. Indeed.

Over the next few weeks, she and I seemed to develop a tacit understanding that we would talk of nothing political that would incite an argument, since neither of us would sway an inch concerning beliefs, which usually were diametrically opposed. Brian, when he was home, was a wonderful roommate, who shared my affinity for running, Guinness Stout, working out and video games. We got along well and seldom talked of the Corps, except when we had an anecdote that was too funny not to share. We did, however, compare the spots we’d visited that had the best whores and bar-girls in the Pacific. He favored Okinawa, while I was a fan of the Philippines. We even set up ankara escort bayan a pretty nice gym by combining our weight sets in the back yard. We’d work out there whenever we were both home and Hannah would often watch us through the window.

If Brian happened to be home on the weekend, the three of us would go out and hit the various bars and clubs in the area, particularly the ones with “80’s Night” or similar themes. We began to become very friendly, and I was happy to have someone to go out with. During our trips to the bars, I never brought anyone home with me and decided to keep the sanctity of our triumvirate intact. It wasn’t that I lacked the opportunity; I just felt that it would be tacky to take a woman to their home.

A little over two months after moving in, Brian was doing two days on consecutively and their son was with his grandparents, Hannah and I were alone in the house. Not once did I consider that this might present a problem. She never acted in any way improper or otherwise gave the impression that she had any interest in adultery, which was fine by me. I got back from class and was finishing my workout when she walked outside and asked if I had plans that night. I replied that I didn’t, and she asked if I’d like to go out for a beer because Brian and their son were gone. We made plans to leave that evening and she went to do whatever it is women do when no one else is around and I returned to my studies, as I had a bitch of a Spanish test the following day.

That evening at around nine, she knocked on my door and asked if I was ready to leave, so I shut my books, pulled on my cowboy boots, tossed on a ‘nice’ shirt and went out to meet her. She looked really nice, and it rather threw me for a minute. She normally went out looking nice, usually in some kind of 40’s or 50’s retro dress, but this particular night she had on a little black dress that looked to be painted on. It emphasized her heavy bust line and narrow waist. I could also just see a faint line under her dress where she must have been wearing garters, which I love. Her hair was pulled up into ringlets and she had on a black lace choker that made her look twenty degrees hotter.

I must have had a stupefied look on my face, because she looked self-conscious and turned slightly away from me.

“Why are you looking at me like that, is it the dress? It’s new.” She asked, wincing as if I was going to say something terrible to her.

I got myself under control and smiled as reassuringly as I could. Sothat’s where she’d been while I was studying.

“You look fucking hot. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

She smiled brightly, flashing me with her very straight teeth and I found myself wondering what kind of panties she was wearing. We left then and went to our usual pub for beers. When we got there, we sat in our regular booth and each ordered our normal drinks: red wine for her and a Guinness for me. During the two hours we were there, she might have been sitting just a little closer than normal and making more eye contact than normal, but then again it was loud in there and we had to sit close to hear one another.

After we had each finished a few drinks, she suggested that we go to a dance club that she had heard about and wanted to try. I have never been a good dancer and always feel like Elaine from Seinfeld whenever I try, so I initially balked, saying that we should wait for Brian. Hannah fixed me with her hazel eyes, cocked her head to one side and said ‘please’ in a little girl voice that, frankly, would have made me go along with just about anything right then.

Neither of us was close to being drunk, so we felt all right to drive my Jeep instead of taking a cab. The club was about fifteen minutes away and during the ride, Hannah asked if I would mind sticking kind of close to her tonight so that she didn’t have to worry about other men hitting on her. I told her that I would be happy to act as her escort, and still no alarm bells went off in my head. The club we arrived at, Gotham, was a theme bar with a bizarre mixture of Techno and Country. A wall separated the two dance floors, but it was not uncommon to see folks in Wranglers and boots (my kind of people) on the techno side. Similarly, one could occasionally see some young girl or guy X’d out of their mind on the country side, waving those glow sticks around and trying to do the Cowboy Cha-Cha. Only in California, I suppose.

I escorted her in, her arm linked through mine, and we waded through the throngs of scantily clad women and smartly dressed men looking to pick them up. The club boasted, on its techno side, five bars and I asked her if she’d like anything to drink. She shook her head, said something that I was unable to hear thanks to the pulsating music, and dragged me onto the dance floor, where we were swallowed by the writhing masses. She took my hand and pulled me toward the center of the floor, where we could get lost among escort ankara the bodies, but this also had the effect of forcing our bodies close together due to the lack of space. This did not bother me in the least, however, because as I have said, I do not like to dance and the less room I had in which to attempt it, the better I felt about it. I also knew that Hannah hated country music as much as I loved it, so we wouldn’t be spending much time on the other side of the club.

Once we were in the right spot, Hannah immediately began to move with the music and did so with much more sensuousness than I would have given her credit for knowing her hippy roots. She found the beat immediately, but I had to stand there for a moment and search for it while watching out for errant elbows and hands from the nearby dancers. She must have taken my moment of inactivity for uncertainty, because she wrapped her arms around my hips and pulled me close to her. Her hands roamed over my back and her body moved sinuously against my own. When I placed the palm of my hand on her lower back, I felt rather than heard her give a moan or a hum, and looked down at her wondering if something was wrong.

As I looked down, she was looking up at me with those large, sultry hazel eyes and smiling seductively. She rubbed her body against me and I could feel its soft curves against the hard musculature of my own. My cock started to stiffen, which I was certain she could feel and I backed away just a bit to prevent her from noticing. Apparently, though, she knew full well what the problem was. She raised her eyebrows at me, smiled at my embarrassment and pulled me back to her. With her moving against me and my incredibly stiff cock, the extremely loud, throbbing music and flashing lights combined with the rich scent of her skin, sweat and perfume I was becoming a little dizzy. I wanted very much to grab her and kiss those full lips, but I did not and I was relatively sure she’d hit me for trying. Moreover, I felt guilty for even considering it.

The DJ put on a song I knew and liked very much, “Oh Fortuna”. It is Apotheosis’ take on Carmina Burana. I squeezed her hip, where my hand was resting and smiled, pleased that I finally recognized one of the songs. Apparently everyone else in there knew the song as well, because a furious scream rose up from nearly everyone in there and hands flew into the air with glee. As if on cue, the lights began to flash and flicker in time with the music and the club seemed to be infused with frenetic energy that was almost primal in nature. Hannah began a more active exploration of my body with her hands, running them over my shoulders, stomach and chest, but never below my hips.

I’m not sure how long we danced like that, the pace and stimuli on the floor made it hard to tell, which I suppose is one of the things most people like about it. After enough time had elapsed that I began to get thirsty I leaned in close to her ear and asked if she’d like to go get a drink. She nodded and followed me off the floor, which seemed to be more crowded than ever and it took us several minutes to get through the teeming throng of dancers and off the floor, where the crowd thinned. I left her near a column and went to get a couple of tequila shots for us. I make it a rule never to get drunk in public, so this would be the end of my drinking for the evening.

When I returned with the two double-shots and limes, I handed one to her just in time to hear the dread cry, “Last call for alcohol”. We swallowed the shots and then left the club, heading for home. Once we exited the club and were back in the warm summer evening, our interaction went back to what I was used to and I wrote off all of the dancing as just that, nothing more. She and I made small talk during the drive home, and generally talked about what a great time we’d had.

We entered the house, which was dark except for the burning red novena candle in the far corner, which reduced our visibility to little or none. I followed Hannah into the house and she left the lights off, moving into the den where a proper couch was set against the wall in front of an entertainment center. I followed.

“Hey, let’s watch cartoons.” Hannah whispered.

I could hear the excitement in her voice, so I acquiesced and sat down on the couch next to her and while she fumbled for the remote, I tossed my boots and socks into the darkened corner. The screen blinked to life and the room was brightened as the television came to life and she flipped to the Cartoon Network. We sat on opposite sides of the couch and she turned and rested her feet in my lap, crossing her ankles.

As we watched, I absently began to massage her feet. I don’t have a foot fetish; far from it, in fact, but I find that women generally enjoy a good foot rub after a bit of dancing. She gave a contented sigh and sank deeper into the cushions of the sofa. We watched a full episode of Looney Tunes like this, and said nothing. At the end of the episode I gently put her feet down and stood up, intent on taking my leave for the night. She stood up with me, but in doing so ended up quite close. I opened my mouth to speak, but she ‘shushed’ me with one of her soft fingers on my lips.

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