Author's Note

This story is listed as non-erotic. Because of the main characters' ages, this website will not allow any description of sexual activity involving them. Thus, any sexual acts are only alluded to-—but not described. If non-sexual tales are not your cup of tea, please read one of my many other stories on this website instead. But, hey, you never know! You might enjoy this story anyhow.

Part One

“I don’t have any brothers at home, but I really like yours, Cindy! May I give Nick a hug?”

That was the first and very obvious indication that my sister’s school chum, Bonnie Gibbons, was attracted to me. It was September of 1971. I was four years older than both my sister and Bonnie. At the time, I was 10 years old and two weeks into the fifth grade while Bonnie was a six-year-old in the first grade. She lived one block away. I had never met her before. My sister had invited her to come to our house after school ended to watch a few sitcom reruns with the two of us, as that was the typical way we entertained ourselves for a couple of hours before we ate dinner. Bonnie accepted Cindy’s offer. For some reason, Bonnie became smitten with me in a hurry.

I’m not sure what I, Nick Martin, did to deserve such attention from this cute little girl with the curly, brunette hair. I welcomed her to our home, poured her a tall glass of cola, and offered her some miniature pretzels. That was it. Apparently, that was enough to win her heart. I wasn’t supposed to overhear her comment; I had stepped into the kitchen to wash the empty bowl that had contained the snacks, but I heard her loud and clear. Before Cindy had a chance to answer, I said from the kitchen, “Sure you can hug me, Bonnie! I’d like that!” To this day, I don’t know why I responded affirmatively so quickly. Puberty had not affected me yet, and I hadn’t yet developed much of an interest in girls, not even in Bonnie’s pretty sister Kathleen who was a classmate of mine and one of three older female siblings that Bonnie had.

Bonnie and Cindy both giggled. I had been sitting beside Bonnie on the couch. I took the same seat when I returned to the living room where our TV was located. An episode of Bewitched was on the tube. I opened my arms to accept Bonnie’s hug. I expected it to be brief, but Bonnie hugged me tightly and was clearly in no hurry to let me go. She spent the rest of Bewitched with her arms wrapped around me. I liked the warmth of her embrace. After about five seconds I decided there were worse things in the world than having a cute, young girl clinging to me with love in her eyes.

My mom had been busily doing laundry downstairs. She was a little bit startled when she got to the upper floor of the house and saw Bonnie so attached to me—in every sense of the word. Bonnie quickly explained, “I asked Nick if I could hug him, Mrs. Martin. He said yes. I like it! If it’s okay with you and Mr. Martin, I’d like to marry him someday.”

Mom just laughed at that remark. Then she deadpanned, “Bonnie, Nick gets to have some say in that decision, too.” Then she turned away and left the room.

I had a quick wit for a ten-year-old, so I promptly commented, “So far, Bonnie you’re the frontrunner to be my future wife. In fact, you are the only girl in contention right now.” This news inspired Bonnie to kiss me on the cheek, which caused more giggling from my sister. I kissed Bonnie on the cheek, too, just to be polite. Bonnie continued to hug me through episodes of I Dream of Jeannie and Petticoat Junction, too.

Part Two

The next morning at school, Bonnie tracked me down in the schoolyard about five minutes before the bell was about to ring. “Nick!” she hollered as she ran toward me. “Lift me up so I can kiss you!” Without thinking, I obliged. This time Bonnie kissed me on the lips, which caught me by surprise. I set her down for a moment and said, “That was very nice, Bonnie. Let’s do it again.” I lifted her up a second time and gave her a longer kiss before setting her feet back on the tarmac.

Bonnie informed me, “Nick, I thought about you every second after I went home yesterday. I even dreamed about you. I know I’ll be thinking about you all day at school, too.”

“Don’t let me interfere with your schoolwork, Bonnie,” I advised her. “Pay attention to your teacher. We can kiss some more when you visit the house again today to watch TV.”

“Oh, I can come today, too?” she asked. “Cindy hasn’t invited me yet.”

“I’m inviting you today—and every day. You’re welcome to watch TV with Cindy and me anytime you wish.”

“Yay!” Bonnie said enthusiastically. “Can I have one more kiss, please, Nick?”

Again, I obliged. This time our kiss drew about half a dozen spectators who either giggled or gasped at the uncommon sight at my school. One was a classmate of mine named Norman Heinrich. “Robbing the cradle, aren’t you, Nick?” he noted. I was unfamiliar with that saying, so I made a point of asking my parents what it meant that night when we ate dinner.

In the interim, Bonnie did show up to watch TV again. She did not even wait for Cindy. Apparently, once the final bell rang, she practically sprinted the six blocks from our school to my house’s front door. She beat me there by three or four minutes. My mother let her into the house before either Cindy or I got home.

“Bonnie’s already here. Your future wife is very eager to see you, Nick,” Mom told me with more than a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

“Bonnie was very eager to see me at school this morning, too,” I informed her with a smile.

“Just be very nice to her, Nick,” Mom said. “This little girl obviously has a huge crush on you. Don’t hurt her feelings.”

That was the last thing on my mind. Mom had wrongly figured that I perceived Bonnie as a nuisance. I was actually flattered by her attention and I genuinely liked being the apple of her eye. During our TV watching that day, Bonnie got bolder. After about 30 minutes, she crawled onto my lap for greater closeness. As soon as she saw Elizabeth Montgomery give Dick York a long kiss at the conclusion of the Bewitched rerun, she said, “That’s a good idea!” and gave me a similar one. I think I enjoyed it as much as Bonnie did!

When my mom glanced into the living room and saw that Bonnie’s level of engagement had noticeably increased since the day before, she tried to caution our houseguest. “Bonnie, don’t you think you should give Nick a bit of a break?” she said.

Bonnie simply said, “No.” She remained comfortably planted on my lap with her arms securely wrapped around me for another hour before heading home. She had barely acknowledged Cindy’s presence during that day’s visit.

During dinner that night, my parents explained what “robbing the cradle” meant when I asked them for a definition. After dessert, Dad took me aside and privately had a chat with me about Bonnie’s affectionate behavior. (Mom, somewhat concerned, had told him all about it.) It slowly evolved into “the talk” that all fathers are supposed to give to their sons when puberty sets in. I was just 10, but under the circumstances, Dad thought it was appropriate to tell me a few key biological facts. His talk actually was helpful. In 1971, there was no sex education curriculum at my school. I had a general idea about human procreation, but Dad filled in a few vague spots for me.

“Remember, Bonnie’s a very little girl, son,” he told me sternly as he concluded his lecture. “She’s the same age as your sister—six. There are some things that you absolutely do not do with girls that age. Not only is it morally wrong, it’s against the law, too. Come to think of it, you shouldn’t be doing those things with girls your own age yet.”

I told Dad I had no interest in any of the girls in my class—yet. I added, “But Bonnie is just so affectionate toward me that I just have to hug her and kiss her when she does the same to me.”

“As long it that’s all you do, I’m okay with it,” Dad told me with a smile. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do if I were in your situation. When I was 10 years old, no little girl ever behaved that way with me. Consider yourself lucky, I guess.”

Part Three

It was a rare weekday when Bonnie Gibbons did not show up after school to watch TV with me and Cindy. Bonnie’s routine seldom varied. She’d sit beside me on the couch on my right side. She’d start by being a foot away from me. After about 20 minutes she’d slowly narrow the distance between us until our hips were touching. Then she’d snuggle up to me. Then she’d wrap her arms around me. Then she’d climb onto my lap and start plastering me with kisses. I’d return the affection. After a couple of weeks, Cindy asked her classmate, “Bonnie, don’t you get tired of kissing Nick?”

“No. Why should I?” Bonnie responded. “I like it. In fact, I like it a lot!”

“I like it, too!” I chimed in. “Bonnie’s the girl I’m going to marry in about 15 years, so I want to get used to kissing her all the time. We’re going to have plenty of children. I figure about eight or nine. Is that okay with you, Bonnie?”

“Let’s make it ten, Nick,” Bonnie suggested. “Five boys and five girls would be nice.”

“Well, that would be fun!” I declared. Bonnie smiled and began kissing me liberally again. I was referring to the physical actions required to produce ten children, but I doubted that Bonnie knew anything about sex at her young age.

At school not long afterward, my fifth-grade teacher, Mr. Carraway spent the final ten minutes of the day with a segment he called “Ask Mr. Carraway Anything”. It was always fun. He’d field students’ questions about current events, history, geography, or anything else (within reason). This day Delores Smith said she was confused about the term in-laws and wanted Mr. Carraway to explain it. He did such a fine job that everyone clearly understood what a brother-in-law and a sister-in-law was. He curiously asked if any of his 29 students was one of those already. I wasn’t, but six of my peers who had considerably older siblings were. In fact, two of my female classmates said they were already aunts, which shocked me.

When Mr. Carraway joked that “you can’t control who your in-laws are,” Kathleen Gibbons raised her hand. She commented, “I know who one of my brothers-in-law will be. He’s in this classroom. My little sister Bonnie absolutely loves him. I’m pretty sure he loves her just as much, too. Isn’t that right, Nick?”

I think I turned several shades of red as everyone, including my teacher, gawked at me. “I suppose that’s true,” I conceded. “Can we change the subject, please?” Mr. Carraway did, but not before Norman blurted, “Cradle robber!” He got a few laughs as my face turned even redder.

Part Four

Over the years, Bonnie’s affection for me never waned; in fact, it grew. I was the only boy she invited to her birthday parties. I always attended them. I never invited Bonnie to my birthday parties, though, because they were male-guests-only affairs. (There’s no way my preteen friends would accept my relationship with any girl, much less one who was four years my junior. As a compromise, I invited Bonnie to accompany me to a restaurant when my parents treated me to a big birthday dinner at one of my favorite eateries. Bonnie always brought me a gift—two, if you counted the long kiss that accompanied it.)

When Bonnie was in the third grade and I was in the seventh, I had started to take notice of the girls in my classroom now that I was 12. Kathleen Gibbons was especially fetching. Since her little sister had come from the same gene pool, Bonnie was becoming prettier by the month, too. Puberty had definitely kicked in and I was beginning to become sexually aroused whenever Bonnie became affectionate with me—which was all the time. I sought Dad’s counsel about my untimely and uncontrollable erections.

“Do your best not to come in your trousers, son!” he told me. “That would be embarrassing.”

“No kidding!” I replied sarcastically. “What should I do about it?”

Dad didn’t mince his words. “If you have the chance, Nick, jerk off before Bonnie arrives. That way you’ll empty your balls and be less horny when she’s here. If not, jerk off afterwards. In other words, constantly jerk off so that Bonnie will become less of a temptation to you.”

The next day dad brought home a plastic bag full of old Playboy magazines he had bought at the town’s used bookstore for $1 apiece. “These are for you,” he said with a grin. “Hide them someplace where your mother won’t find them. There are some photos here that made me want to jerk off immediately. I can only imagine the effect they’ll have on a 12-year-old boy. Anyway, masturbating with these is a better option than you getting frisky with little Bonnie. She’s only eight.” I thanked Dad profusely and put one of them to immediate use. The sight of the aptly named Melba Ogle, the centerfold model in the July 1964 issue, inspired me to ejaculate into a fistful of tissues in about 90 seconds.

By the time Bonnie was 12 and I was 16, the Playboy centerfolds were no longer an adequate substitute for the real thing. Bonnie was even better looking than Kathleen had been at her age. She’d still come to my house to watch TV. Bonnie had outgrown sitting on my lap (darn it!) but our kissing and hugging was more intense than it ever was. Once I lustfully told her in the presence of Cindy, “Bonnie when we get married, we’re going to have sex every day and twice on Sundays.”

“Sounds good to me, Nick!” Bonnie happily responded. Cindy just rolled her eyes at the two of us.

I could hardly wait—but I had to wait. Because of my upbringing, I did my best to keep my hands to myself at all times, never mind another body part. I came from a fairly conservative family, as did Bonnie, and being a gentleman during courtship was still considered a virtuous requirement. There was no doubt I was courting Bonnie. It was only 1977, but we had gotten to the point where we were considering wedding dates for the summer of 1986.

Not having any sexual contact with Bonnie forced me to come up with an alternate solution. There was a flirtatious girl at my high school, Kim St. John, who was reputed to be a nymphomaniac. According to the scuttlebutt, any guy who asked her for sex was seldom turned away. One day I approached her after school and said, “Kim, my name is Nick Martin. I need plenty of sex. I understand you need lots of sex, too. Maybe we can help each other.”

“Yes!” she said with great enthusiasm. “You are a godsend—and handsome too. Let’s go to my place. No one else will be home for two hours. We can fuck like rabbits. Okay?”

I was more than okay with that. I had never screwed a girl before, but I had read enough articles in those old Playboy magazines to have a general idea of what I had to do. The far more experienced Kim taught me many things that afternoon.

“Same time tomorrow?” I asked Kim while admiring the effects of her lessons.

“Sure,” she said, “Don’t be in such a rush, though, Nick. We have lots of time."

I didn’t explain to Kim that I was in a hurry to get home. I felt obligated to meet Bonnie for our usual after-school kiss-and-cuddle session. Since I was in high school, my last class ended half an hour before Bonnie’s school day ended. I ran out of Kim’s house and literally met Bonnie on my doorstep as she was arriving.

“This is good timing!” she noted. “You’re getting home later than usual, Nick. Were you doing something fun after school?”

“Yes, I was,” I replied without any elaboration. Luckily Bonnie didn’t ask me what I had been doing because I hadn’t come up with a plausible lie. For some reason, I especially enjoyed our kissing and cuddling that afternoon while we watched TV with Cindy—and I didn’t come close to getting an erection.

For the next three weeks, I met with Kim every day, always at her home.

However, my extended sex sessions with Kim meant I was arriving back at my home later and later, which was annoying Bonnie. I tried to make it up to Bonnie by being especially romantic with our encounters, but I felt badly about cheating on her for the sake of sexual release. As much as I loved my romps with Kim, I eventually stopped visiting her for fabulous sexual favors. I did not explain the reason for my decision. I apologized profusely to her, but Kim simply said. “It’s no problem, Nick! Mike wants to see me for regular sex after school instead of at night, so this will make him happy. It’s been fun. You’re such a nice guy!” I absolutely had no idea who Mike was, but I got the picture: Apparently, I was just one member of Kim’s roster of frequent sex providers. Accordingly, I went back to my secret cache of old Playboy magazines for sexual relief—and sexual release.

Part Five

In 1979, when I was 18 and a high school senior, I was devastated to learn from Kathleen Gibbons that she and Bonnie would be moving 400 miles away in a month’s time. Her father had gotten a promotion at work to a high-level management job, but it required the Gibbons family to relocate. Both of Kathleen’s older sisters—who were also rated high in attractiveness—were already married and no longer at home, so the move did not affect them. Bonnie, now 14, was too upset to even telephone me when she got the news.

I told my parents the awful news. Mom started to cry which set me off, too. I couldn’t remember the last time I had shed tears. Mom and Dad (and Cindy, I suppose) had figured I would marry Bonnie someday. Now this unexpected development had likely thrown a monkey wrench into the works. There was a good chance I’d never see Bonnie again once she had moved. My parents asked for an emergency meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Gibbons. They had become friendly with them over the years—but not nearly as friendly as I had become with Bonnie.

Bonnie’s parents were genuinely surprised that I had planned to marry their youngest daughter in a few years. They thought our relationship was akin to a schoolyard crush. Bonnie shocked them when she said, “Saturday, June 28, 1986 is our tentative wedding date.”

“So you two are engaged?” Mr. Gibbons asked with a tone of horror in his voice.

I hugged Bonnie and replied, “Not officially, but...” I stopped my reply to Bonnie’s father and knelt before Bonnie. “Will you marry me?” I asked her sincerely.

“Yes, Nick!” she said.

“Now it’s official!” I said. I could tell by the expression on his face that Mr. Gibbons was unimpressed with my impromptu proposal.

“Unless Bonnie is pregnant, she’s not getting married at age 14,” he tersely said.

Bonnie and I both assured her parents that we had never had any sort of sexual relationship in the eight years we had known each other. “You don’t know how challenging that was for us,” I felt compelled to add. “I’ve loved your daughter since I was 10 and she was six. I don’t want to marry anybody else—ever!”

Nothing was settled to anyone’s satisfaction that night. The only compromise offered was that, perhaps, if she still felt strongly about me in four years, Bonnie had her parents’ permission to marry me after she graduated high school in 1983. That seemed like eons away to Bonnie and me.

The following day, Bonnie came by the house after school as usual. We were in no mood to watch reruns on TV, though. My mom was home and commiserated with our predicament. After a few minutes, mom suggested something totally out of her conservative character: “Bonnie, your father gave you two the solution to your problem last night without realizing it.”

We both looked at her quizzically.

“Don’t you remember what he said? It was ‘Unless Bonnie is pregnant, she’s not getting married at age 14.’ There’s your answer. So you two know what you have to do, right? Nick, take Bonnie to your bedroom and get to work immediately. I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed.”

“Great idea, Mom!” I said.

“Yeah, thanks, Mrs. Martin,” Bonnie added. “You’re a very smart lady!”

We both sped into my bedroom and promptly disrobed. I was very thankful for the sex lessons I had learned from having sex with Kim St. John those three weeks two years ago.

Towards the conclusion I made a huge mistake. I said, “I just want to please you, Kim...I mean, Bonnie! Oh, geez! What did I just say!”

I had uttered the wrong name!

"Who is Kim?" Bonnie asked.

It had been two years since I had last visited Kim St. John, so I felt no particular guilt in spending the next ten minutes cuddling with Bonnie in my bed and explaining the situation. When I told Bonnie that I had used Kim’s nymphomania as my sexual release because she (Bonnie) was unattainable on a moral level, she took it as a great compliment.

“Did you learn lots of sexual ideas from her, Nick?” she asked me with optimism in her eyes. “I hope so, because I want you to use them on me every day for the next two weeks!”

Bonnie got dressed and went home earlier than usual. She indeed returned every weekday for the next two weeks to do what we needed to do.

Ten days of frolics did the trick: Bonnie became pregnant. Her father was horrified by the news, but her mother was not. When she learned that Bonnie’s pregnancy was my mother’s idea, Mrs. Gibbons quietly confessed to us, “I was going to suggest the same solution myself but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

Bonnie lived with my family for the extent of her pregnancy even after her parents and sister moved away. She attended school until her pregnancy became difficult to conceal. Then she did home study to finish the eighth grade. She declined to attend the graduation ceremony.

Bonnie and I were married at city hall on the last Saturday in June 1979—not 1983. For the first few years, my parents raised our beautiful little girl as if she was theirs. Of course, Bonnie and I were in the same house, so she had, in essence, four parents to dote over her, plus her Aunt Cindy who also adored her.

We named her Samantha after Samantha Stevens from Bewitched, our favorite television program. For fun, we gave her the middle name of Kim.