From: bobandcarole@aol.com   
      
   Story: Bonnie 176kb (Mf, oral; inc, mg, pedo)   
      
      
   by bobandcarole   
      
     (X-rated, sexually explicit text.)   
    >   
    >   
    > Chapter One   
    >   
    >      I invited Mark, my cousin, to bring his family out to my summer   
    > place on Long Island for a weekend. He hesitated, saying he had to   
    > arrange a sitter for the younger kids. I told him I expected them to   
    > come, too. I had plenty of room and it would be good to have some   
    > youngsters making a racket in the place. It was too big and empty for a   
    > 40-year-old guy who liked kids, and the house and grounds demanded the   
    > patter of little feet busily raising Hell.   
    >      Let's get one thing straight: I'm not crazy about Mark, who's five   
    > years older than me. He's okay, and sometimes fun, but he's prone to   
    > self-pity. Still: He's family. And I remembered more than a few times --   
    > when I was a loner kid -- when Mark went out of his way to pal around   
    > with me. Now he was on some hard times, I was doing pretty good for   
    > myself and I figured it was payback time. He'd been essentially solidly   
    > established and was making good money working for a financial paper --   
    > until the big crash. His income went from Real Good to Unemployment and   
    > to Mark, the job was everything. A little fresh salt air and sunshine   
    > and barbecuing -- not to mention, a change of scene -- would do him   
    > good.   
    >      Besides which, I genuinely liked Kate, his second wife, and his   
    > kids -- one by her and two by his first wife. Kate had a wicked deadpan   
    > sense of humor; always welcome. I'd been a little suspicious of her, at   
    > first. After all, she'd essentially broken up Mark's (already crumbling)   
    > first marriage and quickly accepted the proposal of a man 14 years her   
    > senior and from a totally different background. But Kate had Stood By   
    > Her Man when it hit the fan, and all three kids happily called her   
    > "Mom." In fact, if Kate weren't married, I could have been looking   
    > forward to her visit for more than friendly chatter and companionship.   
    > She was a damn good-looking woman, in the full bloom of femininity, and   
    > with all the self-assurance and sexiness that comes with it. And she   
    > still had a helluva fine figure and a great, strong face and --   
    >      But I'm getting ahead of myself.   
    >      Anyhow, about a week before they were going to come out -- for the   
    > third weekend in August, an excellent time to get the hell out of   
    > Manhattan -- Mark called me. He was sheepish and uncertain and I finally   
    > wormed it out of him:   
    >      "Well, Kate's kid sister is going to be in New York for a couple of   
    > days, and we hate to leave her alone in the condo..."   
    >      Kid sister? Yeah, I was beginning to remember -- and then it all   
    > came back in a flash, from the wedding. Kate's kid -- but not "little"   
    > -- sister, one Miss Irene Marie Pound.   
    >      YES!   
    >      "Well, there's plenty of room, Mark -- bring her along." I tried   
    > not to drool on the phone, all the time figuring: Irene was six years   
    > younger than Kate, which would make her about 24 or 25 now and she had   
    > been an absolute knockout at the wedding at which time she'd been no   
    > more than 15. Yes, I had done a good job of burying that memory; every   
    > time I'd looked at her, I'd had an instant physical reaction and had   
    > been growling to myself, "Jailbait -- Down, boy!"   
    >      "Are you sure it's not too much trouble?" he whined.   
    >      And I was thinking: If it is, you and your clan sleep in the pool,   
    > but she is *definitely* invited.   
    >      "No, no problem. Let her tag along."   
    >      In fact, I suggested they come out on Thursday night and plan on   
    > returning Monday evening. A nice, long weekend.   
    >      I hung up and found I had the same physical reaction to the thought   
    > of Irene. I told myself she'd probably not handled the ensuing years   
    > well. Most women who are stunning at 15 are, er, somewhat less than   
    > appealing 10 years later -- as if they've burned out all the `beautiful'   
    > assigned to them much too early. Or she was still stunning, but was   
    > going to take one look at a 40-year-old guy and immediately begin   
    > ignoring him, when possible. Or had gone dyke. Or turned nasty. Or was   
    > embittered.   
    >      None of it worked. At 40, I had to take the time to jerk off before   
    > I could concentrate on anything.   
    >      It didn't help.   
    >   
    > Chapter Two   
    >   
    >      I heard Mark's car crunching on the gravel around 4:30 on Thursday   
    > afternoon. The sun was still high and strong and I was out by the pool   
    > with a cold beer and the latest Spenser novel. I almost wished they'd   
    > been stuck in traffic; I hate being interrupted while reading Parker.   
    >      I trundled myself out of the chaise lounge and wandered across the   
    > semi-landscaped yard to meet them. I've got three acres, but only one   
    > was cleared. The house sits in the middle of that. Most of the property   
    > is as it was before cars were discovered. The local wildlife also knew   
    > it was a safe place. A couple of huge hares were standing on their hind   
    > legs to see who the intruders were.   
    >      The little circular driveway is surrounded by brush, so I heard the   
    > car doors opening and closing long before I saw the first signs of their   
    > arrival -- in this case, Dolores, the 15-year-old. She was carrying a   
    > duffel bag and one of those pouches that holds cassette tapes.   
    >      "Hi, Uncle Dan!" She was still very pretty, with a mischievous   
    > smile that brightened dark rooms. All long legs and auburn hair...she   
    > was going to be a beauty. She was showing that first glow of blossoming   
    > into womanhood, and there were some outstanding secondary sexual   
    > characteristics asserting themselves under her NKOTB tee-shirt. She'd   
    > inherited her Puerto Rican mother's complexion and smile; she got her   
    > blue eyes and hair color from Mark.   
    >      "Hi, Dolores! Glad to see you! Need a hand?"   
    >      She giggled. "No -- but Mom does."   
    >      "What do you mean?"   
    >      More giggles. "You'll see! Where should I put these?"   
    >      "Just drop 'em in one of the bedrooms downstairs. Your choice."   
    >      I stepped through the brush into the little clearing that is my one   
    > and only concession to cars on the property. Parked next to my van was   
    > Mark's Subaru.   
    >      "Hey, Mark, Kate, Penny."   
    >      All waved and grinned abashedly and I soon saw why. Kate's seat-   
    > belt clasp was stuck and she and Mark were trying to free it. Which   
    > reminded me: Between the two of them, danger lurked in every mechanical   
    > device. Penny was sitting stolidly in the backseat, biting her lower lip   
    > and trying not to laugh as she watched the fun.   
    >      When I saw the cause of the problem, I did bark out a quick laugh,   
      
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