Copyright 2009, 2012 by Carl Mason

All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. However based on real events and places, "The Bonobo Experiments" is strictly fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Further, as in real life, sexual themes unfold gradually. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at

If you would like to read additional stories by this author, please turn to the "Authors/Prolific Authors" link at the beginning of the Nifty Archive.

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both adults and teenagers. As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave. Finally, remember that maturity generally demands safe sex.


(Revisiting Chapter 1)

"Sir, are those boys clones?" he finally managed to gasp. "Wait," he said almost in the next breath. "Only two of them appear to be identical. The other two are really close, though, even though the redhead is somewhat larger. Maybe they're fraternal twins. What's going on, sir?" "Sharp observation, Commander," the Captain murmured, regaining control over his voice. "Let's get to our quarters and I'll fill you on additional details I've been given."

(Continuing Our Story: The New Soviet Man)

Perhaps twenty minutes later, the two Navy officers pushed back into their chairs as they attempted to regain their concentration. Under little pressure to conceal their sexual orientation in the Navy of the period, Irwin murmured, "Stimulating stuff, eh, Randy?" "Wow! You said it, sir!" the younger man huffed. "As I said earlier in the hallway, your observations were surprisingly on the mark," the Captain continued. "Although they didn't know it until a little more than a week ago, the lads are quadruplets!" "Quads?" responded Patterson. "I'll be damned!" "Yep," Irwin carried on. "Twenty years ago those boys were born to a whore in a Siberian Gulag [labor camp]. The medical experiments that Stalin supported in the later 1930s through his death in 1953 were never halted. The Soviet dictator was convinced that the creation of the 'new human being' would be the crowning achievement of Communism. As described by Australian professor Dr. Mark Cooray in 1995, the New Soviet Man was to be 'altruist in spirit, communal in outlook, sacrificial in his labour for the common good, boundless in his fight for world revolution.' The physical condition of the young was of great concern, for as had been the case in Nazi Germany and the United States during the 1930s, social progress demanded a youth regenerated physically, as well as having regained its hope and sense of purpose. Soviet scientists were given carte blanche to see what could be done physically; successful experiments would be returned to carefully chosen social agents to be conditioned attitudinally.

"According to the official line," Captain Irwin continued, "the attempt to breed a 'Humanzee' (a human/chimpanzee hybrid) was unsuccessful and the program was shut down. Nevertheless, some conflicting intelligence suggests that the twins were separated shortly after birth and placed in the homes of trusted and well-to-do families within the Russian hierarchy. There they were raised by concerned and loving parents with access to specialist medical care, physical trainers, and all the rest. They had the best of food, the finest schools, and peers who were similarly blessed. The truth is that we have never developed a definitive story of exactly what transpired - and each story we have is probably flawed. In their interrogations, each of the boys suggested he had attended one of the top Naval schools. On graduating with the rank of Junior Lieutenant, he had been assigned to a unit of the Fleet serving widely separated regions of the Russian Federation. They never knew that they had been adopted until American interrogation and testing (and some computer hacking) established that detail and reunited the foursome at NAS Brunswick several days ago. From the first moment of their joyful reunion, each of the young men vowed that he had always known he had brothers who cared deeply for him!

"There's more," Irwin said, almost giggling. "Both their English and their German are excellent...and they see themselves as 'Siberians'!" Professorially, he added, "The idea of an autonomous Siberia has a long history, Randy. Even the nineteenth century, the Russian anarchist Mikhail Bakunin hoped that it would become a democratic state prosperous within a union with the United States and a major factor in the collapse of Imperial Russia."

"Maybe I'm just overtired, sir, but I'm beginning to lose track of how the pieces of everything you're throwing at me are related. (Pause.) Wait one damned minute! Maybe I'm getting it some of it! At first, I understood that I had been taken off the German airship industrial espionage job and tasked to honcho gathering some field observations of the Siberian situation. There are real problems, of course. Even though I'm fluent in Russian, there's the question of how I would get into that damned country. Furthermore, after their raids in St. Petersburg and Moscow, the chaos, and the fact that the Russians seem to be off on one more of their paranoid binges, our list of intelligence contacts must be pretty limited. But what if the Germans carried the transportation ball on this one with one of their big airships? What if we recreated the 1929 jaunt across both European Russia and Siberia...all the way to Tokyo? (Pause.) Damn! And what if I had a small staff of bright, young, German-speaking Siberians with contacts who could fan out when we stopped in Moscow, Ekaterinburg, Omsk, Novosibirsk, Irkutsk, and Vladivostok, and take a good look at what's up? [Author's Note: Apart from Moscow, the other named cities are major centers in Siberia.] Then, too, I might just get a good look at some things on the Graf III that they wouldn't suspect an 'innocent' like me would be interested in. Damn!"

Captain Irwin sat well back in his chair, his legs fully extended, his hands clasped behind his head, and the most self-satisfied look on his face imaginable! Chuckling, he cackled in his Oklahoma accent, "Well, you're a little slow, boy, but maybe there's still hope for you. I think you only missed one point. You should have added the word 'beautiful' to the other descriptors of your Siberian staff!" Both men collapsed into laughter, took a head break, and returned to their chairs only after grabbing another beer. "You're coming along?" Randy asked. A sadness creeping across his face, Irwin replied, "Nope. I've got to serve as your manager on this jaunt. Besides, the powers that be prefer that I not be captured and interrogated by the Russians...who know me. Yep, they know me...all too well," he added with a self-satisfied smirk.

"What's next, sir?" Randy asked, yawning. "Well, my young friend," Irwin replied, looking down at his watch, "it's all of 1500 hours (3:00 p.m.) and it's been a long, long day. What say we sack out for a couple of hours, get some chow and then, maybe, see if our young Siberians look as good close up as they do from the observation hallway? If the boys check out, I've got to head back to Washington later tonight. You'll follow tomorrow." "Done!" sighed the weary Lieutenant Commander whereupon he rose and moved towards his adjoining room without further delay.

(A Closer Look)

As is historically the case on land or on the sea, Navy chow is surprisingly good - and there's plenty of it. With official permission, the two American officers sat at a Ward Room table dressed in their khaki uniforms. Not surprisingly, their assigned table was directly across from that occupied by the four Siberians (who had been joined by two very hunky young Marine second lieutenants). The tasty meal allowed Irwin to fill Randy in on some additional details and, at least partially, to conceal their observation. "The big redhead is Jiri [YEAR-ee] Ryzhy, Naval Infantry...their Marines...and as gung ho a bunch of guys as ever existed. They've completed some joint exercises with our jarheads - as well as with the Brit Special Forces - and, believe me, those boys held their own! As you correctly deduced, he's a fraternal twin to the other three. An imposing hunk of horseflesh, no?" Despite himself, Randy glanced across the room - and, to his horror, found himself caught in the impudent stare of the brightest pair of Cobalt blue eyes he had ever encountered. "Shit!" he gasped, as he snapped his mouth shut and dropped his eyes to the table. "Easy, Commander," whispered Irwin, covering with a laugh and a meaningless gesture. "You're not a Plebe." (Pause.) "To continue, if I may" (he said with the slightest sarcasm), "the gorgeous golden blond sitting next to him is his fraternal twin Igor Gorsky. Though he served in the Black Sea Fleet, his hometown is Vladivostok. It was there that he met Jiri when they independently appealed to the U.S. Consulate for asylum." (Without pausing, he continued. Randy blushed, knowing well how Irwin administered a minor rebuke.) "Sitting to the right of our two jarheads - rather nice specimens of the genre, by the

way - are the two dark-haired identical twins who complete the quads. Evgeni Voronin, assigned to the Northern Fleet, is a submariner. Perhaps the most reserved of the quads, he had a relative who went down on the Kursk in 2002. Finally, after serving briefly with the Baltic Fleet, Dmitri Nemov was assigned to the office of the Navy Chief of Staff. Nemov's family traces its Navy ties back to the navy of the Czars and is still influential. Though the same age, Dima appears somewhat younger than the other quads, but he's smart, he's always involved, and his joie de vivre attracts everyone to him. Mr. Sunshine from the word go... As was the case with the other pair, Voronin and Nemov did not know of the other's existence, let alone their history, until they met at the American consulate in St. Petersburg.

"If I can tear you away from that carrot cake, Commander," Irwin continued, "I'm told that these lads have been haunting the pool area. Something about an area where listening devices are less effective on Russian ships, I'm told. Our time is limited - and we've got to meet them face to face, in any case. Care to trade that uniform for a towel and see if we can work off a few of the pounds that meal cost us?" "Yes, SIR!" Randy replied, somewhat shamefacedly pushing his third slice of carrot cake aside. "Better watch it, youngster," the Captain growled. "You're getting to that age where it's a lot harder to take off than to put on!"

Twenty some odd minutes later found the two Americans stretching and warming up on the pool deck. Patterson hadn't been active for nearly a week - and Irwin for considerably longer than that. It wasn't the time to chance an injury. (The Captain also made it clear that from here on, this was the Commander's team and he was the observer.) They hadn't been there for five minutes when the laughing and joking Siberians emerged from the dressing room (with naught but towels slung over their shoulders), followed closely by their new Marine buddies. As they realized the presence of the American officers, they fell silent and momentarily showed some confusion. The redhead recovered quickly, took a few steps towards the pair, came to stiff attention and, while a little strange under the circumstances, snapped off a sharp salute. Completely proper, neither his voice nor his movements showing the slightest "attitude"...or embarrassment, he said in a pure, perfectly accented American English, "Good evening, Sirs. Forgive me, but are you the gentlemen for whom we have been waiting?" "So it would appear, Lieutenant Ryzhy," Randy replied in fluent, colloquial Russian. "Perhaps you and your colleagues would join us in Room BOQ-208 within the hour. We have much to discuss."

(Introductions as East Meets West)

Approximately forty minutes later, a firm knock sounded on Patterson's door. As Irwin remained behind in the room, Randy opened it and welcomed the four young lieutenants. Though dressed in working gear, each looked sharp and professional. (Evidently much to his pleasure, the Brunswick Marine detachment had found a set of camos for Jiri, enclosing a chit for a "high and tight" in one of the pockets. The others were still dressed in the blue Navy working uniform.) The first few minutes belonged in a stand-up comedy routine: The quads would only speak English; the two American Naval intelligence officers would speak nothing but Russian. Thankfully, the Commander quickly got everyone speaking German! (The reports were correct; the youngsters' German was, if possible, even stronger than their English.) The amenities barely accomplished, the "quiet one," i.e., Evgeny [eff-GAIN-ee...Eugene, Gene] Voronin, spotted the table that Station food personnel had prepared for their arrival. Lifting the large bottle of iced vodka on high, he offered his fervent thanks, but wondered where the bottles for his brothers had been hidden! Grinning at his antics, the Commander dramatically reclaimed the vodka bottle and loudly affirmed, "Oh, I know you guys. You think you can drink us under the table without half trying, but we've got some work to do tonight! Besides, some beer's coming later on!" Laughing and chattering in delight, the others crowded around the table, drooling over the "party snacks from home": Two mammoth silver trays contained a selection of salted/fresh fish, (e.g., dried squid prepared with pepper, a Pacific salmon spread, a canned herring-like fish), slices of smoked ham, and small thin slices of dark bread, plus a large pile of gherkins and bits of chopped tomato.

Smiling at the big redhead, Randy passed the vodka bottle to him in order to get things going...Russian style. Quietly, highly composed for so young a man in a situation fraught with tension, Lieutenant Ryzhy opened the bottle and filled the two-ounce iced glass held by each man around the table. Lifting his glass to the Americans, he cried formally, "Vashe Zdorovie!" [VASH-ee zda-RO-vye; "Your Health!"]. He then picked up one of the small pieces of black bread, smelled it critically, muttered "Nu..." ["So..."], tilted his head far back, and downed his glass of vodka in one gulp. Breathing loudly (almost in a whistle), he ritually smelled his bit of bread and gulped it down as well. His actions were mirrored by all those around the table. (Parenthetically, the expressions on the faces of his Siberian brothers were classic! Let the crazy Amerikanski try to outdo that show!) Grinning...with just a touch of attitude...Jiri returned the bottle to the Commander.

With a perfectly straight face, Patterson refilled the glasses, cried, "BOO-deem zda-RO-vye!" ["To Our Health"], and completed the remainder of the ritual with a grace and an effortless skill that left some young lower jaws just a bit slack! As he returned the bottle to the redhead, he could have sworn that the Lieutenant's eye twitched with just the hint of a wink. Jiri in turn hooked his arm around Evgeny Voronin's neck and whispered something inaudible in his ear. It fell to the proud, but somewhat nervous lad to offer the military's traditional third toast to those who had died in the service of God and country. Honoring a slight gesture, the bottle was then passed to Captain Irwin who offered the equally traditional military fourth toast in hopes that no one would ever drink the previous toast for those around the table!

In all truth, the seriously depleted bottle emptied quickly, as did almost all of the snacks on both silver trays. (Knowing this age group, who would have expected anything else? Let it be known, however, that Patterson and Captain Irwin did their duty, fully enjoying snacks that were not their usual party fare!) Still completely bright eyed and bushy tailed, the young Russians eagerly looked around as if they wondered if anything else liquid or edible were hiding. In any case, after a short break, Patterson quickly directed them back to using German and clearing their minds for the business of the evening. Just as they were settling down, their spirits seemed to spike perceptibly when a goodly selection of beer was brought into the room by food staff.

(To Be Continued)