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 3)

A naked young figure from a much earlier age stood motionless by the side of his bed. In the murk of earliest morning, his features were unclear. He could have been a Spartan hoplite at Marathon, a Zulu warrior at Isandhlwana, or a burly young Marine on the summit of Suribachi. With infinite care and tenderness, he helped his captain stand and make his way back into the shower. Standing close together, Patterson hooked his arm around the heavy shoulders and whispered in the lad's ear. A little laugh and an eager nod led the Commander to move his hand to the back of the boy's muscular neck, position him against the shower wall, and prepare him for what was to come. As cascading water turned their bodies into a brilliant mosaic, the glorious dance of love... of life...began anew.

(Continuing Our Story: Duty Calls)

At various times during the afternoon, following their brief flight down from Maine, Randy could see the expressions on the faces of the guys as he gave them a brief tour of our capital city. They were impressed. Short stops at the White House and the Capitol (where they received priority access) led to a leisurely hike down the National Mall. In truth, they could have spent all afternoon in the 146 acre park that stretches nearly two miles from the Capitol Building to the Lincoln Memorial, with the Washington Monument in between. Here "favorites" tended to be more idiosyncratic, although all four of the young Siberians agreed that the originals of the Declaration of Independence, the U.S. Constitution, and the Bill of Rights housed in the National Archives, the various war memorials, and the Lincoln Memorial left them with powerful impressions. Randy would have liked for them to see more...but duty called.

During their brief stay, they completed their debriefing at the Navy Department, received thorough overnight medical examinations at Bethesda, received documents formally providing them with the protection of the United States, were measured for several uniforms and other clothing, and did a little additional shopping on the side! Those tasks completed they were promptly whisked out of D.C. As Randy observed somewhat wryly, it's not a city where it's easy to maintain a low profile! Furthermore, some facilities that were essential to their preparation for the mission were simply unavailable. Hence, almost before they could catch their breaths, they were loaded on one of the big Marine choppers and ferried up to NAS Lakehurst. This was perfect. Even though the Station was not yet fully open, Navy and Marine personnel were on duty, the indispensable facilities of the National Lighter-than-Air Museum were available...and it was still nearly as isolated in the Pine Barrens of south central New Jersey as it had always been.

Unlike his earlier stop at Lakehurst, the Lieutenant Commander had little opportunity to feel nostalgia. Indeed, the two weeks his team spent there were among the busiest in his professional life. The four Siberian lads didn't know the first thing about lighter-than-air. They needed to be brought up to speed, and no better facility in the world existed to accomplish that than the National Museum. There were lectures on dirigible construction, controls, automation, and communications; they even saw the last training film prepared in the 1930s for U.S. lighter-than-air personnel. They spent hours in simulators that introduced them to everything we had ever learned about flying the great airships - from the elevators and rudders, to engines and fuels, to in-flight repairs. (The lads viewed them as the greatest arcade games ever invented!) Thus the foundation was laid for a more rapid (and knowledgeable) introduction to the late 21st century giant that the Germans were rumored to have developed.

The young Siberians had never been happier or more hopeful about their future. They had a leader whom they deeply respected and who, unlike any other leader in their experience, obviously liked them. Whenever possible, their language of communication was German. Fluent as they were, they profited from some additional work in colloquial German and airship terminology supervised by two young teachers from the State Department. Each day Patterson conducted a formal session in which they planned strategies for gathering the intelligence that would soon return them to harm's way. They had the full support of intelligence communications specialists as they surreptitiously reached out to contacts throughout Russia. Further, they were warmly accepted by the young Americans with whom they came in contact, whether it was the Marines who invited Jiri to run with them in the early mornings, or a group of young Navy officers who invited Dima to sing with them on Sunday morning in the historic base chapel, the "Cathedral of the Air". (The boss did notice that Jiri was now sporting a "high and tight".) For that matter, they were all accepted heartily in the Junior Officers Club during those rare minutes when it was possible for them to relax. Towards the end of the second week, however, they began to sense that their program was approaching a decisive moment.


On Wednesday, Randy announced that they would take a break on the weekend approaching. Thanks to the Commandant's office, a young officer was available to serve as a guide in New York City. All enthusiastically chose to Jiri, who asked somewhat shyly if he might spend some time with the "boss". His captain grinned and allowed that the XO's request was approved.

After seeing the boys off, Randy poured an extra mug of coffee and set it down in front of the redheaded one along with a pair of dark glasses. "So, #2...," he said, "You've got a treat in store for you this morning - a unique slice of America." Unfolding a map on the table, he gave the youngster an idea of what was coming up. "From not far north of here all the way to the southern end of the state, heavy pine forests cover a million acres (4,500 km2) of coastal plain across central and southern New Jersey. Inasmuch as the sandy soil won't grow much other than pines - and some weird plants - and there's no industry to speak of, the area remains largely rural and undeveloped. Believe me, Big Guy, when I tell you that as our states go, Jersey's 'kinda different'. On the west," he said as his finger swept over the map, "it's part of the 'East Coast Corridor' that stretches from Washington up to Boston in New England. This is the most densely populated part of our country, a section that contains some of our heaviest industry. On the east, by way of contrast, there's the Atlantic Ocean with some of the finest beaches in America." (Randy stopped for a moment as Jiri's eyes lit up and he asked, "We'll stop, won't we?") Grinning and nodding positively, he continued, "In between you find the Pine Barrens, a natural preserve that makes living near big metropolitan centers such as Philadelphia and New York City tolerable. Ok, Red? Let's hit the road and enjoy a fantastic day!"

Randy drove through the piney woods for about a half hour to forty minutes, mainly to give Jiri some feeling for what he considered to be the peace and beauty of the land. At that point he crossed over to the ocean at Barnegat and parked by the water. The look on Jiri's face as he raised it to the salt-laden breezes said all he needed to know. "Wish you were back on that missile cruiser, Lieutenant?" he asked softly. For a moment, the lad continued to face away from him. Finally swinging around, he placed his hand on top of Randy's and breathed, "I'm exactly where I want to be, sir...exactly. I think I'm probably the luckiest guy on earth." Not quite trusting himself in public, the Lieutenant Commander simply whispered, "I think I'm also a candidate for that title, Red," and rested his hand on the youngster's muscular thigh. (Pause.) Like to walk for a few minutes?" "Yeah," Jiri responded, still a little choked up. "In days of yore," his guide responded lightly, "a railroad ran down through here. Hell, before we paved over half our country with highways," (the redhead let out a loud snort), "there were railroads all over the place! Today, most of them are abandoned, which I think is a crying shame. Anyhoo, the towns here in what's called Ocean County bought up the old Central Railroad of New Jersey or Jersey Central's right of way, ripped up the tracks and, over some years, built a trail through the pines. It's close by. Hold on and I'll drive over to where we can join it." For nearly an hour, the two young men hiked through woods not all that far from the sea. The scent of the pines on every side - and the pine needles under their feet - formed an indelible memory. Occasionally, walkers, joggers, and bikers who had joined them on a glorious Saturday morning passed by, most with a friendly, "Hello!" Eventually, of course, the spell was broken by...h-u-n-g-e-r !

Sitting by the trailside in the warm sun, Randy was startled by a great rumbling that seemed to be coming from somewhere to his left. Momentarily wondering if the ghost of Jersey Central's famous "Blue Comet" might be hurtling down its old right-of-way towards them, he turned sharply towards his companion. "Red..." he began. In some confusion, Jiri looked back at him, the color rising in his handsome face. "Sorry, boss," he mumbled. Quickly attempting to cover his embarrassment, he noted brightly that he had been studying the restaurants and roadhouses that dotted the countryside. "Tell me, sir," he asked, "Does one have to be Italian to open a restaurant in New Jersey?" Laughing his fool head off as he grabbed the culprit by the neck and dragged him to the ground, Randy growled, "Ok, ok, Big Red. I got the message. Were you thinking of that little Italian restaurant near where we parked the car?" "Well, if you insist, sir," the irrepressible one replied in a tone of voice that suggested Randy was abusing him...big time. A lopsided grin belied his words.

Following an absolutely delicious lunch, the Lieutenant Commander announced that they were headed towards a very special place. That was clearly a mistake! Thenceforth down the coast, he was bombarded by variations on the cry, "Are we there yet?" Shades of six year olds! At long last, not far south of a little town in Atlantic County, he took an unpaved lane off a side road that had left another side road off the main highway. Bumping along the rutted sand track, he finally came to a gate in a heavy cyclone fence. A guy who had to be a first cousin to an Atlantic City bouncer came up to them. Jiri watched with interest as Randy removed a card from his wallet and passed it to the guard together with a folded bill. "Yes, sir!" the guard snapped. "I've checked you in until 1800 hours (6:00 p.m.). When next you speak with Admiral Hendron, (i.e., the Chief of Naval Intelligence) please tell him that all's well down here. No troubles..." Unlocking the gate, he waved the car through without further ado.

A quizzical look on his face, the redhead babbled, "Smugglers' Cove? Ah...evidence of a flaw in American character! Cigarettes? Gold? Hot currency? Foreign agents?" "You are hopeless!" Randy growled. Sensing that the car had stopped, the redhead ceased his babbling and looked around. Together with perhaps a dozen other cars, they had parked facing a small beach located at the head of what appeared to be a private and highly protected cove. "Holy shit!" sputtered Jiri. "You're learning bad words from your Marine buddies," Randy observed superciliously. "Does a clothing-optional beach disturb you, little one?" "I, sir, am a Siberian," the redheaded hunk replied with infinite superiority. "Besides, it looks more like 'clothing forbidden' than 'clothing optional" to me!" With that he just about launched himself out of the car and began tearing off his clothing. "Whoa, beast," his captain snarled. "Redheads burn - even when a zillion freckles make them look tanned! Get over here and let me slather some of this goop on you. If anything's going to burn you, I've got first dibs!"

The redhead stood patiently while Patterson applied a liberal coating of sunscreen. He was so distracted by the scenery that he hardly flinched when the boss made absolutely sure that his substantial equipment was fully protected! Fingering his blazing curly thatch, Randy mumbled, "Dangerous... Chance of spontaneous combustion..." "Who's hopeless?" the youth snickered. "Come on, boss. Strip down and let's hit the waves and catch some rays!" "I tell, you, Lieutenant, those jarheads are devastating your English!" the boss pronounced. Jiri chuckled impishly and helped him lose the rest of his clothing before grabbing a blanket and locking everything up in the trunk.

In all honesty, the walk across the beach was rather embarrassing...for both of them. By the time they reached a spot where they could spread their blanket, more than a few wolf whistles had sounded. Squatting down on his haunches on the edge of the blanket, Jiri whispered, "Am I doing something wrong, Boss? I've heard those whistles before...from my Marine buddies...but only for girls...never for men. Those guys don't think..." "Nah, Red!" growled Randy. "Many men who like men - and sometimes girls as well - use that whistle for anything that is so drop dead exciting...that it stops them dead in their tracks. Hell, I understand that. I look at you and..." He let loose with a piercing wolf whistle that resulted in a red-faced youngster leaping to his feet and racing for the water.

"If that isn't the most beautiful redhead I've ever seen, it's his twin brother," a middle-aged man lying face down on a nearby blanket said quietly. "You're very fortunate." "Yeah, I guess I'm the luckiest guy in the world," Randy replied meditatively. "Please believe that I mean no offense, but is he with you just for today?" the man continued. Stumbling slightly over his words, he added, "I he available?" "No, sir; he's not...available," Randy replied a bit tartly whereupon he turned away sharply and stretched out on his stomach. He was almost asleep in the warm sun when Big Red returned, dripping cold water all over his back. "Yikes, beast! That's cold!" he snarled. "Come on, boss! If you don't agree the water's unbelievable, I'll bring you some from Vladivostok," Jiri chortled. Grabbing an arm, he hauled Randy to his feet where they stood for a moment, looking into each other's eyes. Coughing...feeling the onset of those sensations...wanting to do nothing less than throw the lad down on the sand and have his way with him, the Lieutenant Commander threw an arm around the redhead's muscular neck and headed for the water.

The next couple of hours were...interesting. Very few of the twenty-seven men on the beach could leave the pair completely alone. It started when Jiri fell asleep for a few minutes on his back while enjoying a really hot dream. Suddenly becoming aware of noise and movement close-in, he awoke abruptly to find himself in a half-circle of onlookers. Looking down, he saw that his cock had swollen and hardened to the point where it now resembled a leaning tower made of red-hot steel. Approaching his navel rather than being draped loosely over his balls, precum poured down its sides as it jerked rhythmically over his abdomen. Turning a violent shade of crimson, the youngster quickly rolled over onto his cries of great disappointment from his admirers! For a bit he had to fight off some unwanted advances. For instance, there was quite a bit of pressure to go "sailing," as well as invitations to join a few of the guys in a wooded area up from the beach. It wasn't long, however, before a little common sense and courtesy returned to the picture. Things had gotten a bit out of hand, and most of the guys on the beach knew and regretted it. Although one could (and did) occasionally score, it wasn't really that kind of place. Several bottles of ice cold beer appeared. Both young men were invited to take part in a volleyball tournament. In an notably "touchy-feely" contest, Jiri won the "Hunk of the Week" medal (the top of a metal can hung on a colorful ribbon). Frankly, the boys thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon, loosening up to the point where they actually posed au naturel (other than for those dark glasses!) for a few pictures taken by amateur photographers.

Perhaps one additional incident is worth mentioning. When Randy suddenly ran out of sunscreen as he was renewing the redhead's protection, a distinguished-looking man appeared out of the blue with a fresh tube. Removing his dark glasses, he stooped down until he could look directly into Randy's face. The young man just about choked when he realized that he had met the gentleman. In fact, he was an admiral who worked at the Navy Department! With an arrogance born of long practice, the man then turned his back on the junior officer, stared hungrily at the redhead, and bluntly stated that he would finish applying the sunscreen. Taken by surprise, Jiri simply nodded. After the admiral had the redhead writhing in his hands - indeed, had twice brought him to the very brink - he abruptly removed his hands from the boy's body. Smirking dominantly, he handed the tube to Randy, and cooly excused himself.

Clearly, there was little doubt that Jiri was the toast of the beach. For the life of him, Randy couldn't really disagree with that judgment! In any case, as the warmth of the afternoon peaked, the time came to leave. Believe that their excursion had not yet run its course!

(To Be Continued)