THE BONOBO EXPERIMENTS - 8, Rev.
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 firstname.lastname@example.org
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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 7)
Immediately after supper, Lieutenant Commander Patterson knocked on Captain Büchner's cabin door. It would be difficult for him to hide details about their Siberian mission. And how far could he go in intelligence gathering? God knows, the Germans had lived up to their agreements...and more. Thus far, it had been a fantastic journey. A second knock resulted in a gruff command from the interior of the compartment. "Herein!" [Enter!]
(Continuing Our Story: The Gathering Storm)
Looking up, Captain Büchner noticed the saluting American and smiled. "Ah, Lieutenant Commander, please come in and relax. Yes...yes...the comfortable chair over here. May I offer you a coffee...or, perhaps, something stronger...possibly a lovely Balkan schnapps?" Grinning, he added, "German ships have their advantages, you know." "Thank you, sir. I'd really enjoy a good German beer," Randy replied. Following a quick phone call to the galley, a steward appeared within moments with Randy's beer and the Captain's schnapps.
As he appreciatively tasted a fine brew, the American's eyes moved over Captain Büchner's small cabin. Though attractively decorated, it wasn't palatial. There was room for a tiny, lightweight desk and one comfortable chair (with reading lamp) in addition to the desk chair. Suddenly, Randy's eyes contacted the Captain's. "Sorry, sir!" he gulped. "Sometimes my curiosity gets me in trouble." "Not to worry, my young American," Büchner responded kindly. "The man who isn't curious isn't worth having around...and the airshipman who isn't curious is thoroughly dangerous!
"The Deutsche Marine Command has filled me in on the general details of our liaison treaty," the Captain continued. "In addition, I have been informed of your Siberian mission. Nevertheless, there is often a significant gap between 'officialspeak' and the facts. Would you kindly talk to me about your understanding of both matters?"
The Lieutenant Commander promptly complied with Büchner's request, ending his summary by noting that he had been ordered to share the same reports on the Siberian crisis with him that he would be sending to the Navy Department in Washington. "Very good," the Captain mused. "For the time being, then, we shall continue on our present course."
Abruptly, Büchner stopped speaking and sat back, clearly considering his next words. Finally, he tapped his fingers on the desktop and spoke. "You handled the matter with Kapitänleutnant Durr very professionally, Korvettenkapitän. He is in no trouble. I do trust that you will speak again with your men about the dangers of handling something with which they are unfamiliar. On an airship, the results can be...unfortunate." "I understand, sir," Randy responded. "I spoke with them along these lines prior to their leaving for today's work, and I shall mention the matter again...daily." Büchner simply smiled and nodded.
"May we speak a bit more informally, Korvettenkapitän?" the imposing figure finally asked. Noting the American officer's nod of acceptance, the Captain continued. "I am personally sickened by the continuing Russian violations of basic human rights. The bonobo experimentation strikes me as nearly as criminal and every bit as deranged as our actions in the Holocaust. Moreover, Germans may be involved...in a number of ways. You probably know that they never returned all of our prisoners when our Chancellor Adenauer negotiated a treaty in the mid 1950s. Several of the 'unreturned' served as doctors in the death camps. God knows what their descendants are up to now!
"Your brothers are snapping back?" the Captain asked, visibly trying to lift himself out of his melancholy mood. "Yes, sir," Randy replied. "There is quite a bit of anger under the surface, occasional flashes of fear and self-loathing as witnessed by Kapitänleutnant Veronin's reactions yesterday, and feelings about the Russians that scare me a bit. After all, we do have a job to do that involves contacts with groups of people over whom we have next to no control. I'm hoping that the mission will help them rise above these feelings, as well as serve the interests of my country." As he seemed to hesitate saying more, Büchner rose, placed a hand on his shoulder, and murmured, "I hope you know, brave airshipman, that if it appears I can help, you will contact me. I shall respect your confidences to the utmost limits of my oath of service - and I shall let you know before we reach those limits. Your confidences that I forced Lieutenant Durr to share, for instance, are so covered. As another specific, let me note that your lads may occasionally find it impossible to resist their sexual conditioning on the long flight across Europe and Siberia. I dare say that a goodly number of the young men will have problems...and they won't all be Siberians! If this situation arises, I may be of some help in directing their...search in ways that will not tear apart the discipline of my crew." Unable to completely conceal his surprise, Randy simply murmured his thanks and rose to depart.
(Frankfurt am Main)
The approach to Frankfurt's great airport was breathtaking! The giant airship landed at the former Rhein-Main military airbase - now part of Flughafen [Airport] Frankfurt - where an immense new airship hanger had been built for the Graf and a future sister ship. A second hanger for much smaller "sightseeing" airships and even smaller blimps stood nearby. Although armed units of the Deutsche Marine stood guard, the landing area was nearly overrun by massive crowds that hailed the Graf's flawless round-trip across the Atlantic. For his part, Randy had mixed feelings. As the dirigible gradually returned to the earth, searchlight beams crossed over the flag-waving crowds. The way in which they stood - faces to the sky, singing the Deutschlandlied (the traditional national anthem... Deutschland, Deutschland, über alles, über alles in der Welt . . .) with one voice - reminded the young American officer of photos he had seen of similar crowds in mid 1930's Germany. Though intimations existed of the horrors that were to come - for those who would see - the Germans had regained their pride...their balance. At that time, for good or bad, they stood ready to reenter the world stage as a major player. Might their return to a world leadership role in the late 21st Century have better results for all concerned!
The Germans on board the Graf were no less ecstatic than their nearly one million brothers and sisters who swarmed outside on concrete and grass. Even the young members of the crew felt that they were well on their way to becoming airshipmen! Indeed, they were ready and eager to locate any added "benefits" that their new identity might bring their way. As might be expected, a number of the crew lived in the Frankfurt area, including Seekadet Willi [a diminutive of Wilhelm]. When the liberty list was posted, he apparently identified about a dozen late teens and early twenties and invited them to his house for a major party. The Siberian lads and their "captain" were included. Randy admitted later that he "felt a little old," but the chance to see another slice of German life quickly stifled his reservations.
"The cream of German youth," Hans Reinhardt had said at the NAS Lakehurst dinner. As the group drove through the massive stone gate and through the park-like scene to the main dwelling, it was obvious to Randy that Reinhardt had been referring to considerably more than "pleasant" young men. Indeed, this suburban estate suggested familial positions in the power structure of contemporary Germany. As the line of cars approached an impressive mansion, a large banner had been raised over the drive: "WELCOME, MEN OF THE GRAF ZEPPELIN!" After driving another twenty yards or so, the road split, one arm going to the front of the mansion, another around to one side. The cars were being directed in the latter direction. As they approached a major wing of the building - which they later discovered contained Willi's apartment, as well as several other facilities, including a massive indoor swimming pool, a glassed in section that housed an arboretum, and an impressive hall that was used for large dances - they found that a lively party was already underway. A small band was playing what Randy assumed to be popular hits. A goodly number of young people, perhaps something more than fifty, were strolling among tables set up beneath great, spreading trees and sampling a rich array of refreshments. Waiters passed among the partygoers, offering additional food and drink. Though no one was drunk, or even tipsy, it was already clear that this was a hard-drinking crowd. No one was without a drink...and that never seemed to change even though they were drinking rather than sipping! There were clearly more men, and a sizeable number of the men had brought dates. (Not all of the dates were female!) Everyone was well, if informally, dressed. 'Money and culture', Randy thought...old money and old culture!'
As the first of several Mercedes approached, the cars carrying the group from Rhein-Main, a great shout went up and everyone swarmed the cars. Willi was literally dragged from a moving car, hoisted up on what had to be a jock's shoulders, and furnished with an opened bottle of wine that he obviously found to be very much to his liking. The rest of the dirigible guests? When the cars stopped, they were heartily welcomed and escorted over to the refreshment tables. That seemed to be SOP (standard operating procedure), for everyone seemed to expect that he or she would go over to the newcomers as circumstances allowed and say a bit more than "hello." In any case, the party from the airport was quickly and smoothly integrated into a diverse group that appeared to be dominated by older friends of Willi.
Although every guest was welcomed warmly, the strikingly handsome Siberians were the objects of more than casual interest. True, the enthusiasm of their greeting was heightened by the fact that the German upper classes firmly supported the "Free Siberia" movement. The Lieutenant Commander also noted the even warmer reception when it became common knowledge that they spoke fluent, even colloquial German. On their part, they delighted in every minute of the attention and good will that was showered on them. (Willi even made a point of riding over on his "steed" and presenting them with four, really beautiful one-liter beer steins that were theirs to keep as mementoes of the evening. Not unexpectedly, the waiters filled them to overflowing!) Though Jiri stuck relatively close to "his captain", the other lads were much enjoying the attentions of several of the unattached young men. One young man, apparently much taken with Igor the Blond, had worn his Luftwaffe [Air Force] uniform. They were a nice looking bunch, though, admittedly, Randy had never thought of Germans as "world class" when it came to looks...not in a league with young Great Russians in any case!
Knowing something about common American societal attitudes towards drugs (and booze...and nakedness...and sex...and a host of other phenomena), Willi had warned Randy that among his circle passing around a few pills was almost de rigueur [expected, proper]. He also stated that they were the "very best stuff" and that no one ever drove home who was under the influence of drugs or alcohol. In their case, of course, abstinence presented no problems for the Graf crew members, for they were staying with him!) He added with a leer that he thought sex and nakedness were strictly matters of individual decision!
Slowly, to no one's surprise, the party became a little "wilder"; the level of noise, a little higher. To Randy's surprise, if to him alone, nothing slipped out of control. There were "rules"...rules understood by the young people at Willi's welcoming party, rules that to most Germans spell the end of discussion! Showing long experience in such matters, Willi abruptly ended one facet of the party and switched to another. Nothing like a change of focus to divert people's eyes from their little dings and frustrations. The beautiful indoor pool was open! Given the enthusiasm Randy observed, this had to be a favorite facet of parties at Willi's home. Without a murmur, the guests wended their way down to the changing rooms in the basement. In the men's changing room, they stripped, placed their clothing in large baskets, and checked the baskets at a counter. And... And... Surely, there was another step! Damn! There were female guests! But that was it. Noticing that the Siberians were grinning lecherously at each other, he got in line and joined those making their way back to the pool deck. Within a very few minutes, the men were joined by the young ladies...similarly "attired". "Holy shit!" Randy muttered...barely under his breath.
Though both men and women were involved, the pool portion of the party was not all that different from a one gender, same age group party. That is, there was some simple swimming and diving at first, though it quickly morphed into spirited (and, initially, rather innocent) games of "grab-ass". True, the variations made possible by the female anatomy were enjoyed...by many. Interestingly, or so Randy thought, Willi announced the next stage of the party before the pool play could become too blatant. Namely, after swimming for a bit, participants clearly expected to exit the pool, dry each other off, and move to the hall where the band was playing for dancing. Needless to say, the mutual toweling - whether by single or mixed sex couples - invariably involved... intimacies that raised the temperature of all partygoers - nor was they any move towards reclaiming their clothing before enjoying the dancing! Randy concluded that the dancing was something that could only go on in a wet dream! Skin to skin, hands caressing breasts and buttocks, restrained nibbling on earlobes and nipples, breasts slowly dragged down the length of the partner's torso, light fingering of fully erect genitals - and those were only a few of the heterosexual variations! It was difficult to believe that one wasn't taking part in a Roman orgy!
Gradually, couples (and, on occasion, small groups of couples) left the hall. Given a truly beautiful evening, they generally wandered out into the park-like grounds of the estate where food, drink, and "recreational" drugs continued to be available. As he strolled through the moonlit gardens, the American Lieutenant Commander had to admit that he had never seen anything quite like this. Later, he said that he was most amazed by homosexual and heterosexual sex taking place in fairly close proximity...and without the slightest disturbance. The truth, of course, is that social patterns differ and that even within the same culture, there are variations among subcultural groups. Willi's circle of close friends had worked out its own patterns.
Randy Patterson repeatedly told himself that he was taking the role of the "dispassionate, scientific observer"...at least until he got so hot himself that he couldn't keep up the pretense. Eventually, he found his redhead, and disappeared for some time into the surrounding woods.
On rejoining the Graf at the end of his short leave, he ran into Captain Büchner at the head of the gangplank. "Ah, Mr. Patterson," the airman exclaimed jovially, "How did you enjoy the party?" Noting what must have been a strange look that passed over the American's face, he burst into amused laughter and exclaimed, "Don't lose your youth, sir! Don't lose your youth. It won't come back!" With that he grinned and said in a voice that had lost all vestiges of its earlier informality, "Get your work clothes on, Lieutenant Commander. I have a job for you!"
As the young American officer supervised the restocking of the Graf's food supplies, he found it difficult to believe that forty men could eat so much in so little a time! [Author's Note: With a full passenger complement (perhaps as many as 200-250), the Graf III's crew would have numbered nearly 70. On this flight, she was carrying some 40 people, including crew and guests.] Further, this was only part of the food, for she would pick up fresh vegetables and fruit at her various stops! Actually, the 7000-mile flight would take seven days. In 1929, the original Graf Zeppelin had made it in three, but had made no stops between Frankfurt and Tokyo on the second leg of her flight around the world. This time their mission called for stopping in five large Siberian cities, in addition to Moscow. 'Siberian cities,' he thought. 'Oh, yeah, I'm going to have to be careful. Only last week, I suggested that Siberia excluded the Urals District in the west and the Russian Far East District on the Pacific. Dima just about jumped down my throat. He said that all this business about Russia east of the Ural Mountains being divided into three "federal districts" was just more of Moscow's attempt to control the land through dividing it and setting one group against another! SIBERIA, his homeland, extended from the Urals to the Pacific! Well, no use upsetting the troops...' Finished with his restocking task, Patterson picked up his clipboard and headed for a little cleanup.
The young American naval officer needn't have bothered! Oil and grease were the order of the day. Randy joined a small work group that crowded into the control car. The Graf's XO personally went over the automated controls that would soon send the great airship onto its eastern journey. They then headed for the engine control center in the bowels of the ship and were tutored in how to override the bridge commands and, if necessary, fly the airship from that station.
Within hours, the Commander and his team had met in order to set the final plans for the Graf's first stop, i.e., in Moscow. He relayed the word that an official from the Russian Foreign Ministry would be joining them for the trip. "More likely the FSB," someone muttered. [Author's Note: The FSB or Federal Security Service was the main successor to the Stalin-era intelligence agency, the KGB.] "Could be," their leader replied, "but it's something we're going to have to deal with when it comes to getting out into the Siberian cities to contact our people - and returning. We'll have to play this one by ear. Further," he exclaimed, "I looked over your list of those who will leave the airship for contacts. It looks good: Jiri in Yekaterinburg, Dima in Omsk, Evgeni in Novosibirsk, Igor in Irkutsk and Jiri, again, in Vladivostok." "How about Moscow?" Igor interjected. The Lieutenant Commander immediately replied, "Captain Büchner feels that we should play it very straight in Moscow. We will undoubtedly be watched every second, even more carefully than in the Siberian cities to the east. The Russian observer will add extra problems, especially when he first boards. The Captain asks that we join the German officers in greeting a small number of guests who have been invited to an onboard Moscow reception." Looking around the table, Randy sees common agreement and is prepared to move on until he hears a loud chime and an announcement calling the crew to its departure stations. Immediately, the young Siberians leave for the lounge while Patterson moves towards the control car.
Within a very few minutes, Captain Büchner uttered the famous cry, "Schiff hoch!" Much as on their arrival, the giant dirigible quietly lifted from its mooring pad and rose into the night air to the strains of the Deutschlandlied played by a German Navy band, crossing searchlight beams, and the cheers of a large crowd.
(To Be Continued)