Copyright 2009, 2012 by Carl Mason





(Revisiting Chapter 5)

Finally, Big Stuff, I'll admit that opportunities to fire every weapon in your arsenal are pretty limited on 'First Dates'. On the other hand, with someone you love, do you have to restrict your sexual repertoire to the same old same old... until both of you are bored out of your minds? Or can you introduce him to some of the million-ruble techniques that you learned among the bonobos?" At first Jiri said nothing, although as Randy looked his way he noticed that for a big man he had one of the cutest, sexiest grins on his face ever. At long last, he said simply, "I'll remember that, sir." With that, they headed back to their lodging.

(Continuing Our Story: Cape May's Pine Beach B&B)

Although he had only seen it for only a few minutes earlier in the afternoon, Jiri already liked the B&B that Randy had located in a "Gay Jersey" guide. The married owners, Frank and Warren, were relaxed, but involved in every aspect of the operation. They had created an atmosphere of quiet luxury. The five guest rooms and the deck upon which they opened were clothing-optional. Screened by planting, the deck contained a pool and a hot tub. A secluded guest house at the rear of the property, connected to the house and deck by a planting of dwarf pines and bright displays in several raised flower beds, was also clothing-optional. It provided for a greater number of guests than the rooms and, for those who wished it, as much privacy as desired. The layout of the property allowed sunlight throughout most of the day. All of the rooms were beautifully appointed...without being overdone. Frank and Warren provided wine and cheese in the late afternoon and a delightful breakfast buffet or individual breakfasts, depending on the number of guests. The prices were on the high-end of Cape May's B&Bs, but, given the many amenities provided, they were viewed as reasonable.

Trudging back to the guest house - rented not because they needed the space, but because it was the last unit that had been available for Saturday night - Randy suddenly realized that he was very horny. Further, as he found the keyhole and entered, he decided that being some distance from the house might have its advantages! In the dark, however, he quickly stumbled over a doorstop and found himself on the floor with the redhead on top of him. Good news! There wasn't the slightest doubt about Jiri's being just as horny as he was! Suddenly, as he further examined the redhead's... feelings, the lights came on. Frank stood in the doorway with a tray and a slightly embarrassed look on his face. "Ah, boys, I'm glad it's you. I remembered that I hadn't shown you the light switches this afternoon. By the way, Warren made this cake earlier today. In addition to my taking care of the lights, we thought you might enjoy a little snack and a flute of champagne. Good night, boys. Glad you're here." With that, their middle-aged host turned and moved off quickly through the pines.

Strangely, they both felt as if they had come in after their curfew...and had been caught by the 'rents! Grinning and snickering, they rolled around a bit on the floor, kissing and doing a little groping. Throwing their clothing onto nearby chairs, they lay back down where they had fallen, drank the champagne, and fed the cake to each other. The reader will guess that before they were through a goodly amount of the cream frosting was plastered on their faces! No matter... It was as good an excuse as any for a little tongue work! Clean again, Randy leaned over, sucked on a nipple, and then moved up to nibble on an earlobe. "You wouldn't be interested in a little action, would you, Gyrene?" he whispered into his ear. Jiri raised up a bit on an elbow and said - with a discernable amount of sarcasm, "No kidding, Swabbie? Damn! I was beginning to think you'd gone celibate on me!"

Hand in hand, they stopped by the shower where they devoted about two minutes to a "Navy shower" (i.e., wet down, soap up, and rinse off), quickly dried off, and fell into the very comfortable queen-sized bed. For almost an hour, they tore the bed apart with their crocodilian "death rolls," as well as timed contests in kissing, sucking, tonguing, and other similar pursuits. Resting his head on Randy's sweaty chest, Jiri suddenly blurted out, "Hey! Bonobo sex wasn't all bad, you know." Wondering what was in the wind, the Commander restricted his answer to a simple "Oh?" "Nope!" the redhead continued, "Some of it was pretty hot, especially when we began preparing for it as young kids." "Explain," Randy said, his curiosity aroused. Lying on top of the sheets and bedcovers, his sweaty companion said, "Give me your hand. I'll show you." Snickering that he hoped he would get it back, the Commander handed it over. Jiri took it and lay it palm down on his lower abdomen, i.e., roughly the area between the navel and the base of his penis. At that point, he said, "Tell me what you feel, love." Realizing that the redhead was serious, the Commander paused for a moment and then said, "Well, I feel one hell of a lot of gut muscles...more lower abdominals than I think I have ever seen on another guy your age. My God, there are so many layers that this part of your body is clearly built higher than the surrounding parts." "Yep, been working hard on it since I was twelve," Jiri answered proudly, "but that's not quite what I'm talking about. "My point is the bonobos showed me how developed gut muscles can increase the pleasure of sex!" Your lower abdominals may not be as far along as mine, but any athlete has made some progress. Want to see what they can do?"

"I'm in your hands, Professor. Just tell me what to do," the Lieutenant Commander murmured. "No sweat!" the redhead cried. "Just don't LIE there, enjoying the scenery! When I come into you, fight back! Clench those gut muscles! Make me work for it! Bend my cock in two and spit it out! After thoroughly lubing the two of them, Jiri, paused, saying, "Ok, boss, I'm about to ream your ass! Once I'm in, fight it! Protect your prostate!" The muscular youth proceeded exactly as promised. His entry was harsh and controlling...almost animalistic. Long before it was in all the way, he began to fuck, driving his cock between what seemed to be endless walls of muscle, slowly forcing them to give way. "Harder, boss! More pressure! Stop me cold!" Patterson did his very best - which was a lot better than most men could have done - but gradually the younger, more experienced Siberian wore him down. Balls deep and smashing through every obstacle placed in his way, he reached the prostate. That, however, was not the end of it. He didn't simply rub against it for the pleasure it gave his friend. Rather, he punished the Lieutenant Commander's prominent walnut, smashing at it repeatedly with his cock head and hard shaft. Randy began to tremble, violent, near seismic floods of impulses appearing like rocket bursts on the inside of his eyelids. "Don't give up, boss! Fight back!" the Siberian youngster ground out through his teeth. And his companion didn't give up! Rather he ground against the redhead's intrusion with gut muscles he didn't know he had! He even jammed his hole and fuck chute against the invader. In a total frenzy, he pumped himself up and down against the rigid shaft deep within his bowels, attempting to push it out of his belly. In a rolling sequence, both men screamed their bloody heads off as they violently exploded with a force that put Krakatoa and Santorini to shame!

"Yea, Bonobos!" the Lieutenant Commander gasped weakly as he came to several minutes later. "Gotta try that again..." [Author's Note: This description was inspired by the Nifty story "Mandrasat," posted by Pete Brown as a courtesy to its author.]


"What's next?" the redhead asked the next morning as he leered at Patterson while shoveling an immense breakfast into his gaping maw. "Well, beast," Randy answered, "we're so close that I thought you should see a bit of one of our most historic cities, Philadelphia. Further, it's not all that far from Lakehurst. Are you game?" "Oh, I'm game for most anything you can throw my way," the redhead answered suggestively. "I guess you are, Red. Luv yuh..." his lover chortled. "I want you to meet some people I love very much - and who, I think, will love you the way I do. Let's hit the road." Jiri looked at him a bit suspiciously, but felt so mellow after last night's activities that he only grinned and said nothing.

It was an easy trip...only a couple of hours. It was up the old Garden State Parkway, across the Atlantic City Expressway to the Delaware River bridges, over into Philly and quickly out again on the rebuilt Schuykill Expressway. Once through Center City, it was only a short trip into the suburbs before they reached Haverford, the seat of a small 19th Century college in the Quaker tradition. On a shady street, Randy pulled over in front of a comfortable old wood frame house and turned towards his love. "We're going into harm's way, Red. I had to at least stop and see my folks. Relax! They're good people and real easy to be around." "Glad to know that," Jiri muttered uncomfortably under his breath.

The young redhead who had suffered so grievously as a result of events in his growing-up years needn't have worried. Dr. and Mrs. Patterson - he a Political Science professor at Haverford and she, the Secretary to the College's Provost - welcomed the boy as if he were a second son. (They had suspicions that he might be entering the family in any case!) Jiri had scarcely had time to talk with them for a few minutes, see Randy's old room, and scratch the head of the ancient dog who insisted on arthritically leaping into his master's arms and slobbering on everyone before Mrs. Patterson invited them to the Sunday dinner table. The professor noticed the mist in his eyes as he sat down next to him. "We're happy you're here with us, Jiri," he said. "If you'd like to consider us your American family, we'd not only be honored, but we'd be as happy as we are in seeing our son." The redhead barely stifled a sob, but feeling the Professor's hand on his, he smiled and kept it together. Had you been watching carefully, you'd have noticed that Mrs. Patterson and Randy exchanged a quick and most affectionate glance. Need it be added that it was a fantastic meal and that everyone left the table as full as a tick?

After they had helped remove the dishes and get them into the dishwasher, Randy's father invited them into his library where he provided them with a snifter of a fine old Armagnac. In fluent Russian, he turned to Jiri and asked, "You're a Great Russian, aren't you, son?" "Yes, sir, but I consider myself a Siberian." Needless to say, that prompted all kinds of questions, most of which the young men were not at liberty to answer. "Don't tell me that you're in Naval Intelligence, too? he finally groaned. "No, sir!" Jiri answered sharply. "I'm just a Marine." "JUST a Marine?" the Professor inquired. "In this house, young man, that's a word filled with honor! Hold your head high when you utter it. Several members of this family have fallen for our beloved country in that uniform, and I assume that you have friends who have given no less for theirs." It was immediately obvious to Randy that his father had done it again. Rare was the human being whom he didn't charm with his grace and intuitive kindness - or terrify if he decided they lacked character. And so it went for another hour or so. Finally, Mrs. Patterson, who had joined them at some point, asked Randy if he were going to take Jiri "into town" before returning to Lakehurst. When he admitted that he had thought of doing so, she suggested firmly that he take "his young man" upstairs and get a nap before they had to leave. "I always pray for your safety on the road, you know," she murmured. "Good idea, Mary," the Professor said quietly. Knowing full well what a blessing he had just received from people whom he deeply loved, and respected not one whit less, Randy - and his young man - excused themselves and went upstairs.

As the door closed behind them, Jiri pulled his love into his arms and fastened himself onto his lips. Finally, he broke loose and took a step backwards. "They know," he said with wonder in his voice. "Yep, they know - but believe me, love, I didn't say a thing," "I believe you," the redhead replied. "Did your dad mean it when he said that this could be my family, too?" "Yep," Randy said. "I know that man...well. Believe that he meant it!" Shaking his head slightly, the redhead's fingers quickly unbuttoned Randy's shirt, removed it, and placed it on the large wingback chair. "Turn around, love," he murmured. Reaching around the man whom he loved with all his heart and kissing him lightly at the bottom of his neck, he slowly undid his belt buckle, unzipped his khakis, and steadied him as he stepped out of them. Pushing Randy onto the bed, he giggled and said, "You can take your own shoes off, hopeless!" Randy's answer was immediate. He leapt off the bed, controlled the redhead (who admittedly wasn't struggling very vigorously!), and stripped him down to his skivvies and socks. Removing the bedspread, they lay down on the bed, drawing the light blanket up over them. "Sex is awesome," Jiri yawned, "but sometimes just holding each other is better!" They were asleep within minutes.

A little after 6:00 p.m., Mrs. Patterson knocked on the door and told the boys that a light supper would be on the table in about twenty minutes. Feeling as if they could have slept for another hour or two, they finally splashed enough cold water in their faces to wake up, got themselves together, and headed downstairs. It had grown quite dark before everyone hugged and kissed and the boys returned to their journey.

The redhead lost track of their location before Randy stopped again, but he surmised that they were somewhere down by the river. It was a miserable industrial district of Philly...shabby, smelly, and only poorly lighted by an occasional unbroken street lamp. The Commander finally parked in a securely fenced lot and led his love down a dark alley before halting and pounding on a door. Allowed in, they passed through two small rooms - and two more doors - before entering a large, brilliantly illuminated hall filled with swirling humanity and pounding music that they felt in the depth of their guts. Quickly noting that he didn't see a woman in the whole crowd, Jiri turned towards Randy with a leer as he yelled in his ear, "HELLO, VLADIVOSTOK!" As they bellied up to the bar and waited to order a beer, the redheaded one had a chance to check out the clientele. There were a few late teens and even fewer forties and older, the majority of the guys being in their twenties and earlier thirties. Most were shirtless and wore jeans pulled down as low as possible. (It didn't matter. The jeans were so tight that everything underneath was perfectly visible!) He saw some leather. A few wore shorts...or jockstraps and nothing else. Sipping their beers, they watched for a few minutes more until Randy grunted and rented a key from the bartender. Slipping his hand around Jiri's neck, he guided him over to a bank of lockers in an alcove where they checked their clothing. As he quickly stripped, the redhead did get one look at his love's sheer black mini-boxer briefs, but quickly averted his eyes in order to make sure he could still fit into his new backless, legless thong in a kelly green cotton lycra that moved with each muscle and left nothing to the imagination. Holding him close, both hands on his boy's bare buttocks, an obviously aroused young American could only pant and yell, "Damn, Red! Where in hell did you find this?" "Russia's best, my sexy American buddy," responded, Jiri. "Bought it in Vladivostok, though I think it was made in China." "Mine, too," responded his American, shaking his head. "Mine, too."

Slowly, the pair worked their way out into the gyrating mass, completely caught up in the pulsing, throbbing music whose bass-line pounded in harmony with the blood that surged through their arteries. Greetings were exchanged with a few guys whom Randy had known in high school before leaving for Annapolis. Increasingly, however, he was put off by the eyes that lusted after the spectacular lad whom he held in his bare arms against his naked chest. Everyone was already sweating buckets. This only served to heighten the redhead's fantastic definition. How could a man that big be that defined? Further, the minimal thong only riveted attention on the way in which his striking Apollo's girdle highlighted a heavily developed lower torso. Hands began to reach out, surreptitiously at first and then increasingly boldly. Delts were touched; couples bumped "innocently" into bare buttocks; one hand, bolder than the others, actually slid down his abs and pulled on his thong until his flaming red pubes peered out over the kelly green fabric. "Love," the lad finally gasped, "Do they have a 'back room' here? I need to stand down for a while." "Dear God, Red, I know!" Randy gasped in return. Moments later they stood in front of a door to a side room. Everyone's dress seemed pushed out of shape by hard, throbbing erections. The sharp smell of sweat laced with semen suggested that not everyone had been able to wait. When the third young couple departed, they were allowed to enter. Mattresses, pads, and a few chairs filled the floor of the old, unpainted cement-walled room. In addition to one decrepit overstuffed chair, each was occupied by a couple engaged in just about every form of sex known to man.

Randy immediately led the redheaded one to the chair and just about leapt into it as he discarded his briefs. Looking up at his fevered companion with a leer that left no doubt as to his intentions, he unfastened the boy's thong from his large balls, now red and shiny. Leaning forward, he tongued the large, beautifully shaped head from which the foreskin was now completely retracted. Grinning, whispering into the lad's ear, and passionately kissing every bit of freckled flesh in sight, he enticed him to work his knees onto the chair until he knelt over his thighs. It only took a moment to collect precum that was flowing copiously from both their cocks and prepare for the next step. Gracefully, the redhead grasped the arms of the chair and lifted himself above Randy's thighs. With his help, he then sat down onto the erect target with a cry of absolute ecstasy. "Remember, Red! Remember!" his love cried out - and remember he did. Even as he pressed down with all of his 192 lbs, his steel-hard cock ran into a muscled wall. Only with difficulty did he force his way through layer after layer of opposition. Head thrown back, sweat pouring down his magnificent body, he finally forced his way to Randy's prostate and pounded it unmercifully. Even then, fighting to hold the beloved invader in bands of steel, Randy ground his muscles against the throbbing shaft scraping deep inside his belly until they both exploded with screams and geysers of cum. Having viewed a display that he would long remember, the husky attendant gave them a few extra minutes before coming over with a damp rag and reminding them that others were waiting.

The crowd seemed to part as if in a lustful daze as they returned to the dance floor. Caught up in the pounding, sensual music and the beauty that surrounded them on every side, they danced on. Finally, as did nearly every male in the big room, they waved their scraps of cloth in the air and danced wildly in the nude. Not too long thereafter, prepared to enter a very different world, they returned to the car and set out on the hour's drive to Lakehurst.

(The Giant)

Two days later, the four Siberians and their captain, along with the Commandant of NAS Lakehurst and a small group of dignitaries from Washington stood not too far from the plaque on the Lakehurst tarmac that marks the spot where the Hindenburg crumpled to the ground in flames.

Slowly, the mammoth silver ghost powered by six great Mercedes-Hansdorff marine engines sailed majestically into view through the early Jersey mist. There were still onlookers who shuddered at the sight of Germany's black Maltese cross. A shiver ran down Randy Patterson's neck when he first heard the dirigible's motors. His grandfather had told him that once you heard them, you would never forget their uniquely pulsing, deep-throated roar. He realized that the sound was already embedded in the deepest recesses of his consciousness.

"Damn!" Captain Saunders complained to Admiral Hendron, "I still don't understand why the Krauts called off my landing party. Hell, I had every sailor and marine on the base ready to go!" [Author's Note: In the minds of those conditioned by lighter-than-air developments in the 1930s, landing an airship was a complex operation that brought great danger to the large ground crew, as well as those on the ship.]

Finally in place, the giant airship - in perfect trim - descended slowly towards the ground. Nine hundred seventy-eight feet of perfection, nearly 17 stories high, didn't stop until its landing gear gently kissed the ground like a fucking hovercraft! Lieutenant Commander Patterson and the Lakehurst commandant looked at each other with wide eyes and open mouths. "Holy shit!" they gasped simultaneously and then, together with everyone else on the field, burst into cheers and tumultuous applause.

(To Be Continued)