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The Biggest of Bongos 3
🕑 Added 2025-07-14 12:00:05 +0000 UTCObviously, it had figured out the cameras and how to avoid them. Someone—not even something—taking up one of their cameras and playing with it, but never entering the footage themselves, was in no way proof of Ta’moona.
Next, they set up proximity sensors all around their camp. Not as good as cameras, since they couldn’t record Ta’moona, but they could at least register its movements and allow either Kon or Knockout to intercept the beast.
Another six days passed. Kon hunted out of boredom and a desire to avoid Knockout; Knockout made him stop. He had nothing to do but try and stay out of her way. Knockout tried to make it better by finding activities for him to do, talking with him about the jungle, or just trying to bond with him. Effectively, this meant Kon wasn’t even able to sneak off and have a jerk. And Knockout wasn’t getting any uglier. After two weeks in the jungle, she still looked like a Playboy centerfold come to life. And if anything, she was getting nakeder. Suffering the jungle’s heat and moisture, her clothes were down to bra, panties, a loop of fabric bridging the gap between her breasts, and a belt with strands of khaki hanging from it.
And those boots.
Kon was going over their equipment for the nineteenth time when he heard a ping. It was coming from Knockout’s tablet, which she’d left by the firepit. He picked it up.
“Hey, Knockout?” he called, but she didn’t answer.
The tablet showed movement in Sector 5. Something big—they’d calibrated the instruments not to respond to parrots and smaller mammals.
Kon tried his radio. “Knockout, you there? I’m getting a reading.”
Again, silence. Until the tablet pinged again. Another detection in Sector 5, moving into Sector 6.
Knockout had to be using the facilities. And he knew what she’d say. No way should he wait for her when there was a chance to finally bag Ta’moona.
Dartgun in hand and rifle slung on his shoulder, he set out for Sector 6 at a jog. By now, Knockout had thoroughly drilled him on all twenty sectors she’d assigned to the area around the camp. Kon made his way there, easily finding the fastest route. It seemed to take no more than a handful of long strides before he was in Sector 5, looking at the landmark he’d memorized for that location: an explosion of buttressed roots that rose into eight feet of tree trunk that became a fern up at the thick canopy.
Kon looked around—Knockout had theorized that the thing used the trenches for hiding and navigation, so he made sure to scope out each one, until…
Ping! Kon barely looked at the tablet—Sector 7—before taking off at a run. The jungle swept by, familiar after so many long days relearning its ways, but alien too, secretive, hiding what he was trying to find somewhere in its shifting mists and shafts of light.
He stopped at a moss-ridden boulder, the hulking mass so covered in green carpeting that it seemed about to collapse in on itself. A fleeting urge made Kon want to press up against the rock, hide at least a little from whatever force this was that could see him while he couldn’t see it. He didn’t, though. He wanted Ta’moona to find him. Because he damn sure wasn’t finding it. Any twitch of the branches, any leaf carried on the wind… that could be Ta’moona or it could be nothing.
Ping! Kon wondered if he could trust this technology or if Ta’moona had figured out a way to fool it too. But he was young, in shape. If he had to run down Ta’moona, he would. No monkey could do as much cardio as he did. He kept running, his lungs pumping efficiently, his heart clicking away. He wouldn’t give out before the chase was over.
The canopy began to clear. Up ahead, a river cut a scar through the jungle. Without the treetops in the way, pure light came down unfiltered. Shadows became gray instead of black. Kon didn’t trust it. He was reminded of those brightly colored animals whose skin warned of toxic poison. If Ta’moona wasn’t hiding in the darkness…
Ahead: motion! Kon brought the dartgun to bear. He didn’t want to waste a shot on something prosaic like a flock of birds; neither did he want to waste a chance at Ta’moona’s capture. Staring through the sights, the motion continued, resolving out of the blur of the mist that the sunlight was dispelling. It was in the low, level waters of the river, but it wasn’t the flow of the current. This was pale, moving with conscious intent, lean arms moving over…
Bare skin.
Kon’s mouth went dry, seeing Knockout bathing without a single stitch on. As much as her shredded clothes revealed her, it also begged the question of what more there was to see, what she looked like if she were totally exposed instead of just alluringly teased. Now he knew and it was like being struck dumb, a shot of tequila chased by a line of coke. The breasts were round and as plump as he’d thought, as he’d never dared hope, not one ounce of their fullness some trick of her bra. The coral-red nipples that crowned them, tantalized Kon further. He wanted to put his mouth to them, tasting first them and then the rest of Knockout’s supple flesh. Most especially the red curls of hair that covered her pubis like one last wisp of fabric, a final taunt like the parting shot of a man forced to surrender. It infuriated him and made him want her all the worse.
She was quick to notice him; Kon didn’t imagine any female could ignore being seen as vigorously as he was seeing her. Her arms wrapped about her breasts and hid her groin.
“Kon! What do you think you’re doing? If you want a bath, you need to wait your turn!”
“Ta’moona,” Kon stammered, still unable to stop drinking in the downright intoxicating sight of her. Especially now that she was so inadequately covered. It was like without the reality of her to sate himself, the memory took over, consuming all his mental energy trying to recall every detail, all the little facets now hidden from him. “It was here, it set off the proximity sensors, I followed it…”
“I haven’t seen anything but you,” Knockout said, lowering herself into the water to further hide.
Helplessly, Kon found himself scanning the water, trying to see her through its ripples and distortions. Like a parched man trying to enjoy droplets of water instead of the cool draught he needed. He shouldn’t have been so stunned from stumbling upon he. He should’ve memorized the sight when he could.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” Kon said, turning around, resigning himself to the circles his mind would be going in until this memory faded.
“At least you didn’t lie,” Knockout called after him.
Kon was so confused, he had to pause. “How’s that?”
“Before, when you told me the bulge was you soft… I saw the difference just now.”
***
There was nothing else for it. Kon needed to relieve the tension. He made it one more day. A restless night later and it was clear Ta’moona wasn’t putting in a repeat performance. It was just him and Knockout and the dying memory of her body. Like a hot plate, he had to make a meal of this thing before it was inedible.
One good thing about the jungle: it didn’t take long for its embrace to render him totally isolated. He left Knockout monitoring the cameras and trying to think of a new way to catch Ta’moona while he grabbed some loneliness.
Resolving to do the thing was as good as foreplay. He just started unbuckling his belt and drawing down his zipper, his erection shot into being. Thoughts of Knockout filled his head. He saw again her ripeness, the slow parting of her lips when she thought hard on something, the fluidness of her movements, how each step she took with her sure, solid strides was marked in the cadence of her breasts.
He gripped his erection tightly and began to pump it, relief seeping into his body. It was bittersweet. The tightness banding his loins would pull a lot harder before he got to the release such a vision of loveliness deserved. But it also felt like he was no longer holding up a boulder. No, he was letting it roll all the way downhill, faster and faster, until it finally hit—
Kon’s instincts were too finely honed to fully shut off, even in a moment of passion such as this. He opened his eyes, though he still saw Knockout’s perfect body like a double image, even as he registered the Ta’moona.
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