Page 28 - Titanic: The Untold Tale of Gay Passengers and Crew

14 Jack Fritscher

arms out sideways from his muscular hips, crooked forward
at the elbow, his hands fists, mighty above my face, and with
a roar that started in his balls, shot up his spine, hit his head,
shot again back down his spine to his balls, he exploded long
aerial flumes of white sperm across my face, with me cuming
in my own hand, my mouth open, swallowing, eating his
load, eating the dozen other loads of men whose cocks he
triggered by his big shoot.
Upstairs in the Main Salon, Molly Brown was dragging
a reluc tant table or two of reticent rich into a chorus of the
popular “Meet Me in St. Louis, Louis.” Edward was by her
side. His evening had been fun, if not tame, and he had spent
an hour with Madame Ouspenskaya whose unsettling reading
of his Tarot he was trying to forget.
“I saw you,” he said, in our stateroom. “You were
disgusting.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know.”
He grinned. “Let me lick all that cum from your face and
your hair.” He pulled out his hardening cock.
“And we still have three glorious nights to go before
Titanic docks in New York.”