Page 33 - Titanic: The Untold Tale of Gay Passengers and Crew

Titanic 19

and forgotten inside Titanic’s giant echoing bulk heads.
Edward, ever polite, deliv ered Molly the superficial truth,
as glycerine-smooth as the waters of the North Atlantic sea
spread so flat and calm as far as we could see. I, ever the
litera ture scholar, could have told her the same tale, but more
like Chau cer, deeper, “The Stoker’s Tale,” deep as the sea we
skimmed across, deep as the dark hold was below the glim-
mering lights of the Grand Ballroom where the band played
on, all of us pilgrims to Canter bury. Voyeur that I am, I had
fol lowed Edward down below deck. I knew how he was when
he was with me. I wondered how he was with other men.
Edward’s 10-inch cock drew men like magnets; but
Edward, for all his aristocratic distinction, was fickle as ev-
eryone else. No matter how big one’s own cock, the search is
always for a man whose cock is bigger. “The hung don’t care
to fuck down.” Edward had once said that.
“But I,” I said, “have only 8. That’s 1 inch for each of my
8 million bucks when daddy dies.”
That made him laugh and grow tender. “But you I love,”
he said. “When I go slumming, that’s a different story.”
Love and slumming.
I spied the man even before Edward. I knew his taste for
the heroic. The giant stood in the shadows, a coal-heaver,
a stoker, stripped to the waist, his chest and shoulders as
magnificent as his powerful arms. His face was the kind of
rugged brute handsome that makes dicks rise. His tousled
hair and short beard were black as the coal-grime covering
him from head to foot. Even so, his nipples jutted prominent
from his pecto rals, nipples almost pink in the red lights of
the hold, as if he had licked his dirty fingers and tweaked
them clean. His hands, like his hairy forearms, were mas sive
from heavy labor.