Page 36 - Titanic: The Untold Tale of Gay Passengers and Crew

22 Jack Fritscher

I wasn’t the first man, coal-heaver or gentleman, all equal
voyeurs, who pulled my cock from my trousers to stroke along
with their rugged foreplay. Edward and the Stoker stopped
all the other action in the vicinity dead in its tracks, just like
the couple on a dance floor who are so good all the other
dancers stop in a sophis ticated circle to watch and ap plaud.
I knew Edward loved theatre, but I’d never known him to
give a performance.
I knew we’d both remember this little show till the day
we died.
The Stoker, with one strong hand, moved Edward from
one arm pit to the other, dragging his wet and willing tongue
through the thick hair on his chest, hair mat ted like seaweed
around the aure ole islands of his big leather-tough nipples.
His muscular arm bulged. Huge veins, heated with hard work
and stoked with passion, coiled like snakes through the black
hair furzing his biceps and hamhock forearm. No doubt his
cock was even more thick-veined.
He guided Edward’s sweaty blond moustache and licking
tongue up to his dark beard. “Chew it! Eat it!”
Edward slurped the sweatsalt from the Stoker’s coarse
beard. Tight curly black hairs caught in his teeth. He chewed
like the chal lenger he was and came at the coalman full force,
following the dance, but never giving an inch. The tougher the
Stoker got, the rougher Edward responded. I thought I could
see in the Stoker’s eyes a hint of dumb surprise. Few men, if
any, ever gave him what he wanted much less upped the ante.
He yanked Edward back by the hair, held his head six
inches from his face, and stared at him eye to eye, man to
man, sizing up this startling young gentleman athlete the
way Goliath must have looked at the young David stand ing
defiant with a rock in his hand.