Page 38 - Titanic: The Untold Tale of Gay Passengers and Crew

24 Jack Fritscher

Edward rebelliously jerked his hair loose from the Stoker’s
grip. He popped open his trousers, dropped his shorts, and
displayed his 10-inch rockhard cock. Three masturbating
bystanders, two lords, and one lord who was a lady trapped
in a lord’s body, shot their loads on the spot. Edward wrapped
both his hands, big-boned from rowing team, around his
shaft, squeezing the angry purple head of his dick to plum-
size. He grinned his challenge, then spit his own spit splat-
down on the leather crotch of the Stoker’s tentpoled pants.
The Stoker growled.
There was ass on the line.
The crowd howled.
The Stoker slowly unbut toned his leathers. He teased a
gruff tease like some primal folkdance. Anticipation in the
circle of voyeurs grew. His hairy white thighs, untouched by
coal-grime, glowed with sweat in the red light.
His dick was so long and so hard, it hung like a galvanized
pipe three-quarters of the way down his thigh. The man was
hung with a horsecock crossbred with bull balls. A groan, a
sigh, and slight applause rose from the au dience who’d given
up betting for mastur bating. It was obvious. Ed ward and the
Stoker, two different classes of men, were as perfect an odds-
on match as Titanic was for the North Atlantic.
“When I beat you, young gen tleman, sir,” the Stoker said.
He appreciated Edward’s cock and cockiness. “You will stay
with me for 24 focking hours below decks in the hold, in the
boiler room, maybe even in chains in the brig, just so you see,
young gentleman, how men like you make men like us live.”
Edward, ever the knightly aristocrat, picked up the
gauntlet. He hated socialism and bolshevism; he took on the
Stoker’s dare as if the laborer were the devil Trotsky himself.
As an American man, matched, mmm, “mar ried,” in great