Page 41 - Titanic: The Untold Tale of Gay Passengers and Crew

Titanic 27

If a man has moments, Ed ward, I knew, kneeling between
the grimy Stoker’s legs, was having a night to remember all
his life. My own cock was so close to cuming, I pulled the
blond sailor off my dick and set him to work on my balls.
Almost instantly, that triggered him. He rose up, a hand some
devil, brandishing his long, hard cock, and shot ropes of
white sperm up my belly. As soon as he came, he was gone.
Another sailor dived on my dick. I guided him to my nuts.
Other hands, other tongues licked cum from my torso. In the
hot sea of sex surging about me, I thanked God I was tall.
I wanted to be head and shoulders above them all so not to
lose the vision of the Stoker’s dick, ob scenely white against
his coal-skin, pistoning Edward’s mouth. Edward always
swallowed my 8-inches easily, and the Stoker had an easy
8 inches snaked down his throat. Edward, ever the sexual
athlete, ever wanting more, was face-to-face with more. The
Stoker had plumbed his throat with his first 8-inches and had
6 inches more of thick, hard cock to drive home.
I thought to call a halt, but in the dark night of the hold,
the fires blazing in the furnaces, I knew what would seem in
first-class as brutality was in truth the intense engagement of
two men locked in sexual ritual older than prehistory, older
than the gods, older than the Titans themselves. Besides,
Edward was a strong, ath letic sportsman who knew how to
handle himself. He hardly needed me to climb through the
invisible ropes of the invisible ring to referee a stop to the
match.
For a moment, I saw his eyes, staring, between the
Stoker’s arms, down the fat 6-inch tube of re maining cock,
determined to bury his nose in the muscular giant’s curling
crotch hair or die trying. Something, a lightning, as much
lust as courage, flashed in his eyes. He gulped. The Stoker,