Page 43 - Titanic: The Untold Tale of Gay Passengers and Crew

Titanic 29

no harm could happen below decks. The Stoker himself, like
the coal boss he was, flexed his massive body, establishing his
command presence, and, like a conqueror barbarian, lifted
Edward gently up, suctioning his dick out of Edward’s throat,
vacuuming up, popping finally the deep probe of his cockhead
from Edward’s grin ning lips. His eyes fluttered open.
“Am I dead?” he asked.
“Not yet,” the Stoker said.
“Good,” Edward said. He spoke like a drunk happy on
champagne. “We have another 2 inches to go.”
“Focker!” the Stoker said. “But we reverse engines.”
Bodily, he lifted Edward like a doll in his big-muscled
arms above his head. His huge cock staffed its full 14 inches
straight up 80-degrees dead ahead. Without so much as a
quiver in his massive shoulders and chest and legs, he held
Edward, his big hands in his armpits, his gnarled thumbs on
his lean chest, like a conquered toy soldier above his head.
The Stoker’s cock drooled shine. His dick was a bulkhead as
magnifi cent as Titanic’s jutting straight up, so erect its very
skin stretched paper-thin over its ropes of veins and sinew.
The tip of his cockhead, poised, waiting, drooling, dripping,
flexing, like a ram awaiting its target to come bulls-eye to it.
I didn’t need Mr. Muybridge to get the picture.
The still tableau of this pas de deux froze in the red-dark
of the hold for an eternity of sec onds. The crowd fell back,
then forward, a hundred hard cocks masturbating at the
sight, shoot ing up at them like flares in the night signaling
the collision as the Stoker, slowly lowered Edward, ass-first,
down through the arc of distance to the ice-hard head of his
steaming cock.
The Stoker guided Edward’s tight butthole straight down
his slippery dick, its head popping the rim of Edward’s skilled