Page 50 - Titanic: The Untold Tale of Gay Passengers and Crew

36 Jack Fritscher

lower jaw, like a miner opening a cave wide enough for heavy
ma chinery, to fit his cock inside up tight against Max’s dick.
Max! Who liked to deep-six his long, lean shaft down voy-
ager’s throats while Brice alternately plugged left cheek, right
cheek, waltzing matilda, one, two, three.
A pair of lip-rippers they were, but my cock was up for the
stretch even if my mouth had doubts. If Edward had taken
the Stoker’s 14 inches up his ass, my mouth could swallow
the 18-inch double facefuck I saw coming. If not, by the time
we docked in New York, I’d regret forever falling short of my
lover’s titanic feat.
I sucked a mouthful of Brice’s globular head, wrapping
my lips tight around the underlip of the corona. I felt I was
swallow ing one of Mr. Edison’s elec tric bulbs: hot, large, and
hard. I moaned. Behind the head of his slow-probing prow,
my eyes, almost crossed, looked down the veined length of
his sturdy, studhorse cock. He drove me over half-back wards.
My hands left my cock to support me from behind. My head
tilted up flat as a plate. His cock angled like a lever forging
open my lips a crack, a crack wide enough for Max, moving
slowly, cruising into view over my fore head, cock first, with
a crystal glass in his hand.
He poured at least three fingers of absinthe over the hot
head of Brice’s cock, three fingers of 68% alcohol that I gulped
with out resistance down my throat. They knew what they
were doing. My teeth retracted. My jaw dropped. My throat
opened to a tunnel of fire. My head went ab sent without leave,
absinthe with out leave, I say now, and I fell into my sexual
essence: I was no less than an open mouth with a hard cock
kneeling before 18 inch es of dick backed with enough male
authority to rouse me to a fevered, perverted pitch, hungry,
starving for the facefuck of the seedbearers, who, dickhead