Page 53 - Titanic: The Untold Tale of Gay Passengers and Crew

Titanic 39

head as the perfect family crest my straightlaced Boston
Brahmin father deserved! The face of his wide-eyed, wide-
mouthed son, with 18 inches of cock jutting triumphant from
his cheeks, mounted on the mansion trophy wall like some
strange-horned mythical beast hunted and killed by ancient
ancestors. What a jape on my father who had never in his
life even spoken the word penis!
A thought is but an instant in sex. Perhaps fantasy trig-
gered by hardon reality is all of sex. The truth is the double
entry of Brice and Max was the calm before the storm. Their
cocks, colliding with my cheeks, forged hot in their foreplay.
Together, they pulled out, popping my lips, my jaw hanging
open, my tongue drool ing ropes of absinthe spit to the twin
heads of their dicks. Brice grabbed my hair to hold my head
steady. Max delicately drove two fingers up my nostrils, tilt-
ing my head into place. My mouth, gasping for breath, hung
like an open and willing target already on fire, burning like a
boiler stoked by their sex-shovels. The three of us hung poised
and ready. Brice spit down on his sandpaper dickhead and
rammed me first, churning up my cheeks, his hand gripping
my hair, Max’s fingers stuffing my nose. I was foaming like a
mad dog in the noonday sun, loving it, knowing who I was,
not knowing what I was, my mind reeling mixed meta phors
my professors would have shamed me for, but here was no
shame, not in this sporting frolic. Titanic was a dreamship
come true, a phantasm of imagination made so real only a fool
could not actualize realities larger than his wildest fantasies.
Max tilted my nose left and right. Brice plunged right
and left, calling for more absinthe. Max poured the hot li-
queur straight from the bottle on Brice’s cock. I gulped the
churning foam, sinking beneath the battering ram of cock.
Max pulled my nose up, gently. My eyes opened wide. The