Page 32 - Titanic: Forbidden Stories Hollywood Forgot

18 Jack Fritscher

built so fast by its construction crew, welding massive
iron plates, driven to even speedier work by inves tors,
that stories spread that laborers who lagged behind were
welded up alive, abandoned and forgotten inside Titanic’s
giant echoing bulk heads.
Edward, ever polite, deliv ered Molly the superficial
truth, as glycerine-smooth as the waters of the North
Atlantic sea spread so flat and calm as far as we could
see. I, ever the litera ture scholar, could have told her the
same tale, but more like Chau cer, deeper, “The Stoker’s
Tale,” deep as the sea we skimmed across, deep as the
dark hold was below the glimmering lights of the Grand
Ballroom where the band played on, all of us pilgrims
to Canter bury. Voyeur that I am, I had fol lowed Edward
down below deck. I knew how he was when he was with
me. I wondered how he was with other men.
Edward’s 10-inch cock drew men like magnets; but
Edward, for all his aristocratic distinction, was fickle
as everyone else. No matter how big one’s own cock, the
search is always for a man whose cock is bigger. “The
hung don’t care to fuck down.” Edward had once said
that.
“But I,” I said, “have only 8. That’s 1 inch for each of
my 8 million bucks when daddy dies.”
That made him laugh and grow tender. “But you I
love,” he said. “When I go slumming, that’s a different
story.”
Love and slumming.
I spied the man even before Edward. I knew his
taste for the heroic. The giant stood in the shadows, a
coal-heaver, a stoker, stripped to the waist, his chest and
shoulders as magnificent as his powerful arms. His face

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