Page 36 - Titanic: Forbidden Stories Hollywood Forgot

22 Jack Fritscher

He guided Edward’s sweaty blond moustache and
licking tongue up to his dark beard. “Chew it! Eat it!”
Edward slurped the sweatsalt from the Stoker’s
coarse beard. Tight curly black hairs caught in his teeth.
He chewed like the chal lenger he was and came at the
coalman full force, following the dance, but never giving
an inch. The tougher the Stoker got, the rougher Edward
responded. I thought I could see in the Stoker’s eyes a
hint of dumb surprise. Few men, if any, ever gave him
what he wanted much less upped the ante.
He yanked Edward back by the hair, held his head
six inches from his face, and stared at him eye to eye,
man to man, sizing up this startling young gentleman
athlete the way Goliath must have looked at the young
David stand ing defiant with a rock in his hand.
He spit, a long white flume of spit, into Edward’s face.
Edward spit it back. And grinned.
The Stoker’s breath was as sweet as when he
had been a muscu lar boy harvesting the hay fields of
Czechoslovakia. He was younger by ten years than his
huge size made him look. With Edward’s spit hanging
like white cum in his black beard, he was no more than
30, but his command presence made him seem like an
ancient god.
They stood frozen in the circle of masturbating
cocks. The Stoker laughed, broke the tableau, and from
his laughing mouth, in the distorted shadows of the red
light, his tongue, long and tubu lar inched slowly from
between his lips, the head of it, swear to God, looked in
the brilliant dark ness like nothing so much as the head
of a Roman-orgy cock, the way the sides rolled up, form-
ing a piss-slit, the shaft of it coming out hard as a dick,

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