Page 49 - Titanic: Forbidden Stories Hollywood Forgot

Titanic! 35

Resonant as a deep bass drum, Titanic’s en gines hummed
beneath the light slip-slap of Max’s hand spit-strok ing
his big 9-inch cock. He was a solid, good-looking 38, bet-
ter built than most officers. His neatly trimmed beard
sported a becoming streak of gray. He exuded the con-
fidence of a man whose logged nau tical miles combined
would have taken him around the world a hun dred times.
Brice had shipped out with him more than once. They
had an understanding. Their relation ship was pure lust.
They rarely spoke. Their common interest, on long trans-
Atlantic crossings, no more than the sexual gymnastics
they staged together.
They liked to facefuck.
Double facefuck.
Cock to cock.
Both their dicks sliding together down one throat.
The rugged carpenter Brice and the commanding of-
ficer Max. Brice, blond and thick. Max, dark and regal.
Brice, of almost equal age, 34 or so, both of them older men
than I at 22. Brice with 9 inches moved toward me. My
own 8 inches rose like a hard knot. Brice’s tool-hardened
hand clamped my shoulder, guiding me like a good boy
down on my knees.
When my knees fold, my mouth opens. Some men
like that in a man.
Brice did. He was no talk, all moves. He spit into the
palm of his hand and spit-shined the big head of his cock,
stalking on his big legs toward me, his fat prick aimed
for docking in the open port of my waiting mouth. His
coarsened carpenter’s hand had calloused his carpenter’s
cockhead. Its pink skin, worn rough, felt like the smooth-
est of fine sandpaper in my mouth. If ever a man were

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