Author's Note: My alternative take to Chapter 4 of Titanic: The Thomas Andrews Affair. Here, I use a male POV: the Irish shipbuilder himself, Thomas Andrews (Victor Garber in James Cameron's Titanic - always the Andrews I write about). And, considering the nature of this particular scene in Chapter 4 of the original story, it gets rather steamy.

Written for entertainment, is not intended to be offensive to the real life Thomas Andrews, and also written with love for Victor Garber's portrayal of Andrews in the Cameron film.

(From Titanic: The Thomas Andrews Affair)

T- Lust Begins -

She's rather a pretty little thing, this young lady. Irish too, like myself. I personally suggested her as one of the housekeeping staff aboard my beloved creation, the R.M.S. Titanic. Do you know how many rivets we used in the construction of our grand ship? Oh, no - you're right. Never mind all that right now. Facts and figures and statistics. I really need to remember to stop eating, sleeping and breathing my work. Must make a note of that in my journal.

Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. This young lady. Her name is Mimi Monaghan. A good ol' Irish moniker, if I may say so myself. Nice looking girl. Curly hair, quite long. Pale skin... very Celtic looking. Delicate. Working class. And young. A fair bit younger than myself, actually. I doubt the lass has even seen the age of 30 yet! That doesn't bother me. I'm a married man; now that bothers me. My wife is behaving very inappropriately with another chap, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. Nothing. She told me so herself. She says I only have myself to blame. Thomas, you're married to your work. You live at that bloody shipyard. You neglect me in favour of those bloody boats. That's what she says. I cannot actually disagree with her; I'm guilty of all charges. That's why I turn a blind eye to her other man. It's my own damned fault she lies in his bed and not mine.

So, this is where young Mimi comes in. I've seen her around from time to time, passing by me on the boats in Belfast harbour. We've exhanged a cheery ''hello'' on occasion. She works as a White Star Line stewardess on steam liners and ferries. The liners were designed by me, of course. I know every rivet and every davit on those vessels. Oh, now ye see, there I go again! Boasting about my technical achievements. I really must note it down: Stop living, eating, sleeping and breathing this damned shipbuilding. Ack, where is that journal of mine?

To continue, then. The crew and my good self are on Titanic for the first time, before she takes off to Southampton to pick up our first load of passengers. And this lass, the maid. Mimi. Well, she can't take her eyes off me. Every time she walks past me, she blushes. She smiles and flutters her eyelashes. Oh, I know full well she's infatuated with me. I've seen the signs for months now and it's been flattering, to say the least. And, goodness, it's tempting. But of course, I'm a married man. And while my wife may not be faithful to me, I've intended to stay faithful to her; though I must emphasise the word intended.

I do, however, ask Mimi to join me for champagne at Captain Smith's special evening engagement, on the night we leave Belfast for Southampton. She looks divine, dressed to the nines in a dark coloured gown, her hair nicely done up. She's a sweet, quiet girl too. She may be working class, but she's well spoken. This is a must, in my opinion. And quiet though she may be, she's also flirtatious. Lingering looks; watching my eyes when I speak; leaning towards me; touching my arm when she talks to me. I'm every inch the gentleman and I don't take advantage of her. I'm not that way inclined. I do invite her back to my quarters at the end of the evening, though. There's nothing untoward about my invitation; I couldn't possibly. It's just for a nightcap! One last drink before bed, because I've enjoyed being in the lass's company. She's intelligent and charming, and I could do with a friend.

There are blueprints of the ship still open on my desk, and handwritten notes strewn on the floor from a frustrated thinking session earlier in the day. She giggles softly upon seeing the notes scattered everywhere, and comments about how busy I've been. I'm a bit embarrassed and quickly tidy my papers, rolling up the blueprints and putting them to one side on the desk. I can be rather disorganised and messy, y'see. My thought processes come so quickly and I often get ahead of myself. My desk is usually littered with charts and books, and scrunched up bits of paper. I pour the sherry as Mimi sits on the luxurious Italian leather chair at the desk, which is where I always sit to study the blueprints.

With the benefit of hindsight now, consuming more alcohol is perhaps not my best idea. I'm not even a big drinker. We make polite, lighthearted chit chat, but Mimi's mood seems to change when I ask her about her life. She tells me - what I presume to be - her darkest secret. She becomes sombre as she talks about leaving her parents' home at the age of 18, having given birth to a child out of wedlock. Her mother had the child adopted to a family member, breaking Mimi's heart. I can see that recalling her story is upsetting her. She tells me she misses her wee girl, and her eyes fill with tears. She apologises, but really, there's no need. I give her my handkerchief, and she accepts it gratefully. A nice lass, so she is.

But me, well, I've had a bit much to drink. Too many brandies, too many sherries. There was also that champagne earlier in the evening. And I'm lost. Lonely. A bad situation when there's a young lady present, I'm sure you'll agree. There's a reason why I feel a resonation with Mimi's story. My own daughter, you see. My wee Elizabeth. My wife and I, well, we call her Elba for short. Elba is the combination of all the initials in her name. I haven't seen my little Elba for quite some time now. She's just a baby herself and she'll be growing fast. I'm missing out on seeing the changes in her. But my wife is estranged from me, and she took Elba with her. She wants to punish me for all my time at the shipyard, and she's certainly doing that.

I tell Mimi that it's human nature to make mistakes and that I don't doubt she misses her daughter. I go quiet for a while, and I turn my back to her. She takes this to mean that I'm upset with her, and she goes to leave. But no, I'm not upset with her. I'm trying to hide the tears in my own eyes when I think of my little Elba. It's not really acceptable for a man to cry in front of a lady. I can't possibly display tears, for fear of shame. But seeing Mimi about to leave, I have to face such shame. I stop her from going out of the door; I don't want her to leave when there's no need. Not yet. I want to tell her my story, one which I rarely tell to anyone, about why my wife and I are estranged. And so, I do. It's nice to have someone to confide in. It's difficult to always keep everything bottled up inside, and men are not supposed to talk about their feelings. But in this instance, I've had enough of that ridiculous protocol. In the short time I've known her, I consider Mimi a friend.

I tell her about missing my daughter, and about my wife's infidelity. I probably shouldn't be open about something so personal, but it's said and done now. I feel relief in telling someone, even if she just so happens to be a young woman who has a fancy for me. I have no other motive. I do love my wife, even after what she's done. I just need a friend. Mimi tells me she would do anything to find a man like me, and thanks me for showing her such compassion that evening. How kind of her, but it's not really necessary. I'm only doing what a friend should, showing some concern. And then, well...she breaks down. She collapses sobbing against my chest. Oh, the poor girl. I know that I must do the right thing and console her. She's in such a state and I feel dreadful for her. But I also feel a warm glow radiating through me now. This young lady needs me. My wife used to need me, but I've long since given up hope of a reconciliation. Mimi is a delicate little thing, with no-one else in the world. I find myself putting my arms around her as she continues to cry against my chest. This is nice; the feeling of protecting someone. Holding onto a warm body again. Inhaling the subtle scent of a woman's hair. Having a woman's arms around me.

Mimi seems calmer now, and she breaks away from our embrace. Her cheeks are still tear stained, but she looks happier. I ask her if she's feeling a little better, and she says yes. She tells me I'm a good man. And I ask her to stop calling me Mr. Andrews, because we're friends. She agrees to calling me just Thomas. I tell her that she reminds me of someone dear to me, but I won't say who when she inquires. That would be too problematic, so nothing more is mentioned of it.

But I'm feeling giddy with the atmosphere, and the continuous flow of alcohol all evening. She is a rather pretty lass. I have something in common with her now; we both miss our children. This is the bond that brings us together. I think I may be starting to fall for this girl. Just, perhaps. There is something there, a force which pulls me to her.

I stand directly behind her, close. I draw her backwards into me, so that my chest is against the top of her shoulders. I can hear her gasp, quietly - I do hope I haven't overstepped the mark here. She doesn't fight to get away, so I'm sure I have not. I reach over her arms and run my fingers down them, stopping on her tiny, delicate little hands. I can feel her arch her back into me. Oh, Lord! Well, a man is a man and natural bodily reactions happen when those old hormones are ignited. I hope my obvious state of desire doesn't frighten the life out of her. Surely she can feel it pressing on her from behind?

I move my hands to her waist and hold them there. She slides her own hands over mine, and rests the back of her head on my shoulder. I look down at her, and notice that she's closed her eyes. I smile to myself. With a breathy voice, she admits that it's been a long time since she's courted a man, and that she's in love with me. In love with me? I don't know if she is, but a confession of love seems a bit hasty under the circumstances. She's had champagne and sherry, and of course, I have too. Despite this, I gently nudge my chin against her cheek. I make my own admission to her, saying her flirtatious behaviour had not gone unnoticed before. I tell her that I've resisted because of my marital status, which is true. Retaliating against my wife is juvenile, I add. She asks me, what is it I'm doing now, if it's not retaliation? Well, there's a question. I answer her truthfully: I don't know. I then nuzzle into her neck, inhaling her gentle, floral scent. My breathing is quickening, and so is hers. God is going to strike me down for this, I know it. Lust is one of the seven deadly sins, and I'm a God fearing man.

I spin her around to face me, pulling her to me close. My arm is wrapped around her waist, and my palm rests on the small of her back. She looks up at me with wide, green eyes. She speaks my name and smiles. I cannot resist her any longer and I kiss her cheeks. Her chin. Her lips. She moans softly. She brings her mouth to mine, quite forcefully. She bites on my bottom lip, and plants kisses on my chin and all over my jawline. Her tongue runs down the muscles in my neck, and she nibbles at my flesh with her teeth. Ouch! She's instinctual, but I like it.

She hurriedly unbuttons my waistcoat, then reaches beneath to my undershirt. Then she undoes the knot in my bow tie, yanking it from my neck and tossing it to the floor. Her next move is to open my shirt buttons in quick succession. My chest is partially exposed now, to a lady who isn't my wife. I've never done this before with anyone else and it feels risky. But I still can't help myself, and I hardly have a chance to do anything; the lass is in control and she's like a feral wildcat. I must say, she is quite the eye opener! My lady wife is rather clinical during bedroom moments, but Mimi is a different experience entirely. She's passionate, and there's a fire between us.

She scrapes her long nails down my chest and all the way down my middle. I shudder at her touch; what she's doing is intensely erotic. Now she's panting, and by God, I'm panting. She slides her hands between my legs, over of my trousers, and caresses me in places I've almost forgotten are there. Sweet Lord. She sinks to her knees and begins to unfasten my trouser buttons. Oh, heavens alive, what is she doing now? As if I didn't know. Had my wife been less prudish over the years, I could've experienced sensations like these a long time ago. Mimi's good at this. Very good. I wonder if it's true, that she hasn't been with a man in such a while. That's not the way it looks to me. But it doesn't really matter, and I won't call her a liar. She knows how to give a man pleasure, of that I have no doubt.

I gently wind my fingers through her hair as she pleases me with her mouth. She only does this for a minute, two at the most. The feeling is exquisite, but she stops before I reach that point of no return. She gets up from her knees, looking me in the eyes as she does so. Then she drags me over to my desk and sits on top of it, hitching up her dress. I need no persuasion whatsoever. She pulls me forward and wraps her legs around my waist. Her legs! She lies back on the desk, completely horizontal. She grins at me and I beg her to let me in, but she teases me a little longer first. She makes me wait, working me with her hand instead. Then, without any warning, she guides me into her with great haste. And so we consummate our ''friendship'' right there on my desk, with my notes flying and blueprints falling to the floor in our frenzy of passion. It takes two minutes from start to end, but it's quite phenomenal. We finish, and I hold her close to my chest as our ragged breathing begins to subside. I shake my head and she giggles softly, knowing that what we've just done breaks social taboos. Neither of us says a word to the other.

Oh yes, it's wrong. It's filthy. I've made a mockery of my marriage vows, and I'll surely go to Hell for doing this. Forgive me, Lord. But it feels divine. I have a hunch that it may not be the last illicit encounter between us. This sort of excitement is what I need in my life. What we did isn't right, but the lass is worth it. As I said, she's certainly opened my eyes. Even thinking about her leaves me all a-flustered...

Now then, back to business. Maybe I should tell everyone the story of when I hand counted all three million of those rivets... ?