It had been about two years since my sexcapades began in Havana and now there was a cigar boom taking over the country. Magazines like Cigar Aficionado and Smoke Magazine were on the newsstands and everyone was jonesing for a Cuban stogie. The demand was crazy and buyers were willing to pay just about anything for an original Cuban.
My brother was working in the financial world and had a lot of high-end clients who wanted to buy Cubans cigars; for bragging rights if nothing else.
So, one day he says to me, “Listen, if I give you $3,000 could you go back to Havana and bring back 12 boxes of cigars?”
“Hell yeah,” I said excitedly.
“OK, order your tickets,” he says, “and let me know when you’re ready to go.”
I repeated the same routine as my first trip. I ordered my visa from the Embassy of Switzerland in Washington DC and made a run down to Tijuana to pick up my airline tickets from the Montfort Agency. I decided to fly to Cancun this time. From there, it’s only a 50-minute flight to Havana. Before I knew it, I was on my way to the airport.
Arriving in Cancun, I was stunned by the heat as soon as the door of the plane opened. Had to deal with another 24-hour layover so I made the best of it. Weaving through the busy traffic and the heavy heat of the Yucatan, I made it into town and rented a small hotel room in the downtown area.
Carrying three grand in cash made me a little uncomfortable. I checked into a small motel, hid my money in the ceiling light, and went out for an authentic Mexican dinner and a couple of beers. At a little Cantina near the the motel, I played a couple of games of pool with the locals and sat at the bar and drank tequila shots and Corona’s. It was late afternoon and the sky was turning dark blue when I stumbled back to my room to check on the money and have a short nap.
Later that evening I went back to the Cantina for a drink. A kid asked me if I wanted to play a game of pool, so I shot a game with this local Mexicano. He bought me a beer when I won and I bought him back then he won and it became a back-and-forth thing for a while but I was getting a little suspicious. This kid was overly friendly so I told him I had to make a phone call and I’d be back later.
I got up the next morning and had a free continental breakfast at the motel. Check-out was 1:00 pm so I asked the hotel manager if I could keep my bag behind the counter until 4 o’clock because my flight wasn’t till 7:30 pm. He agreed so I jumped in a taxi and I went down to a small bar on the ocean and I had an inexpensive, albeit amazing lobster dinner.
The lobster, grilled in butter cost eight dollars. Of course, I had a couple more beers and looked at surfing memorabilia and photos of locals on the walls of the restaurant. I got back to the motel around four and grabbed my bag from the motel. I flagged down a taxi for the airport and asked the driver for a special favor.
I said, “Excuse me, I still have three or four hours before my flight leaves would you mind hanging out with me for a few hours and I’ll buy you dinner and drinks and give you a flat rate of fifty bucks?”. He agreed, so we bar-hopped for a couple of hours, had a few appetizers along the way, and I got dropped at Cancun International Airport in time for my 7:40 flight.
My AeroMexico flight took off on time and I arrived at Havana’s Jose Marti Airport about an hour later. I got through customs and immigration quite easily and my bright red duffle bag dropped down the shoot and onto the turnstile after about 25 minutes.
The Customs officer took my form, glanced at it, and waved me through without a glitch. As I walked out the door of the airport a HavanaTour taxi driver approached me, “Need a ride?” he said in English.
With a surprised look on my face I said, “Yes, going to the Habana Libre Hotel.
He opened the door of his taxi and grabbed my red grip and shoulder bag and threw them in his trunk. He opened my door and I jumped in and we drove off into the warm, dark, Havana night.
He said his name was William and I asked him, “Do you know where the Habana Libre Hotel is?
He snickered to himself he said, “Of course, I’m from Havana”
After about a 25-minutes we pulled into the driveway of the hotel in the Vedado district of Havana. The Habana Libre was only a block away from Hotel Nacional and a lot cheaper.
The Habana Libre was built by the US puppet President Fulgencio Batista in the late 1950s. Conrad Hilton was even at the grand opening in ’58. At the time, it was the tallest hotel in Latin America. There’s a pool on the second floor and home to the world-famous Trader’s Vic’s. Fidel nationalized the hotel in the early days of the revolution.
Pulling up to the front door I noticed that the driveway of the hotel was loaded with a mob of young girls. It’s a large circular driveway and inside the circle, about 100 girls were sitting around smoking cigarettes and chitchatting and I was left wondering what the fuck was going on here tonight.
I asked William what was happening and he just looked at me nonchalantly and said, “What do you think; it’s Saturday night in Havana.” Oh my God, I said under my breath. I have never seen so many beautiful girls sitting around at one location for no reason other than it’s Saturday night.
I went inside and checked into the hotel. I rented a wall safe behind the front desk and stored my cash. After a shower and a change, I made a beeline back outside to take a look and see what’s what.
I walked around the circle and saw a beautiful girl with dark features in her early 20s. I asked her if she would like to have a cerveza. As I took her by the hand and started walking her back into the hotel, a skinny black girl popped up out of nowhere and pointed to my girl and said “Amiga, Amiga, and invited herself to join us for una cerveza?
I just smiled. “Ah, what the fuck,” I said, “come on.”
We sat down in the large ground-floor atrium that had white metal chairs and tables and ordered some drinks. There were couples scattered around the floor having cocktails and an unappreciated pianist playing Chopin under the staircase. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a waiter walks up to me and says in English, “What can I get for you, sir?”
What luck! Another person on the same night who spoke English. He introduced himself as Rudy and took our order. I ordered a Cuba Libre and both girls ordered Hautuey Beers. Well after a couple of rounds, I started to wonder how I was going to get these two lusty little bitches back upstairs to my room on the 12th floor.
I introduced myself as Daniel and the black girl shook my hand and smiled, “Elisa” and the white girl said “Liset, mucho gusto.” I motioned to Rudy for another round and told the girls I’d be back in uno momento.
They sat there, watching me like a hawk as I walked around the perimeter of the lobby looking for a way to solve my dilemma. Then I noticed on the back wall near the elevators a fire escape stairwell door hidden by a large palm tree in a pot. I opened it and saw the staircase leading up to the 12th floor. Bingo!
I went back to the table to share my discovery with the young ladies. I pointed to the stairway door and then toward the ceiling. They nodded their heads and smiled. “Doce,” I said and spelled the number 12 on my palm with my finger. They smiled again and repeated it “Doce.” “Si, I said. Cuarto doce, doce,” and spelled out the number 1212 on the table.
I finished my drink, pointed to the ceiling again, got up, and went to the elevator. On the 12th floor, I opened the door to the stairwell and waited nervously. Several minutes later I heard the sounds of girls giggling in the stairwell and I knew the plan was working.
As they came out of the fire escape, I was standing in the doorway of my room looking up and down the hall to make sure the coast was clear. My room was a few doors down from the stairwell and as I waved, they came running down the hallway laughing and leaped inside. I closed the door behind them and listened for any sounds in the hallway.
We fell onto the bed, kissed each other for a while, and played around until I got up to order some drinks. I called downstairs and asked for 2 Cuba Libre’s and 4 beers. As we waited for the drinks to arrive, the girls went into the bathroom and showered together.
With the sound of running water in the background, I stood in the window and looked out over the glittering lights of Havana. Down on the second floor was a large pool and then beyond that was the glittering lights of
Here I am again I thought, back in the forbidden land of Cuba Libre’s and Montecristo’s. My first night and I’m in an air-conditioned room with two hot girls and we’re about to fuck each other to death. Am I dreaming?
My spell was broken when the girls emerged from the bathroom with just towels wrapped around them. Liset graceful and dark-haired, grabbed a towel and began to pat her young breasts. They sat down on the bed and Liset opened her purse and pulled out a red pack of Hollywood cigarettes. There was a knock at the door and they jumped back into the bathroom.
I signed for the drinks and called them out for a cold one. They just sat there on the bed, smiling from ear to ear, their backs against the headboard. I took off my shirt and climbed in between him wearing only my thin cotton shorts.
We sat there sipping our drinks until Elisa put her beer on the nightstand, turned back, and started kissing me as Liset started to untie my shorts. It was the first time I had been with a black girl and I liked it. It was a little kinky which added to the experience.
Liset was a beautiful Latina with long, jet-black hair, alabaster skin, and dark eyes. Of course, by now my dick is as hard as a rock so she took it in her hand and start stroking it. Then she devoured and I felt myself growing big and hard inside her mouth. Nice and wet, she slowly sucked the head in and out of her mouth while I’m still deep kissing Elisa.
When the towels came off I laid on my back. Elisa climbed up on me as Liset rubbed my chest and kissed me passionately. Elisa pushed my cock into your pussy and just began slowly riding it up and down, up and down in a slow rhythmic motion. I couldn’t wait to feel myself inside Liset. I didn’t have to wait long.
After about five blissful minutes Elisa rolled off and started passionately kissing me. Liset didn’t miss a beat. She took over where Elisa left off and rode me in a smooth up-and-down rhythm. It was as if they were a well-rehearsed tag team. Maybe they were… Up and down, up and down, up and down motion that gave me a feeling of ecstasy that I had never experienced before.
Time to change positions. They alternated lying on their backs and I’d take them in the good ol’ missionary position that allowed me to push myself deep into their love shaft. When I’d lean back on my knees one nympho would slide out and the other one would slide under and take her place.
When I leaned back against the headboard to take a short rest they took turns sucking my cock and licking my balls. We fucked from every conceivable position and angle I could think of and a few I’d never thought of before. The first time I looked at the clock it was 2:26 am.
We took a break and I went downstairs to the 24-hour cafeteria and got us some sandwiches. When I returned, they were sitting up like two hungry puppies waiting for their master to return. We devoured the snacks on the white sheets and before long we were playing again, crumbs and all, kissing and fondling until we finally fell asleep sometime near dawn.
I woke up between the two ladies like three spoons in a drawer. It was 8:00. The girls started to move around and Liset climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom. As soon as I heard the shower running, little Elisa started tree climbing again, back up on my hard cock and we started all over again.
Like clockwork, when Liset came out of the bathroom, Elisa climbed off my dick and went in the bathroom. I thought it was rest time, but who was I kidding? Liset took off her towel and with her wet hair dripping on my chest she took over where Liset left off and pushed my cock into her pussy and started riding it.
It was close to 10 before the girls were showered, dressed, and ready to hit those dirty, rotten streets of Havana. I went to the closet and pulled out 2 twenties and 2 fives and handed it to them. They smiled and couldn’t have been more thrilled if I’d handed them a thousand dollars wrapped in a red ribbon. I told them to come back esta noche at ocho. They gave me a thumbs up.
I opened the door and looked up and down the red-carpeted hallway. At the far end of the hall a maid’s cart was parked so I motioned that the coast was clear. They kissed me as they left and ran into the stairwell giggling. I went back to and fell back into bed.
After dozing back to sleep for about 2 hours, I dragged my sorry ass into the shower and then went downstairs to the cafeteria and had some bacon and eggs. It was time to go to Old Havana and begin my mission of finding the list of requested cigars at the best prices.
As soon as I walked outside, a cabbie waved to me and I said “Partagas Factory“ and jumped in the back seat. As we drove down the Malecon, the Gulf was a deep blue and a stiff breeze caused white caps to roll over the waves. Young people sat on the wall, dreaming of better days.
We turned right on Paseo del Prado, once considered the most beautiful street in the world. I told the taxi to stop at the curb and got out to walk along the tree-lined promenade with its bronze-sculptured lions, coral stone walls, and marble benches that offered a glimpse into the beauty and majesty of Havana’s past.
In the distance, I could see the El Capitolo building with its dome top modeled after the Capitol building in Washington. When I reached Hotel Plaza, I went inside to the lobby bar and ordered a beer. After a couple of pops, I continued up the street several blocks, and directly behind El Capitolo, lo and behold, I found the Partagas Factory.
The factory is a four-story building with Partagas 1845 written on the top. I walked through the front door and into the world of the cigar roller torcedor and not being mistaken for a roller, I was directed into the retail store with their large display cases. Various brands and sizes of cigars were stacked to the ceiling. I was in Heaven.
They had everything I was looking for including H. Upmann, Romeo y Julieta’s, Punch, Bolivar, and Ramon Allones. They also carried a wide variety of Montecristo, Ramon Allones, and a variety of different brands with boxes ranging from $125 up, depending on the brand and size. I knew I was in luck. I could fill the order and stay within my budget.
After an Espresso at the bar, I lit a Romeo Churchill and started my trek back to the Prado. I figured I’d have another cocktail or two at the Plaza. Through the cut-glass doors, I walked into another time, into the 1800s with its white marble floors, lobby statues, and stained-glass bar. I ordered a Hatuey beer and enjoyed my cigar.
After a couple of beers, it was time to head back to the Habana Libre to plan my night. Out in the September heat again the sidewalk of the Prado was a river of faceless faces. Some glanced at me with curious eyes. Most were lost in conversation about the heat, food, or the difficulty of life. If they knew I was an American, their gazes may have lasted a bit longer and deeper.
My mission was interrupted by a voice “Welcome to my country.” I paused and turned around to find a tall man framed by the haze of the sun. Stepping into a shadow the silhouette became a large black man with a wide bright smile and pure white hair.
Speaking English, I assumed he was a foreigner like myself. I stood there, looking a bit surprised “Where are you from?”
“Right here, Cuba”, he replied. “this is my country”.
“Just curious,” I said, “but where did you learn to speak English?
He reached out his big hand and introduced himself, “George McCatty, ‘service with a smile,” and started his pitch.
“My parents are Jamaican,” said George. “English was my first language, even before I learned Spanish. I grew up in Camaguey but I’ve been in Havana since the 50s. Where are you staying, asked George?”
Although my street sense made me a bit cautious, George’s warmth and genuineness disarmed me and I felt an instant camaraderie with this man. I told him the truth. “Habana Libre.”
“How much are you paying there?” he asked.
“$85 a night George.”
George had an idea. “Why don’t you stay in a private house, a casa particular, have your own room and only pay $25 a day. You don’t have to worry. You can bring as many girls to your room as you like.”
“That sounds like a good idea George,” I said.
George smiled. “I can bring you there and show you the room now if you’d like”
“I’m busy today,” I said. “But I can see it tomorrow if that’s okay.
“See you tomorrow,” said George.
We shook hands and promised to meet at noon the following day. Same time, same place. As I started walking away George shouted, “Danny, is that 12 o’clock American time or Cuban Time?”
I yelled back “American!” He laughed and gave me a wave. George was still standing on the side of the Plaza when I flagged down a taxi and was probably still standing there when I reached the Habana Libre.
I went straight upstairs, took a quick shower and decided to go down to the lobby for a drink before I went out on the town. I sat down in the atrium and ordered a Cuba Libre from Rudy. Rudy always looked professional in his burgundy vest, bow tie, and dark pants.
There was so little English spoken at the time that I cherished the opportunity to speak English with a local Habanero. I told Rudy I was from California and he got very excited. He told me he had never met an American before and he was thrilled with the opportunity to speak English with me.
Though Rudy was a short guy, he had the typical dark Latin features. He had been working at the Habana Libre for a couple of years and had never served an American before. It didn’t take long before we got on the subject of martial arts and Rudy told me that he had a black belt in karate.
As a former martial artist myself, I promised Rudy I’d bring him martial arts magazines from California on my next trip. If there was a next trip. I also had some Karate weapons and maybe even a gi that I could bring him as well.
I was sitting at a table near the front door of the atrium and as usual, the first Cuba Libre tasted so good I ordered a second. As I sat there just observing patrons around the lobby two young girls walked in the front door and stood near me looking at a ballet poster propped up near the entrance.
I immediately realized that these two young girls were ballerinas themselves. Their hair was tied back in a tight bun and I could tell by the way they carried themselves that they were dancers. After a few minutes of observing them, I got up, walked over to them, and asked if I could buy them a Coke.
Somehow, with my very limited Spanish, I was able to convince them to come over to my table and join me for a drink. One of the girls was a beautiful blonde, petite with green eyes and the other was a shorter, coffee-colored girl with beautiful blow job lips. The mulatta spoke a little bit of English so we started conversing and got to know each other a little bit.
When they finished their drinks, I asked them to come back in the evening and I would like to take them to dinner at the Hotel Nacional. Surprisingly, they agree. We shook hands and agreed to meet at 5 o’clock in front of Habana Libre. I put the odds of them returning about 40/60 against.
Shortly after 5 o’clock, I was having a casual drink in the lobby bar when I noticed three young girls walking up the driveway. I met them at the front door and the cute little black girl Yenet introduced her older sister Yandra. I was taken aback when Yandra handed me a 4-pack of Montecristo No. 4 cigars. Along with the blonde ballerina appropriately named Blanca, we strolled down La Rampa to the Hotel National.
The National had a nice, Polynesian-themed restaurant in the backyard that specialized in roasted chicken Pollo Asado and other simple Cuban dishes. We were seated for dinner and I ordered some drinks. With my limited Spanish and Yandra’s broken English, we were able to make a bit of a conversation. They were fascinated to meet an American but I only had one thing on my mind.
After dinner, I was a little tipsy so we went to the front of the hotel and jumped into a taxi. I guess I could blame it on being drunk, but I did something next that I would regret later. As the taxi pulled up in front of the Habana Libre, I asked Blanca if she would like to spend the night with me. Yanet and Yandra giggle thinking I was jesting. I told Blanca I would give her some dinero in the morning to take home to her family.
Naturally, she leaped out of the taxi. I gave a half-hearted wave to the sisters and walked into the hotel behind Blanca. Unfortunately, I would never see the sisters again… They treated me very respectfully, so it was a bad move to take their friend for the night, but at the time, I was burning up with “Cuban Fever.”
Blanca was truly a beautiful young girl. With her natural blonde hair and aqua-blue eyes, she may have been of Russian descent considering Russians have integrated into the culture since the beginning of the revolution.
I could tell from her body language Blanca was feeling a little uncomfortable. I assured her that I would just like to spend the night with her, and she wasn’t under any pressure to perform.
I explained to her the only way to get up to my room without getting nabbed by security was the ol’ fire escape trick.
There I was again, on the 12th floor looking down the escape and seeing a tiny hand on the railing winding up the staircase. It was like a mirage seeing this beautiful, young ballerina, tiptoeing out of the stairway and into my room.
She was very delicate, quiet, and a bit shy. I was very passionate with her as we shared a wonderful night of gentle lovemaking. We were up at first light and I could sense she was anxious to go home. As she was leaving, I handed her $30 and watched her tiptoe down the hallway and into the fire escape.
I imagined her tiptoeing through the bustling, spacious lobby of the once-famous Havana Hilton Hotel, through the crowded lobby full of horny tourists and disappearing into the morning sun of Havana. I had netted another fish last night, but I should have thrown this one back, into the cesspool of life here, where there’s no chance of escape from a failed revolution.
I took a shower and went down to the lobby to have a sandwich. I didn’t linger because I had an appointment with a tall Afro-Cuban with pure white hair named George at noon “American time.” I ordered another beer for the road, went out the front door into the beautiful Cuban sunlight, and yelled “Prado.” An 80s yellow Lada pulled up with a smoking tailpipe and I jumped inside.
