It took about a month to get all the boxes sold and distributed but the customer base was expanding rapidly. Once the word got out that Cuban Cigars were available the pre-orders started rolling in.
I thought I would try a different travel route this time. I decided to fly direct to Havana from Tijuana Mexico. I had some friends drive me down to TJ and pick me up when I returned. It’s still as risky as flying. I have to get across the border at TJ taking my chances there at the US Customs checkpoint.
The return trip to Havana turned into one long party day. We started drinking at a bar in Redondo Beach at about one in the afternoon before heading south to the border. San Diego was about a two-hour drive and from there, it’s only 18 miles to Mexico.
Once we crossed into Mexico we made another pit-stop at a cantina on Revolution Blvd. The Tequila shots and Corona’s were flowing like water. After a few greasy tacos and a few Margaritas to wash them down, they dumped me at the airport around 5 p.m. for my 8:30 flight. It was roughly five hours to Havana.
With the time difference, the direct flight landed at Jose Marti around 5 a.m. I got through immigration and customs rather quickly and took a taxi to Manny’s house. When I pulled up, Manolo was waiting for me on the front steps of his building and helped me carry up my bags.
He told me an American was staying in my room but he was checking out around ten in the morning.
“Let’s go for a beer, Danny,” said Manny.
“Sounds good to me”
We put my bags in Manny’s room and he gave me a Monte number two for the ride.
I grabbed a few bucks and my black beret and exited down the back steps into the garage. Manny owned a Czech motorcycle with a sidecar. Coolest thing I ever saw. We pushed it outside, gunned it up and I jumped in the car.
It was another “peak experience” as Psychologist Abraham Maslow called it. We were cruising down the Malecon as the sky was turning from dark to light, casting its first streaks of sunlight across the ocean. With the cool breeze blowing on my face and the waves crashing over the sea wall, it was magical. I was back in Havana.
He took me to the famous Hotel Deauville in Centro Havana off the Malecon. It was built in the casino/hotel boom of the 1950s by American mobster Santo Trafficante, Jr. It was co-venture with President Fulgencio Batista who in the 50’s offered tax incentives to encourage construction and Casino projects in Havana.
The Hotel Riviera, Hotel Capri, Hotel St. John, and the Havana Hilton, all resulted from these government incentives.
The Deauville is just a shell today of what it once was in Havana’s glory days. We sat in the front lounge and drank several cans of Bucanero.
We went back to Manny’s at about 9:30 as the American gentleman was getting ready to leave. He was a unique-looking individual. About six feet tall, with long blonde hair, and dressed in a commercial pilot’s uniform. I assumed he was a pilot for an American Airlines company but the look didn’t match the profession.
His name was Kirt and he was also from California. He said he was in Havana looking for airplane parts. He claimed he’d be back in a week or two.
“The pussy is amazing here, and cheap,” said Kirt.
Well, he was right about that. As soon as Kirt was gone and room was cleaned, I hit the sack.
The next thing I know someone is knocking on my bedroom door. “Hey, Danny, what d’ya say, Danny?” “It’s noon Danny.”
Jesus Christ! “OK George,” I yelled through the door. “Give me five minutes.” I crawled out of bed, took a quick shower and we walked down to Wakamba for a bowl of spaghetti. Afterward, we stopped at the Hotel Nacional for a few drinks on the back patio. After the second drink, I told George I’d catch him later and went back to Manny’s for a nap.
Later that evening I went to the Monseigneur cafeteria and had a couple of drinks. Alfredo was there so we shot the shit for a few minutes then I headed up La Rampa. I took a slow walk around the block, past the theater and ice cream park, past La Roca restaurant, and back down 21st Street to Manny’s.
Manny had an authentic Cuban dish of chicken and rice prepared when I got back. After a dish of flan for dessert and an espresso, I went across the street to a little outdoor bar on the side of the Nacional. There were several plastic tables with chairs to sit down. They only served beer so I grabbed a Hatuey and lit a cigar.
I noticed two young girls hitchhiking across the street on the Malecon. One was a dark-haired girl and the other one was a petite blonde wearing powder blue spandex shorts, a black tank top, and flip-flops. They kept staring at me so I gave them a high sign and they started walking in my direction.
As they approached the table I asked them if I could buy them a beer and they both giggled at each other and said “Si.” They pulled out some chairs and sat down. I shook their hands and said, “Daniel.” The dark-haired girl was Clara and the blonde was Sonya. I went back up to the counter and ordered two more beers.
After a few minutes of struggling to make conversation, a man and woman appear in the distance and begin walking toward us from the Malecon. I saw them earlier, sitting on the break wall about 30 feet down from where the girls were hitchhiking. Maybe they were some kind of a tag team of scammers?
Sensing something was off, I proceeded with caution. The girls were young and pretty and probably bait for some kind of a tourist trap. The lady walked up and introduced herself as Sonya’s mother and the guy as her friend from the neighborhood. I invited them to join me for a drink. I grabbed a few Cristal’s and sat there trying to communicate without much luck. They seemed a little intimidated talking with an American from California.
I don’t know how old little Sonya was but she was stunning. Her blonde hair fell to the middle of her back and she had beautiful dark chocolate eyes and a perfectly round little ass. After a few moments of chitchatting, the mother invited me to their house the following evening for dinner so I could get to know their daughter better.
I went up to the counter and grabbed a pen and pencil and had her write down the directions. After another round of drinks, Mom got up and said hasta mañana. I hugged Sonya and told her I’d see her the following evening. I couldn’t get that image of the little blonde’s ass in those tight, blue spandex pants out of my head. Still, in the back of my mind, I sensed something wasn’t right.
Maybe this could be some kind of a setup. The dude that was tagging along looked like a cop and was wearing those black Army boots that Cuban cops wear. Better safe than sorry, I needed to let this one go. There would be another one of Castro’s cuties around the next corner.
The next night I was sitting at the same place when a couple of guys came rolling up on bicycles. They introduced themselves and asked me if I needed anything in broken English. Half kiddingly I said, “Yeah, I need something… a beautiful young girl with really big tits.” If you can help me out, I would appreciate it.” They looked at each other nodded their heads assuredly and told me they could bring a girl tomorrow. They asked me to meet them on the corner past the Hotel Capri at 7 pm.
Manolo and I shared one of his famous lobster dinners again with lots of melted butter. Butter was harder to find in Havana than lobsters. On the side, we had white rice and plantains. After dinner, we enjoyed an espresso on the balcony and drank a couple of shots of Havana Club 7-year rum.
Manny legally owned the house that he lived in. It was originally his grandfather’s place. When his grandfather died, his father brought the family in from the country to live in Vedado. His father who worked in the sugar industry was jailed at the beginning of the revolution for being considered a wealthy capitalist.
After Manny finished college at the University of Havana, he bought the deed to the house from the Cuban government so now he owns it free and clear. Because of the location, I think it will be worth a fortune in the future – in post-revolution Cuba. If there ever is a “post-revolution.”
Since it was approximately 7 o’clock, I thought I’d saunter up the street to see if I could spot the bicycle boys. When I reached the Capri, I noticed my jineteros were sitting across the street, and lo and behold, they had a girl sitting betwixt them.
The girl appeared to be a pretty teenager with dark features and really big tits, all wrapped up in a low-cut, full-body red spandex, one-piece bodysuit. HO-LEE-SHIT!
My eyes almost popped out of my head when I got a closer look at the chick. She was really cute and when she stood, she showed me had an incredible ass to go along with the big tits. I invited everyone for a drink at a little outdoor restaurant on La Rampa. Her name was Alyeska. She offered to stay with me that night but would need $30 in the morning for her mother. Of course, I agreed.
The boys made their exit and I walked Alyeska back to Manny’s house. We went out on the balcony and she sat on my lap in the rocking chair. It was another romantic experience. Feeling the warmth of her skin against mine, we didn’t try to speak. When our eyes met, a silent conversation ended between us.
Then the gentle, hesitant touch and our lips finally met. A soft delicate kiss, our lips molded to one another, a perfect fit. I walked the young lady into my bedroom. She showered and climbed into bed naked. I turned off the light and climbed in next to her.
The room wasn’t entirely dark. There was some light filtering through the slates of the window. There was Latin music coming from somewhere in the distance. As Alyeska lay on her back, I reached over and pulled her close, and pulled her head to my chest. It was a way of relaxing her and letting her know that everything would be alright.
I slowly pulled the covers down exposing her large breasts and I slowly began to message them one at a time. Her nipples grew hard when I pinched them and she started to moan when I began to suck them. They stood erect like large studs in the center of large brown areolas.
She had a shy, passive nature, which brought out my domineering side. The more passive she behaved the more domineering I became. I grabbed a handful of her thick, curly hair and held her head against the mattress so she couldn’t move.
I brought my middle finger down and slid it over her pussy. Then I let my fingertip slip between her folds and felt her wetness. She sighed and tried to turn away but she was pinned. Her eyes rolled back into her head.
I parted her with two fingers and found her little wet clit and began rubbing it in small circles. She gave a crying sound as I put my lips against hers to muffle her voice. The taste of her, the smell of her, the feel of her, so close to my skin was unforgettable. She was lost in a sea of pleasure now. There was no turning back now for my little girl.
She started thrusting from side to side but couldn’t break away from her powerful master. She was convulsing against my hand and I was rubbing faster and faster when she released her squirting wet orgasm into my large worker’s hand. She gasped for her breath and then slowly began to relax as her breathing quieted. She lay there, hot and damp from the exertion of her orgasm.
Our lovemaking was completely unselfish. She was spent from my domineering play so I forfeited my moments of pleasure for hers. There would be more nights together. I just wanted to give her a forced orgasm that she wouldn’t forget. If you can make a girl cum like that, you can get away with a lot thereafter. She was mine now.
The following morning, we were awakened by the sound of laughter coming from the adjoining room. She lay there with a stoic look as I messaged her tits and sucked her nipples. We took a shower together and went out on the balcony for coffee. As promised, I gave the busty bitch $30. I wrote MOMMY on the envelope and folded it into her hand.
My guess is she paid a $10 commission to the bicycle boys for their introduction and brought $20 home to her family. What a night. It was another incredible experience. I had full intentions of exploring this relationship further but didn’t think it would be so soon.
The following morning Alyeska returned to my apartment and brought a cute, young friend named Marta. Her petite little friend had sandy blonde hair and beautiful brown eyes. We sat around my bedroom for a while drinking beers and then I invited them to the pool at the Hotel Nationals. I brought a bikini with me and as luck would have it, it fit Alyeska like a glove, exposing her big breasts and the tops of her beautiful chocolaty brown areolas.
Marta was satisfied wearing shorts to the pool. The security guard stopped us at the entrance and started berating me about bringing teen girls to the family-friendly pool. After a minute or two of this guy’s bullshit, I looked at the girls and said “Vamos.” We walked up LA Rampa to the Habana Libre pool on the second floor.
Besides the lifeguard, we were the only ones there. We frolicked around for a while and played some tag. When Alyeska rode on my shoulders around the pool, her tits kept falling out of her bikini top. The lifeguard didn’t seem to mind.
As the afternoon began to fade away, they had a poolside lunch of Cubano Sandwiches and cokes while I downed a few Cuba Libres’. Since the hotel was close to Centro Habana, we said our goodbyes in the front lobby. They went one way and I went the other.
That evening George showed up with a plastic bottle of “gooney” rum. It’s the rum that’s made specifically for sale in Cuban peso stores and not for retail outlets. We sat there under an awning in the drizzling rain on the corner of calles O y 21 drinking rum and cokes. It took a few glasses but I was catching a buzz from that crap.
George told me stories about the glory days in Havana especially when this street corner was THE place to be on a Saturday night. Hookers dressed “to the nines,” men in dark silk suits, stretch limousines pulling in and out of the Casino Nacional all night long. When Havana was the glamorous, gambling capital of the world.
The following night I went for a walk and found myself at the Habana Libre again hunting for pussy. As usual, there were lots of girls sitting at the front of the building. As I walked around the circle, a girl called out to me, “Daniel.” It was Anna from Centro Havana. Shifting back to business, I agreed to meet her Uncle Francisco the following afternoon.
The next day, I went to lunch at the Capri Hotel then headed over to the Habana Libre for my meeting. Sure enough, as soon as I approached the hotel, I saw Anna sitting in front with a large black dude. She introduced me to Uncle Francisco who looked like a smaller version of Mike Tyson. He was stocky, about five foot nine and dark skinned
Anna told me he worked as a roller at the Partagas factory in Old Havana and could get me anything I wanted. It sounded too good to be true. Only Partagas cigars or other brands as well? After every brand I mentioned, he said ‘SI.” I didn’t know that they made a variety of brands at the Partagas factory. I’d give him a shot.
We went to the Atrium for a drink and I drew up a list I needed delivered in three days. Could I trust them? If they don’t come through, my time to acquire 10 boxes somewhere else will be very limited. Anna said he could also provide me with a factura (factory receipt). Anna explained it was the blue, serial-numbered receipt from the factory or retail store I would need to show customs when I left the country.
I didn’t need a receipt last month. I just checked them underneath and that was it. Is he hustling me for ten extra bucks or is he telling me the truth.? I’m not sure, but I guess it’s better if I have a receipt just in case. I agreed to the deal and we went our separate ways. They went to work and I walked around the corner and headed for the Hotel Nacional to see if my favorite bartender Israel was working.
That evening I sauntered over to the Monseigneur cafeteria and guess who’s sitting there? My new friend Francisco and his niece Anna. They had a friend with them from Centro Havana named Melanis. She was a very cute Mulatta girl in her early 20s with a cute smile. She spoke a little English so we chatted for a while and I bought her a Coke. I knew immediately she wasn’t a jinetera.
Melanis had gone to a sports school in Cuba and competed in the 1991 Pan American Games that were held in Havana. She won a bronze medal in the two-person Kayak event. She was a girl I wanted to see again.
I promised her I’d look her up when I came back to Havana at Christmas.
On my last afternoon, I was getting kind of frantic because I hadn’t heard from Francisco all day when the doorbell rang around 5 o’clock. He didn’t have the cigars with him but they were ready for pick up in his neighbor’s house in Centro Havana. He was worried about the policia stopping him if he was walking on the street with a large duffle bag. We were out the door and in a taxi within minutes.
We arrived at Calle Neptuno within minutes and went to a ground-floor house with tall doors and knocked. A man named Rene opened the door and let us in. On the floor of the living room, all the goodies were stacked up. Partagas, Montecristo, Ramon Allones, Cohiba and even hard to find Trinidads. At $40 a box, I’m looking at a resale price of at least 8x. I paid Francisco, borrowed his duffle bag and headed back to Manolo’s.
On my final night, I hung around the house, drinking rum and packing my red canvas duffel bag. When I finished, I went to the Nacional for one last drink. Israel was working the bar upstairs in the pool room so I hung out for an hour and made it back to Manny’s by midnight.
The following morning, I arrived at Jose Marti about two hours early. I checked the red bag with 12 boxes and went through customs with two boxes in my carry-on. When my bag got x-rayed, the officer asked me if the bag was mine. He asked me where I bought the cigars. “Partagas Factory,” I said.
My receipt total was 1,240 dollars. He told me there was a one-thousand-dollar limit on cigars you’re allowed to depart the country with, but this time he would let it slide. Strangely, there’s a limit on the number of boxes you can export… but Cuba is Cuba.
I landed in Tijuana and passed through immigration quickly and claimed my bag. The customs agent looked at my form and told me to push the button on the traffic light. It came up green and I didn’t waste any time exiting the airport under the watchful eyes of Mexican Federale’s, local police, customs agents and who knows who else.
Joey and John were waiting for me when I came out of the terminal. Joey told me that his truck had a hidden compartment behind the seat where I could hide my cigars as we crossed the border into the US. So I look behind the seat and there is only about nine inches of space. Now what am I going to do?
Joey thinks for a second and smiles at me. “Just put the bag in the bed of the truck like we ain’t got nothing to hide.”
“Are you fuckin’nuts?” I replied.
Then I thought for a second and figured maybe he was right. We didn’t have much choice now and maybe a bright red bag sitting alone in the bed of a bright red truck would ease any suspicions an agent might have about hidden contraband. Guess it’s better than having him find a bag full of Cuban cigars hidden behind the driver’s seat.
At the US checkpoint, the agent ran Joey’s California license plate and asked to see his driver’s license. Then asked each of us individually where we were from. He wanted to know the nature of our trip to Mexico and we told him just a weekend of drunken nonsense in Tijuana.
The agent smiled. “You look like three hungover fools.”
We were laughing when he handed Joey his driver’s license and the gate went up. He told us to have a nice day and proceed into the “Land of the Free and Home of the Brave.”
