Havana Club Ch. 03

Chapter 3 – The Outdoor Living Room

When I got down to the basement, the breakfast buffet wasn't open yet. I walked around, looking at the posters of plays hanging on the wall. Some were Soviet, all (of course) in Spanish. There was a plaque outside the dining room declaring that this was the site where the Young Rebels Organization was founded in 1960. Back home, we have Rotary International. Then the cigarette machine caught my eye. Along with brands I didn't recognize were Marlboro and Winston. So much for the embargo. Again. While I was musing over this, I heard the doors of the dining room open. I joined the handful of other early risers in getting a table. Most of them looked like Americans. I guess more of the 200,000.

As I walked in, I was greeted by a chilled display of fresh fruit. A snowman was crafted out of melons and carrots. He was surrounded by oranges and what I thought were unusually colored watermelons. To my astonishment, I realized they were actually the largest, orangest mangoes I had ever seen. The local produce looked incredible. There was also obviously imported produce such as apples. I found a table, where a waitress took my order for orange juice. I returned to the buffet and helped myself to a staggering variety of foods – sausages, bacon, toast, breads, fresh fruit, yogurt, cereals and eggs. As I was serving myself, I guiltily remembered what Felicita said about how many meals a day usually include meat. The hotel obviously fell under the category of "dollar store". I concentrated more on the yogurt and fruit. I returned to my table and sat. My gaze was directed ahead of me out of the floor to ceiling windows. They looked out to the Malecon near a large statue, then beyond the seawall to the harbor. Bobbing on the bright blue water were maybe hundreds of rowboats. Each was being rowed out to sea. In mid-bite, it occurred to me with a sudden thrill that a scene just as this is what inspired Ernest Hemingway to writeThe Old Man And The Sea.

The yogurt was positively nasty, almost bitter. The fresh fruit, however, was among the best I had ever tasted – especially the mango. I ended up eating mostly mangoes and muffins, although I did try many of the other choices. Remembering Felicita, I was careful to limit my waste. As I ate, I watched the fishermen heading out to sea, to the Gulf Stream for the day's work. Mariel (home of the Mariel Boatlift) was only a few miles west of where I was sitting. I thought of all the people who put their lives at great risk to try to escape the tyranny of Fidel Castro. There I was, sneaking in at almost the same place they snuck out.

After breakfast, I checked my watch and saw I had a little time before I could meet my girl at the taxi stand. I walked up the stairs to the lobby and out onto the veranda at the back of the hotel. The early morning air coming in off the harbor was surprisingly cool. I could almost have worn a jacket, in spite of the latitude. I bought a morning paper from the stand that sold postcards. It was the Granma, a propaganda publication named for the boat that had carried Fidel out of exile in Mexico back to Cuba for his second (and ultimately successful) attempt to take over Cuba. There were wicker chairs and tables set out on the high-ceilinged porch. Cages of little birds dotted the walls, set there to sing and add to the ambience. I sat and soaked up the decadence, sitting among the red tiled floor, cream colored stone walls trimmed in pink and the aged stone columns. The carvings on the stone were quite intricate. The way the stone was worn attested to its age. I wondered what Felicita's home looked like. Maybe I'd get her to show it to me. I knew I couldn't spend the night there. My visa required me to stay at a government-operated hotel in Havana for the duration of my trip. I read my paper to the sound of the birds. It contained useful information. The ads gave me an idea of what commerce was like, and the companies that might someday be my customers. The political articles told me more about the government. Before long, it was almost time to meet my driver.

I walked back in and across the lobby, then quickly up to my room to call Canada and speak the code that would tell Ross that everything was still alright. I was becoming a lot more comfortable in Cuba. There was a second code that I didn't think I'd ever need. If I placed an order for chestnuts, it meant I was in great danger and needed help. I was starting to think all this cloak and dagger stuff was ridiculous. I still knew I might have trouble returning home, but I felt pretty sure I was safe here. After getting off the phone, I went back down to the lobby, past the check-in desk, down the marble stairs (I loved the cool feel of that marble handrail) and up the palm tree lined driveway out to the street. At the street, I turned left and strolled over to the taxi stand. There were some drivers waiting with their yellow scooters, but Felicita wasn't there yet. One young driver approached me, looked me up and down, and addressed me. His tone was stern.

"Are you looking for Felicita?" he asked.

Panic washed over me.Had Felicita gotten in trouble going home last night? Had I been the cause for her arrest? I wondered. I nodded cautiously.

"She wanted you to know she had to take a fare. She will be back in about twenty minutes."

Relief now replaced the panic. I thanked him and started to continue walking along the street. The young man stepped in my path. Straightening himself up to look taller, he looked down into my eyes.

"Do you love her?" he demanded.

I wasn't sure how to answer. I decided to be honest. "Yes, I do," I said. I think my words even surprised myself.

The man's face softened. "She is my cousin. You should take care of her. I wouldn't want her to get hurt."

"I will," I promised. I said it with sincerity.

He smiled. "Good. She said you are a good man. I wanted to see for myself that it was true." Then he stuck out his hand and shook mine, clasping me on the shoulder with his other hand. "She will be back in a few minutes." He politely stepped aside to let me pass.

I walked further down the hill a ways. Behind me, I heard the put-put of a scooter climbing from the other direction. I quickly spun around, expecting to see Felicita's smiling face. I started jogging back to the taxi stand when I saw it was one of the male drivers. Disappointed, I turned around. No sooner had I started walking down the hill again than I heard another scooter. This one blew its feeble horn. I looked around and saw who I had been looking for. She passed up the taxi stand, pulling to the side of the road when she reached me. I hopped aboard and she turned around to kiss me. As I took my seat, I could see the man who had stopped me earlier. He had watched us kiss. He smiled and waved as we pulled away.

I leaned forward so I could speak in Felicita's ear. "I met your cousin," I said.

She spoke with a stern tone. "Did he bother you? He's always trying to control everything I do – just because he is older than me."

"He was just making sure my intentions were honorable," I answered with a grin.

"What did you tell him?" she asked. I could see a smile from the side of her face.

"The truth," I told her.

She quickly gave me a shocked look. "You didn't!"

"I told him I am in love with you," I explained with a big smile.

Her shocked expression turned soft. "That is no business of his. I'm glad you said that, though." She turned her attention back to the road. "I'm sorry I was late. I was next up and had to take a fare. Arturo tried to cover for me, but the other driver insisted it was my turn so I had to go."

I told her it was alright. She asked what I wanted to see today.

"You," I answered. I could see her cheek blush.

"Stop that. I am trying to concentrate on driving," she said as she checked for traffic at an intersection, then proceeded across.

"Then how about showing me where you live? I'd like to see how Cubans live."

"You don't want to see that. It is not very nice. It is not a palace like you are used to."

I laughed. "I am not used to palaces. I want to see your home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am. Your house, please."

She glanced down at her tiny gas gauge. "It is kind of far. I'll need to get gasoline on the way back."

"Don't worry about it. I will pay for it," I assured her.

With that, she stopped at the next intersection, looked over her shoulder, and turned left. We headed back along the Malecon, then through the tunnel and towards Old Havana. She was right; it was a long drive. She lived outside of the city and it took a while to get there. I sat back and watched Felicita. She was so lovely in her Havana Club t-shirt and black sunglasses perched above her forehead, with gold hoop earrings in her ears. I also watched the scenery from time to time, capturing much of it on my digital camera. I took many of the pictures from an angle that included a view of my driver. We headed out of the city now. The buildings were sparser with more decay evident. Small plots of farmland appeared along the roadside, many being plowed with livestock. From time to time, we shared the road with a tractor pulling a wagon and with many motorcycles. Cars were in the minority here and most of those were relics from the 1940's or 1950's.

The homes (if you could call them that) were small and in poor repair. Every structure seemed in need of repair and several coats of paint. Before long, we pulled up to a house where an older woman was hanging clothes on a clothesline. The woman turned to look at us when she heard the motor.

"Felicita," she called. A much older man came to the open door to see who had arrived.

The woman walked over and Felicita introduced me to her mother. We were about to exchange pleasantries when the old man spoke very loudly.

"Is this the gringo who keeps you out at all hours of the night?"

"Papa," Felicita said in a frustrated tone, "don't speak like that. This is my friend, Christopher."

"Your mother never lived like you do, working in the city." The old man was rambling about life before the revolution. Felicita's mother tried to hush him.

Felicita explained that her grandfather was senile and it was everything they could do to keep him from attracting the attention of the CDR. Her mother invited us inside and sat us at the kitchen table. I was surprised to see two apples in a basket of otherwise tropical fruit on the table. Apples are definitely not tropical produce. I was even more surprised when I picked up one of the apples. There was a familiar tiny sticker on the apple that identified it as a Washington State apple. What fucking embargo? Her mother tried to get me to eat one of the apples. I figured out that they were a luxury item because they were imported (from the U.S.!). I refused to take such a precious commodity from her – but I did take a picture of it. She brought out some bread to serve us. We all sat, her grandfather started to warm up to me, and we talked about life. I was told that it was safe to ask questions here. I inquired about how they bought food and other things. Felicita and her mother provided me with a lot of information. I was even able to photograph their meager pantry, obtaining in the process the brand names of the products they used. I took pictures all around the house. They thought it was funny that I wanted to take a picture of the bathroom, but they let me. This would all be valuable information later. We had a nice visit, but I didn't meet any of the neighbors. I got the impression that her family didn't want anyone to know she was spending time with an American. We left with a big sendoff. Her grandfather took me aside and told me in a hushed conspiratorial tone that, one day, Fidel's balls will hang in a museum in Havana. I told him I would pay to go see that. We shared a laugh. With that, Felicita and I were off. I noticed right away that we were not returning the way we had come. When I asked her, she just said something that sounded like "Retorno distincto".

We drove for a while through the countryside. She turned off the highway onto a dirt road. The paved road was rough; this road seemed impassable. I was concerned she was going to damage the scooter. We bumped along until we reached a stand of trees. She parked among the trees, at the edge of a pond. From here, we could not be seen from the highway. She got off the scooter and took me by the hand. Reaching down on the floor, she picked up a blanket and led me to a grassy spot. Next, she stretched out the blanket. She took something out of her pocket and held it up as she sat down. I saw it was another of the "love rubbers". She smiled and patted the blanket next to her. I sat down and she put her arms around my neck. She tilted her head to one side and closed her eyes. Taking my cue, I kissed her. The only sounds were our breathing and the wind in the trees. It was a brilliant day with few clouds, but it was cooler here in the shade. After the kiss, she told me how she had lost her virginity at this spot. She wanted to share it with me. I indicated with a nod that I understood. She removed her t-shirt, then her bra. I had started getting hard when I saw the condom in her hand (Pavlovian response, right?). Now, the sight of her bare breasts had my dick straining to be free. I removed my shirt as well, while she was pulling off her shoes and socks. Soon, all we were wearing were our pants. She undid the zipper, then leaned back and lifted her ass off the blanket to slide her shorts and panties down in one motion. I followed suit and we were both naked in the outdoors.

It felt so strange being outside like this, not wearing anything at all (except for a smile). From the motion of her breasts, I could see that her breathing was quickening like mine. I reached for her waist and pulled her to me as I rolled onto my back. She squealed with delight as she ended up lying on top of me. Our tongues did battle as our bodies prepared themselves to make peace (or at least love). I ran my hands over her back, her ass, and her legs. I reveled in the softness of her skin. She was pressing her pubic hair against my erection. She stopped kissing me and looked deeply into my eyes.

"I want to suck you," she said simply. I nodded. As she moved down to between my legs, she began to explain, "This is how I did it the first time, four years ago under this very tree. We were both so nervous. First I sucked him, and learned about the taste of precum. I had heard that I should make him cum before I let him inside me. I sucked him while he laid back on the blanket." I lay back, putting my arms behind my head so I could watch her ministrations. "It didn't take long for him to shoot in my mouth." I wasn't going to be that quick, but it wouldn't take too long. Her mouth was doing wonderful things to my shaft. "I was surprised, first at how big his dick was, then at how much he squirted in my mouth." She would take her mouth only an inch or so away from my cock to speak each sentence. Her mouth was so close to my saliva-slicked dick that I could feel her breath as she spoke. After each sentence, she bobbed her head two or three times as she sucked, then released me to speak again. "It was a day much like this." Suck. I was getting close to cumming. "I was so wet." Suck. It won't be long now. "I could feel the wetness of my pussy hair against my leg, getting me all slick." That did it. I put my head back and groaned. I wanted to watch her face as I came in her mouth, but my eyes closed of their own accord. I no longer had the strength to control my body. All my efforts were used to force sperm out of me and into her mouth. I arched my back in an attempt to drive my dick further into that warm wonderful mouth. It didn't matter; she wasn't about to let my spurting tip escape.

When I was finished cumming, I opened my eyes. She had just released my shaft. She was on her hands and knees, swallowing. She was watching me with a big smile on her face.

"I love that taste. I didn't at first, but I grew to like it. You shot a lot more than he did."

"I'm probably older," I offered.

"Yes, we were just barely teenagers."

"Are you wet now like you were then?"

"Yes," she said with a sly smile. She crawled next to me and turned over onto her back. "Would you like to see?"

"I'd like to taste," I answered as I moved into position.

She was right. Her hair glistened with moisture. Her lips were visibly wet on the outside. If she had been this wet earlier, I don't know how there wasn't a wet spot on her pants. I pressed my face farther and my tongue made contact with her lips, after pushing through her hair. When I made contact, she gave a happy "Ooh" sound. She was lying down, but she supported herself on her forearms so she could see what I was doing. She watched as I licked, probed and sucked. I kept looking up to her face to see her reactions as I tried different things. She liked it best when I applied continuous suction to her clit, but I really couldn't say there was anything I did that she didn't enjoy. For my part, I was enjoying exploring her wet pussy. The sensations of eating her out were slowly rejuvenating my cock, but it would be awhile before I would need the condom. I took my time bringing her slowly to a climax. From time to time, she would throw her head back and look at the sky. Her brown hair would billow out behind her as she did, glowing against the glare of daylight beyond the trees. She looked so beautiful, naked under the trees. I could feel the breeze over my skin and delighted in the knowledge that we were both nude. I could hear the sounds of nature, but the smells were covered by her own special smell.

She looked down at me and her expression changed to concentration. Her legs tried ever so slightly to clasp against me. Her orgasm was approaching. Her hips were thrusting a little now. Instinct was taking over and her body was reacting as if she was being fucked. I put my hands on the curve above her hips, holding her pussy against my mouth. My tongue became a little more forceful, pressing harder against her slickness and moving a little faster. Each time I moved over her clit, she gave a little start. By watching all these signs, I tried to judge the moment when the wave would crest. When I thought she was on the brink, I fastened my lips around her clit and applied continuous suction. I inserted three fingers of my right hand and pumped her cunt vigorously. She screamed out, her hips pumping up and down on the blanket. I, meanwhile, held on for the ride. Her head fell back onto the blanket, her arms now flat at her sides, and her hips lifted up off the ground. I followed with my face. It was as if she was trying to get away from my mouth and trying to press harder against it all at the same time.

The wave fell onto the sand. She was panting on the blanket. Her legs were bowed out as they limply released me. I released her clit and very gently licked her inner lips, avoiding the now sensitive nub. She sighed, then sighed again. She didn't look at me. She was still looking up at the sky when she spoke.

"That was better than the first time," she said.

"Thank you. I have had more practice than he did."

"Yes, obviously."

"Are you ready to repeat what you did next?" I asked.

She strained to lift herself a little off the blanket and looked down at me. "I'm still a little sensitive down there. I need another minute or two."

"That's OK, I need to get dressed first."

She looked quizzically at me when I said that. I moved my hands through the piles of our clothes until I felt what I was seeking. I grinned as I held up the packet and raised my eyebrows. Her head fell back to the blanket; she was laughing as she did so. I tore open the packet and rolled the condom onto my erection. I knelt at her opening and rubbed the head of my dick through her hairy folds, spreading the ample lubrication. As I slid against her, a soft squick-squick sound issued forth – testimony of how wet she was. I pushed and the head pressed against her inner lips. At first, her body resisted. Then, all at once, the rubbery lips parted and allowed me entry. I slid in to the hilt, aided by her wetness. She grunted as I hit bottom and squirmed a little on the blanket. I pressed myself against her and kissed her soft lips. She, for her part, put her arms around my neck.