The following is the first part of a two part story. José breaks the Piñata - 1 By Roger Steele
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I am a geologist from Sydney, and was holidaying for the first time in Cuba for three months last year. I wanted to improve my ability to speak Spanish, and experience first hand, the Cuban culture and people - to understand what made them unique and so special. Another reason I came to Cuba, was the appeal of Cuban men.
Having married in my early twenties and divorced in my thirties, I had long fantasized about man to man sex and given the opportunity, I wanted to experience the reality . A former profesional footballer, I was a fit, slim middle-aged man when I arrived in Cuba. I was immediately struck by the physical beauty of the men, and their self-confidence. They seemed to demand and expect the admiration of both men and women. I was amazed by the warm and sexy nature of Cubans in general, and discovered that sex is a national passion and past-time. While I loved their relaxed, openness about their sexuality, I was unsure whether I was reading the sexual signals correctly. Were these gorgeous men really flirting with me, or was it just their natural charm and friendliness? Surely they couldn´t all be homosexual or bisexual?
I was enrolled in a Spanish language course as a mature-age student at Havana University, and found lodgings in a bed and breakfast place nearby. On my daily walks around the neighbourhood, I noticed a small cafetería on the block where I lived and thought it worth trying. That´s where I met José.
With changing laws in Cuba to encourage private enterprise and small businesses, Mirta had opened a cafetería in the front garden of a grand house in Vedado, not far from the University of Havana and close to the busy tourist centre on La Rampa. Mirta´s nephew José, a black, former junior wrestling champion in Guantanamo Province, had come to Havana from Eastern Cuba, in search of a better life. He was working regularly on casual jobs, doing heavy lifting, labouring and house painting. Although many years since his competitive wrestling days, forty-year old José was still an impressive figure, and single. Mirta would tease her gentle nephew for not showing interest in the local girls, but she understood that his inclinations did not lie in that direction.
One hot, still evening I called in for dinner, greeted Mirta and the other clients, and couldn´t help noticing a strongly-built black man, about 40 years old, in white singlet and typical deep blue overalls rolled down to his waist. It was José and when his eyes met mine he greeted me with a warm smile. Perfect white teeth contrasted with his dark smooth skin. Cubans would call José negro - black - but his skin was really a delightful dark chocolate brown.
When my dinner, of fried chicken, black beans, white rice, sweet potato with a salad of tomato and cucumber, was served, I took it and sat in the vacant chair beside him. We introduced ourselves and chatted amiably in Spanish. José explained that he often came to relax at his aunt´s cafeteria as he was working nearby. I told him where I lived, and José knew the house well, having worked for the owner. As we talked, our knees touched apparently accidentally. I expected José to move his leg away, but when he didn´t, I left mine where it was. The intimate, discrete contact with this Cuban was thrilling. I glanced around to see if anyone else noticed. After eating, we said our goodbyes and I hoped we would meet again.
The next day, I called at the same time, bought my dinner and looked around for José, but he was not there. Mirta explained that he had been there earlier but had left. When I next met José at Mirta´s cafeteria, I took advantage of the opportunity to know him better and invited him for a drink after work sometime. José was enthusiastic, but explained that he was too dirty to go out that evening - having come directly from work - and had to leave Havana early the next morning, to return to Guantanamo on a family matter. We agreed to get together on José´s return.
A month passed, without a sign of José. I occasionally asked Mirta if she knew when her nephew was returning. She told me that he had phoned and asked about me, and she encouraged me not to lose patience. At last came a phone call. José was back in Havana and keen to catch up. I suggested we meet that evening near José´s rented room in Old Havana, not far from bars and restaurants.I was excited - but ill at ease, still unsure what sort of person José was, or why he wanted to meet. Could I really hope that he also felt attracted to me?. And could it be dangerous if I was misreading his signals?
I arrived early at the rendezvous location at the agreed time - 8 pm. The street scene was typical for Old Havana. Narrow and poorly lit, the street was lined by decaying two and three storey houses from the early 20th century. Previously large houses owned by wealthy middle-class business people had been subdivided after the revolution as "solars", to provide accommodation for the homeless poor, predominantly black families, who at the time were pouring into the capital city. Typically the streets, were broken and dirty, but filled with laughter, shouts of neighbours and street vendors, playing children and adults gathering to talk, or play dominoes on a makeshift table under a dim street light. This evening, however, being early in the week things were relatively quiet.
I was uncomfortable and felt conspicuous - a white middle-aged student - hanging about, waiting for José, unsure what I was getting myself into, but keen to find out. This was not an area where tourists had any reason to go. At last, walking down the middle of the street came José, dressed to kill, in white slacks, white sandals, a white baseball cap, and a light coloured, body hugging T-shirt. He was impressive, as was the bulge in the front of his tight trousers. He greeted me with a beaming smile that showed his perfect teeth, and put me more at ease with a hug and a kiss on one cheek.
José invited me to see his lodging, so we walked back up the street and entered under a large wooden frame that was preventing the front of Josés building from collapsing, an event sadly not uncommon in Old Havana. Climbing the shared staircase to an unknown number of separate homes within the building, past the shared toilet, José unlocked the door to his place. It was a sparsely furnished room with a gas cooker, sink, and table and two chairs, which opened onto a small balcony over the street we had just left. José showed me up a small set of stairs to the jerry-built mezzanine floor, where he slept on a single bed. It was clean and tidy, with some clothes hanging, neatly ironed from a pole, suspended from the ceiling, and a couple of bags of José´s sparse belongings. We sat, awkwardly side by side on the bed, our knees nearly touching, neither sure what to do or say next, each hoping the other would take the initiative. I was still wondering if it was just wishful thinking that José might be sexually interested in me. He was probably just being friendly. Neither of us had eaten so I suggested we go and find something to eat. As we walked into nearby Old Havana, I thought "I can´t go on not knowing. I have to find out if he is interested in men, or risk making a fool of myself?
We found a nearby restaurant and ordered our meals. After small talk about family, and work, I broached the subject, heart in mouth, leaning towards José and speaking under my breath. "So José, can I ask if you are attracted to men or women or both? José half-smiled, didn´t answer - but reached under the table and took my hand and placed it on his upper thigh and then groin, where I could feel a large, thick cock, rapidly swelling. Now both smiling, and with my hand still, discretely, on his thigh under the table, the atmosphere changed. We knew we wanted the same thing and that this was going to be fun.
After the meal, keen for whatever was coming, I wanted to go straight back to José´s bed. But José, who didn´t often have the chance to go out on the town, wanted to visit the Malecon together, the waterfront boulevard of Havana, where courting couples, and others, parade, sit and snog. We bought a bottle of Havana Club rum and took it, with some Cuban cigarettes, to the Malecon. After walking for awhile, we sat on the seawall in a relatively deserted part of the Malecon, thighs pressed together. we talked and drank, with arms around waists and shoulders, and then kissed on the lips for the first time, at first gently and cautiously - conscious of being in a public space. Gradually, the kisses became more passionate. Confidently José eased his moist pink tongue between my lips, and sensuously took control, invading and exploring my body, sensing what I wanted. We talked, and drank and smoked Cuban cigarettes. In no time it was midnight, the rum was gone, and José was hard and horny - ready to take me home to make love. But it couldn´t be, not tonight anyway, as it was already late and I had to be up early for University!
A Cuban phrase for having sex for the first time is "romper el hielo" (breaking the ice) and José could hardly believe that having come this far, that he and I would not break the ice. He said it´s like going to a children´s party and leaving without breaking the piñata (a papier maché decoration filled with surprises and treats which is smashed as the climax of a Latin American children´s party)!
Still, we embraced, kissing passionately again, unconcerned about the passing couples who were more interested in each other; nor vehicles, which were few and far between. José´s muscular tongue again explored the moist sensitive cavity of my mouth, hinting of what we each hoped would follow before much longer. With a laugh, José showed me the damp patch on the front of his trousers where his turgid cock, erect for hours, had been leaking precum. With difficulty we separated and returned to our respective homes, promising to get together as soon as we could to break the piñata? But that would have to wait until the following Saturday.