“Cuban tarpon are easy; they’ll eat anything you cast to them.” This lurid assertion came from many friends and acquaintances, people I normally trust. It reminded me of teenage mutterings about particular girls, claims that never panned out for me on sticky couches at slurring house parties. But then, I’ve never been particularly smooth. I resisted the arrogance I was fed about Cuban tarpon and Cuban women.

The idea of sexually confident Latin women strutting around and winking at me—all curves and pheromones—sounds ideal. I just don’t have the first clue how to react in those situations. I am the antithesis of machismo, a product of Western liberalism. More brain than boner, I don’t take what I want, I ask for it politely.