Cuba has been closed to Americans for more than 50 years. That didn’t stop The Flyfish Journal’s Miles Nolte, who found himself in exploring La Republica with one rule in mind: “Don’t let me do anything stupid”. Along the way he gets propositioned in Old Havana, seduced on a rum-soaked night in La Isla and has what many might consider an inappropriate encounter with an overly excited tarpon.
Words: Miles Nolte
Cuba drips sex. Sexuality gathers and rolls off of every hip switch, every blast of exhaust and every fried plantain.
“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.
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