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From: Strickland83 <strickland83@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Havana Club - Chapter 6
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Date: Fri, 25 Jun 2004 17:10:02 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Havana Club - Chapter 6 ASSM.txt" begin>

Author: Strickland83
Title: Havana Club
Part: Chapter 6
Summary: Christopher gets offered the chance of a lifetime.  He thought
the risk was his freedom.  He didn't know the loss would be his heart. 
Politics and love make strange bedfellows.
Keywords: MF, rom, cons, oral
Revision: 1.0

   Web Site: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/strickland83/www/



   Havana Club By Strickland83

   Chapter 6 - Home...  And Beyond

   The sky brightened slightly, waking me and signaling the impending
arrival of my last sunrise in Cuba.  I got up and closed the curtains. 
Felicita was still sleeping peacefully.  I returned to her and she squeezed
me tightly.  I watched her for a while, then fell asleep wrapped around
her.

   When I woke the second time, it was just after sunrise.  Felicita was
still holding on to me in her sleep.  I propped up my head on my arm and
watched her dozing peacefully.  She looked so lovely and peaceful as she
slumbered.  I watched her, trying to push out of my head thoughts of what
would happen in a few short hours.

   Felicita stirred, then woke up.  She looked at me watching her and
smiled.

   "Good morning," she told me brightly, if sleepily.

   "Good morning to you," I replied.  I leaned down and kissed her.  As she
turned to press her body fully against mine, my dick hardened as if
recognizing an old friend.  "And a very good morning to you, too," she told
my dick with a giggle.

   "He didn't want to be left out," I explained.

   "Then let's not keep him out any longer." She crawled over me, letting
her tits slide across my chest as she did so, to reach the nightstand, and
retrieve one of the last three remaining love rubbers.  Apparently
mimicking me with her panties from last night, she was holding it in her
teeth as she turned to face me, smiling broadly.  She moved down my body,
pushing the covers down as she moved.  My dick, uncovered now, stood
proudly in the single shaft of sunlight streaming through the gap in the
curtains.  Grasping a corner of the packet firmly in her teeth, she tore it
open and removed the contents.  She took my dick into her mouth and sucked
me a few times before rolling the condom down to cover me.  After the
condom was in place, she stroked me a few times.  She straddled me and
lowered her pussy onto my dick.  She was tight but wet.

   "Ooh," I sighed as her warm channel slid over my cock.  I watched her
stretched lips move down until her patch of hair merged with mine.  I
looked up to see her looking as well.

   When she was fully seated on me, she looked up and said, "There, that's
better.  Now he's not left out."

   "He is very happy," I told her.

   She started moving her body up and down over my dick.

   "Now he is even happier," I reported.

   She started banging herself forcefully on me, making the bed squeak.

   "Ungh - ungh - ungh," I said.

   She looked at me and leaned forward, putting her hands on my chest for
support.  I was in ecstasy, relishing the feel of her warm wetness sliding
across my member.

   I was now trying to imprint this image in my brain.  This one would be
kept for special occasions, like when I was masturbating.  That was when I
got an idea.

   "Felicita?" I asked, between pants.

   "Yes," she answered, trying to concentrate on my question at the same
time she was concentrating on fucking me.

   "Can I take some pictures of you like this, naked, so I can remember
these times as well?"

   She looked a little worried and thought about that for a minute, then
smiled and said, "Yes, but don't show them to anyone else."

   "I won't," I promised.  "I want to look at them when I masturbate.  I
want to remember making love to you."

   "Do you want to get your camera now?"

   "No, when we change positions, I'll go get it.  I don't want to take my
dick out of you yet." I think I got a little harder as I realized that I
was really going to photograph her nude.

   She rode me for maybe ten minutes, and then reported with disappointment
that her legs were getting tired.  She got off me and told me, "Go get your
camera."

   I got up and retrieved it.  She was lying on the bed, as naked as the
day she was born.  I turned the camera on and pointed it at her.

   "Remember, only you see these pictures," she reminded me.  I nodded. 
She smiled and posed with one hand caressing her nipple.  I took the
picture.  I displayed the picture on the screen and showed it to her.  She
made a face.  "Do you like it?" she asked.

   "Yes, very much.  I will enjoy looking at that one."

   She spread her legs and inserted two fingers into her pussy, like she
was masturbating.  She closed her eyes as if in ecstasy and I took another
picture.

   "Get on top of me again, please.  I want a picture of you like that," I
suggested.

   I got back on the bed and she mounted me again.  I held the camera back
a ways and took the picture.  I checked that I had it framed correctly. 
She looked so beautiful.  I told her to get up.  I mounted her and took a
picture of her face.

   "Why did you take that one?  You didn't show any special parts of my
body," she asked.

   "That is what I see when I am screwing you," I explained.

   Next, I had her lie sideways on the bed.  I put her legs on my shoulders
and took a picture of the mirror.  Now I had a picture of us making love.
She wanted to see that one.  She liked it.  I tossed the camera onto the
bed and fucked her in earnest.  When she looked like she was starting to
cum, I took a few pictures of her face.  I loved the way she looked when
she came.

   Next, I used the mirror to take a picture of us fucking doggy style. 
The mirror wasn't wide enough to get all of us in the picture.  I told her
to stay just like that and removed my dick from her cunt.  I jumped off the
bed and put the camera on top of the TV, aimed at the bed.  I framed the
picture, set the timer, and quickly jumped back in bed.  I quickly mounted
her and started thrusting wildly.  It had the desired effect.  By the time
the camera took the picture, she was hanging her head and moaning.  I
fucked her for a few more minutes like that.  I set up the next picture
with me sitting on the side of the bed and her sitting on my dick facing
me. We were kissing as the flash fired.  We got up; I retrieved the camera
and pushed her down onto the bed.  I climbed on her, pounding myself into
her body.  I sat up and got a picture of my dick partially buried in her
wet depths.  I took another one with my dick lying on top of her stomach,
to show how far I was penetrating her.  I reenter ed her and we made love
in the missionary position until I came.

   I pulled out of her pussy and took a few pictures of her pussy after it
had been fucked.  Her inner lips were distended and leaking.  Her wetness
was evident on the hair around her slit.  I had her take a picture of me
eating her pussy.  I removed the condom and we used the timer again to take
a few pictures of us standing together naked, making out.  I was just
starting to get hard again.  The illicit photographic session was really
turning me on.  Felicita saw this and ran to the bathroom.  Returning with
a wet washcloth, she cleaned the condom lubricant from my dick, then knelt
and sucked my dick.  I took some pictures of her blowing me.  I moved back
onto the bed and took another picture of her sucking my dick.  After that,
I put the camera down and enjoyed the blowjob.

   Felcita paused from sucking my cock.  "Tell me when you are about to
cum. I want you to shoot on my face and take a picture of me with your
sperm on me."

   Thinking about that hastened my orgasm.  When it was close, I warned
her. She rolled over and had me jack off over her.  With the camera in my
left hand, I tried capturing my ejaculation on her face.  It was hard
concentrating to point the camera in the right direction while I was
cumming.  When I was finished, I let my dick go and took more pictures of
her smiling broadly, proudly wearing the result of my orgasm.  I also got
pictures of her wiping up my cum with her fingers and licking it off.

   "Are those enough pictures?" she asked.

   "I think so.  That will give me a lot to look at."

   "Good.  You got to cum twice.  I want you to eat me now."

   I needed no further prompting.  I tossed the camera aside and buried my
face in her wet lips.  I enjoyed her taste and smell.  I felt her putting
her hands on the back of my head and clamping her legs around my head as I
sucked her clit.  I could hear her moaning loudly as her orgasm peaked.  I
slid my middle finger into her hole and held it there.  When she came down
from her peak, I lifted my head.  She was lying on the pillow, breathing
deeply.  I moved up over her.  She opened her eyes and happily licked her
juices from my face before we shared a deep passionate kiss.  I loved the
feel of her naked body against mine.  The warmth of her tits, the
coarseness of her pubic hair and the smoothness of her legs all were things
I didn't want to ever forget.

   After a time, I glanced over at the clock and reality hit.  We had to
get moving so I could get ready.  I had a morning plane to catch.

   "Felicita," I started.

   She caught the tone in my voice and looked at the clock.  She looked
back at me and nodded.  "How many rubbers do we have left?" she asked.

   I reached over and picked up the box.  I got up and poured the contents
onto her tits.  "Two."

   "OK, bring one to the bathroom.  I want to fuck in the shower."

   That sounded like a wonderful idea.  We got out of bed and I started the
shower.  She set out two of the white towels, placing the condom packet on
top.  We got in the shower and started washing each other off.  As
expected, as her slippery body slid against mine, my dick rose to the
occasion.  She felt it and grinned.  She stuck her head out of the shower
curtain and retrieved the packet.  Tearing it open, she turned me away from
the spray and rolled the condom onto my erection.

   "How-?" I started to ask.

   In answer, she moved around me and faced the spray, leaning forward to
put her hands on the white porcelain tiles.  She bent backward at the
waist, moving her pussy lips into position.  I reached below the upturned
cheeks of her ass and parted her lips.  Holding her lips open with one
hand, I used the other to guide my shaft into her.  She moaned loudly as I
entered her.  It was more difficult doing it in the shower.  I quickly
realized one reason why she wanted to do it in the shower.  The water
covered any noise we would make.  She was very noisy this time.

   She was very vocal, urging me on as I fucked her.  She was a different
woman now.  I grasped her hips and fucked her hard.  I was afraid my
pounding would cause one or both of us to slip, but she kept urging me on
with cries of "Deeper!" and "More!" and "Harder!" I was fucking her with
abandon now, and I started to make noises as well.  She squealed and yelled
when she came, totally uninhibited.  Since I had cum twice already this
morning, I could last a long time.  I think she was counting on that as
well.  We fucked a long time like that.  For a while, I sat down on the
bottom of the tub, with my back to the showerhead to block the spray, and
she knelt over me.  We kissed and hugged as she rode my dick.  We tried to
do it standing up and facing each other.  What finally worked was for her
to put her arms around my neck, and lift one leg (which I helped hold up)
to open her slit.  That changed the angle of her cunt enough for me to
penetrate her.  We did it that way for a few minutes, b ut the position was
too tiring to do for very long.  We ended up finishing as we started, with
me entering her from behind and holding on to her tits as I pushed myself
as far as possible into her.  I grunted loudly as I filled her with my cum.
She moaned loudly and pushed her bottom hard against me, driving my dick as
far as possible into her pussy.

   When I extracted myself from her clutching depths, I let the condom
drain onto the bottom of the shower before tossing it out onto the bathroom
floor.  She turned around and melted into my arms.  We kissed for a long
time, the water from the showerhead cascading over our nude bodies.  I
could feel her hair against my softening dick and her erect nipples
pressing into my chest.

   Eventually, we got around to cleaning each other.  When we got out of
the shower, I remembered to pick up the used condom and toss it into the
trash.

   "I want us to come back to the room just before we leave for the
airport. I want to be just fucked when you leave," she pleaded.  I nodded.
She was thinking about my impending departure.  I was trying not to.

   I shaved and we finished getting ready.  We packed our bags.  The only
things not packed were the clothes we would wear.  I turned to her and
pulled her into an embrace.  We shared one more naked kiss before getting
dressed.  As I pulled on my underwear, I spied the last condom and
remembered I would have one more chance to see her naked.

   We went downstairs and had breakfast together.  I watched to make sure
she ate well in spite of the gloom that was starting to descend over us.  I
knew this might be her last good meal for a long time.

   We had planned for her to go to the airport with me.  Since it was her
day off, we would take a taxi to the airport.  Once there, she would stay
with me until it was time to board the plane.  After I was gone, she would
take the taxi home.  I was going to leave her with more than enough money
to pay for the trip.

   After breakfast, we walked around the grounds of the hotel one last
time. I stood on the inlaid map of Cuba, over the brass star that denoted
Havana, and looked slightly east of north, to Florida.  All I saw was blue
water - the blue water that would separate us for a time.  Felicita could
sense my mood changing.

   She touched me on the arm, softly, and asked, "Christopher, what are you
thinking about?"

   I didn't want to answer her.  I wanted to keep to my promise to myself
from yesterday.  I wanted to give her only happy memories.  She reached up
and took hold of my chin.  She gently, so gently, turned my face to hers.
She saw it.

   "You're crying," she said, a note of concern and a note of sadness
coloring her sweet voice.

   That did it.  The tears that had been filling my eyelids began streaming
down my cheeks.  I pointed out to the sea with one hand, holding her with
the other.  It took me a moment or two to get enough control to speak.

   "When you look out at the water," I began.  My voice cracked.  It was
hard to form the words without sobbing.  "Look just east of north.  That is
where I'll be.  That is where freedom is."

   Her eyes looked out to where I was pointing.  I could see it in her
eyes. She was looking for it.  She had never seen it.  She didn't know what
it looked like, but she was trying to imagine what that land of freedom
looked like.  I put my arm tightly around her and we both looked out over
the tropical blue sea, towards Florida.  We stood there a long time, on top
of the map, looking east of north.  I willed my tears to dry up.  I knew I
had to put a braver face on for Felitica.

   When we turned away from the water, I saw that her face was also
streaked with tears.  She had been crying with me.  We smiled that sad,
embarrassed smile people try to wear at things like funerals.  We wanted to
be strong for each other, but we both knew our hearts were being torn out.

   I looked at my watch and saw it was nearing time to get a taxi for the
airport.  She saw me looking and nodded.  Without speaking any words, we
walked back up to my room.  In the cool dimness of the room, we undressed
each other.  As I delicately removed each piece of clothing, I knew I was
seeing her like this, touching her like this, for the last time in a long
time - maybe even for the last time.  Our clothes were laid out over the
chair because we would be putting them back on again soon.  Too soon.  We
embraced and she could feel that I wasn't erect yet.

   "It's OK, Christopher.  Relax." Her words were spoken in a soothing,
loving tone.  She got down on her knees and sucked my dick into her mouth.
I had seen her and touched her naked, but hadn't got erect.  As loving as
her touch was, my melancholy mood was interfering with the moment.  Feeling
her mouth around my member, I finally responded, filling her mouth.  She
got up, smiling, and led me to the bed.  She lay down with her legs apart
and looked to me.  I picked up the last love rubber and put it on.  I was
trying hard to put my sadness away in the back of my mind.  I wanted this
to be good for both of us, but especially for her.  I certainly didn't want
to lose my erection in the middle of it.  I looked at her lying there,
naked, taking deep breaths.  I put my face between her thighs and probed
with my tongue to be sure she was wet enough to be penetrated.  I licked
her lips and sucked on her clit, teasing her into lubricating for me.  When
I could taste her wetness flowing freely, I mo ved up to position my cock
at her entrance.  I felt her warm wet lips make contact.  She felt it, too,
and sighed.

   I pushed, feeling her outer lips parting.  I pushed at her opening.  It
resisted, but then gave in to my gentle pushing.  I started to slip in as
her pussy opened like a blooming flower.  I entered her slowly, wanting to
prolong the sensation of the initial penetration.  She groaned as I slid
into her cunt with agonizing slowness, filling her, stretching her.  As her
outer lips were pulled apart by my girth, they in turn pulled on the hood
of her clit, tugging it and stimulating her further.  She was watching me
with hooded eyes, giving herself totally and completely to me.  She was
mine to use for my pleasure.  I, in turn, wanted only to give her pleasure.
I waited until I was fully inside her pussy before I leaned forward and
pressed my body against hers.  The feel of her body against mine was heady.

   She immediately held on to me tightly with her arms and her legs, as if
she would never let me go.  I opened my mouth as my lips touched hers,
tasting her mouth and letting her taste her pussy juices in my mouth.  I
was aware of every touch - the warm smoothness of her skin, the strands of
hair around her face, even the roughness of the cotton sheets against my
legs.  The air conditioner was rumbling softly, perhaps straining to
compensate for the additional heat our bodies were generating.  I could
hear her breathing beneath me; her soft moaning and the gentle creaking of
the bed keeping time as we made love softly, slowly, lovingly.  I lasted a
long time, making her cum twice before I did.  When my orgasm approached, I
was in a quagmire.  I wanted to cum, to experience the peak.  I also didn't
want this to ever end.  I knew it would be our last time.  I was savoring
the feel of her pussy around my dick.  Like the image of her face, I was
trying to memorize this feeling.  Eventually, my

   dick overruled my brain.  Felicita gave a loud cry as she came again,
her pussy squeezed my dick, and I filled the condom.  It was over.  The
last love rubber had fulfilled the purpose for which it had been made.

   We held each other for a few minutes, savoring each other's touch.  We
both knew we had to get up.  We had to go to the airport.  There was a
Soviet jet waiting to take me back to the free world.  Outside these walls,
reality was waiting to pull us apart.  I got up from the bed with great
reluctance.  My erection had subsided, my dick hanging sadly.  The condom,
heavy with sperm, also hung in mourning.  I looked at her pussy, the lips
open from my penetration, her opening leaking fragrant juices.  I bent down
and gave it a last kiss, a last suck for her clit, eliciting a last moan
from her lips.

   We dressed in silence, watching each other.  She didn't clean up.  She
wanted to stay wet, to feel that we had just made love.  She wanted her
pussy to wet her panties.  It was a reminder of me.  If she could have done
it, I think she would have preferred to have my sperm leaking out of her
pussy at that moment.

   When we were dressed, we hugged in the room one last time.  I looked
around, thinking about all that had happened inside these walls.  We walked
out, silence now enveloping our love nest.

   I checked out of the hotel and asked for a taxi to take us to the
airport.  Our bags were taken to the front door and a bellman hailed a cab.
It was a late model Mercedes; the driver spoke excellent English.  Now that
I was leaving, I found the locals who spoke English.  "Jose Marti," I told
the driver and we were off.

   Felicita held my hand tightly and whimpered softly.  She was holding my
hand too tight, and her grasp was sweaty.  I wanted to be uncomfortable.  I
wanted to feel her there.  All too soon, I would be alone.  Very alone. 
And so would she.

   I hardly noticed the sights on the ride to the airport.  I was looking
straight ahead, or at Felicita.  I kissed her cheek from time to time,
kissing away salty tears.  When she recognized that we were approaching the
airport, she suddenly turned to me and pulled me into a passionate kiss,
our tongues locked in a duel.  We separated as the taxi slowed in front of
the terminal.  I paid the driver, tipping him generously.  I opened the
door, the whine of jet engines assaulting us.  We got out and the driver
got our bags out of the trunk.  We walked into the terminal, its red décor
a stark contrast to the blue of the arrival terminal.  There were a few
shops, some televisions and check-in counters.  Most of the counters
belonged to Cubana Air.  There were also soldiers.  Green uniforms were all
around us.  I checked the signboard and saw that my flight to Cancun was
still on time.

   I directed her over to a line where I had to check in.  When it was my
turn, the lady behind the counter checked my papers - my ticket, visa and
passport.  She asked for Felicita's papers.  I told her that Felicita
wasn't on the flight, she was just here to see me off.  I asked if she
could come with me to the gate.  The lady looked wide-eyed for a moment,
before explaining that I had to go through Immigration to get to the
departure lounge.  Felitica could go no further without an exit visa.  I
felt Felicita sag next to me.  We would be saying our goodbyes here, sooner
than expected.  I was told to be sure to pay my departure tax at the
government office and get a stamp before I went through Immigration.  I
asked how long I had before I needed to do that.  The lady looked at her
watch.  "Twenty minutes," she said without emotion.  Twenty minutes.  A
lifetime wouldn't be enough time.  I nodded, collected my paperwork and we
walked off to our left.

   The government office had a sign over it proclaiming "Airport Tax", in
Spanish and English.  There was a sign in the window, another of the
enigmas.  U.S.  Currency Only.  I guess they didn't take any of that funny
Cuban money here, either.  Or maybe, this was another of the "dollar
stores" - off limits to ordinary Cuban citizens.  I paid my tax, receiving
a shiny holographic stamp on my boarding pass.  Permission to leave the
country.  Felitica couldn't have one of those.  We walked out and strolled
around the terminal, trying to make the most of what little time we had
left.

   I led us to the largest shop.  I bought two bottles of Havana Club rum.
I would find a way to smuggle them back.  They reminded me of Felicita. 
Havana Club - El Ron de Cuba.  I stuffed them into my suitcase.  There were
postcards for sale on a revolving wire rack.  All of them were portraits of
Che Guerva.  Strange souvenirs in a strange land.

   It was time.  We had to say goodbye now.  I knew it.  Felicita knew it.
She was trembling as I turned to her, tears again beginning to draw lines
down those lovely cheeks.  I felt like a condemned prisoner being led to my
execution.  This was something I did not want to do but I had no choice.  I
had to leave her.

   "Felicita," I started.  She looked at me, trying hard not to cry but not
succeeding.  I reached into my pocket, feeling the large wad of cash.  "My
company gave me money to pay for my expenses in Cuba.  I didn't need to
spend as much as I expected to.  My boss will not know this.  I want you to
have what is left." She started to protest, but this time I put my finger
on her lips.  "Take it.  Use some to get home.  Use the rest for whatever
you want.  Meat, clothes," she almost smiled at that one, "something
special to remember me by, whatever you want.  I wish I could give you
everything.  I can't.  Not yet.  Someday..."

   She surprised me.  As my voice trailed off, as I ran out of things to
say, she picked up the conversation, in a clear steady voice.  "If there
must be happiness, if there must be love, if there must be smiles, it can
only be with freedom and dignity." The sweetness of her voice as she said
that would be a memory that would stay with me.  I just nodded, the lump in
my throat making speech impossible at the moment.  I took the money out of
my pocket and pushed it in her hand, using my other hand to close hers
around the roll of twenty and hundred dollar bills.  It was more money than
she earned in many months.  It would buy her a better life for a long time.
It would be more useful to her than to me.

   I swallowed, tried to wet my mouth enough to speak, then managed to say,
"I love you, Felicita."

   "I love you, Christopher," she said to me, her eyes tearing up as she
studied my face.

   We embraced, and we kissed one last time.  We made it last for minutes,
neither wanting to be the one to end it.  Finally, I knew I had to leave. I
didn't want to, but I made myself pull back.  I looked deeply into her
eyes. "I'm coming back, Felicita," I said as I touched her cheek.  She took
hold of my fingers and kissed them.  I turned and walked into the
Immigration booth.  Behind me, I could hear her sobs.  I didn't dare look
back.

   "Did you enjoy your stay in Cuba," the dark-haired lady in mint green
fatigues asked me cheerily.

   Did I enjoy my stay?  Totally.  I just hated leaving.  "Yes, it was very
nice," I answered.

   She smiled as she stamped my paperwork.  I tried to look pleasant, but
all I could think about was hoping that her government would hurry up and
fall so I could return.  She wished me a pleasant trip and the lock on the
exit door buzzed.  I stepped through.  The lock clicked behind me, sealing
me off from Felicita.

   I walked into a normal looking airport terminal.  There was a snack bar,
gift shops with better merchandise, a large bar and, beyond that, the
gates. This area was exclusively for the international travelers.  No
ordinary Cubans even got to see this part.  It was as if I was already
entering the free world.  Behind me, behind the barriers, Felicita was
probably still standing there and crying.  Here, life was getting back to
normal.  Well, not normal.  I didn't think my life could ever be normal
again after leaving Felitica.  I walked to the bar and ordered a mojito.  I
drank it, hoping that the rum would numb the pain I was feeling.  I had a
second one.  The pain was too great to be numbed so easily.  The taste of
the Havana Club only made me think of Felicita's t-shirt.  I wondered if
she had left the terminal yet.

   After trying to desensitize myself with the mojitos, I walked on to my
gate.  At check-in, my paperwork was again checked thoroughly.  An
announcement was made in several languages that no passengers would be able
to board the plane unless they had their airport tax sticker.  As I waited
for my flight to board, I walked around so no one would see me crying.  I
saw one last reminder of the embargo that wasn't.  The display screens that
the gate attendants were using to check in passengers were all connected to
Compaq computers.  I laughed through my tears.  "What embargo?" I asked one
last time.

   My flight was called.  I got in line.  We shuffled forward slowly. 
Cubana Air employees were again checking every passenger's paperwork.  I
looked through the glass windows at the plane.  Heavily armed soldiers were
patrolling the landing gear.  Having passed the latest scrutiny, I was
allowed to enter the jetway.  When I reached the door of the aircraft, a
solider with an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder was making the
final check of papers.  He looked about sixteen years old.  He took my
papers in his right hand and examined them.  His left hand held onto the
sling of his rifle.  I was used to normal airport security where guns were
prohibited anywhere near the aircraft.  Here, guns were used to keep
ordinary citizens from rushing aboard the aircraft and escaping the
tyranny. My paperwork passed final scrutiny and I was waved on to the door.
I glanced at the Cyrillic evacuation instructions on the inside of the
door, bent down to pass through the low opening, and stepped onto t he
plane.

   Inside, I found my seat at a window.  I looked out the window, again
wondering if Felicita had left for home yet.  I imagined her crying in the
backseat of a taxi as she rode towards home - and away from me.  I felt
tears running down my cheeks again.  I touched them and felt the wetness,
knowing that her cheeks felt the same way right now.

   The plane left the gate and took off.  I felt a new pain, a new
separation, as the wheels lifted off Cuban soil.  I looked out the window,
trying foolishly to spot her taxi.  Once we were up in the air, I leaned
back against my seat, closed my eyes and tried to think about nothing.  I
was unable to clear my thoughts.  Images of Felicita flooded my mind.  I
opened my eyes sometime later, just in time to see Cabo San Antonio pass
beneath the plane.  I had left Cuba, and Felicita.

   My arrival in Mexico was without incident.  I deplaned and joined the
mob waiting to go through Immigration.  When it was my turn, I had the
presence of mind to try to avoid getting a visa stamp in my passport.  I
didn't want to have to explain to a U.  S.  Customs Agent where I had gone
while I was in Mexico.  The Mexican agent checking my paperwork looked like
the kind of bandit you would see in an old western, bushy mustache and all.
I tried to sound pleasant and friendly.

   "I just came from Cuba," I told him.  He knew this from my papers.  "I
am an American.  Is there any way I can not get a stamp on my passport?" I
was nervous now.  I was trying to bribe a federal official.  Sure, this was
Mexico and bribes had a way of being a part of everyday life here, but it
was still a crime.  Unless he accepted the bribe.

   The gringo behind the counter smiled at me and said, "Sure, amigo.  I
will take care of you."

   "Thank you." I took a deep breath before saying the next words.  "Is
there anything I can do for you?"

   He answered without even looking up from the papers on his desk.  "Yes,
amigo.  My fee for this is twenty dollars, U.S." None of those funny pesos
for you, eh, Gringo?  I thought.

   I reached into my pocket and retrieved a twenty-dollar bill.  I put it
on the counter.  He never looked up.

   "No, no!  Pick it up!  I will get in trouble if anyone sees that!  I
will tell you when to give it to me." As he said this, he never skipped a
beat shuffling paperwork.

   After a few minutes, he casually slid a stack of papers to my side of
the counter and said, in a whisper loud enough for only me to hear, "Put
the money under the papers." I did.  He waited a minute before he pulled
the papers back off the counter and down to his desk.  From where I was
standing, I could see him reaching under the stack and sliding the twenty
into the middle desk drawer.  I wondered how many twenties found their way
in there every day.

   "Everything is fine," he told me with a smile.  "There is no need to
stamp anything.  You can go."

   I thanked him, breathed a sign of relief and made my way to customs. 
Another line.  This time, I got lucky.  When it was my turn to play traffic
light roulette, I got a green light and didn't have to open my bags.

   "Welcome to Mexico," the female customs agent cheerfully told me.

   I took a taxi to the hotel and entered my room for the first time in
almost a week, for the first time since meeting Felitica.  This room seemed
too quiet, too empty.  I sat down on the bed and collected my thoughts.  As
much as I missed Felicita, I still had a task to finish.  I picked up the
phone and dialed my office.  I asked for Ross and was connected to Agnes.

   "Hi Agnes.  This is Chris.  May I speak to Ross, please?"

   "Sure, Chris.  How is Mexico?"

   "It's Mexico.  Hot, bad water, spicy food, good music."

   "Sounds wonderful.  I'll get Ross for you."

   There was a click, then "Chris!  How are you?  Where are you?" I could
hear the happiness and relief in his voice.

   "I'm back in Cancun.  Mission accomplished."

   "Great, partner.  You sound tired.  Take some time to relax on the
beach. Did you have any problems?"

   "None worth mentioning," I lied.

   "Great to hear it.  We'll do the debriefing Monday.  Have a good
weekend."

   "You, too.  I'm going to rest now."

   "OK, bye."

   The line went dead.  I put down the phone, lay face down on the bed, and
cried.  At least in crying I knew I was sharing something with Felicita. 
She was probably doing just that at that moment.  In Cuba.

   I spend much of the afternoon alone in the room.  Finally, I decided
that the room was too empty without Felicita.  I needed a change of
scenery. I took a walk outside, to the beach.  I looked to the east, to
Havana, to my Felicita.  The waves upon the sand made a melancholy sound, a
lonely sound.  I found a few shops, buying two cheap bottles of rum and
some souvenirs.  I put my purchases in my room and returned to the beach; I
walked until sunset, wondering if Felicita was looking towards the sunset,
and towards me, that evening.  As darkness began to descend, I made my way
back to the hotel and ate dinner alone for the first time since Sunday.

   After dinner, I went back to my room.  I opened the two bottles I had
bought earlier that afternoon and poured the rum down the drain.  I
refilled the bottles with Havana Club.  I knew it would be dangerous to try
to smuggle the bottles with Cuban labels.  I had a better chance using
these bottles.  As I poured, the aroma of the Cuban rum brought back
memories of her.

   I packed the souvenirs.  They would be needed to keep up appearances.  I
still had to convince U.  S.  Customs (and my friends back home) that I had
actually spent a week in Mexico.  Next I hooked my digital camera up to the
television and reviewed the photographs I had taken.  I spent a lot of time
looking at the pictures of Felicita.  My heart ached when I looked at the
pictures of the two of us together, Tearfully, I touched the cold glass of
the screen, wanting to feel her.  The cold of the television screen was
nothing like the warmth of her body.  Seeing her didn't make me any
happier, just emptier.  I finally got into bed and drifted off to sleep
with her nude body still on the TV.

   When I awoke the next morning, it was to an empty bed.  The batteries in
the digital camera had long since run down and the TV screen was dark.  I
thought about her, about what I had done with her just yesterday morning. I
missed her so much.  The loneliness was a physical thing.  Thinking about
her did make my morning erection even harder.  I got up, swapped the
batteries with the ones in the charger, and found a picture of us making
love.  I went back to bed and masturbated as I looked at the picture and
remembered the previous morning.  When I came, sperm shot up and onto the
sheets.  In my mind's eye, I was shooting into her tight pussy.

   I got up and showered - alone this time.  I got dressed and left for the
airport.  I was going home.

   The greatest risk still lay ahead of me.  I had to get back into the
United States.  Assuming I didn't raise suspicions in Customs, I should
have no problems.  Otherwise...

   I presented my passport to the Mexican official for the fourth time in a
week.  My tourist visa showed I had just entered Mexico from Cuba.  This
was the last evidence of my actual trip and it would be left here in
Mexico. A few stamps later, I was finally aboard the plane.

   As I flew back to the United States, the plane passed north of Cuba. 
The pilot made an announcement that those on the right side of the plane
could see Havana.  Before my life had changed, before this week, I would
have been glued to the window, looking and taking pictures of the
"forbidden city".  Now, I only glanced over casually.  I could see the
skyline, hazy in the distance.  In my mind's eye, I saw the streets as I
knew they looked.  I saw a yellow scooter being driven by a brown-haired
girl.  She was crying softly - and so was I.

   On the flight, the stewardesses handed out landing cards.  I filled out
mine.  I got to the question that made me pause.  List all countries you
have visited since leaving the United States.  I wrote Mexico.  Next, I
read the section that said, "Under penalty of perjury, I declare that all
statements made by me are correct." I signed my name.  I had just committed
one more crime.  I had lied on a customs document.  Perjury is a felony.

   Fear nagged me from the back of my mind.  I tried to push it away. 
Appearing overly nervous in Customs was the kiss of death.  I kept thinking
of Felicita.  If I had any chance of seeing her again, I had to keep my
trip concealed.  That got me through.  The agent asked a few questions,
mostly routine.  I lied to the agent and said I had been to Mexico.  Well,
I had been there.  Before and after.  I just left out the part in the
middle.  He let me go and I was back in the United States.  I was home
free. After all the worry, all the fear, all the concerns, the passage
through U.  S.  Customs was almost a letdown.  I guess it was like the
embargo.  It was imagined to be a lot worse than it actually was.  It had
been the fear of the unknown.  I had done it.  I had earned my partnership.
I missed Felicita.

   When the taxi dropped me off at my door, I walked into the empty living
room.  I smelled that funny smell of a home that had been closed up for a
few days.  I thought of how I had felt when I left there a week before.  I
had made it back after all.  Well, most of me.  I had left my heart in
Cuba, in the care of a brown haired girl.  I knew I was going back to get
it.  Someday.

   On Sunday, I copied the pictures from the digital camera to my computer.
I separated the pictures of Felicita, burning each set to a CD, then making
a backup copy of each disc.  I went through the pictures of her.  I had
many pictures, some of her, some of us, even pictures of her naked and of
us making love.  I knew which picture I was going to frame for my bedside
table and for my desk.  It wasn't one of us together on the seawall.  It
wasn't us making love.  It was the view I saw when I was falling in love
with her.  It was the picture I took from the back seat of the scooter, of
her driving, of the back of her t-shirt.  It just showed a side view of her
face.  This was the way I wanted to remember her, wearing her Havana Club
t-shirt, with gold hoop earrings, and sunglasses perched atop her light
brown hair.

   Monday morning came and I returned to work.  I felt hollow as I entered
the familiar building.  Something was missing.  When I got there, I stopped
off at my office and put a framed photograph on my desk.  After selecting
the perfect spot where I could see it all day long, I went to see Ross.

   Agnes gave me a big smile.  I think she still didn't know the true
nature of my trip.  She commented that I looked tired, and maybe not well.
She asked if I had a difficult trip.  Difficult?  I told her it was fine, I
had a nice time.  I just hated coming home.  It was the truth.  She
accepted that and gave her usual cheery smile.

   Ross was behind his desk, waiting for me.  He stood up, smiled broadly,
and extended his hand as I walked in.  His smile faded as he saw the look
on my face.

   "What's wrong?" he asked with genuine concern.  He could see it in my
face, probably even in the way I carried myself.  I couldn't hide the
sadness I carried.

   "Everything's alright.  I did what you wanted.  I have all the
information, all the pictures.  We're ready to go when conditions warrant."

   He still wasn't convinced.  "Your face tells me something isn't right.
Close the door and sit down.  Let's talk."

   I closed the door and sat in one of the chairs facing his desk.  I took
a deep breath and began to speak

   "While I was in Cuba, I met a woman and fell in love with her.  We spent
a week together; she was a great help to me.  That I accomplished as much
as I did there is because of her.  We both knew I had to leave at the end
of the week.  Now, all I can think about is going back to her."

   All through my confession, Ross just listened and nodded.  He was like a
father, getting all the facts before trying to give advice.  I told him
about how I met Felicita, how we worked together.  I told him how I
promised to return to her.  I talked for a long time, revealing a lot of
things I would tell a close friend, but not an employer.  I became a lot
closer to Ross during that conversation.

   When I finished, he seemed lost in thought for a few moments.

   "That's quite a story, Chris," he finally said.  "I can tell how you
feel about her.  I'm sure you know that, as soon as it is permitted, you're
going back there.  In the interim, we'll have to see if we can arrange more
covert visits." He smiled as he said that, and I smiled for the first time
since I left Havana.

   "Thanks," I said with a lump in my throat.

   "Now, we have to get some business done.  Go back to your office and get
caught up on messages and e-mail.  We'll meet after lunch to start your
debriefing.  I'm sure you realize that you can't talk to anyone else about
your trip.  We maintained your cover story about Cancun.  No one outside of
this group knows where you really were.  I'm going to bring Agnes in to
take notes.  We can trust her.  That will be it."

   I nodded in agreement and stood to leave.

   "Chris?" he started.  I turned.  "You're going to see her again."

   "Thanks."

   "I can't say when, but I'll help all I can."

   I nodded and walked out.

   I had the usual week's worth of messages and e-mail waiting for me.  A
few friends stopped by to ask about my trip to Mexico.  I had been there
before enough times that I was able to create a cover story with sufficient
details that I could remember.  I tried to keep my sadness from showing.  I
think everyone passed it off as fatigue.  As I worked, I kept looking at
the picture of Felicita and wondering what she was doing at that moment.

   After lunch, we met back in Ross' office.  William was there, as well as
my old boss, Mike.  The original group.  Agnes joined us.  To her credit,
she didn't show much reaction as she took notes and learned about the true
nature of my journey.  I outlined what I had learned, how there were
excellent opportunities for us in Cuba.  I also showed the digital photos I
had taken (without the ones of Felicita).  A few of the pictures had her on
the edge of frames, like the ones I took from the scooter as she drove. 
There were a few comments like, "Who's the cutie?" Ross looked at me
quickly with a concerned expression the first time.  I passed it off by
explaining that she was my driver and that women held many of the same jobs
as men.  No one caught on to what she really meant to me.

   We started building a Crash File.  This was a package of documents that
had all the details necessary to quickly "crash" into a new market when it
opened.  I would be responsible for keeping it up to date until the time
when it would be needed.  It had information on getting into Cuba, the
locations I had targeted as potential office locations, lists of products
we could send into Cuba, and products that we could ship out.  It was a kit
that could be grabbed quickly when the time came for me to return to setup
shop.  I also included the photographs and sketches of locations that I
recreated from memory.  I also had a lot of notes from my palmtop computer
that I included.

   Ross made a point to suggest that I periodically revisit Cuba to keep
the information current.  There was agreement among the group members,
making my heart leap for joy.  I was going back!  I thought.

   The debriefing went on for three days, covering almost every aspect of
what I had learned.  During this time, I was also asked things like, "What
was Cuba really like?" Cuba was a forbidden land, and held a special
fascination because it was a place we couldn't do business in, or even
visit.  I was careful to talk about my trip without mentioning my time with
Felicita.

   After the debriefing concluded and the Crash File was complete, work
started getting back to normal.  I had new responsibilities with my
promotion and I buried myself in my work.  I didn't see the need for as
much of a personal life anymore, without Felicita.  Ross noticed this and
called me in a few times to encourage me to take part in outside
activities. I was making a lot more money now, but I didn't see any need to
spend it on anything.  Every facet of my life focused on waiting for the
day I could see Felicita again.  Encouraged by Ross, my friends made sure I
did spend some time away from the office doing the things I used to like
doing.  My heart wasn't fully in it, but I made the effort.  My life wasn't
boring; I just had a lonely heart.

   One day, about a month after I got back from Cuba, I was called into
Ross' office.  William was already waiting, and Ross didn't look happy.  He
didn't look mad, but more sad or disappointed.  He told me, with pain, how
the President had taken a stronger stance against Cuba and in favor of the
embargo.  It seems that there were accusations against the Cuban government
over new human rights violations.  Fidel's government responded with
renewed venom in their verbal attacks of the United States.  What progress
our governments had made over the last twenty years or so was lost. 
Funding was finally made available to actively prosecute illegal visits to
Cuba.  Licenses for legal visits were also seriously curtailed, and now
just about impossible to get.  It would not be possible for me to return
with any degree of safety.  William looked curiously at me when he saw my
reaction to that news.  Ross looked at me, I nodded, and he explained about
Felicita as I sank into my chair and sulked.  I even had to be more careful
about keeping my journey secret.  I could still be prosecuted for what I
had just done.

   It was then that I got a new respect for William.  He dropped the lawyer
front for once, and showed genuine compassion for my plight.  He did,
though, admonish me not to try sneaking in again.  I knew he was right, but
I didn't like the fact any better.  Both of them were supportive, but the
end result was that my prospects of seeing Felicita were, for now, down to
zero.

   That afternoon, I called Ross.

   "I have a lot of vacation time saved up.  I want to take a trip," I told
him.

   "Now, Chris, don't try anything foolish.  You know what -"

   "I know that," I said coolly.  "Don't worry.  I don't want to get a
felony conviction on my record and eliminate the chance of seeing her again
when Fidel is gone.  I just want to get away for awhile."

   Ross talked to me a little, probably to make sure I was sincere about
not trying to sneak back into Cuba.  When he was convinced I wasn't going
to try something stupid, he told me to have a nice trip.

   I booked a flight to Miami that afternoon and left the next week.

   In Miami, I picked up a rental car and drove down Highway 1.  The road
headed south, then west.  Leaving the mainland, I drove down the causeway
from island to island, heading for the end of the road.  When I finally
reached Key West, after four and a half hours of driving, I took the left
fork in the road.  I threaded my way along the south coast towards South
Beach.  At the corner of South and Whitehead streets, I parked the car.  I
took off my shoes and socks, and walked across the warm sand to the edge of
the water.  I had arrived at the southernmost point of the United States. I
could drive no closer to Felicita than I was right now.

   I looked just slightly west of south, out to sea.  In that direction,
Cuba was only ninety miles away.  It was over the horizon; I could see only
water.  In my mind, I could see over the horizon to a city skyline.  I saw
the streets and, on the street, a yellow taxi driven by a brown-haired
girl. I stood there, feeling the gulf waves lapping at my feet as sunset
approached.  I was imagining the seawall along the Malecon.  I was holding
Felicita in my arms as we watched the sunset together.  I stood there until
the sun dipped below the water.  I stretched out my arms.  Tears ran down
my cheeks as I thought of the woman who was out of my reach.

   "I'm coming back, Felicita," I said to the waves as darkness fell around
me.  "I'm coming back.  After Fidel."

   The End

   Epilogue

   Well, here we are at the end, dear reader.  Thank you for taking this
journey with me.  Felicita taught Christopher how to love.  Now he has to
make use of that knowledge.  As I was writing the story, I wanted
Christopher to have a happy ending but I knew it wasn't possible in the
timeframe of Havana Club.  We leave our hero now on the lonely sands of Key
West.

   I'd like to publicly thank two friends, MrSpock and Terry Steyaert.  It
is because of the dedication and work of these two that you don't find more
errors in my stories.  They have provided countless hours checking each
chapter before you read it.  I am very grateful for their help.

   Is this the end of Christopher's story?  No, there is more, but he will
have to suffer first in loneliness, just like his namesake, the patron
saint of travelers, taxi drivers and bachelors.  Like Christopher, we will
also have to wait because I'm going to take a short break now.  nI need to
tend to some real life duties, and I want to write a few other short
stories.  We will share in his anticipation.  In about a month or two, I
will continue Christopher's tale.  I will announce the posting of the first
chapter in Nick Scipio's forum and on ASSTR in the Spotlight section.  Will
Christopher find happiness?  Yes, in time.  Will it be with Felitica? 
Well, in the immortal words of the great Nick Scipio, "you will have to
read to find out." Many things can change over time.  One thing, though, is
certain.  Remember the last sentence of the story.  You will see it again.

   Strickland83 June 2004
   This story is Copyright (c) 2004 by Strickland83.  All rights reserved

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