Cuban dating and marriage
So a guy gets talking to a girl (although there’s every possibility it is she who initiated the conversation).She laughs at his jokes, touches his arm whenever she speaks to him, and is fucking gorgeous. She accepts and suggests a nice place (meaning they don’t recycle drinking straws and might actually have all the things listed on the menu).By day the Cuban girls batted their eyes, smiled and waved at me or blew kisses to me. If I sat on a bench, a girl quickly appeared at the other end of it.By night they hissed from the shadows or yowled out from street corners. Even standing before a Santería shrine, an attendant was sure I needed a date for the night.They were stale, older questions about revolutions and socialism and bearded men in berets.
Before she leaves she asks him if he has some extra money for a pair of shoes she really wants/for a birthday gift for her mother/for a ticket to visit her cousin in another town.Rule #3: Sex is not free, but prices are negotiable.In a country where health care and education are free and basic produce is covered by a ration card, wages are very low.For a time there was a kind of tourist apartheid going on.
The tourists flew in, stayed in all-inclusive compounds on beaches that were off-limits to locals. This is the part that makes your average edgy backpacker squirm. The local guys I talked to, though, saw things differently. Certainly it’s not prostitution as most westerners think of it.Shabbily dressed, eating peso pizzas, and altogether too wrapt up in my camera: compared to a middle class, middle aged Italian man with his scrotum hanging out, I was nobody. It’s not that we’re white or exotic or sophisticated; it simply comes down to the fact that we’re carrying .