When I packed my bag to go to Cuba to study for three months, I wasn’t expecting for much in the way of love. With my track record, I was barely expecting a hook up in a discoteca. So as I headed to Cuba, there was nothing but warnings running through my head, warnings from virtually everyone I had talked to about Cuba, friends, acquaintances, or strangers, telling me to watch out for those Cuban men. And, well, I guess I should have followed their wisdom and thus would not be in my current situation, but what can you do?
It started at Almanecer, a small, underground club that started its night with some colorfully clad entertainers with a handful of talent, and continued the night with some bumpin’ tunes to boogie to. It was our first weekend on the controversial island and already I loved the place. We had met a cool young guy, Geovanis, who worked in our building and invited us out on the town. He had shown us a good time the previous nights, but tonight he wanted to show a couple of us girls a real discoteca, and brought along his friend Jose to join the fun and meet some of his new American friends. When Jose walked out of his place, all of us were immediately impressed and maybe a little nervous. He was skinny but you could see his lean muscles through his t-shirt and dark jeans. His dark skin was complemented by a hairstyle of thick dreads and perfect dimples on both sides of his face. He greeted us all politely and we looked at each other with expressions that said, “dammnnn”.
Me, being the shy girl who never talks to attractive men, walked behind him, admiring his behind and eavesdropping on his conversations with the other girls to get an idea of what he was like. Oh, right, I forgot I don’t understand Cuban Spanish yet, well, he has a sexy voice anyways. We got to the club, ordered drinks, watched the opening entertainment awkwardly, failing at our attempts at conversation over the ear-ringing volume of music. With each sip of Havana Club, we eased up and soon the reggaeton was turned up and the stage turned into a busy dance floor. We all were having a good time, dancing with each other in a group, me staying at a safe distance from the dreaded temptation (no pun intended). My efforts proved useless as I found him eyeing me and doing a silly-looking dance move that was surely intended to be seductive. Even though he looked a little ridiculous, it was unintentionally charming and I accepted his offer to dance.
As the tobacco smoke got thicker, the music sexier, our vision blurrier and as we got deafer, I decided that I liked this strange, presumably dangerous, Cuban man. I blame the dimples.
