Since the old-fashioned garden-variety whorehouse has become practically extinct in this country, generally one must travel abroad to find such performances today. A few countries of Latin America, Asia and the Arab lands still offer these usually pitiful spectacles as underground tourist attractions.
A New York executive who has spent much time in the Caribbean islands where his firm does a great deal of business tells about an experience of the kind in pre-Castro Cuba.
CASE 1 — Ben P.
Before the revolution down there, Cuba was really the place to go, I'm telling you. It was murder trying to get any business done is the only thing, with all the distractions — whores and whorehouse on every street, blue movies, orgy exhibitions — you name it and you could find it. You didn't have to do any shopping around either. All you had to do was walk out on any street. They'd spot you for an American right off and there'd be a dozen pimps after you, trying to sell you every kind of sex experience that man ever invented. You couldn't help get the impression that every broad in Havana was peddling her ass and every guy was pimping for them.
The 'exhibitions' were the big thing. First thing they'd mention to you. 'Superman' was the big star. He was a big black bugger with a cock like a baseball bat, and he put on shows in one of the houses there. He'd take on about four or five of the girls at once and they'd play the scene for you any way you ordered it. If you wanted to, you could strip down and join the show yourself. They'd do their thing in a performance just for you, or for a whole party of ten or twenty tourists. How Superman kept his prick up all day is beyond me. Must've had a steel rod planted in it. Or maybe there were three or four different 'Supermen' working in shifts for all I know.
Anyway, I'd been there a few times and seen and done just about everything there was in that Goddamn sex-town, and one hot day in December I landed in Havana with some business to attend to, figuring I'd finish it up in an hour or two and hop back to Miami that same night. No hanky-panky this trip I promised myself. In fact I had a redhead date all lined up for myself in Miami that would put all these fat-ass Cuban whores to shame. I figured she and I would have a little private exhibition all our own that night in front of the picture mirror in her apartment.
But of course I had the usual pimp parade on me like leeches as soon as I got downtown from the airport, giving me all the usual pitches, and they didn't like to take no for an answer. They figured that men came to Cuba from the U.S.A. to get laid, period. You tell them not interested and they don't believe their ears. After all, once you'd seen the Capitollo and the rum distillery and the ancient cathedral in Havana, what the hell else is there left but the whorehouse?
It wound up finally with just this one determined cat dogging my tracks, still trying to sell me some kind of cock therapy. He'd already run through the whole catalogue of goodies for me about twelve times. 'You want the woman? Big tits woman? Young girl? Very young! Teen-age schoolgirl for you. She do everything you like. Two young girls — all for you. Two together. They come with you. Your hotel. Maybe young boy? You like the young boy? You say what you like. I fix for you. See the exhibition? Two girls? Three girls? Four? Five?'
Then he got into something that sounded like 'done-kee the done-kee'. I didn't get the meaning at first, but then I realized all of a sudden that he was pitching for a girl making it with a Goddamn donkey. This was a brand new one on me. I'd heard there were such things that went on but I'd never been steered on it before. All of a sudden I was interested. It was something people talk about but you don't get to see every day in the week and I was really curious. That woman with a donkey shit — you don't half believe it really happens, you know? I doubted that there were two guys in the whole of Philadelphia that could say they'd ever seen it, and here was my chance to be the first in my neighborhood.
At first I thought maybe it was just a movie show this guy was talking about, but he said, 'No-o-o — real alive done-key — fuck pretty young girl for you.'
I cooled down a little when he told me it was going to cost me fifty Cuban pesos, which translates into exactly fifty U.S. dollars. That was the tab for a private performance — just me, the girl and the donkey — but if I didn't mind sharing the spiritual experience, I could wait until night and there'd be a group showing for a crowd of tourists at ten dollars a head admission. Well shit, I couldn't pass that up. So I told him to put me down for a reservation, kissed off my date in Miami and checked into a hotel to wait out the time.
My friendly guide came to pick me up in a cab at seven-thirty and we drove down to the Chinatown section — the driver blasting his horn at every intersection the way they do. We pulled up at a seedy-looking old mansion on a dark street — had a huge front door about ten feet tall with an ornate grillwork all over it — real old Spanish style.
There was the usual fat madame that let us in and we went across a shitty-smelling courtyard and into the front room of the place. There was a lot of Spanish chatter going on — about how much loot they were going to be able to squeeze out of me, no doubt I'd already laid out five to the cab driver and ten to the guide, but there was still the beady-eyed madame to take care of, and probably the girl and the donkey besides. Then there'd usually be a few extra associate whores and apprentice pimps coming around with their hands out before any action finally got under way. There was a lot of featherbedding in these Havana sex factories. Everybody wanted in on the loot, whether they'd contributed to your orgasm or not. They must've had a hell of a strong union going for them I guess.
I gave five to the madame right away to get her off my back and turned a deaf ear to the swarm of young chicks that went at my pants the way they always did. The smart thing to do in a whorehouse is to let them grab at your cock all they want but keep your hand in your money pocket and protect that at all times.
The madame and my guide shooed the girls off me finally and we went inside through about six layers of draperies and came to a big square room with a round bed in the middle and the usual mirrors all over the walls and ceiling. There were about ten or twelve guys sitting around the bed — stateside tourist types. One of them even had brought his wife along with him. She was too prim and plain-looking to be anything but a wife.
The show had already started, but I hadn't missed anything. This was only a preliminary act — warm-up for the main event. Two naked girls were going at it on the red satin bedspread, one of them fucking the other man- style with a huge artificial prick fastened onto her lower body by straps. I'd seen this kind of shit before and it didn't do a hell of a lot for me. The room temperature was about a hundred-and-nine degrees — they didn't have air- conditioning in the brothels in those days — and the tourists were all panting and sweating beads with the heat and the excitement. I pulled up a chair in the second row, away from all those steaming bodies. I figured I'd save my sweat for the donkey act.
Meanwhile the artificial cock was pounding in and out and the fat little broad that was getting it was thrashing all over the bedspread, pretending to have fantastic orgasms. I got more fun though out of watching the tourist's wife, who was sweating worse than any of the men and looked very uncomfortable. She kept one hand up to her face at all times as if she was afraid somebody from back home was going to walk in all of a sudden and recognize her.
The girls quit their dildo fuck abruptly and broke off connections to move into a new position, but just then the madame popped in clapping her hands and sang out, 'End of act one,' or Spanish words to that effect. Four or five more girls had come in with her, some naked and some in g-strings, and they all climbed up onto the bed and struck leering poses, jiggling their boobs and grinding their hips for our benefit, and the two broads that had been performing got up and joined them.
Now it was up to us to decide which one of the girls we wanted to see getting her well plugged by the donkey. I voted for a slim little giggly chick with pointy, springy tits and a cute ass, figuring she'd give us a good lively show, but most of the tourists voted for a phony blonde with a big-eyed baby-face and a pair of boobs like Sophia Loren. It figured.
Then the other chicks all disappeared, we pulled our chairs back, and at couple of black Samsons came in and carried the bed away. At that point I was wondering how in the hell they were going to set the thing up. Getting a donkey's cock into a girl has to be some kind of a contortion, I figured, for the donkey and the girl both. There had to be some kind of apparatus.
Sure enough, they wheeled in a wooden platform and I began to see how they would manage it. The girl apparently would lie on top of the thing on her belly with her legs hanging down in back, spread wide, with her feet in stirrups and her pussy through wide-open from the ass-end. And there were raised-up shelves on both sides of the contraption where the donkey could rest his front legs when he reared up into position.
But the girl — I think they said her name was Felicia — didn't climb onto her perch right away. She was circulating around among the crowd making friends, thanking all the boys individually for picking her to fuck the donkey, and showing her gratitude with big slurpy tongue-licking kisses and by letting everybody play bouncy squeezy with her fantastic boobs.
