Big Girls & Bad Boys: 8 Scorching Hot BBW Alpha Male Romance Novellas Box Set
Page 38
“Yes. In America, the government exists to serve its people. Communists seek a system where people exist to serve the government. The individual is not as important as the state, the collective. The hopes and dreams of the individual are trampled in favor of the so-called greater good,” Marco told me.
“That doesn’t sound very appealing,” I replied.
“It is not. A man’s hard work is stolen from him and given to others. Even under the dictator Batista, a man may work hard and reap the fruits of his labor. I must pay bribes to keep the officials fat and happy but it is possible. Under Castro, despite his promise of justice, I fear what is mine will be taken, turned over the state and given to those that have not earned it,” he said. Marco never raised his voice or showed anger. He spoke of it like a man might speak of the weather but in his words I discerned a quiet resolve.
“That’s terrible. Why would they do such a thing?” I wondered.
“Like all men, they want power but instead of building it they seek to steal it. Steal it from men like me, from all people really. Why would a man work hard when he can only expect as much as the man that does nothing? Soon, all the people will learn that hard work has no reward and doing the least possible is just as rewarding. Castro and communists like him steal a man’s pride and his opportunity to better himself. He would have men be sheep and men like me are cast as the wolves, stealing from the people,” Marco said. I looked at him as he went on.
“Castro will tell them that the man that produces, the man that offers good, honest work to many, is the problem. He will tell them that I am the thief and he is their savior. He will take all that I and my family have built in the name of justice and tell the people that it is theirs. In reality, it will be his and he will become wealthy and powerful because of it while the people receive but crumbs,” Marco told me, this time his voice taking on a sharper tone.
“I’m sorry,” was all I could say. It was overwhelming, a foreign concept to me. America could be corrupt and unfair at times but what you worked for was yours. Men of business and commerce were lauded and looked to for leadership. They were not demonized.
“I apologize. I go on. These are not your problems,” Marco said.
“No, it’s fine. I had no idea,” I replied.
“Still, let us not speak of it any longer. Tell me of your hopes and dreams,” he urged.
“Oh, I don’t know. I used to want to get out of my small town, to see the world and have adventures. The more I see the less I want that anymore. The world isn’t what I thought,” I told him.
“The world is what you make of it. It can be a rough place but it can be beautiful too. Look at Havana. Even amongst the corruption, the debauchery, she is beautiful, no?” Marco suggested. I looked around, really looked around, and it was beautiful. Not all of it but you could ignore the bad if you chose.
“She is beautiful,” I agreed.
“Made more so by your presence,” Marco said as he stopped walking and pulled me too him. He stared into my eyes and I was powerless to look away. Marco had revealed himself to me, if just a part of him, and I liked what I saw. He was a strong, passionate man. I was undeniably attracted to him. He was attracted to me too, it seemed. I couldn’t help but wonder why but I pushed my misgivings aside.
“Thank you,” I said refusing to say more, to ruin the moment.
“I want to see you again, Nancy. Let me take you out. Dinner and dancing. Let me show you my city, the beauty of it,” Marco asked.
“I have to work,” I told him.
“Every night?” he pressed.
“No, I’m off on Mondays,” I said.
“Then Monday it is,” he told me and I nodded, agreeing to meet him again. Marco led me off towards the Aunt Nena Club, a smile on his face. He took my arm again, a gesture I enjoyed greatly. Walking arm in arm made me feel special. Marco made me feel special. I still couldn’t fathom why he chose me but I remembered what he said. It wasn’t my choice, it was his. I guess I had no choice but to accept it. Something told me Marco would make good on his vow to make me believe it. He was that kind of man.
We walked, our conversation turning to matters more mundane. He told me stories of growing up in Cuba and I was mildly surprised to discover it didn’t sound all that different than growing up in America. He told me a little about the business of making cigars. It was more complex than I imagined, a bit of science mixed with some magic and a lot of hard work. Cigars had fallen out of favor in many parts of America but in Cuba, they were a way of life. Even some women smoked them.
Marco pulled one, a short, dark cigar, from his jacket, cut the end and lit it with a wooden match. I had come to enjoy the smell of cigars. How could you not in Cuba? They were everywhere, in the clubs, the dance halls and casinos. They were smoked in cafes, restaurants and homes. Cigars were a part of Cuba like cars were a part of America. They were a source of pride and satisfaction. Almost as an afterthought, Marco offered me a cigar.
“No, no. I tried cigarettes when I was in high school and almost choked to death. I enjoy the smell but I couldn’t smoke one,” I told him. Marco laughed.
“I assumed that was the case. I’ve never met an American woman that smoked a cigar. Even the young Cuban women do not partake any longer. They prefer cigarettes. Unfortunate. Cigarettes are not made with the same care as a fine cigar,” Marco told me.
“Only men smoke them in America and even then not very often,” I informed him.
“The world is going to hell. Communism is one thing but cigars are important,” Marco said and winked at me. I smiled at his little joke but something told me he was serious on some level. A good cigar was more important than politics. That made me like Marco even more. We walked in silence, simply enjoying the evening and each other’s company until we wound up at my bungalow that was near the Aunt Nena Club. There Marco left me after a kiss on the cheek and I watched him stroll away into the night, wishing he had stayed instead.
~~~
~3~
I went a little crazy over the next few days. The longer I was apart from Marco, the more desperate I was to see him again. Our time together had a clear effect on me. I was feistier at my job, less patient with the men that leered at me. The way Marco talked about himself and me, about politics and cigars, conspired to make me less tolerant of my lot in life. I had come to Cuba for excitement and adventure, to see the world and experience something different but I had let myself settle for so much less.
I wasn’t ready to take full control of my life but I was less satisfied with it. I was less willing to accept the status quo. That’s what got me in trouble. I was feeling my oats and Tony wasn’t impressed with my new attitude. Another drunken man, a British man, was insisting that I let him take me to his room. I was even surer that was something I would not do after my evening with Marco. “C’mon, sweetie. Let’s go fuck. I promise you’ll love it,” he prodded for the tenth time.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I told him again as he held me on his lap, groping me. I tolerated his roaming hands to a point. The British man suddenly grabbed my face and turned it as he shoved his tongue into my mouth. He tasted of cheap liquor, cigarettes and onions. Then his hand slipped up my thigh and under my panties. That was all I could take. I elbowed him and broke free of his arms. I turned and slapped him.
“Fuck you, pig!” I yelled, my anger getting the best of me. The man stood up, his face screwed up and went to slap me. Tony was there suddenly and stopped him, seizing his hand as it flew. Tony wasn’t looking at the Englishman, however, he was looking at me.
“Sorry, sir. Let me find a woman more to your liking,” Tony said sternly and looked around. He called over a young Cuban girl that didn’t have the same reservations about selling her body that I had. “This little señorita will take care of you. She likes it dirty too,” Tony told the man. He pulled his hand from Tony’s grasp and straightened his jacket.
“Bloody, self-righteous Yanks,” the British man said and looked
the Cuban girl up and down. She posed and licked her lips, embellishing just a little too much. The pushy Englishman seemed satisfied with the girl Tony offered. I didn’t see what happened though as Tony grabbed my arm and pushed me through the crowd and into the back of the club. He wouldn’t let the British man slap me but that didn’t stop Tony from doing it. His hand hit my cheek, the room went dark and I saw stars for a moment.
“You fucking bitch! I’m losing patience with you. You owe me, you whore, and I want my fucking money. I’ll give you thirty days to pay me back. Beg, borrow or steal it, I don’t give a fuck. I’m sick of your shit. You’re not that special. Give it up, honey. You’re a whore and that’s all you’ll ever be. You think you’re a high-class escort because that Cuban guy fucked you? You’re not! Now get the fuck out of my sight!” Tony shouted at me.
I rubbed my face and fought back tears as I stared at him a moment and then decided I’d better leave before he lost patience or I did something I’d regret. I ran to the back of the club, to the dressing room, and fell onto the old, worn sofa and cried. It wasn’t the pain of being hit as much as the anger and shame. I hated myself for letting that British man fondle me, for letting Tony hit me but most of all, I hated that I believed what Tony said about me. I was worthless, a whore whether I let men screw me for money or not. I was Tony’s whore, working to pay him interest on a loan I’d never pay back. But now Tony was demanding payment. Where was I going to get the money?
I knew this was Tony’s way of forcing me into prostitution, to get me into a life I’d probably never escape from. I was paying him interest on the loan but that was nothing compared to the money Tony could make off of me if I was selling my body and he was taking his fifty percent. Tony assumed I had slept with Marco and now he expected me to do it again. I couldn’t do it but if I didn’t, I’d likely end up in a shallow grave in the jungle.
“Honey, are you all right?” Rosa asked as she appeared and sat next to me. I sat up and wiped the tears from my eyes but I couldn’t look at her.
“I’m fine,” I told her but it was a lie. I was out of options. I was going to have to do it. I was going to have to sleep with men for money, to sell my body and give up what little pride I had left. How did I get myself into this? I just wanted some excitement, to see the world and when Tony offered to get me to Havana, I foolishly accepted. I should have known better. It was too good to be true. I’d basically sold myself into slavery.
“Look, it’s not that bad. You learn to close off part of your mind so you can tolerate the men. Sometimes, you get a good one and it’s almost enjoyable. It’s not the end of the world, Nancy,” Rosa told me. Was that supposed to make me feel better?
“I can’t do it, Rosa,” I exclaimed. She frowned.
“You did that hunk of a man the other night. Just do it again,” Rosa told me. She assumed I’d slept with Marco too. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to but not for money.
“I didn’t sleep with him,” I replied.
“I saw him give you money,” Rosa said.
“He just wanted to spend time with me. He just wanted to get to know me. He paid because it was the only way,” I told her. Rosa looked shocked.
“Is he a...you know?” she asked. I didn’t know what she meant at first but then I got her meaning. She was implying Marco was homosexual and buying my time to appear otherwise. Men that loved other men weren’t held in high esteem in Cuba.
“No. No! Maybe he’s just a man that doesn’t need to pay for sex. Maybe he’s a man that...,” I began to say but then paused for a moment, “Maybe he’s just a man that knows what he wants.”
“Yeah, right! He wants something, that’s for sure, honey. I promise you, men always want something,” she said. I didn’t want to believe that but around Havana that was all too often true. But Marco seemed different somehow. The way he spoke, the way he carried himself. He had an air of pride that too many men didn’t possess. If only I could run away and be with him.
I couldn’t run away, however. Tony would find me. Men like him didn’t take kindly to losing money. It’s all they wanted, money and power. Tony wasn’t simply a business owner. He ran the Aunt Nena Club for the mob. The liquor, gambling, prostitution and probably more was their source of income. They made money giving people what they wanted, the vices they couldn’t get back home. They did it while the police looked the other way as long as they received their bribes and at the expense of fools like me.
There was nothing I could do other than give in and hope I wasn’t lost in the process. Unless...I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t ask Marco for help. I barely knew him. He told me it was my character that he found attractive. How could that be? I was about to give in and prostitute myself to get out of the trap I’d walked into all too eagerly. That wasn’t character, that was stupidity. I don’t know what he saw in me. The feelings he had engendered in me were gone.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” I said as I got to my feet, wiped my eyes and walked back to the club. I made it through the rest of the evening, avoiding the men and Tony as best I could, serving drinks and looking busy. Maybe Rosa was right. Could a bit of affection shown to these men be so bad? As I looked about the room, I decided yes, it would be that bad. Drunken, rough men were all I saw. I would find no pleasure with them, only pain and humiliation. Then I thought of Marco. He was different. Why he came to this God-forsaken club I don’t know but he didn’t belong here. I’d give him anything he desired but I wouldn’t do it for money. I couldn’t do that, even with Marco.
~~~
The next day, Monday, I readied myself to see Marco. He promised to pick me up at eight. I found the prettiest dress I had, a green satin dress with a pleated skirt and lacy petticoat that flattered my figure and gave a hint of what it hid beneath, black heels, a bra, panties and garter belt with stockings underneath. I always had to look my best at the Aunt Nena but I took extra care with my makeup and wore my blonde hair up. The process of getting ready helped calm my nerves and kept the previous night’s events from intruding, especially when I was able to cover up the red glow on my left cheek left by Tony with blush.
Moments after I was satisfied, a knock came at my door. I checked myself one last time and went to get the door. Marco stood there as I opened the door and he handed me a dozen roses. “Good Evening, Nancy. You look ravishing,” he told me. I smiled and my cheeks warmed.
Thank you, you look good yourself,” I replied. Marco was in a suit and tie instead of a tuxedo tonight. The suit was black with pin stripes and it fit his form perfectly, tapering from his broad shoulders to his thin waist. He wore a black Cuban fedora with a white band and shiny black shoes. He was very handsome. “Come in,” I offered. Marco bowed as I took the roses and then came into my small bungalow.
“I hope you enjoy Cuban cuisine,” he offered as I found something to put the roses in.
“I don’t get much opportunity to sample the local food. Beans and rice I make myself, mostly,” I told him. I barely survived on what I made and going out to dine, even at the small local places, wasn’t in the budget. The rent on my dingy bungalow and the interest on Tony’s loan took most of my wages. I’m sure that’s how it was supposed to be so I would be tempted to sell myself into prostitution. Now I wasn’t sure I had a choice any longer.
“If you don’t mind, I thought we could get away from the bright lights and crowds. I know of a cafe,” Marco told me.
“Whatever you like,” I replied, slipping the roses into the small pitcher I’d found after filling it with water. I set the makeshift vase down and turned to find Marco just inches from me. He slipped his hands around my waist and bent to kiss me. I sighed despite myself, placing one hand on Marco’s broad shoulder. Marco did indeed take what he wanted but I found I liked that.
“I’ve missed you,” he said as he broke the kiss.
“I missed you too,” I told him. If only he knew how much.
“Are you ready to go? I’m famished,” Marco asked.
Marco helped me into the car, closing the door after I gathered my dress and pulled it inside. Then he joined me. I was glad I wore my hair up since he had the top down on the big car. He started the engine and then pulled away from the shoulder. “Your car is beautiful,” I told him.
“Thank you,” he said. He seemed proud of the car and well he should be. It was the nicest car I’d ever been in. After Marco set his hat on the seat, we did drive away from downtown, the hustle and bustle, into the real Havana as he’d promised. This is where the middle class lived and worked, where the glitz of Havana faded into everyday life. This part of the city looked in many ways like America but it had its own unique flavor. The food, music and culture were a mix of African, Caribbean, European and more.
“Have you visited this part of Havana?” Marco asked as we drove.
“No. I’ve meant to but...well, I work a lot and even when I do have some time to myself I don’t have much money left for sightseeing,” I told him. Saying that reminded me about the previous night and the predicament I found myself in. Marco looked at me and narrowed his eyes.
“Something has happened, has it not?” he asked. Was it that obvious? I thought I had hid my feelings better.
“No, why?” I replied wearing a smile. Marco saw through my fib.