A sexy gay boxer in Havana, Cuba

El chino provides a gay short time room in Havana

By Suzy Size, your gay guide through Cuba and Central America

Dear comrade Connie,

whilst in Havana in search of gay Cuba I had all the time of the world. Without any internet access life had slowed down for me and all the others. I undertook endless walks through gay and not so gay Havana and observed the daily routine of its inhabitants. I was sitting on a bench in a little park – no, comrade Connie, not that interesting one opposite the Hotel Inglaterra where the gay revolutionary youth of Havana is recruited – and watched the collective taxis during rush hour being filled up with passengers. It was around 4 pm and people started to return home from work with said vehicles, predominantly old American cars from the 50ties. There was an organizer who oversaw the whole operation. He made sure the cars were filled up like sardine cans. The taxi driver only received a receipt thereafter and drove away to his destination.

The prospective passengers did not cue up properly in a line, but stood around in a rather anarchic order, they had the appearance of a wild bunch. Whenever somebody new arrived – which happened quite frequently during this Havana style rush hour – he or she would ask:

“Who is the last one?”

Someone identified himself or herself as being the last one and the newcomer know knew whom to watch when finally boarding the collective taxi half an hour or so later. All the passengers were (temporarily) turned into “last ones” during this so interesting process, a truly revolutionary way of organizing public transport.

Besides the collective taxis, private taxis were offering their service there as well. Their selling point was:

“We will bring you to your house door.”

But whilst I watched that whole procedure, nobody entered one of those private taxis.

After about half an hour of watching, I had enough of that shit and headed once again to the interesting terrace of Hotel Inglaterra, avoiding once more all that dog shit covering the streets of Havana.

But I did not make it to that terrace this time. When I walked through the little cruisy park just opposite Hotel Inglaterra – I can warmly recommend this place to you, comrade comandante Connie – I met an irresistible freedom fighter who wanted to enlist badly. His heavenly name was Cielo, 23 years of age and a black boxer like Pepe Alvarez whom Truman Capote loved so much! As you know, comrade Connie, in life, in general, and during a revolution, in particular, timing is everything!

When I saw and talked to Cielo, who was full of revolutionary impetus, I instantly knew, he was my man in Havana, he was going to be my hero of the gay Havana movement!

There was no time left to return to the safe house of Greta and Hilda Alvarez to fly over the rainbow with heavenly Cielo who only wanted to make me happy!

What a dedication!

What heroism!

An extremely strong wild fire was burning in lovely Cielo!

It was not the first time Cielo was fighting for the good cause, he exactly knew the nearby location of a Havana gay safe house and naturally we rushed there in a haste.

And that is, comrade Connie, how I entered the kingdom of El chino the very first time.

The entrance to the house where El chino has his apartment is run down and does not look very inviting, but maybe, comrade Connie, this is sort of camouflage? I would hardly have searched here for a gateway to heaven without the knowing guidance of heroic Cielo.

When we arrived at the door of El chino he did not immediately open, but asked Cielo some questions, probably tested his gay revolutionary skills and knowledge. The he unbolted the door and welcomed us to his safe home, his secret kingdom.

El chino is between fifty and fifty-five years old and of (not pure) Chinese descent. Whilst Cielo used his bathroom, El chino introduced me briefly to the three or four young men in the room who were also enthusiastic gay freedom fighters and ready to enlist any given time. He had one of those revolutionaries lower his pants and out sprang a riffle of sheer incredible dimensions: As an old size-queen I was not little impressed, I have to confess to you, comrade comandante Connie!

Thereafter I took the liberty – again, without consulting with you, jefe Connie – to use said bathroom of El chino. It must be said, that bathroom was dirty, smelled terrible and there was no running water, but who ever told us that the gay Cuban revolution would come without price, without hardship and tears?

After all, you, comrade comandante Connie, never promised us a rose garden!

When Cielo and I were finally alone in that kitschy room, in that so benevolent gay Havana short time safe house of heroic El chino, we immediately jumped on each other with the greatest possible enthusiasm!

Comrade Connie I admit:

Here in the somewhat simple – call it filthy, if you must – room of El chino:

I experienced the very best camaraderie of the whole fucking trip!

Forgotten was Darick darling, back in Belem…

I do not want to bore you with the details, comandante Connie, but the pleasure was huge, and Cielo was very accommodating indeed.

I left El chino a happy man and very satisfied. I was sure, I would meet Cielo, that great gift sent by heaven, again, probably right the next day.

But I really should have written down his phone number, to make sure.

I went back to that lovely park time and again, but I never saw my beautiful boxer again.

Cielo could be a reason to return to gay Havana again! One of the very few reasons to return to fucking gay Havana again.