I began my travels, as soon as I could walk. My Dad said I was 2 years old, when I first ran away. I only made it a few blocks and cried and screamed, because I was headed toward the store for “Candy”. My Mom couldn’t calm me down until they figured it out, and fed my demands with a piece of salt water taffy. Then, at the ripe age of 7, Dad forgot me on the other side of town at a Sears’s store, and I decided to make my own way home, and succeeded in less than an hour to accomplish that. I was in training, and each attempt was to go further and further. When I was 11, I used a car without permission and made it 3 states away, before I ran out of gas and blew a clutch trying to learn how to drive a stick shift. The cops came and asked me for my license and realized I was too young and driving a stolen car. I was sent home after a night in the “Who’s-cow” or Jail as you might call it, in Terra Haut, Indiana. I woke up and had breakfast, and an off duty cop drove me home where my Dad kicked the living crap out of me in front of the cop, and nobody said a word to stop him.

I was placed in a Juvenile Home for little Bastards like me, and planned my escape to freedom. It took 2 years, but I managed to steal some money from the Superintendents Home while cleaning and took an extra set of his car keys, ran out of his house, into his garage, and sped off down the highway, headed toward New Orleans. I had a full tank of gas and a few hundred dollars, so I was better prepared this time. Gas was 26 cents a gallon in 1960 and a hamburger was a dime. It took me 3 days to make it to Louisiana and some big kids in a gas station let me sell them my car for $500. It was a 1960 Chevy Impala and they were quite pleased. I was thrilled, because now I could get an apartment and live “High on the Hog”. I could pass for 16 when I was 14 and in those days nobody had a birth certificate let alone an I.D. so I found a place in Jackson Square, New Orleans and gave the man $80 for a month’s rent in the oldest apartment building in the USA. It was called “The Pontalbo” and built by Andrew Jackson after the War of 1812.

The job opportunities for a boy were limited and the pay was $1.25 an hour, so I hustled on the street shining shoes and bilking tourists out of money with a tricky question. “I know where you got those shoes.”

For $1 I’ll give you the answer. After they gave the cute kid a buck, I’d answer, “On your feet.” Sometimes a bully would slap me around and take my money, but that was not often. I knew about “Queers” and New Orleans was full of them. All the sailors were, and they had bars full of them holding hands and kissing in public, even some dressing like girls. They always tried to seduce me, but I wasn’t interested. I found a couple of young girls that let me play with their pussy and liked to suck on my dick. We called it “Stinky fingers” and “Blow jobs”. I lasted about 6 months until a nice looking Rich Guy offered me $100 for a Blow Job. Not me Blowing Him, but he wanted to suck my cock and give me the money. I thought about it and got an erection. What the Hell, I let him. He was from Texas and said he was a teacher of “Art”. I followed him to his Hotel and when we reached His room I asked for the money before I got undressed. He gave me a new bill that was all crispy and I stuffed it in my jeans as I undressed and jumped in the bed. He got naked and had a raging hard-on twice my size. I had a 4 inch dick and his was at least 7 inches and I didn’t know what was going to happen, but didn’t expect it when it did. He got down between my legs and started sucking my dick as he placed my legs over his shoulders and eased his way up so he had my cock in his mouth and started to ream my ass with his dick, like he was a contortionist, and I couldn’t get away. He held me so tight, I couldn’t buck loose, and his dick pierced my ass in a painful stroke, and he kissed me full on the mouth to muffle my scream. I was “Fucked”. I think he fucked me for 10 minutes, until he shot a load of sperm up my ass that made me cum at the same time. I was so ashamed, that I cried uncontrollably for a full 5 minutes. He told me to shower, because after his cum started to drip out of my ass it acted like an enema and I had to crap. In the shower I felt like crap myself. Just thinking about it gave me another erection and I wanted to get even, so I went back into the bed and this time I fucked him in the ass doggy style. He was talking dirty like saying,” Fuck me, Fuck me.” I guess I had fucked him for a good 10 minutes until I shot a load up his ass, and we both took a shower together. He was 23 years old and told me He was in Love with Me. I didn’t mind him kissing me, and we went back into bed and talked for hours as we called room service, and had a full 5 coarse meal together. I didn’t leave until morning, and after breakfast I decided to hit him up for more money. Well, He said he would be here for 5 more days and would give me $500 if I would be his companion and tour the city. Hell yes, my ass didn’t even hurt and I was learning a new profession that paid a week’s wages in one hours time.

I got the $500 from him and we went to a bank and opened an account for me and I kept the original $100 to go shopping for new clothes. Our touring took me all over the city into jazz clubs and fancy restaurants. We took a cab uptown and went to a famous Restaurant where he spent $100 on a meal with a bottle of Champagne. I went everywhere he wanted to go and realized, this was the first time I had really seen the city. Upon returning to his Hotel we immediately showered and went back to bed to work on my lessons. This was very interesting, because I never had sucked cock before, and it didn’t repulse me, but rather intrigued me in a queer sort of way. He started to suck my cock an slowly changed his position until his cock was in front of my face. His ministrations felt so good and I liked him, so I started to put his pulsating cock in my mouth. I ran my tongue over his dick in a mirror movement of what he was doing to mine. We were “69ing” and I think we drifted off into space, because when I woke up, it was morning. I tasted sperm in my mouth, and my face was glazed like a donut. When I looked in the mirror my hair, was all spermed-up into colic. He came into the bathroom behind me, and started to fuck me bent over the sink. I looked into the mirror and the sight of it was really unreal. I was being fucked like a little girl, and enjoying it. His cock slowly inching up my butt cheeks and reaching a G-spot that felt so-oo-oo GOOD, I was convinced this was my destiny as far as vocations go. I had found a career

In the Entertainment Industry. When he shot a load up my ass, I shot a load across the sink into the mirror. We both laughed like crazy and then showered and went on touring the city. We visited the Zoo and rode a Camel and played with some monkeys.

Afterwards he decided to visit the “Scene”, is what He called it and we bar hopped until the wee hours of the morning. A dozen people knew him and came over to talk at our table in the first bar that looked a bit queer with Ladies clothes on and make-up covering a 5 o’clock shadow. The conversation was always about me and how handsome I was and was I GAY??? He told them I was a Hustler and it was my very first time. He told them I was $100 a night and had the tightest ass, and gave the best blow job he ever had. I was embarrassed, but it was working to build my client list for the future. All the “Ladies” told me to come back when he leaves, if I want to make some money. We had created an Image that I never could have imagined a few days before. I stayed the 5 days and nights and saw him leave back to Texas. Now, when I walked down the street guys would whistle, and wave like they knew me for my whole life. I had arrived on the “Scene” as the, “Fresh Meat” that I was. I started to make the rounds, and do Quickies for $40 which was a 1 hour session of me letting Old Queers suck my cock. I wouldn’t fuck or get fucked for less than $100 and accumulated $5,000 in a month.

It was 1962 and I had been gone for a year and a half. I bought a new Chevy from a Dealership that was a 1963 Impala convertible and kept hustling and learning my craft during a time of “Free Love” I was making money. I never even thought of myself as being Queer, because I was making money. It was only a job. I wanted to travel and I needed a license and I.D. so I asked around and found a Gay Man in the Government Department of Motor Vehicles that hooked me up for a one night stand. It worked for me until we got to his place and I had to dress like a little girl for his fantasy. I never had before and just putting the panties and stockings on gave me a raging hard-on that looked ridicules in a little school girl’s uniform. When he saw my boner, he smacked it and it shrunk down to the size of a peanut. He then made me wear a wig and dance to the music he had on the phonograph. I was a good dancer and he sat in a chair naked stroking himself until he was hard. His cock was enormous, 11 inches and as thick as my wrist. I was sure he wouldn’t fit in my tight ass, and I would have to blow the man down.

He asked me to do a slow strip and I did to his appreciation. After I had taken off the stockings my hard-on returned and he spanked it on the head where it returned to the size of a peanut. I was only wearing a wig and panties and now kneeling between his legs inserting that big Louisiana Sausage in my Mouth and tasting his sperm which was like the taste of the Ocean. I was going to drown when he held my head with his strong hands and wouldn’t let go until his spermatic climax was complete. He then got up and lifted me, an placed me over his knees and started to spank the shit out of my buttocks. He had a jar of Vaseline and pulled my panties down and greased my little bung hole while he finger fucked me.

I was sure that big old cock wouldn’t fit, but somehow it did. I was screaming and didn’t know why,”Fuck me; Fuck me, and Fuck Me”. I remember him saying “Push, Push like you have to take a crap and it will fit easier”. It did fit and I loved it. This 40 something old man had used me like a little girl and I liked it. Even the little girls school clothes made me feel sexy. The frilly panties, the stockings, the little plaid skirt, the little bra, the girl’s blouse, the blond wig, everything except lipstick and makeup. Here I was getting my very first drivers license, maybe this was The Road Test. Well, I left after midnight and went back to my apartment with cum dripping out of my ass the whole way. The next day I went to his office and he gave me the license. He asked me if I would return sometime and I said for a hundred dollars I would, but now my ass was, out of order. I needed rest from that large cock’s intrusion. I don’t know why, but I went shopping for that little school girls outfit and even bought falsies that fit in the bra. I went to a wig shop and bought a blond wig. I stopped at a dime store and bought cheap make-up and lipstick. I was 15 years old and went home and dressed up in the little school girl drag and immediately had a raging hard-on that I masturbated, thinking of getting fucked by a large dick, which I would have paid for at that vulnerable moment. Wow, how my life had changed.

I dreamt of sucking cock and getting fucked. I was 15 and decided to travel to Florida and see the Ocean for the very first time. I had a new car, clothes, and $17,500 in cash stashed in the trunk. I stayed in motels that only cost $8 a night and my driver’s license said I was 18, so I could go into bars. There were not any “Gay Bars” along the way, but in Alabama I got hit up by girls and paid $20 for a young sweet thing my age. We went to my motel and she showered with me before we did anything. She than inspected my genitals and started to suck my flaccid penis into an erection. I had to fantasize that I was getting fucked by a big dick to keep an erection.

She was a Pro at the age of 16 and somehow knew, because she inserted a finger in my bung hole and massaged my prostrate until I Climaxed. We talked and then showered again as she explained that I was Queer and should try a man before spending any more money on pussy. Her brother was just like me and made more money than her hustling Air Force guys that liked dominating and ass fucking boys. She said they pick-up’s at the Officers Club on Base and paid $50 for all the way an $20 for a blow job. I asked her to introduce me to her brother, so we got dressed and headed out to my car and raced to the Air Base.

Entering the Base they checked my I.D. and allowed me to enter. The Officers Club was full of single guys getting drunk and playing slot machines. Her brother was there with a couple of guys and we all were introduced to each other. Her brother James told me that I could make a $100 if I wanted to do a 3-way with the 2 guys he was with. He said they were Officers and Gentlemen looking for Fresh Meat. Well, that is what I felt like when I accepted their proposition. We left the club and headed to my motel. When we got there, I made them shower and then I inspected them like the young Hooker had done me and started to blow one as the other began to ream my ass. We only played for 20 minutes and then showered again as they switched positions and I sucked cock and got fucked by 2 Pilots in the U.S.Airforce. They gave me $100 and showered again and left. I went to sleep a satisfied traveler making money on my very first day.

In the morning I received a message from James, the Hookers Brother. He said a dozen guys wanted me after the fly boys returned and bragged about the best fuck in their lives, as well as getting their cock sucked by an expert that swallowed. If I was into it he would set it up for $20 a trick. I told him I had a little school girl’s uniform and could dance if they wanted me to.

Well, it started early on my adventure, but I should get the work done before continuing on my journey. I fucked and sucked and made $1,000 in 2 days, but had to take a break because my ass hurt from The Big Black Cock that was a fuck machine that slapped me around and called me a White Bitch and Fucking Queer pumping cum up my ass for 2 hours. Gawd, my ass was reamed open and felt like a wind tunnel when I farted. I even had blood in my stool and was worried about internal damage. Lucky there wasn’t, and my asshole shrunk to normal in a week. I had left Alabama, and was in a motel in Jacksonville, Florida, where sailors stationed there, picked up hookers, and some were transvestites, so I decided to try my little school girl drag, with make-up. It took me some time to get dressed, and use the makeup, and lipstick. I was looking real good, and when I stepped out of the room to test the street it wasn’t 5 min. before I got in a man’s car, and agreed to suck his cock for $20. Well he was a vice cop, and arrested me for prostitution. I was so embarrassed, when I showed him my I.D., that I thought I was going to die. I looked down at his pants, and he had a gleam in his eyes and a large bulge in his pants. He asked me where I lived, and I told him the motel, and he drove there making me open my door an locking it as we entered.

His first words were, “If you ever tell anyone, you are dead.” He then put some music on the radio, an asked me to do a strip dance for him as he disrobed. I was pretty good and sexy, and knew a sense of timing that was somehow natural and alluring. He rushed me as my panties fell to the floor, and kissed me deep with his tongue down my throat, and his cock fucking my young ass, standing up pressed against the wall. Well, this horny detective fucked me over to the bed, and had me doggy style for over an hour, talking in a gruff voice about me never saying anything, as he ejaculated a super load up my ass, that made me run to the bathroom before I crapped the bed. When I returned he was gone. But there was a $50 bill on the dresser. I was HOT and knew it. I looked like a little school girl in drag, but a real cute one that knew how to satisfy a man. I packed up and left town, before he changed his mind and came back to kill me out of fear of exposure. I headed south to Daytona. In Daytona they had a boardwalk and a Holiday Inn for $20 a night or $125 a week. I paid for a week, and took my stash of cash to my room that had a safe. I counted out $18,700 and change and just kicked back for 2 days, before leaving the building. One thing that bothered me was a feeling that I had fucked my physiological profile and never would I be the same. I had enough money, I had a new car, and I really shouldn’t work for awhile because I didn’t need to. I would drive down to the end of Highway 101 to a sleepy little fishing village called “Key West”. I stopped all along the way and swam in the ocean, ate at fancy restaurants, and socialized with kids my age that seemed like children compared to me and my past experience. They talked about the latest music and the group coming to Miami from England this year with a promotion announcement, “The Beatles Are Coming”. I would go see them for sure. I stayed in Miami and it was like the elephants graveyard. Everyone was over 60 and pushing walkers down the street. It was weird and depressing. It only took about 4 hours to make it to, “Caya Wesa” which is the name the locals called Key West. I checked in The Truman Motel and it cost me $80 a week. My car was filthy and I paid some local boys to detail it for $10. Here I was at the southernmost point in the Continental USA and I had $18,000 stashed in the trunk of my new Chevy Impala and a parking spot in the front of my room so I felt safe and secure. I was mentally fucked by my job, because I always checked out men and looked at their cocks without noticing my behavior, but they did as they rubbed their cocks, when they noticed my glances in their direction. Duval Street was the main strip of rundown bars and Restaurants where everyone spoke Cuban and smoked Cigars. Sloppy Joe’s was Hemmingway’s hangout and I started to drink cocktails and got turned on to “Motta”. That is the term for Marijuana that the locals used. I had been there for a few months when I decided to get a house across the street from the grave yard. It was a conch house and was basically a dump. I painted the inside and outside and furnished it with a stereo that blasted the new music from, “The Beatles“, “The Rolling Stones”, and Chubby Checker, Ray Charles, and other records I purchased, at the only store that sold albums. I had been celibate and now I was going to “sell a bit”. Every weekend The Cuban Club was open with a mini Casino in the back and a lot of New York people on vacation. They had a Gay Revue one weekend and I decided to work the room in drag. I took a couple hours to apply my little school girl‘s persona. I looked in the mirror one last time and saw a beautiful, sexy, school girl look back. I was ready, willing, and able. I was also horny as hell. The “Cuban Club” was jamming and they charged $10 at the door, but let me pass for free as the doorman winked and said something in Cuban as he let me in.

I went to one of the empty stools at the bar and immediately was bought 3 drinks with umbrella’s in them that were made with fruit juice and rum. The lounge was smoky and loud with conversation as The Revue took stage. Marilynn Monroe, Rita Hayward, Patti La Belle, and a dozen other look-alikes did their song and dance and then mingled around the room. I had numerous men approach, but couldn’t’ understand their language. Finally, a 50 year old Rich Man dressed to the 9’s sat next to me and spoke in perfect English. He said, “Would you like to work here.” I told him I already was, as we both laughed together. “Are you a Whore? I can afford to pay you for a few hours upstairs”, was his reply. I told him that I had to warn him I was really a boy. He smiled and told me that was better yet. He would give me $500 for a few hours romp. I agreed and we went upstairs to his lavishly furnished apartment. It had a crystal chandelier and zebra covered sofa’s and Oriental rugs everywhere. I was impressed. He turned on a stereo playing Cuban Jazz and asked me to slow dance with him. After the first dance he started to embrace me and hump me standing up and walking me into his bedroom that housed a king sized Brass bed covered with satin sheets. He then pushed me to my knees and unzipped his pants, and stuffed his fat cock in my mouth. He was Cuban and had a purple dick that got bigger and bigger with my ministrations. I was choking on his sperm and he held my head in between his hands almost drowning,

Choking and coughing until he let go. His mood changed as he told me to undress and he poured some white powder on a small mirror next to the bed. He used a razor blade to chop the powder into a pile that he separated into lines on the mirror. Cocaine was introduced to me just 9 days before my 16th Birthday.

I watched how he snorted it up a $100 bill and followed his example. I felt really “High” and He was really Horny as he bent me over and used some lubrication made from coconuts, to ease his fat cock up my ass. I hadn’t been fucked in months and this drug made everything easy. He couldn’t believe I could take it all up the ass. He really fucked me all night long and in the morning he gave me $1,000 for the Best Sex he ever had. After we showered and ate breakfast, he said he knew other men that would pay a grand for a grand time with me. He said they were “Whales” that lost thousands in one hand of poker and were looking for “Butt Boys” like me. I guess I was employed again and this time making the Big Bucks.

I only worked for 3 months and had saved a total of $72,000 that I kept locked in a safe I purchased, that I cemented into my houses foundation. I learned how to check out clients for disease, and could place a Trojan in my mouth and slide it down a dick in less than a second. I had the drips one morning to find out I had The Clap, and acquired Crabs 5 times from

Wherever, because I was careful, but sometimes not too careful. I planned to return home someday, or visit New Orleans with my stash an start my own bar. I was 17 and a cross-dressing Queen of the Gypsy’s. My driver’s license stated I was 19 and the Vietnam War created The Draft and you needed to register. I went to the Florida DMV to get a new license and they registered me for the Draft. I was Drafted into the U.S. Army within 2 months and told to report to Miami on a certain day for a physical. Well I dressed up for the occasion and this little school girl was rejected on the grounds of unacceptability. My beard was showing up and my musculature developing so I looked more mannish as time went on. Well, you can’t be a virgin forever, but it helps to land a trick if you say you are.

The Cuban Club was my home for 2 years and all the Smugglers hung out an planned Deals as they paid me for all night parties that sometimes had me blowing one guy as I got ass fucked and jerked off 2 other guys at the same time. Sometimes having 2 cocks in my mouth at the same time just for laughs. Some of these guys paid me in cocaine. I was strung out and used a gram a day of pure coke just to go to work. I spent the days on the beach and had a total tan making me look local. I was going to retire at 18 years of age with a quarter of a million dollars stash made with my ass, and sucking cock of hundreds of horny men that bought me dresses and accessories. I was outfitted in so much women’s apparel to wear, that I felt comfortable in it, and could apply makeup blindfolded. I had crossed over the line. My job became my life and it didn’t seem unusual to me at all. I started to wear high heeled shoes, and expensive perfume, with real gold earrings and rings and bracelets. I looked around my home and it looked like a women’s house, with vases and flowers and feminine touches everywhere. How my life had changed from that little shoe shine boy in the French Quarter, so long ago. James the Art Teacher from Texas didn’t know what he started when he raped my tight young ass, an paid me the $100 for the privilege.

If anyone told me I would have ended up here in this position getting a $1,000 a night as a High Class Hooker, I wouldn’t have believed it. I still didn’t believe it, that I had 1,000 clients in 5 years. So many horny men that paid just to dominate a boy, and treat him like a bitch. I was the Faggot, Queer, Bitch, as most of them berated me when we had sex. They never believed they were Homosexual. They thought only I was, and that cleared their conscious. I was the talk of the town and everyone spoke behind my back, when I went anywhere. Look at that, it looks like a girl, but isn’t. See the Adams Apple, and the muscles, and the thick bones. I was too old to pass, and would retire, soon as I am 18 years old. Yea, I have to retire, but first I have to work some more, because I promised myself, to make all the money I can until then. I think I also acquired a need for “Mano a Mano” interaction; I haven’t even looked at women as sexual objects, rather as images I tried to mirror in movement, talk and mannerisms. What a trip this has been. I even think about hormone therapy and maybe whacking the wiener off to get a pussy. Lately I climax with the man I’m with, even if it is giving a blow job. I must have developed a clitoris in my throat. I also can’t believe how large a cock I can swallow, one time I was a sword swallower with a 11in dick that disappeared down my throat until the young Cuban Polo Player’s nuts were smacking my lips. Where did it go, is what I questioned. I also had terrific climaxes when a large cock entered my derrière, and hit the G-spot with a massage type of motion sending my sperm skyrocketing into the Universe. I always flashed on this when I was bent over, because only girliemen would mount me in the missionary position where they could kiss me deeply, or suck my cock as they were deeply inside my tender young ass. I never believed I was a Faggot, or Queer, because I was thinking I was an Impersonator that only was working a job that paid well for a young man. Lately, I thought of myself as a sex object, and “Young Lady” wearing women’s haute culture, and letting my hair grow, buying expensive makeup and lipstick, and only going to the Cuban Club in Drag, where they called me “Chiquita”, like the banana people. I was learning Spanish, and acquired an accent that the “Snowbirds “loved. They were the visitors from New York and Europe, avoiding the cold snow, and icy weather up north. I’d pretend to be a virgin, and it really got my clients “HOT”. I had a commitment to my vocation, and had Graduated from a little school girl, into an “Elegant Lady”, that had a gram a day coke habit, and had her hair and nails done every Thursday at the SPA. I had body wraps and mudpacks, massage and facials. I was in a stage of metamorphoses and it was exhilarating and sexy. The ladies I knew loved to gossip with me, because I had the skinny on what was and is Vogue. My New York Clients were repeat business. They were Businessmen and Politicians that lavished me with expensive gifts. My house looked like a Harem, and I redecorated on a weekly basis. My diet was lots of supplements, with fresh squeezed juices and plates of fish or conch fritters, and tenderloin every so often. My car was getting old with dings here and there, but low mileage, because I only took trips to Miami once a month, to go shopping at the malls. This was the beginning of the “Cocaine Trade”, and a few Clients were Columbian Smugglers, that had me ass fucking them, to enlarge their capacity as mules. One guy told me I would be a good mule because my ass was like a suitcase, and could carry as much as 2 kilo’s uncut, which turns into 8 pounds after “Manite Consenti” was added to dilute the potency to 50% rather than the 96% pure grade that was smuggled in. I wanted to quit “Hustling” and this seemed to have possibilities. I might become an Independent Mule, using my own money to finance the operation. I wouldn’t have any problem distributing because the business was being conducted in every Gay Bar in America. The “Scene” was the pipeline for this drug that was the new symbol of success. Everyone was getting “HIGH”, on Cocaine, and nobody was dying in the early days or getting robbed. It was a gentlemen’s commodity, and used in every board room in America. All the Legal Experts needed it to read the fine print, and stay awake through the most boring procedures in a court room, as they snorted it up their noses in the confines of the nearest washroom. I wasn’t sure when, but I would start finding out How. Jorge Battista was my Patron at the Cuban Club and made $100,000 off of this “Chiquita”, whom he used as his personal Butt Boy, every so often. He would say to me, “Baby, you are the best Cocksucker in the World”. He’d tell me I looked more like a Lady everyday. Some man in Europe was running around, with the first sex change, and he encouraged me to think about it. I did, but I was fond of my dick and balls. Sometimes men squeezed my breasts, and sucked my titties, and I felt strange, like I was really was a bitch. I felt my feminine side was a remnant from a previous life. I was the reincarnation of Cleopatra, and fucked more men then she, or anyone like her in History. I was 18 years old, and confused on cocaine that was making me edgy, and explosive if anyone irritated me. Jorge had bouncers that I blew for free, just to leverage their help if I needed it. I only needed help a few times in 4 years, because most men walking on The Wild Side, demanded Discretion. A certain Congressman tied me up and gagged me before passing out, leaving me uncomfortable for 6 hours. When he awoke he was in a surly mood and rather than untying me he berated me as he masturbated in my face. I was miffed, but he paid me an extra $5,000 to keep it under wraps, as he called it. I never knew what to expect from the Latin Crewe, because they act so macho and all of them had semi-automatic guns strapped to their bodies with 2 extra clips. Usually they only wanted to dominate a gringo, but some really wanted to be dominated to relieve their pent-up tension caused by a Catholic Conscious and upbringing. A few had memories of an aggressive Priest taking them into the rectory of the church school back in Havana and pulling down their pants for a good old fashioned spanking. Upon completion the Priest got so horny he couldn’t stop himself from raping that young man’s ass as a further punishment. The boys never told anyone, because they would forever be “Puta” a derogatory term for Queer. This one guy told me it reminded him of his youth, when all his 6 brothers used him in this fashion, until he was 12. He had learned to Love this attention, and missed it when they stopped. He was a large man 6’4” and 240 lbs.

I still laugh at the recollection of how he liked to get fucked in his ass with butter, as a lubricant, because if you stroked in and out real fast, it started to smell like popcorn. He never forgot, and visited me after every successful mission. I was beginning to see him once a week and he always tipped me an ounce of pure cocaine afterward. I was going to use him as a contact for a pure connection. When I brought it up, he told me to acquire a passport, and we would take a journey, but I have to forget the Drag, and look Strait.

South America was dangerous for bitches like me, he said. They would sooner kill you than allow my particular breed exist. I was forbidden and Catholic’s condemned me to the eternal pits of Hell for my actions. Even though half of the boys in Havana had their butts reamed by the very Priest that distributed Communion and heard their Confessions. I told him it would take a month or so, I would let him know. He gave me a gift of one of the first cell phones that weighed about a pound and a half, was beige in color and crackled all the time from poor reception. It did work, and I was grateful and thanked him with a free ass fucking. He was married with 3 children, and his wife knew his special interest, and didn’t mind because he had convinced her, he needed to expand his capabilities as a mule. When I was 18 my cock had grown to a 9in beauty as thick as my wrist. I looked at many cocks and I have to admit mine, was the most handsome. It had a Regal Arch and looked formidable as a General of cock’s men, even though I had a pussy next door, where my ass hole used to be. When I went home after that, I looked around at my harem inspired interior and my closet full of dresses, all my shoes and my makeup table and mirrors and felt a sense of loss or nostalgia even before I left. I didn’t wear the 9 wigs I had purchased anymore, but I had memories with them that had some incredible stories attached, and couldn’t get rid of them. I even had the little school girls outfit that didn’t fit anymore, for some obscure reason of connection. In a few years I will become an old Queen, and only have memories of that fleeting Beauty called, “Chiquita”. I needed this change, and would get my hair cut in Miami; buy some new suits, luggage, and male accessories and cologne, rather than perfume. I am going to be a handsome man with exquisite taste. I don’t know if I can get it up for a woman anymore. It’s been over 4 years since that young Hooker in Alabama, and her brother James helped me out. I actually experienced this life as a woman at night and a butt boy, by day because the Scene in Key West in those days was very limited in the year 1965, when I was 18 years of age and very jaded. I was a twisted sister of the Love generation era, but cost $1,000 a night. How had my looks and body developed into that which I was? I wasn’t sure, but when I went shopping for my new identity, I couldn’t make up my mind up about male clothes or cologne. Jockey shorts were too tight and boxers were too big. I liked silk panties and the feel of nylons with a garter belt and falsies in a support bra. In 4 short years I had been changed, and I didn’t know if I could ever turn back.

Oh Well, we all have to make sacrifices and develop along with the times. I was a good person and believed in “God” even though I didn’t go to church. I always used his name when I was fucking. Oh GOD, Oh GOD, Oh GOD. Roberto Bajeranno Hernandez was to meet me at the Cuban Club to discuss our adventure south of the border. I was wearing a suit with my freshly applied male persona and nobody recognized, “Chiquita”. She only existed in my closet at home. I was wearing Polo for a fragrance rather than Channel #5, and smoked a cigar for effect. The door men charged me $10 at the door and didn’t recognize my previous self, as well as my friend and Patron Jorge, whom immediately tried to find out if I was interested in young boys that were ladies on the Wild Side. I asked what was available and he said his best was “Chiquita”, whom should be arriving shortly, that only cost $1,000 for the Very Best Blow Job, and a tight ass that looked like a girls. an had this little experienced movement when he/she was getting fucked. I dropped my sun glasses and laughed as Jorge recognized me, and joined me in laughter for a few good minutes. “Who would believe I could look and act like a man, when just yesterday I was a full blown transvestite in high heels. Today, I was wearing an Armani power suit and a Rolex with a 5 carat ruby ring and alligator accessories of shoes, belt and wallet. I even had masculine luggage and a Doctor’s bag made from a crocodile hide. I wore Ray Ban sun glasses and carried a cigar case with butane lighter and cigar cutter made from 18carat GOLD. The Cuban cigars were a gift. I noticed a preferred treatment from other men, as though they placed me in a higher class of existence. They never snickered or mumbled like they did with my previous persona. I had arrived and was welcome into the Men’s Club. When Roberto arrived he walked right past and looked all over the Casino showing signs of frustration at my absence. I tugged his sleeve on his 4th time passing my stool and he was abrupt and defensive in Spanish at this intrusion. I raised my sun glasses and he still didn’t recognize me as he spoke a retort in Spanish to the effect that if I wouldn’t let go, I would be severely beaten. Roberto, Roberto, it’s me, “Chiquita”. He stared and looked deeply into my transformed face without makeup or lipstick and the signature ear rings made from Gold. “Chiquita you look like an F.B.I. agent or Corporate Shark without a dress. I didn’t even know you owned a suit.” was his surprised answer. “Have you received your passport” “I need to leave in a few days for Bogota.” Yes, Roberto I have everything packed and ready to go.” So, we agreed to meet in a few days in Miami in a luxurious Hotel. We only spent 20 minutes together and he had to leave. His one son had come along with his wife as mules, using them as baggage for illicit contraband she carry 2 kilo’s and the son could carry 1 up his ass, while the Father carried 1 and ½. That only cost $5 a gram in Colombia, and sold for $50 in Miami and sometimes $100 if it was cut with baby laxative to dilute the potency, and increase the profit. I sure hope my ass could carry 2 kilos of pure without breaking or leaking, while in my body. I never did it before, and it could kill you if you didn’t pack it right for the 3 hour journey. I had never ridden in a plane and had apprehension over the experience. I rode 1st class and had a little over a quarter of a million in cash in my safe at home, with a little Queer looking out for my property. Let the journey begin. We met in Miami and boarded a United Airlines 727 on Sept 29th, 1966 coincidentally my 19th birthday. When we landed in Bogota, we had a limousine waiting for us and proceeded to “The Hotel Dan”. The Hotel was also a Casino and playground for the Rich and Famous. At $200 a night it was 5 stars plus Royal Service. The food was Excellent. I tried one of the most beautiful women escorts available, but couldn’t get an erection. I had ruined my libido and needed some good ass fucking and cock sucking to turn me on. It seemed funny how that had affected my life, but it had. In the morning we went in the country to meet some guy named Carlos who will show us samples. Roberto was well respected and only purchased the very best cocaine. We arrived at a compound protected by a private militia, and guard dogs snarling to get at our throats if let loose. Inside the Villa Came Rosa I saw a money machine counting a wall of money and making bundles of $10,000 as it clicked and clacked. They had millions if not tens of millions to count and another truck arrived while we were there. Everyone was cocaine Addict, because the lines kept coming of the best I ever seen or tasted. We made our arrangements and paid up front for our package. I had to give a freebie to Carlos to seal the deal, and he was different than I imagined. He actually kissed me and “69’d” with me for a long time. Rather than just humping me like a dog, he left his large cock inserted all the way up my butt and just laid still for hours as I contorted my sphincter muscles to massage his penis from the inside without any hands. When he did climax it felt like an enema and immediately I ran to the bathroom to relieve myself and shower. He was sleeping when I returned, so I dressed and went back to Roberto and we returned to the Hotel. Roberto wanted me BAD and said he would ditch his wife and meet in my room. The cocaine was so good that I couldn’t wait and masturbated 2 times while waiting. He arrived and had me dance for him while he tried to attain an erection, to no avail. I even sucked his penis and nothing seemed to work. He was a broke dick this evening and so was I. My penis went flat and never aspired to its previous dimensions. Rather than a 9 in. wonder it resembled a 3 in. peanut. He left to go gambling and I tried to sleep in a cocaine induced trance. In a few days I’d return to Miami and Key West. Somehow I did sleep and awoke in time for a breakfast in bed. Roberto came over around noon complaining about crooked dealers who stole around $10,000 from him last night. His luck was bad in bed and at the table. I had never gambled so I didn’t sympathize with him. I just felt like I was working and making money. It was my 3rd day on my new job. I had a birthday that I didn’t celebrate, so I went down to the Hotel Jewelry Store and purchased a set of Emerald cuff links and a shirt they could be worn with. I saw some beautiful earrings, but thought I was finished dressing in Drag and impersonating that Bitch “Chiquita”. Let’s see if I make it home and don’t get busted or I’ll have to be the Bitch again in Prison. I was coming down from last night’s cocaine when Carlos showed up for some sex. He pushed easy a rock in my nostril and laid me on the bed. We undressed as we kissed and I attained an erection that looked larger as he sucked and licked me and I reciprocated with the same. We 69’d for an hour and then both climaxed at the same time. I really enjoyed myself with him, because he loved me and I Loved him. I was for anything with this wildly handsome Latin man. We showered and washed my anus vigorously, because he wanted to eat my ass. He did for a few minutes and then positioned me doggy style few hours, because he couldn’t cum. I bucked and wiggled like a little girl cheer leader mounted by a quarterback. I loved this man up my ass and in my mouth. I Loved fucking Carlos Lederer the Columbian Godfather, or so he said. Fuck me; Fuck me, Oh God, Oh God I thought I was in Heaven. Even when we were finished I felt a thrill and a shiver just being with him. I would never charge and never stop loving him. Oh Carlos, Oh Carlos you fuck me so Goooooood. We went out for dinner and then to the Casino where I blew on Carlos’s dice and he wagered and won at a game called craps. He was happy and took me into a jewelry store to purchase 2 gold chains. One for him and one for me. I couldn’t help but Love him more. I even told him that. You paid for them with pleasure was his answer to me before he left. Tomorrow we leave and I am sure excited. My package was a large condom filled with packed cocaine that looked like a dildo and weighted 2 kilo’s. Roberto told me to insert a suppository and wait ½ hour before inserting the package. He said that it was actually 6 condoms of protection and the opium in the suppository would tighten up my sphincter for the trip. It worked like aces in a card game and fit like a good old shoe. When we landed in Miami I pooped it out and cleaned it off in a restaurant bathroom at the airport. No drama or complications. Roberto told me that this first journey was FREE, because I was nice to Carlos. He had given me the cocaine for free and Roberto refunded the $10,000 I had paid. My ass was worth big bucks again and I was a happy camper. I am a GREAT FUCK. I Love My JOB.

I had only been gone a week, but I was older than my 19 years and immediately set up security systems to protect myself. There are Hustlers in every Tourist Destination that market drugs on wholesale as well as retail levels. The undercover cops concentrate on information gathered and disseminated, until a distributor is pin pointed, raided and divested of all his property. So, like all cocaine wholesalers, I stayed in the most expensive Hotel for security reasons. It’s hard to pull off a rip-off with so many cameras and security staff. I had previously, on my trip to Miami purchased the “Gear “used to cut cocaine and package it for distribution. I learned from a Pro and I had to package it and sell it immediately. I had a suite with a large living and dining space that had a table with a glass top. I mounted 2 clips on lights that housed heat lamps. I open the condom enclosed package and it was compacted into a shiny solid mass. It glistened like rainbows, and smelled like ether across the room. The allure was overwhelming

And took over my sense of propriety, I was Hooked. I had a grinder and began the process of grinding 2 kilo’s which was 4.4 pounds of pure Bolivian Cocaine, well 96% pure. (I tested it with a hot box)I had an Ohaus balance scale with a container and 4 pounds of “Mannite Consenti” or the “Blue Lady” a brand of Italian Baby Laxative. Basically it is a milk sugar but tasteless when applied to this process. The kitchen area had a coffee grinder, which I used on the rock hard dildo made from pure cocaine. I was working. I am a chemist. I am a smuggler. I am a drug dealer. I need a gun. After a couple of whiffs I definitely needed a gun, or two, or maybe even a shotgun, so I don’t miss.

I closed all the drapes and it was so quiet, you could hear a mouse fart. I proceeded to grind both the cut and the pure, but first lopped off a good inch of the pure for my stash. I then used a sifter and blended the 8 pounds on the glass top table. Roberto had instructed me, so I could reconstitute “rocks” for the “GRINGO” who would buy it for the Northern Market.

I took Everclear Alcohol which was 200 proof, 100% and used a, “turkey baster” to drip onto the pile and turn the heat lamps on to dehydrate the drops causing a cake like effect and making new rocks in 15 minutes. You don’t want to use anything else, because you don’t want to discolor it or lose the shine.

After, that process I weighed out 8 pounds and sealed them in a seal a meal system, creating a moisture free container and doubled the process for less vulnerability from breakage in handling. You could toss those a hundred yards and they would stay intact. I than placed the packages in the room safe and tried to sleep, counting the money I was going to make. I drifted off and slept in as I tried to grasp what I had done. I shaved and showered and dressed casual on my way to Miami to purchase a weapon, or 2, or 3 or more. First I went home to my little conch house of squalor. It really looked dingy compared to the digs I’ve had lately, and no room service. Well, everything was fine and my Gay neighbor was Happy to See Me. I gave him a Blow Job for being such a good Friend. He didn’t last 5 minutes until the sperm was spilling out of my mouth. I retrieved my key and entered an empty home belonging to a circus freak.

There was a Chinese Dragon Head for Celebration that greeted you at the front door. Oriental Carpets everywhere on top of more Oriental Carpets, creating layers and “ART” and Photo’s of “Chiquita” everywhere. Looks like a conceited little bitch, especially dresses like a French Maid when she dated “Russo”, that Mob Boss from up north that liked to wear a diaper and be spanked and powered at the same time. Ridicules’ sight of an extremely powerful person crying like a baby, and being spanked by the maid, and then powdered an sung too, as he suckled a pacifier. I did that a dozen times for the gangster, doing what the client needed to resume his stressful career. He on the other hand was generous to a fault.

After the first visit he sent me a Louis Vuitton Steamer Trunk, like entertainers used for all their worldly possessions full of Ladies garments and accessories carrying all sheik and trendy type of “Gear”. I called “Russo” and told him I had a pipeline to “The Lady” which meant I was a source for cocaine out of Key West. I also stayed in the Hotel, secure that my Life Savings were safe at home, in my safe. He said he would send down some nephews to get laid. This meant couriers to eavesdropping ears. He found 14 bugs or eavesdropping microphones in his home and business, planted by the Feds and His Familia. Now he even had an attaché case that could sniff out these devices, and do stress analysis on voices, to see if people are lying. 1966 was a New Age of Technology.

The next day 2 Beautiful Italian Men met me in the Lobby of the Hotel and we sat in the 5 star restaurant for a few hours. They treated me as a man and acted very strait until the subject of Homosexuality arose, and “Freddy” got an erection. I know the signs of a ready, willing and able person and suggested that “Emilio” wait at the pool bar and observe the premises while we retrieve a sample for their own perusal. I never met them and had to do a dry run with “Freddy” the representative of the Russo family. 8 pounds up north is $400,000 and I don’t trust anyone. I have a gun in the small of my back in a holster. It is a 25 caliber semi auto Berretta. I have a Colt 45 under the seat in my car. I have a shotgun in the closet at home. Fully loaded. I do cocaine, smuggle cocaine, and market cocaine. Freddy enters the room and says, “I can smell coke in this room.” I had a sample on the counter top uncut. It was from my personal stash. We snorted a couple of lines and he looked me in the eyes with liquid pools of mystery. Black holes that drew me into his arms and kissed him full on the mouth, as he immediately humped me on the sofa. We tore our clothes off and he laid me down in the missionary position and began to wrap my legs around his neck, as he inserted his pulsating member in my ass, and my erection in his mouth. I have been so horny on this coke; I didn’t even need a lubricant. He fucked like a rabbit and we were ejaculating within 5 minutes. He arose quickly and headed for the shower as I headed for the crapper. After we both showered and dried off he came over to the bed and placed his hard cock in my mouth. It was tan and long and thin just like him. I had a mouth full of cum in a few short minutes and he was laughing and speaking Italian, that I was experiencing a movie effect, as though I were an observer. We got dressed and He announced that it was his fantasy as soon as he met me, but if I divulge any information about that, “I have to die“. He then got down to Business and quoted me the price they were willing to pay, which was $25,000 a pound or $300,000 for the whole shipment. 50% down or $150,000 cash and the remainder within 30 days. Hell yes, brings me the money, Ching, Ching. My new job paid for my new lifestyle, and I still can pursue my passion and desires. I’ll have 30 days to wait for payment and then return to Bogota for a cocaine dildo. Return to Key West and my new Hotel room registered under a phony I.D. that cost me $500 and passed scrutiny when I cashed checks on that account in that name. It was so weird to be so many people and using drugs that made you paranoid, sometimes staying in the room with all the lights off peeking through the drapes looking for secret agents or rip-offs and had to figure out a safe place to stash. I bought a yacht built in Boston Mass. Called “Safe Sojourn” flying a British Honduras Flag and it was 47’10” with a 16” span made completely from hardwoods by “Hinckley”, in Boston, Mass. In 1955.

I hauled the boat out of the water and shored it up in a boat yard on Stock Island. I than acquired a junk yard dog named “Wolfe” and stored my Louie Vuitton Steamer Trunk onboard, secured behind 2 locked doors holding a million and a half of money made in one year, plus all the things I purchased at the duty free stores. I had 15 bottles of Louis the 14th Cognac from France, and an extensive list of expensive wines from all over the world. Every Gourmet Item that interested me throughout my travels, including Caviar and Truffles, as well as jars of herring, olives, peppers, and containers made for the Galley that were unassailable in rough weather. I had a gas refrigerator installed, as well as a gas grill hanging over the fantail. All the knives, guns, and ammo as well as scuba gear for 2 including shark darts, and 2 band spear guns. I installed a fish finder, and a “Loren’s” system as well as a ship to shore, in case my cell phone didn’t work. My occupation ended, when Roberto was found in small pieces by his wife in their garage in their Villa outside of Bogota. It marked the beginning of, “The Drug War” and I was a Deserter. I was Out of the Game. It was 1967 and I was 20 years old, and because of all my free time I had become a, “Workout Freak” creating a disciplined and healthy lifestyle, except for my daily consumption of cocaine. I said I would quit everyday for 2 years, and it seemed impossible. I was a business Man now and hadn’t fucked or sucked a cock in 6 months, it wasn’t my job anymore. I spent countless hours working on my boat and my dog Wolfe became a very dear friend that viciously defended the boat, and its hidden stash. When anyone asked I told them I was a Trust Fund Baby, and My Father is an Industrial Manu factor Up North. I never shared any more information than that and only had a few friends that could recognize me.

“Chiquita” had died a few years ago, was the talk on the street. No funeral and no flowers spelled the sum total of her existence. My neighbor still watched my conch house that was like a mausoleum for her, “Chiquita‘s” deceased artifacts. I was still paying rent and one day, I just decided to get rid of everything and donate it to my neighbor who had been my trusted friend. I moved out of the Hotel scene that housed me for the last year for between $200 to $400 a night and worked on my boat until completion. I launched it on the day I called Russo, and told them I had to take a break for a month or two or three. I still had the Chevy Impala convertible that got wet because the top was missing after I got jammed in Miami for a few days, and left it on a side street, where someone cut it all up, for taking their parking space; as inscribed on the hood with a knife. It still ran, and I had made good use of that 1963 Chevy. So, out of consideration for poor people I found a woman around 30 living in a trailer park with 5 kids in a small Airstreams trailer, and donated the car with $1,000 to her for good Karma. My yacht was in the water and I bought a new dingy, with a motor to get back and forth, as well as a small Italian scooter that strapped to my deck and fit in the dingy. I bought new sail and tack and read books on the ocean and navigation. I was a self taught sailor that never set foot on the sea. I thought I was ready for anything, so I made plans for a shakedown cruise with a companion to go to Jamaica, Puerto Rico, St Croix, and who knows wherever is anyways. I picked up a sailor by posting an ad, in the local paper and had dozens of replies. The one that interested me was a girl from a sailing background that knew all the terms, and could tie all the knots. Her name was Carol and she was sexy in a male sort of way, instructing me to drop my drawers and get all the introductions out of the way. I was nervous at first, but her mannish mannerisms were a turn on for me and I let her blow my peanut, into a large erection, that eventually, she sat on, and gave me the first lap dance of my life. I liked her, and maybe she would do a reorientation of my libido, and restore my confidence in myself, with the opposite sex. She only wanted to travel and expected no pay. She immediately took charge of the boat as though she had known it her whole life and gave me the phone numbers, and social security numbers, as well as the last 3 captain’s numbers that fired her for being a dyke. Every port in the Caribbean she had visited and had friends. But, when she was a drunken sailor, she always ended up in the rack with a sweet young thing that wanted to be dominated by a dyke. I didn’t mind I told her, as long as I can share sometimes, when she allowed me. I called everyone with her there, so she could find out what my decision was going to be. She is Honest, but Bad Tempered When Drunk and can drink everyone under the table. My kind of girl. I said get your gear, and she said she didn’t have any, because it got left in a car that had picked her up and sped off when she relieved herself at a pit stop. O.K we’ll buy you gear as we go along. She asked to use the shower and borrow some clothes, because we were about the same size. I allowed her to pick something out of my cabin while I was there, and didn’t notice any greed in her eyes. I really liked Carol. She chose sailors basic blue set of Levi’s and T-shirt with a windbreaker, and a pair of underwear, in a plastic bag, sealed since the day of purchase. She chose a pair of silk boxers and upon deployment showed me their fit for approval. We had a sound system, with on-deck waterproof speakers, as well as a library of tapes, that were called an 8 track system. I also had a radio and antenna on the top of the mast.

We decided to go around Cuba and visit “Haiti”. I was learning how to sail and she was an Expert, This was a match made in Heaven. The first night we had steak and potatoes grilled, with redfish and fresh salad. The sunset was beautiful, and I opened a bottle of French wine, from the Valley of Margeaux . After dinner she did the dishes, and we began talking about ourselves, as we drank expensive Cognac. I had some stash of cocaine, and lined us up, for a leisurely night time cruise. At 8 knots an hour under sail, we could make 200 or more miles a day. We were off the coast of Cuba in 8 hours, so we were faster than I thought under sail power. I never got sea sick and she remarked that I must be a “Natural”. When we arrive in Haiti a half cop/peasant/extortionist approached us with a Mickey Mouse badge, and demanded payment. He brandished a bush knife 2 feet long and I pulled out my shotgun and told him to fuckoff as we weighed anchor for a more sensible location. Carol told me, that there were land sharks everywhere in the Caribbean. Some Dictator controlled Haiti named Papa Doc Duvalier, and he was some kind of Voodoo Priest that made Zombies out of his enemies. I’ll shoot the zombies, so they don’t have to worry anymore. We decide to continue south and layover for a few days offshore in a cove uninhabited, on the southernmost part of the Island and fished for Grouper and Snapper until our fish box was full. She knew how to use the grill as a smoker, because I had a bag of hickory chips I was going to use for flavor. She cleaned the fish and filleted it throwing the guts over the side and soon we had Guests in the form of Reef Sharks devouring the scraps. Now we had smoked fish that would keep for a very long time that tasted absolutely delicious. I had a small fridge stuffed to the hilt. We took off for St. Croix where her friend ran a Bar in Fredrickstaed, on the Strand facing the Ocean with a Freeport Marina guarded by the U.S Navy who used the port for it sailors that were in the submarine corps. They were at sea for 6 months at a time, and could let out their frustrations in an unpopulated Island port that didn’t care, because Cruzan’s were crazier than them. Cruzan’s are a mixture of Blacks from Africa that worked the sugar plantations, and Indians from the Islands, as well as the remnants of the Dutch, who bred everything that moved. It was a perfect place to rest. We went ashore and explored. I forgot to mention my trustworthy dog that never is in the way and on guard 24/7. I jumped in the Zodiac and so did Carol as we zipped to shore to be greeted by the children that gathered to greet us. Little children tugging at our sleeves talking in pidgin and motioning to their mouths like hungry birds. I started to pass out dollars and a full grown man with long dreadlocks approached, and told me to stop feeding these pirates, that were ruining the tourist trade, for good merchants like him. He owned a Bar and Restaurant and hadn’t any Tourists in a few days. Rum was a $1 a bottle and beer was $.50 we ate at his place a full lobster dinner with yams and collard greens and black beans with Spanish rice, for $3 a plate. I gave him $10 and asked if he served Breakfast. He stated that we could wake him up at 3 or 4 and he would make the best omelets we ever had.

We shuttled back out to the boat, full and content, and safe with the military presence in the harbor. This sailor thing was growing on me fast, and I wanted to go everywhere. I know now why Columbus traveled to the edge of the Earth. Wolfe barked early in the morning and frightened some fishermen cruising too close to our vessel. He was really a great alarm system with growling and snapping effects, to deter the most able and competent pirate. He was an Island dog, and would eat anything in his bowl, but smart enough to leave everything else alone. He only ventured in to the cabin to sleep under the navigational table, and spent almost all his time on deck. He slept when we were awake, as though he understood the need for security. Intelligence was his greatest asset, and his understanding of the situation could be conveyed in a look. I really loved that dog. The weather changed quickly and the storm clouds headed our way. We had a full rain and tossing seas for3 days of sea sickness on my part. Yes, I was earning my sea legs. After every storm it became so tropical, and everything so green, that everyone in this Island came outdoors, to talk story and buy provisions. We stayed a few more days enjoying the sanctuary and peace of the Island of St. Croix. I wanted to visit the other side called, “Christiansted” and enjoy some tourist interaction, but first I would visit the Rum Factory where I purchased 2 (50 gallon) drums of their best rum and shipped it to Jorge in Key West for the Cuban Club. It only cost me $500 and was well worth it, for the supreme quality that it was. You could drink a whole bottle and get real drunk, but no hangover. I tried it a few times. It was really good booze. Carol, also wanted a couple of days with her friend that lived in an old sugar mill plantation windmill, that had been renovated into a two story dwelling, with a deck for viewing on top. Her friend was a lady in her thirty’s that smoked cigars, and swore like a sailor. She actually had a heart tattoo that was dedicated to “Carol”, hmmm I wondered, but never asked. They drive on the wrong side of the road way too fast, and I almost got killed a few times by forgetting where I was. Almost like monkeys gone wild in cars, screeching and motioning their fear, as well as inability to trust their own skills. I planned to visit St. Thomas and St. John as well as the British Virgin Isles. I should find a bank that is in possession of international respect, and allows discreet off-shore accounts. I hear from the ex-patriot community that a place called, “The Grand Cayman’s” has been set up for that particular purpose, and will be the first destination only 300 nautical miles away. We left late and arrived early because of a westerly wind blowing 30 knots for 2 days of vigorous sailing in white capped seas that spoke of an oncoming storm. I could barely lift the trunk into the dingy and it almost sunk the zodiac, but Carol was an experienced hand and saved the day. She asked me what was so heavy and I replied a couple of million in cash and an assortment of Gold and Silver Bars and Jewelry given to me by “Chiquita” whom died a few years ago. Her reply was a laugh and the comment, “You Bet”. We acquired a taxi that drove us to the nearest Bank, in time for the morning business. The cabbie helped me and I tipped him graciously with a crisp $20, a week’s wages for one ride. The Banker had no patronage as of late, and he greeted us with good coffee and breakfast served in his office. I motioned to my trunk and asked if I could open an off-shore account. He smiled and assured me the fund would be safe as any place in the world because they had a new vault and alarm system and belonged to an international association that insured its contents from any problem with Lloyds of London Insurance Company Approval. When I said a couple of million, he choked on his food, and had to be resuscitated to normalcy. We spent 4 hours counting the money twice, and unwrapping and rewrapping $10,000 bundles. Carol was Star Struck after viewing the treasure. She had never seen such a horde of money and jewels. I had 8 trays of rings and Gold chains and 9 Gold Bars that weighed a kilo a piece. I had 20 kilos of silver ingots in a canvas bag that would go into a safety deposit box. My future and my past under lock and key. What an Adventure. I was plumb tuckered out, but felt safety for the very first time on this wonderful journey. The Banker gave me three receipts and a secret code for our communication if I needed a wire transfer. I listened to Carol’s apprehension about my finances and her plans to find a new boat to occupy. This was because she was sure I was a Bank Robber, or worse than that a Smuggler. She was a Dyke Sailor and needed a quiet and cozy lifestyle, without worry of change and on and on and on. I told her that it was my inheritance and if she wanted to return, to Miami I’d pay for her flight out of the Cayman Islands. No, she decided to “karmic” intuition instructing her as to the right time. I

Views: 64


You need to be a member of Brooklyn Art Project to add comments!

Join Brooklyn Art Project


Latest Activity

© 2019   Created by Brooklyn Art Project.   Powered by

Badges  |  Report an Issue  |  Terms of Service