Visitors to Jamaica are always intrigued by the black market system. US dollars are traded for Jamaican dollars over and above the bank rate. Just about anything you want can be procured for a price.
It isn't all bad, sometimes it is done to circumvent the greedy middle man; and in most cases that would be the government, with its high import taxes on goods and services.
Bartering was a way of life and I governed my life by three rules, never pay the asking price, every thing is negotiable and most importantly deal honestly; I never cheated anyone.
I had no office or fixed location, didn't pay taxes or import fees, I ‘hustled’ or as I like to think I facilitated the transaction.
I was good at it, blessed with a smooth tongue and a quick mind I saw every challenge as an opportunity, and made a comfortable living. Trading dollars, I purchased auto parts, TV's, video recorders clothes, electronics and just about anything you could buy in Miami and resell for a profit.
I had an ‘in’ with the Customs Officials, after all they had needs too. A new TV, negligee or gift went a long way to promoting good relationships.
During my spare time I hung out at the Ocean View, a small guest house owned by a friend.
Playing dominoes or backgammon in the evenings and checking out the guest to see which beauty might be available for a night of pleasure.
I worked hard and played and partied with the same enthusiasm.
So it was I met two guys who were on vacation, they had sailed from Florida, but had run into engine or mechanical problems and were waiting for a wire transfer of money from the States.
I listened to their tale but having been around the block I quickly summarized their motives and knew that they were there for one reason and that was the import and export of a locally grown crop.
In Jamaica “Don’t ask, don’t tell” means everyone minds their own business.
I sensed the opportunity for profit but exactly how to insert myself into the equation, had for the present eluded me.
A few days later I was approached by one of the boat guys.
“I have a proposition for you” he said.
“I'm all ears skipper”
“We are running short on cash, we need to eat and pay for the room, here is a Rolex if you are interested in a trade.”
He handed me the watch, a stainless steel and gold Submariner, probably worth $2500 new. Its condition was good, his initials engraved on the back. I frowned and said that “…the engraving was nice and sentimental but it lessened the value unless I could find a buyer with the initials E.R.”
“$600 and I will take it”
“Oh no, I am offering it to you as collateral and will pay you back once the money arrives”
“Well $600 is still my offer plus 25% for the loan when you repay”
“Its worth more than that. Can you do a grand?”
$800 and turned away slightly.
He nodded his agreement, and I muttered that I should have charged him 30% since he obviously didn't know how to deal.
I handed him the cash and pocketed the watch, then he asked “…one more favor. Can you give me a ride to the Yacht Club to check on my boat?
I was curious to see this boat, my intuition for the clandestine were rarely wrong, so we piled into my Spitfire and headed out.
My car was the only one of its kind on the island, a midnight blue ’72 Triumph spitfire convertible with custom paint job. It was a magnet for getting girls, both the locals and the vacationing tourist.
We arrived at the dock and boarded the boat, my suspicions were confirmed, this was no ordinary fishing vessel, the deep hull a dead give away. They were here to pick up a load and with six massive outboards they could be back in Florida in no time.
We sat around chatting, I could sense they were feeling me out for possible connections to facilitate the procurement.
Docked next to us was a sleek yacht, flying the Canadian flag. The couple, Joan and her husband Dennis were laying out on the aft deck. I waved to them and they returned the gesture.
Ed mentioned that Joan was hot, he had seen her take her top off while sunbathing. The conversation switched to women. Dennis waved us over but Ed and his crew-mate decided to go over to the hotel for a bite. I opted for a closer look at Joan.
All this negotiating had made me horny so I grabbed a couple of wine coolers and headed over to say hi.
Joan and her husband welcomed me on board and in the next few hours I learned a lot about them. They lived in Vancouver and were sailing around the world. Dennis was much older maybe in his late 40’s he had headed up some medical research but decided to take a hiatus. Joanwas at tops 30, nice long legs and perky tits, she had a bouncy electric attitude and a riotous laugh, sort of like flipper the dolphin.
Dennis was quite open in his attention to Joan, touching her ass and feeling her tits as we talked.
“Fascinating journey lots of adventure I bet”
They looked and each other with that ‘never truer word’ smile and I felt as if been ostracized.
Sensing my discomfort they sought to once again bring me into their circle, Joan offered me another beer.
“Red Stripe is really delicious; I really like its full flavor”
“You should try it with a shot of Canadian Rye” said her husband.
“Okay hit me up”
Now I had been drinking all day, beer at the beach for lunch, coolers with E and his crew mate and now I was mixing Red Stripe with Rye, I was feeling no pain.
The yacht had a respectable sound system, somewhere Joan’s husband mentioned that I dance with her.
“Teach her to dance reggae” he chanted.
I remember taking her in my arms and we did a little hip grinding to the tune. It felt good rubbing up against her pussy.
I had as yet never hit on a woman with her husband present; at least not overtly, yet he didn't seem to mind.
After the dance we returned to our chairs I saw the unmistakable outline of his cock, it had hardened and he was not wearing any underwear.
