The Ladies of Luperon (Las Damas de Luperon)

First things first. Genette lost. She had everything, a winning smile, the right hairstyle and the biggest campaign posters in town. But she rode the wrong horse. The Purple Party swept the elections. Instead of beaming Genette, we’re getting Vargas. He’s the first of a lot more new faces we’ll be seeing here soon.
The new commandante has already been installed. They brought him in early when his predecessor got busted over a minor misunderstanding involving 3000 pounds of illegal lobsters. He must have figured his days were numbered and tried (unsuccessfully) for a final big score. They have him locked up now over in Puerto Plata. Some people have no sense of humor.
If you’re single, you know the commandante. He regulates the girls who “visit” the boaters. It’s a good system. The ladies leave their ID in his office, pop out with their client to his vessel, then return. 500 pesos gets them their ID back which is about $15.00. The cheap guys simply visit the ladies in town. But the girl’s rooms are small, damp and usually hover around 110 degrees. Or so I hear; I haven’t partook. Really.
From what I’ve gleaned, there are two types of senoritas you can meet here. The professionals, readily available for a flat 500 pesos, plus whatever they can nick out of your pockets. You can use their room for nothing or rent a nicer place for $10.00. You can also ferry them out to your boat, but you’d better nail everything down first.
The second category is less definable. Local girls mostly. They either come from the small farming villages nearby or even the capital seeking opportunity. Their stock-in-trade is youthful innocence, the “girlfriend experience”. They can do really well. Most of them already have kids. Lots of them. I met a Dutch guy’s chica who looked all of 12. She was actually 20. She had a seven-month old bambino with her. I chatted her up (He didn’t speak Spanish. Nor did he have to. He just smiled at her a lot.) and discovered she had two more children back home. The oldest was six. She’d had him at fourteen. Her gringo boyfriend had no clue about the two other ninos and I wasn’t about to burst his bubble. I thought they made a lovely threesome, which will eventually be a five-some if he sticks around long enough. 
‘Why so many kids?’ I wondered. It’s a simple answer. It is the culture. You are not a woman here until you give birth. The result is a teenage baby factory. The new mothers gravitate towards foreigners because we are more responsible and have money. The big score is to hook one permanently, which isn’t such a bad thing. I’ve met a number of happy couples who have done just that. Most guys stay single, though. There’s always new wares to sample. And it’s just so hard to decide.
I have read there are over one hundred thousand extranjeros living in the DR. Figure each one has 3 girlfriends stashed around the island. That’s 300,000 women being cared for. If each one has three kids, that’s almost a million Dominicans. Which makes us the most charitable organization in the country. 
I was walking around town last Sunday. As I strolled through the plaza I noticed a fiesta taking place. A large pink banner read “Princessa” announcing that someone’s daughter had turned thirteen and was entering womanhood. Parents sat in little plastic chairs eating ice cream out of waxed paper cups. Giggling kids chased each other around the park. The young girls sat in a circle with sparkly little tiaras on their heads playing games. At the center was the young princessa, smiling broadly. The sobering thought was that within a year she’d likely be pregnant. Maybe the deflowering happened that very night, right after the cake was gone. I don’t know. Being an extranjero I wasn’t invited. At least not yet.