Chapter 1

Nena was born and raised in the small portside pueblito of San Miguel, Mexico. As the oldest daughter in a family of twelve, she was expected to help out her father and mother with raising the rest of her siblings. Because of the amount of responsibilities she was forced to deal with on a daily basis, she had little time to herself let alone for social pursuits.

As only her mother was currently working, money was always tight and there never seemed enough money to pay the bills. The family lived basically check to check.

The families finances became progressively worse until Nena had to drop out of high school in order to help take care of her little brothers and sisters full time, while her mother worked at a clothing factory sewing fabrics for an American company that had built a plant in town to take advantage of the cheap labor. To Nena's displeasure her father, Alberto, was a good for nothing drunk and spent most of the day with his drunken friends inebriated with little motivation to get a job. When he was sauced, which seemed like an every day occurance, he wasn't a very pleasant person to be around. He would stumble around the house yelling and screaming at his wife and children, frequently slapping them around if he thought they weren't listening to his rants, or they were doing something he thought they shouldn't be doing. During her father's benders Nena always made sure she stayed as far away from him as possible so as not to expose herself to his drunken wrath.

Nena's real name was Mary Helen, but her parents had always called her Nena, ever since she could remember. It's what everyone called her in the family and in town.

At eighteen, all she had to wear were old peasant dresses and hand-me-downs from her mother, but this in no way distracted from her obvious physical beauty and endowments. She had a perfect oval face with full, red lips, dark brown, almond shaped eyes that were so deeply brown they were almost black. Her lashes were so thick and long that she never had to bother with mascara. Her gorgeous face was framed by impossibly long, curly, thick black hair that fell to the middle of her back and that she frequently wore in a ponytail. Her skin was flawless; smooth, supple, soft and golden brown from many days toiling out in the hot Mexican sun. Her body was sculpted as if from the hands of Michael Angelo himself, firm and toned.

A point of contention with her, and which also caused her a great deal of anguish and embarrassment were her breasts. As she had a petite frame, and thin waist, her breasts, even under the baggy peasant blouses that she wore, were prominent. Large, round and firm. She dreaded the visits into town to buy tortillas and vegetables and having to endure the endless stares and leering glances from the male townsfolk.

Miguel, who ran the town's only market, was especially dreadful. He smelled like a donkey and made no effort to disguise his obvious lust. When she went to his store he stared openly at her firm breasts and well toned legs and thighs as if eyeing a cut of prime meat. What she saw reflected in his eyes, the primitive, animal lust, made her want to turn around and run home. She could hardly stand his staring, but had no choice, as it was the towns only market.

Nena's life was an extremely difficult one.

She was born with a natural zest for life and adventure, but it was held in check by her responsibilities at home and her cultural upbringing. She had just turned eighteen, and like most girls her age was waiting for the day when she could get married and leave the house to start life on her own. She longed to be free, but knew that her useless drunk father, and her mother, whom she loved dearly, counted on her and needed her, as did her little brothers and sisters. Her life was on hold and going nowhere. She knew and accepted this was her fate and there was nothing she could do about it.

About the only thing that she could do was to go to Maracas once a month, which was the pueblos local disco. It attracted mostly locals, but during spring break attracted the crazy gringos who tore into town like a cyclone, yelling, screaming, driving their dirt bikes down the main street at excessive speed, the high pitched whining of motorcyles engines reverberating in the dusty, quiet, still air of the sleepy Mexican town. All year, but especially during Spring Break They oftentimes visited Maracas to dance, flirt with the local girls, and pound down a few cold cervesas.