By Accident, On Purpose Ch. 01

She told me not to feel bad about it, that she could handle it, that she wasn't helpless. I told her how much I admired her. Thoughts of her body in that tiny suit she was holding up washed through my brain. I wasn't even sure if she bought it. Mom told me that she would miss me, but that they were planning to have a wonderful anniversary celebration.

"So who all is going?" I asked her. She told me it was her and Dad, the Clendenings, the Jenkins and Ken and Micha Northam. She didn't mention Amy. I wondered if that was a surprise as well. "Well," I said, "Have a wonderful trip and don't get too wild in Mexico." Mom giggled a bit.

"Well, you never know." She giggled, with a slight naughtiness in her voice. She was sounding like she been drinking wine, while she packed. "A little wildness might be fun. It's a party for me after all." We both laughed and I agreed. She signed off by hoping that I wouldn't be too lonely.

"I really don't plan on it."

By Wednesday, 9:00 AM I was on the flight to Mexico City, with the connector to Puerto Vallarta. A car and driver was to take me to the villa. I arrived at the villa about 3:30 in the afternoon. As the car wound its way up the very long gravel driveway, we were engulfed in the jungle. I was reminded of the Predator movie that was filmed near here, which made me subconsciously check the trees for aliens.

We turned a corner and the villa came into view. It was more stunning than Mom had told me the week before. It jutted out of the jungle as if it grew there. It was stately, yet somehow perfectly designed to appear natural in its surroundings. The circular drive created a plaza around which the house projected away in several directions, back from a center fountain. The Porte Cochère was a stone structure that was overgrown with vines making it appear completely natural. The main entry thrust itself proudly into the plaza. The other facades were strong but not so prominent.

I noticed a lovely young woman standing at the top of the steps as we pulled up. She bowed deeply and then began down the stairs. I noticed at once that she was quite severely handicapped in her right leg. Her heavy limp was painful to watch. I got out of the car as she made it to the bottom of the 6 or 8 large stone steps. I was immediately hit with the hot, humid, fragrant scent of the jungle. The air conditioning in the car had been on full blast, making me a bit chilly. Now by contrast, I became immediately sticky and moist.

"Buenos dias, señor Mallory. ¿Como esta, usted?" Her voice matching exactly her smoky eyes and lovely brown skin. Her eyes looked proud and strong, plus they were almost black, with huge pupils. She looked almost defiant, for some reason; like someone used to being pitied for her condition, and wouldn't stand for it.

"Muy bien, Gracias. ¿Y tu?" I responded, in my high school Spanish. Having responded in this way, she assumed a fluency in Spanish that I did not possess, and proceeded on a long dissertation about... God knows what. I did get that her name was Maribella.

Finally the taxi driver stopped her, with what was presumably a statement that I did not speak the language. She gave me a silent look that conveyed how sorry she was, that I was so pitiful. She grabbed my heavy bag from the driver and turned to head back up the steps.

"Whoa." I told her, "Wait that's pretty heavy." I extended my hand to take it from her, but she just gave me a sharp look that said, 'What are you thinking?' and continued shuffling up the steps. I paid the driver who roared off back up the drive, leaving us in complete silence.

Actually, what I noticed immediately and came to regard as the new 'normal', was the cacophony that was the jungle. There was sound from every direction. Animals, trees in the light breeze, the sound of water running, (from more than the fountain). It would keep me awake that first night.

I turned to watch Maribella carry my heavy bag as if it weighed nothing; she was sturdy. Her right leg though, impeded her progress. Her right foot was turned almost completely inward, and she stood on the outside edge of the foot. It looked painful, but aside from making her slow it didn't seem to affect her much. Her right leg was a bit twisted, but as I studied her gait, noticed how exquisite the rest of her body was.

She wore a white tank shirt and a pareo tied on her left hip. It dipped to cover her bad leg, but left the other enticingly exposed. Her thighs were very toned and fit. The bare strip of exposed back was tight and the muscles worked with every step. Even her feet, well, her left foot was elegant and tan. Her arms reminded me of the women at my gym who were obsessed with making their arms cut and defined. I suspected that this girl never even heard of a gym. These were natural muscles, defined by actual labor.

Maribella's hips worked enticingly as she moved, perhaps exaggerated by her unique walk. Her ass looked like a Valentines card heart. I seesawed between watching her ass move and taking in the house as we walked a very long way to what was to be my room for the rest of the vacation.

She pushed open two 10' high doors into my room which opened into an enormous sitting area with desk and couch and a couple of tables with tall backed chairs. The entire west wall was open to the view of the sea. White drapes blew lazily into the room on the warm, humid breeze. I walked to the veranda and looked down, from probably 100' above the ocean, to the private beach laid out to the left and right. The beach was probably not more than half a mile long before the jungle swallowed it on both sides. It was paradise!!

I heard Maribella's voice from inside and went back in. She was standing in a smaller parlor area, with its own small balcony overlooking the jungle to the north. The bedroom was to my left which contained the most enormous bed I have ever seen. A full 4 feet off the floor, making a king size look small. There were steps on all sides as it sat in the middle of the room. She had placed my bag on a table for the purpose, and was running a litany of instructions that I didn't understand.

I stopped her and went to fetch my computer tablet. I turned it on and started the app that ran my translator.

"Forgive me. My Spanish is terrible. This program will translate my words into Spanish for you then it will translate your Spanish to English for me." I said into the machine. At the push of a button, it then babbled out my ramblings in Spanish. Maribella, who had been watching me with a look of total confusion, suddenly brightened when she heard the translation out loud. She smiled and stepped closer. She asked me something I couldn't get, so I stopped her and made a pantomime of pushing the button, waiting for the beep, and then motioned for her to speak. She restated her question into the tablet.

"Does this machine make my words your words?" it asked. I nodded and grinned. She smiled, still unsure.

"Yes. This machine makes your words my words. And my words into your words." I translated for her. She giggled and covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes were gorgeous when she smiled. They crinkled up a bit and sparkled beautifully. I must have appeared confused.

"Yes, but you speak Spanish with a woman's voice." She translated back. Now I laughed out loud and she joined. She covered her mouth again with her hand when she laughed, but not before I caught a glimpse of her gorgeous mouthful of white teeth. Maribella was a gorgeous girl. She caught me looking at her that way and retreated a bit to her guarded self. She was at once shy and defiant.

We used the tablet around the room as she described the place to me, told me that she was the only staff for the next 2 weeks, aside from the delivery boy and any assistance we might need from town. She showed me the bathroom which had a tub large enough for 4 people, Jacuzzi jets, a shower waterfall at the touch of a button. The shower was so large it needed no door, but was possessed of at least a dozen different shower heads and body sprays. Several teak stools sat around if one wished to relax under the spray. The vanity sink was actually in a small private courtyard with a palm frond roof. The bowl was carved from a single piece of lava rock, and fed by a natural spring that arrived via a bamboo pipe. I was more amazed by each appliance she showed me. There was even an outdoor shower of the same spring water, splashing down into a floor, 6 inches deep of loose smooth black river stones. It was on a private path from the beach so you could rinse off before entering the room.

We strolled the villa and she described everything for me. We quickly became adept at passing the tablet to enable our conversation. She ended back at my room and told me to relax for a hour until dinner. I would eat on the main veranda, above the pool.

"I'll eat? Or we'll eat?" I asked for clarification.

"I do not ever eat with the guests." My tablet translated, her look showing how emphatic a rule this was. "I eat in my cottage."

An hour and a half later I was seated at the head of a table that could easily handle 20 guests, as I watched a mild surf ebb and flow on the beach below. I had napped, then showered in the outdoor shower, and dressed in my white dress shirt and linen pants. I had some espadrilles from a trip to France that I slipped into. I was feeling very relaxed as I sipped the Xtabentun honey liqueur that Maribella brought to me. I felt like I was melding into the jungle, as I watched the sun slowly set.

It was halfway into the sea when Maribella rolled out a cart with my dinner. She lit the huge hurricane lanterns and then uncovered each dish with a flourish, revealing that she was an exquisite cook. A large Dorado was presented grilled, both fillets had perfect char marks and were reassembled in the center of the fish whose head and tail were still in position. It sat on a bed of unusual lettuces and sliced mangoes and papayas in a kind of chutney. Several different sauces were arranged in lava rock bowls around it. Various other fruits and vegetables had been grilled and were arranged as if in the finest restaurant in New York.

I had opted for a local beer, which arrived in a large copper bowl, 3 bottles, displayed in ice. A heavy brass covered dish contained a wealth of fresh made tortillas. Rice and plantains with roasted chiles formed a bed for the starters, 4 large oysters, half-shelled and presented with lemons and a special mild sauce.

I sipped beer from the bottle, enjoyed each oyster in turn, as she went about arranging a plate of food for me. She limped heavily, but her hands had the efficiency of a professional as she prepared the plate.

"Bon Appetit." She said in perfect French and then backed away. I smiled.

"Merci bien." I replied, wondering if she really spoke French. She smiled and then turned and head to the house. I watched her go. Her Pareo had been replaced with a full length white apron to the floor, her tank shirt with a Chef's jacket. She reminded me very much of Padma Lakshmi, from that cooking show.

I noticed that as soon as she was inside she went behind and glass wall and sat watching me. I could barely see her, and wondered if this was her regular station with guests at the table. Each bite I took was more exquisite than the last. This was going to be an incredible vacation. 'What must this cost?' I wondered.

"Shisha?" she asked after I finished and she cleared away. I must have looked completely perplexed. She laughed. "Hookah?" she tried again. Now I got her. I agreed to try it, having never done so. She busied herself making what looked to be an impressive sized bowl of something that I wasn't sure wasn't pot. She packed in the materials and covered it with foil, punched some holes and brought it under my nose for a smell; not what I was expecting.

"Apple?" she tried. "Manzana?" It was not what I was expecting. I did smell like apples. Apparently it is simply tobacco, infused with fruit syrup which made for a rather mellow, relaxing smoke. She ushered me to a collection of cushions strewn of the deck by the pool. I felt like I was at the casbah as I relaxed and smoked my Shisha.

I was feeling tired and sated as I watched the moon slowly rise from over the jungle behind me. There was the faintest noise of Maribella in the kitchen, above the sounds of the jungle at night. I had finished my beers and was hoping for another. I struggled to stand, laying on the ground as I was, and headed in the direction of the kitchen noise.

I stopped short, in the dark, as I noticed Maribella standing in the light of the kitchen. She was completely nude, changing out of her jacket and apron. She was stunningly beautiful, perfect body, tan and shapely, long, straight jet-black hair to her butt. She had had it up all day so I hadn't noticed the length. I stood rooted to the spot, embarrassed to have walked in of her like this, but captivated by her beauty. Suddenly she turned and saw me standing in the pool of light from the open door. I felt so busted.

"Si, señor?" she asked as she turned and headed straight for me, limping as she came. She displayed not the slightest self-consciousness about being nude. If I needed something I guess it was her responsibility to help me get it. Now she really reminded me of Lakshmi, who has a major scar on her right arm. Maribella was also gorgeous in the nude, and her minor physical defect made the effect even more charming.

"Perdóname, Maribella. ¿Um... mas cerveza?" I asked. Without a hint of shame or shock at being seen nude, she smiled and turned back to the kitchen. She beckoned me inside and showed me the fridge. She handed me a beer, without thinking to cover any part of her exquisite body. She went on in Spanish about something I didn't get.

"La tableta?" she finally asked at my blank stare, wondering where my translator was.

"Oh. I,... uh..." I mumbled, turning and pointing back toward my room where I left it.

She went about getting dressed, completely unfazed about being seen in the nude. I was really taken by the fact that there was no hint of a tan line of any kind on her body. She was an even color all over her. A tiny patch of jet black hair perched above her pussy and her nipples were the color of cocoa. Her tank shirt slipped over her full B-cup, maybe C-cup breasts and she casually tied the pareo around her. Panties were absent.

"La tableta?" she asked again. I stumbled about a bit and then hurried to get it. I was not completely erect from this unexpected show, but was well on the way. I grabbed my tablet from the table in my room and as I turned to head back to her, she appeared at my doorway to the veranda. She simply stood and waited. I was confused and then invited her in. It was apparent that she wouldn't dream of entering without invitation. She was carrying my forgotten beer.

We sat on my parlor balcony, shoulder to shoulder, dictating into my tablet, and carried on a long conversation about her life. My tablet translated her Spanish imperfectly, but it gave her side of our conversation a charming goofiness with some of the phrasing the computer adopted. I suppose that it must have done the same for me, as she giggled a bit from time to time and corrected my speech. She covered her mouth every time she laughed; I was further charmed.

She was born in Jalisco, to a single mother, never knew her dad. As an infant, her grandfather had dropped her from the second floor, destroying her right leg. They were too poor for the doctor, so the local medicine woman gave her herbs to ease the discomfort and heal the damaged limb, but it remained in its crooked position. Her family had no money to fix it even later, so it became her signature.

She took a series of menial jobs in Puerto Vallarta, including one is a small restaurant, where she began to fool around with cooking. Her mother's recipes were based on the meager ingredients she could scrounge, but with better supplies and fresh fruits and vegetables, Mom's recipes had became masterpieces. People began to hear about her cooking and the restaurant became quite well known. Maribella was very adept at swimming and she loves to spearfish. She would go to the beach early in the morning and spear enough fish and seafood for the day's meals.

She admitted that she had been very hardened by the various men who fell in love with her beautiful body and quickly out of love with her disability. Many were physically turned off by her scars and bony protrusions in her leg. I told her that they didn't bother me a bit. She gave me a mild smile that let me know she didn't believe me.

I apologized for catching her nude. She apologized for embarrassing me. I was so taken aback I laughed out loud.

"Why would you apologize to me?" I asked chuckling.

"For making you feeling uncomfortable, embarrassing you." I shook my head.

"Weren't you embarrassed?" I asked her. She gave me a confounded look.

"Me? For what to be embarrassed? You're the man that had to take view my leg."

"Truly, your leg looks fine to me. But,... you were nude." Again she seemed lost.

"Yes. And that made you embarrassed to feel."

We were clearly not on the same page.

"I was not embarrassed. I find you very beautiful. Your,... body is very beautiful." She simply stared. "I was uncomfortable because I thought you were uncomfortable."

"I was not." She stated simply. "I am something like always nude in this place. I love to be nude. I aware that American peoples are very uncomfortable about with this." I smiled wide.

"I, myself, am not." I told her. If you are comfortable than I am as well."

"So you will go nude also?" she asked, without a hint of coyness. It was a very simple, straightforward question. I considered it a long time. I hadn't given it the slightest thought. The notion of being nude around her was thrilling really, but this was to be a 2 week vacation with my parents and their friends. Nudity was off the table! I told her this and she seemed to understand, but I think reverted to her previous insistence about Americans being uncomfortable with it.

"Your parents are not here immediate." My tablet translated for her. 'What the hell does she mean?' I thought to myself. "Do you take the swim?" I must have looked confused. She turned to look toward the pool. "Do you enjoy to be in the swimming pool?"

"Well, yeah. I love to swim." Her face brightened.

"Vaminos." She said standing. She had an unreadable look. She might as well have said 'let's go sit outside' for the complete lack of guile in her expression. She had just asked me, I think, to go skinny dipping, but without any of the naughty playfulness that usually accompanies such an activity; at least in my experience.

I figured 'What the hell' and stood. She did too, struggling a bit. I offered my hand, which she stared at, as if I had questioned her ability to get around on her own; looking offended. She quickly reevaluated my intention and gently took it but did not lean on me at all.

"Gracias." She said quietly, begrudgingly, almost as if she didn't want to. I was still a guest in this house, and she was always gracious.

I walked slowly, keeping pace with her limp as we walked to the pool, on the lower veranda. Without any hesitation she untied the pareo and stripped off her tank shirt. She gave me a look that said, 'Well, what are you waiting for?' I stripped off my shirt and as I did so, she dove into the pool. She limped in her usual way to the pool's edge, but from there became a mermaid, as she dove, arcing perfectly, gracefully into the water.

Her plodding, almost painful looking gait out of the water gave no hint as to her efficient, elegant stroke through the water. She was like a gorgeous fish, in her natural habitat. She came up for air on the far side of the lengthy pool, her long dark hair straight back against her back. She was glorious!