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This is a question Family Holidays

Back in the 80s when my Dad got made redundant (hello Dad!), he spent all the redundancy money on one of those big motor caravans.

Us kids loved it, apart from when my sister threw up on my sleeping bag, but looking back I'm not so sure my mum did. There was a certain tension every time the big van was even mentioned, let alone driven around France for weeks on end with her still having to cook and do all the washing.

What went wrong, what went right, and how did you survive the shame of having your family with you as a teenager?

(, Thu 2 Aug 2007, 14:33)
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The Budddwyer story…but how it happened to me...
I didn’t go on holiday with my parents, but when I was about 17 or 18 I went on holiday with my then G/F and her parents.

They had a caravan. Being quite trusting and liberated souls they gave G/F and me a little tent each next door to the caravan.

Now this girl was fit. Grrr-worthy in fact….and when the mood took her she went like a rabbit on Dextrosol. I was a lucky boy.

I had been witty and polite doing all the crap things you do with G/F’s parents all day.

Nighty-night time came. We slipped into our respective jammies, had a cup-of-tea in the awning, said our goodnights and tottered off to our tents for a good night’s kip.

Here’s the part where G/F has other ideas…

She grabs her torch, unzips my tent, tentatively climbs in, puts torch down and proceeds to suck and fuck the living gizzards out of me.

Oh yes…every conceivable way, orifice and position the tent could possibly stand was experimented with. I think an arse was literally screwed-off somewhere

(Like I said earlier, I was a lucky boy).

So I thank her for her effort and kick her out back into her own tent so her parents would never know the naughtities that had occurred

The perfect crime...

Breakfast next morning was a strained, quiet affair. Disapproving looks, tuts and mutterings under breath. I was doing my ‘Captain Charming’ act. It wasn’t making a snot's bit of difference.

Later that day G/F’s mum takes G/F to one side and explains that her placement of the torch the previous night cast shadows that left nothing to the imagination of not only her parents, but the whole camp site who were watching (and I’d like to think cheering me on, but I doubt it).

We were also told that only twats as thick as us would think that the thin tent canvas would easily muffle her cries of ‘oh fuck me, stick it up me, oh yeah, I’m gonna cum’ etc etc

If only I had the intelligence of budddwyer back then and made it through the week with nowt but a biblical stonk-on.

Fucksocks, I thought at the time.

Happy memories I think now.
(, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 10:24, Reply)

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