In February last year (2014) I wrote Camping-Car Adventure, a long account of my first trip to France since my wonderful husband David died. I split it into five bite sized reads and received a lot of nice comments, thank you. One or two of you asked for stories of the trips I took with my husband during the last few years of his illness. At the time I dismissed the idea as being a little bit too soon or even a bit too personal but during the ensuing two years (almost) I've been happily going back over my memories of our time together, not just the last few years. This is another long one but again I've split it up into bite sized reads. I need to start my account at the point when David and I first went camping. We were engaged with a wedding planned 'in the future', 'when we had enough money'. It was on that holiday I discovered so much about myself and confirmed much that I had suspected. I also discovered a great deal about David, which was all good. And a massive amount about us. At the same time David not only learned about and understood me but also discovered a great deal about himself. It was the knowledge about ourselves and each other that created the bond that has endured between us ever since. We went to a farm near Cheddar Gorge on David's James 200 motorbike. It was a struggle. You can imagine how little actual camping equipment we were able to take. David said we had so little space I couldn't take any bras, he loved watching my tits jiggle as I walked, only one pair of knickers for each day and no pyjamas. I was allowed walking boots and socks which I wore most of the time and plimsolls, that shows how long ago it was, for inside the tent. I had jeans, which I wore for the journey, two pairs of short shorts and a couple of short, light skirts. Up top I had T shirts, a jumper and a leather jacket. Fortunately I've never really bothered with make-up or smelly stuffs. To be fair David's wardrobe was slightly smaller than mine, he didn't take any skirts. Our sleeping bags zipped together, which we didn't tell my mother. We used our clothes as a pillow. We had one torch between us and cooked on a Primus stove with two tiny saucepans, a small frying pan and two horrid aluminium mugs which made everything taste tinny. We shared one large towel, one small towel, a bar of Cussons Imperial Leather, a flannel and a tube of toothpaste. We had out own toothbrushes. Everything we needed. Actually much more than we expected to need as we planned to spend most of the time either on or in the sleeping bag. We had three punctures on the way down and after the third we decided that it would probably be easier if I hitched as far as Wells and waited for David to catch up. It was a hot day so I changed from my jeans into a skirt and was in Wells less than an hour later. He was a very nice van driver and couldn't keep his eyes off my long legs and short skirt. He never made a move on me nor even suggested we stop somewhere quiet for a while but I did totally enjoy having his eyes on my body. I knew exactly what he was thinking and it made me very horny, for David, that night. After pitching our little two man tent at the top of the small field and getting sorted out we walked into the village for a fish 'n chip supper before heading to the pub. I thought that I looked a bit ridiculous in my walking boots, short shorts and T shirt but David said I looked drop dead gorgeous especially the little buttons where my nipples were hardening up. We got a bigger portion of chips with our fish and hardly had to wait to be served in the busy pub! I loved catching the guys clocking my tits. It made my nipples stand out even more and my panties got wetter and wetter as the evening wore on. I loved them looking but had no intention of letting them play. I just wanted to play with my David and when the pleasure became unbearable I whispered in his ear. I'd never seen him finish his drink so quickly. In those days we didn't fuck. Well, actually we did, obviously. No, what I mean is fuck wasn't commonly used as a verb as in; I fuck, you fuck, we fuck, they fuck. It was commonly used as an adjective as in 'what the fuck?' or is that used as an adverb or maybe a noun? Whatever, it isn't half as nice. Where was I? We didn't fuck. When one was married one 'made love' when one wasn't married one 'had sex' and David and I 'had sex'; like rabbits. There was the ruder variation, shag, not to be confused with cormorant. Shag was David's preference but for my mind I didn't care what it was called as long as we did it as often as possible. We returned to the site, showered, went back to the tent and 'had sex'. In the morning we again 'had sex', rested, had more sex then had a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee. We showered together before heading into the village to explore. After lunch we returned to the tent, had sex, rested, had more sex until it was time to walk back into the village for dinner, pub then back to the site, showered then back to the tent for more sex. This hectic holiday routine carried on for four days. The fifth day started as normal, it continued as normal. We stopped at the ablutions shed after leaving the pub and shared the shower as usual. Still wet and only wearing my knickers, David having all our other stuff in the ruck-sac except his Y fronts which he wore, chased me back up the hill to the tent as usual. When we'd left to get our meal the camp site only about six tents, including ours, dotted around the field, and none near us, but when we returned there was another tent pitched about ten feet from ours. The two guys were brewing up outside their tent until they heard my shrieks of delight. Looking around they saw me running towards them wearing only my knickers and with my tits bouncing all over the shop. It was almost a dead heat with me just beating David to our tent. I bent to open the front flap, being sure that the guys next door had a good view of my assets. David slapped my assets playfully. “You teasing those poor lads?” he suggested. “Ummmm,” I replied just as one of them asked if we would like a mug of tea. “Give us ten minutes?” David asked. “Ten minutes!” I retorted as I wormed my way through the tent flap. “OK, twenty minutes, maybe half an hour.” I vaguely heard from outside as I worked my damp panties off. Then I heard a more distant chuckle followed by 'lucky sod!' I waited patiently, with my legs wide, while David struggled out of his Y fronts. David's was the first big boys cock I had seen. I'd seen my little brother's willies when my mother changed their nappies but David's was the first seen cock. It was also the first touched, tasted, sucked and fucked, sorry, had sex, cock and at the time of this holiday the only cock I'd... well, all of the above. I could hear the guys outside talking as David eased his cock lovingly into me. I let out a loud moan of pleasure. I'm an exhibitionist, did I mention that somewhere? I'm also a noisy 'had sex'. Only a very thin sheet of cotton separated David and I from the two guys outside and there was no telling how close they actually were. He eased in a little further and I moaned a little louder. In my own defence I wasn't making any more noise than usual just because there were a couple of guys outside hanging on my every moan of pleasure. Well, maybe but not that much more. David looked down at me sternly, “You're not going to try and keep the noise down are you?” Was it a question or possibly a suggestion? It wasn't whispered, that's for sure. “You want me to try and be quiet while you ….?” My voice tailed off leaving nothing much to the imagination of anybody who might be accidentally eavesdropping. David shook his head and rammed his cock home hard. Just how I like it. I responded just as he knew I would. I screeched and begged for more. I consider myself to be very lucky. On the very first occasion that David started to work his hand up under my skirt I had a tiny orgasm. By the time he had eased my panties aside I was breathing hard and when he slipped one single finger between my pussy lips and teased the entrance I grabbed him around the neck and covered him with kisses as I pushed hard against his finger. Sex and I were going to be friends, very good friends. I won't say that orgasms were ten a penny because that would appear to demean them as being of no consequence when they were most definitely of very great consequence. No, orgasms and I were fellow travellers, journeying happily along life's sexual pleasure highway hand in hand while humming a little dirty little ditty. A little shudder of pleasure would always course through my body if David simply rang and asked if I was feeling horny. We started talking dirty, him telling me I was a greedy bitch and a damn good shag while I told him to stop wasting his energy talking and get on with shagging my greedy cunt and filling it with his spunk. After a while we settled down to the serious business then David told me to kneel up, he wanted to take me from behind (we didn't know doggy then) because it always made him shoot his load. I knelt, he knelt behind me then laughed. “What?” I demanded. “It's a good job it's not raining,” he chuckled. I looked round. His shoulders were rubbing the sides of the tent, each side of the ridge seam. He slipped his cock into me, deliberately keeping his back stiff. His shoulders slid along the material. He pulled back. His shoulders pulled back, then forward and back and forward … “So basically,” I said, “the guys outside can now watch you shagging me.” “Yep! Probably,” he said rocking back and forth in my dripping pussy. “Better give them a decent show then,” I told him. “They can have a nice wank while watching my shoulders move.” he said matter-of-factly. “Why should watching your shoulders move make them wank?” I asked innocently. “I dunno,” he said, “maybe they could imagine it was their shoulders' and their cocks' making the shoulders move.” “You mean they'd have a wank while imagining that they were shagging me?” I suggested. I also came quite hard as I voiced the idea. David felt it. “You like the thought of them wanking while thinking about shagging you, do you?” with a hint of excitement in his voice. “Ummmm,” I mumbled, “something like that. Now fuck me, suddenly I could do with a mug of tea.” We fucked until I felt his cock twitch, jerk then pump. He thrust deep and hard and held it there while he emptied his balls inside my greedy pussy. I think, even then, David was almost as much an exhibitionist as me. That final action of spunk pumping into my pussy is the one that gives me the biggest orgasm, every time. We collapsed in a heap and after taking a few minutes to recover we started to clean each other up. That's when we heard the banging outside. It sounded like somebody was banging in big tent pegs, a bit like those large wooden things used to hold up big Scout and Guide ridge tents. Would you like to know what awaited us outside?