It was the summer after my highschool graduation, and my dad had decided our family should go on this camping trip. A few years ago he had bought a tattered vintage 1960’s caravan and he had spent most of his free time on its restoration. He took pride in the fact he had done everything with his own two hands; he had repaired and polished the aluminum exterior, rebuild the wooden interior, laid carpet and painted everything.
Inside there was a small sitting area with a fully equipped kitchen, one small bedroom with a bunk bed for my brother Nick and me, and another bedroom with a queen sized bed for mom and dad. Finally there was a tiny itty-bitty bathroom with a toilet and a sink for washing and brushing one’s teeth.
Now that the work on the caravan was finally finished, dad insisted we had to try it out by going on a voyage across the country. Knowing how much work my father had put into the restoration, it was impossible for us to say no. So, when the schools were out for summer, we were told to pack our stuff and get ready for our trip.
After a full day of preparing and packing all the things we had to take with us, we finally took to the road. For the next three weeks we would be touring the country and visit the ‘hidden treasures of the heartland’. Dad wanted to avoid the highways as much as possible and had plotted a route that would take us through what he called ‘the real country’, which started with a two-day voyage to get to the first camping site. We would spend the night in a parking lot and cover whatever remained the next day.
It was a good thing I brought a lot of books with me.
As we got ready for our first night, I had to admit that although dad had done a really good job with the caravan and it really looked nice, I would much rather have stayed in a hotel than in this caravan. Living this close together meant there would be three weeks with absolutely no privacy. I had expressed my frustrations to mom, but she just said I shouldn’t be worried about that. After all, we were all family and there was nothing to be ashamed of.
As if to prove that point, that night my parents had sex as noisily as they would have at home. The muffled grunts, moans and the repetitive sound of sweaty skin slapping together were very audible through the thin wooden walls. I just closed my eyes and pretended not to hear them fucking, nor feel the shaking of the bunk bed above me.
Dad woke us early next morning and told us to get dressed and into the car. As there was still a long way to go, breakfast would be served on the road.
After another long boring day in the car, we finally arrived at the camping site. The sun had already set and the manager just pointed us where to park our caravan and told us to see him the next morning for the paperwork.
That night I learned that even worse than the total lack of privacy was the absence of a proper bathroom. Having no shower or even hot running water meant we would have to walk all the way to the campground bath house every time we wanted to take a shower.
So, on the first night of our stay, mom and I walked a little disgruntled the hundred or so yards to the showers, carrying with us our towels and toilet bags. We were glad to find two empty stalls, but quickly discovered that we needed special coins for the hot water. Since we didn’t have any, we had no choice but to take the coldest, shortest and most uncomfortable showers we’d ever had.
A few unpleasant minutes later, we walked the hundred or so yards back to the caravan, extremely disgruntled now. Dad said we were just spoiled, that there was nothing wrong with a refreshing cold shower. Mom furiously told him to fuck off and swore she’d sooner go home than take another freezing shower. Nick and I wholeheartedly agreed and in the end, dad gave in. Happy again, mom rewarded dad by taking him to the bedroom and royally fucking his brains out.