Where there is sex, there is always a way.
Although I am now growing a little older in age, this story relates and took place when I was a young married woman in my middle twenties.
My husband, two children, and I had taken a holiday in a rather old caravan on a camp site in South Wales. As my father-in-law was now on his own, we had taken him along for a holiday break. The holiday started as all do with feelings of expectation, but this, of course, was without the knowledge of what kind of caravan we would be allocated on the holiday site. Like many young couples, we were a little hard up so budget was our enforced motto.
Upon arriving, we found just about our worst fears founded and, although with a beautiful view, no shower was fitted (unlike the case today). Showers were to be taken at the communal washroom situated, luckily, not too far from the caravan we rented. We also found that every movement made in the caravan could be felt quite easily by just about everybody within the caravan at the time. With my father in law a notoriously light sleeper, the slightest bit of coming together between my husband and I was just about impossible without letting the whole caravan know what we were up too.
Like all young couples on holiday we wanted to let our hair down and enjoy what we were put on this Earth to do. After about three days of showering every morning (along with everyone else in the washroom) and with little privacy and little pressure in the showerheads, yours truly was starting to get extremely frustrated to say the very least. The smallest bit of cuddling and canoodling with my man made sure just about everything within the knickers region became decidedly damp and worthy of attention had I been at home.
Here in this caravan, however, with children running to and fro all day and a father-in-law incapable of sleeping at night, privacy was at a premium. My husband and I used to lay awake and, although he was extremely manipulative with his fingers and mouth, we had to be so careful that we did not move. Imagine it: you want sex; the man with whom you want it is with you; but it still was impossible.
My hormones were going into overdrive with a continual horny feeling bearing with me throughout the day long. Wanting something to take my mind off the situation, I wandered off to the camp shop to buy a few necessary items. It was now getting toward the latter part of the first week, and still I had not broken my duck so far as a holiday coming was concerned. As I wandered among the camp food shop aisles, I happened to meet the woman from the caravan adjacent to that of the one we were hiring on the site. She was of a similar age to me.
Like women do, we started talking and, after coming out of the shop, went to sit on the nearby sandy beach where we continued our chat. She spoke about how poor the caravans were and made mention of how you could hardly move in them without letting the rest know what you were doing. I agreed and, feeling bolder, started to tell her of my sexual plight. She assured me there was a way around the situation, and said she had noticed I went for a shower in the mornings when the water pressure was very low, owing to the amount of people on the camp site using water at that time.
'Take it from one who knows,' she said. 'After getting the children off to bed, go down to the showers during the evening time when they are little used. I think by tomorrow you should feel like a new woman again.'
I bid her farewell after thanking her and went back to our caravan. That evening the children never seemed to want to go to bed, let alone sleep, so I left them in the hands of my other half who promised to put them to bed when it was time. Meanwhile yours truly tucked her towel and washing paraphernalia under her arm and, with a wink of the eye to my husband, made my way to the camp washroom.
Suffice to say: yes, the water pressure was much higher during the evening than during the day and, within a matter of minutes, relief was speeding my way from the end of a strong, fast jet of water which I allowed to hit my clit. This I helped by gradually inserting and pumping an eventual three fingers in my pussy as I rode the fingers to pleasure more than once that evening.
As I dried myself on my towel following my time of great pleasure and relief, I heard I was not the only woman in the shower room taking relief from the increased flow of water during the evening. Another woman far more audible than myself was also taking relief from the healing waters. I did indeed find a new spring in my step the next morning and for a few more mornings that holiday. I thanked my next-door caravan neighbour the next time I saw her.
Her only reply with a knowing smile on her face was, 'Okay now?' I answered in the affirmative. It was a long time ago but the memory is still fresh in my mind and still grazes my fantasy mind at times when relief is needed.