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Now I have always had the gift of the gab, and no problems talking to older women.
In fact, of the girls I had dated so far, I always got on really well with their mothers.
The campground owner was not that happy at seeing us, I guess he felt he had a biker gang on his hands.
But we were all pretty respectable, and holding down good jobs, the campsite had been prepared and Shane's father had already setup the tent.
He must have had some inkling of the fact we were a lot of young hot blooded youths though, as we were right down the far end of the camp, as far away from the showers and kitchens as you could get.
We proceed to party as soon as we had our sleeping bags off the bikes and into the tent. that night we had our first of many warnings about keeping the noise down and to stop harassing the girls.
One of our mates had an Anglia van and we had filled it up with quite a few cartons of beer, a dozen pint bottles of DB brown or Lion Red in each.
So much so that in a couple of cases I got some dangerous vibes from the fathers.
"Cheeky young man," she quipped back, "I am old enough to be your mother and I'm sure you are not the slightest bit interested in where we are going." "My mother!
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