She then started making strange moaning sounds, which turned me on even more. She began thrashing her head from side to side and, thinking that she wa... having trouble breathing, I removed my hand. She cried out "Oh God, I'm cuminggggg! Aaaaargh, Oh My God", as she convulsed in the throes of a body-wracking orgasm.I was surprised when, after her orgasm subsided, she quickly pulled away from the dog without allowing him to climax. I soon found out what she was planning.The poor dog, being left. She lived with her widowed mother on the next street over, our back yards butting up against each other. Her name was Barbara Poole, or Barb. Definitely not Barbie, she bristled at that. She was definitely not the perfect blonde bimbo of doll fame. Our fathers had survived the war and we were their affirmations that it had all been worth it. Her dad died in an accident when we were twelve. Barb had been a little pudgy growing up, not that it mattered to me, but by high school she had developed. He was a lager drinker, a good sign. I was on iced cider, the latest craze.He was coloured, probably Caribbean. This part of London had its share, especially on carnival day.When he went to get a refill at the bar, I went too. I'd timed it that way, pacing my drink with his. I stood next to him waiting my turn, listening to the rich inflection in his voice when he spoke to the barmaid, the only female in the joint, apart from Frank’s missus.We didn't speak, but eyed each other's reflection in. Poor Derek found herself feeling a little intimidated standing next to agiant Ginger.Although, while they were locked in each other's embrace, each had ataste of their increased, or diminished proportions. The distraction of sexhad pushed this well into the background. Now that they were outside,and able to stand fully erect, Derek and Ginger saw the world from anentirely new vantage point.."I-I'm so short," gasped Derek in Ginger's lilting soprano. In the shorttime in Ginger's body, she.