The morning of my 18th birthday I am awakened not by my alarm clock, but the way I've been awakened the morning of every birthday I can remember. By a very boisterous, if badly out of tune chorus of "Happy Birthday to You". I suppose I should be grateful that they seem to have finally abandoned the completely juvenile "you live in a zoo" version for the regular "Happy Birthday Dear Tawndie". Even so, they still sound crappy at 6:00 in the morning.
"Geez you guys," I groan as I roll over and stick my tongue out at the grinning faces of my dad and three of my brothers, "you'd think after all these birthdays you'd be a bit more in tune. I thought practice was supposed to make perfect."
"Yeah well, that's whatcha get for thinking." Tony says as he ruffles my hair.
"C'mon Tawn, get that cute little fanny out of bed, unless you wanna be late for school... again." my dad says, and the whole crew laughs. My punctuality, or rather lack of it, is a running joke in my family. The only thing I ever seem to be on time for is my period.
"Yeah well," I mimic Tony "if you dorks would get out of my room, I'd be happy to kick it into gear."
"Ok boys, let's give the little lady her privacy." Daddy says as he herds Tony, Sam and Chris out the door.
As Daddy stops to give me a peck on the forehead, I hear Chris joke, "It's nothing we haven't seen before."
That's true enough, I think to myself as I throw back my covers and sit up for a good stretch, before heading to the shower. Growing up the only sister to 5 older brothers, privacy was almost non-existent. That's just as well, I suppose, since in the fall I'll be trading the lack of privacy here with that of a college dorm. Well, at least in the dorm, it would only be girls catching me at inopportune moments. I giggle to myself as I adjust the temp in the shower, THAT might be fun.
As I step under the warm water, I realize that, wow, I'm 18 now. I'm old enough to vote, get married, and rent porn. Still not old enough to drink, but that's never stopped me from nipping a beer or two from the fridge when no one was looking.
I soap up my neck and arms, standing out of the water so the lather doesn't get washed away. I massage my soapy breasts, one in each hand, feeling their weight. They're a C-cup, which isn't huge, but they sit atop my 32" chest nicely, I think. I'm not the only one who thinks so, either. I've heard my brothers' friends talking about me. On more than one occasion that kind of talk led to someone leaving with a bloody nose.
I travel on to my pussy, which is in serious need of a shave. The stubble has been driving me crazy for a couple of days now, but I haven't had the time to do anything about it. I grab the shaving gel and rub it between my hands before slathering it on my lips. Then I gently go to work with my razor. Shaving my pussy is pretty new to me. I'd heard some of the girls at school talking about it one day and thought, hey, why not. The first time it took for freaking ever. And omg, it itched like hell the next day. I thought, there's no way I'd do that again, but I did. Mostly because I couldn't stand the stubble, but also because I really loved the feel of my bare snatch. And the more I did it, the less it bothered me. I'm starting to get pretty good at it too, plus, it still gets me horny as hell. So I make a couple of passes around my clit while I'm rinsing off. You know, with all of my brothers' friends that have come and gone since I've hit puberty, I can't believe I'm still a freaking virgin. It's so frustrating, I could just... oh crap, there goes the hot water.
As I suspected, I was in the shower for entirely too long, and the boys and my dad are gone when I come downstairs for breakfast. There is a card on the table that reads "Happy Birthday Tawndie. Have a great day at school. The boys and I have an awesome party planned for tonight. Love, Dad". I grin. My dad has always had great parties for us kids. 'Course we're not kids anymore. Now Tawndie-the-youngest is all grown up.
I pour myself a bowl of cereal and glance at the fridge as I open the door for the milk. I pause for a moment to really look at the photo of my mom that my dad has kept on the door all these years. I look absolutely nothing like her. Chad and Billy look most like her, with their wavy black hair and super blue eyes. They were her first born, twins, but not identical. Which is probably a good thing for us all, because they would have totally been the pranking kind. They're 25 and have been away from home for about 6 years now. They live nearby, and they're never more than a phone call away. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to get rid of the other three that easily. Tony's next to the oldest at 23, then Sam, he's 20. Chris looks the most like me, and since we're only 10 months apart, people often ask if we're twins. Sometimes I'm so tempted to say, why no, we're not, our parents just liked to fuck like rabbits. Of course being the polite young lady that I am, I haven't...yet.
We don't talk about our mother much. She died when I was almost two, and I really don't remember her. Dad was only 27 when he became a widower, and there have been a bunch of women over the years who'd like to be the new Mrs. Wahengle, but Dad's never been interested in finding anyone to replace mom. He's always saying he's got his hands full with kids and work, and I know that's true. I put my bowl in the sink and glance at the clock on the stove. Shit, late again. No time to pack a lunch, as I grab the car keys and scram.
