She stripped off her bra and panties and walked over to the dresser. She picked up a brush and began running it through her hair, examining herself in the mirror as she did. Perhaps her looks were one of the reasons why her father and brothers refused to take her seriously. They were all so ignorant and sexist that they figured any pretty girl with big breasts, a small waist, and long legs must be a dumb, helpless bimbo.

She rubbed a hand under her right breast, cupping the malleable orb gently. She had big boobs all right – thirty-eight-D's. They were round and heavy on her chest, and attracted boys like honey did flies.

She had a gently curving waist, nicely sized hips, and a pair of magnificent legs. She turned casually. Her ass was pretty good too, she noted.

Her best feature though, was, she thought, her hair. It was long and luxuriously thick. It fell around her pretty face and dainty shoulders in cascading waves of coppery brown. She smiled, posing for the mirror. She was hot-looking, knew it, accepted it with a kind of casual nonchalance, and coped with the results as best she could. That meant a lot of wrestling with boys who thought like her family – that a girl with big tits was an easy make.

She put on a robe and sunglasses, picked up a radio and suntan lotion, and walked down the hall to the narrow stairway that led way up to the roof.

The roof was a good fifty feet above the yard, and covered in little stones and tarpaper. She set her things down and pulled out the lawnchair she kept up here, then unfolded it and took off her robe. She propped a two by four under the doorknob to keep any of her brothers from coming up and settled down to get an all over tan.