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Double Stuffed (A Second Helpings Short Story) by Derek Masters (1)

1

“Hey Poppy,” Sage says, nudging me with his arm. He nods toward the house next door so I turn my glance in that direction.

Our next door neighbor, Rosemary, is smoking hot. She’s in her early to mid-twenties, has long chestnut-colored hair, curvy hips, a nice, round bubble butt, and a rack to die for. She moved into the house next to ours sometime in August and ever since, we’ve had our sights set on her.

“Yeah?” I question, but then I see what he’s talking about. “Ohhh,” I mumble as we watch her carry in a few shopping bags.

The first time I saw her, she was in her backyard, tending to some plants that she’d placed on the back porch. She was wearing an orange bikini and a pair of flip-flops, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Every time she bent at the waist with her back to me, her tiny bathing suit barely covered her butt cheeks, giving me a perfect view of her sweet ass. Sage joined me on the back porch where we were about to barbecue and noticed the goddess next door––not that she’s hard to miss.

She caught the two of us staring at her when she stood from watering her plants and awkwardly waved at us. We greeted her at the fence that separates our two yards and made some small talk before inviting her over to eat with us––she casually accepted. While the three of us hung out, we started to get to know each other. Sage and I couldn’t help but notice how shy she was.

At first, it was a sort of game to us––to see who could make her blush the most, but once we got to know her, things changed. We knew she was different, but we were clueless as to how different she was. Rosemary might have moved to the big city, but she was from a small Amish community in a neighboring town. We had no idea about it when we met her because she seemed like an ordinary girl. It took her a while to convince us that she was from Allen County, an Amish settlement, not too far from here.

“I wonder what she’s doing tomorrow for Thanksgiving,” he says.

“No clue, man. Do you think we should invite her over? I doubt she has anyone to spend it with.”

She told us all about her upbringing, her religion, and her disdain for their beliefs. It was her desire to live life in the real world as a normal person instead of hiding behind all of the heavy layers of clothing, covering herself up. I can definitely attest to her grudge against the wardrobe she was required to wear. We’ve seen more of her skin than our own, but you won’t hear any complaints here.

“Yeah, I think so,” he comments before yelling her name. Startled by the yelling, she spins around as she stands on her porch stoop, looking around. “Rosemary! Come on over!”

Spotting us on our upstairs balcony, she waves and yells, “Let me set down my bags,” holding them up. She only disappears for a few minutes before she walks over to our house.

“The front door is open, just come on up when you get inside,” I tell her.

A few moments later, she joins us on the balcony where we have a small fire in the pit while we watch local sports on our portable television. It’s one of mine and Sage’s favorite past times when we’re not at the sports bar watching the games on the big screen TV.

“So, what’s up?” She asks. My eyes meet hers for a brief second before they focus on her knit sweater top that hugs her very full breasts.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Sage asks, not noticing her sweater because his eyes are still glued on the small screen.

“Hmm,” she says, chewing her bottom lip. “I don’t know. This will be my first Thanksgiving without my family since I left. I bought a TV dinner at the grocery store, but if you guys like, I can go back and get a couple more so we can all eat together.”

Now she has Sage’s attention. He loves to eat and he hates TV dinners. The thought of them is preposterous to him, and the fact that she was going to sit at home alone eating them on a family holiday is really sad. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?” He asks. “A TV dinner? Really?”

The apples of her cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson as she skates her shoe along the wooden board of the porch, her eyes nervously avoiding us. “Um, yeah. I mean, what else am I supposed to do? My family excommunicated me when I left. There’s no way they’ll ever allow me back—not even for a holiday like Thanksgiving or Christmas.”

“Don’t sweat it, Rosemary. As long as you’ve got us, you’ll always have somewhere to belong. You can come over and eat with us. We’ve got an eight-pound turkey, dressing, and all the sides.”

“You guys are the best!” She squeals, hugging each of us. Her breasts against my face feel amazing, I just wish that pesky sweater of hers wasn’t in the way. “I’ll go home and bake something! I learned a ton of recipes from my mom so I’ll make something yummy.”

“You don’t have to,” I tell her. “We’re just glad to have you over so you won’t be sitting by yourself. Nobody deserves to be alone during the holidays.”

“Thanks, Poppy,” she says, kissing my cheek. Her lips are so soft against my five o’clock shadow.

“Okay, I’d better get going so I can see what I’m going to whip up. Let me know if I need to bring anything extra so I can hit the store before they close tonight.”

“We’ve got everything we need,” Sage says, grinning. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”