Maggie, a pudgy college girl with rosy cheeks and a ready smile, strolls through her backyard garden. She wears a red-and-black flannel shirt, the buttons straining at her chest and the hem hovering above her navel, revealing her soft, pale belly, which jiggles gently with each step. Black yoga pants cling to her hips and thighs, and her feet are tucked into old gardening clogs. She hums quietly, her hands brushing along the tops of leafy greens, before she pauses, eyes wide, at the sight of an enormous turnip nestled at the end of a row.
"Well, would you look at that," she murmurs, kneeling down with a small grunt. Her belly creases and bulges over her waistband as she leans forward, grabbing the thick turnip leaves with both hands. The cool morning air tickles her exposed skin, and she digs her heels into the loamy earth, preparing to pull.
Maggie tightens her grip, fingers curling around the tough stems. She braces herself, cheeks puffing with effort, and begins to pull. Her arms shake, shoulders tense, and her belly bunches into soft folds above her yoga pants as she leans back further, straining with all her might. The turnip refuses to budge. Her face flushes with determination and exertion as she rocks back and forth, the garden silent except for the sound of rustling leaves and her own grunts.
"Ugh! This thing is stuck tighter than last semester's jeans," she gasps, finally releasing the leaves and dropping back onto her heels, sweat beading on her brow.
Tara, Maggie's wife, emerges from the house. Her hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she wears a black sports bra that hugs her ample bust, leaving her round, tan belly fully exposed. Her denim shorts ride low, the waistband pressing into her soft flesh, and her thick thighs flex as she steps onto the grass, squinting in the sunlight.
"Tara! Come help me with this monster!"
"Whoa, that is one massive turnip! Need a hand, babe?"
Tara strides over and positions herself behind Maggie, her hands sliding around Maggie's sides, fingertips sinking into the yielding softness of her belly. Maggie grins, wriggling a bit at the ticklish touch, then grabs the turnip again.
Maggie plants her feet, and Tara secures her grip on Maggie's belly, their bodies pressed together. Maggie's hands are slick with sweat as she clasps the turnip leaves, her belly bulging out as she leans forward. Tara braces herself, arms snug around Maggie's middle, her own big belly pressed against Maggie's back. They count together, rocking in unison, and pull with all their strength.
"Okay, on three! One, two, three—pull!"
Their bellies quiver and press against each other, soft flesh shifting and folding with the strain. Maggie's flannel rides up further, her belly nearly hanging over Tara's forearms, while Tara's shorts dig deeper, their seams groaning. The turnip doesn't move, and both women collapse back, giggling and breathless.
"I swear, this thing is mocking us," Maggie laughs.
"Maybe we need a whole team," Tara replies, still holding Maggie's middle.
Lena, the neighbor, leans over her fence. Her long hair is tied in a loose ponytail, and she's clad in a pastel green crop top that hugs her generous belly, which spills slightly over her faded blue jeans. She watches the spectacle for a moment, then hops the fence, chuckling as she approaches.
"Looks like you two could use some serious muscle," Lena calls, her crop top riding up as she stretches. She moves behind Tara, grabbing the belt loops on Tara's shorts, her own belly pressing against Tara's back.
"Join the party, Lena!"
With Maggie at the front, Tara in the middle, and Lena at the back, they synchronize their breathing and pull. Maggie's belly folds and pushes outward as she leans, Tara's hands sunk deep into the softness, while Lena's grip on Tara's shorts tightens. The denim strains audibly, seams popping, but still, the turnip holds fast.
"Uh, Tara, your shorts…," Lena mutters under her breath, but keeps tugging, not wanting to interrupt the effort.
Sam, Lena's wife, steps into view. She wears a tank top that clings to her curves, her belly peeking from beneath the hem, and low-waisted shorts that rest on her hips. Her skin glows in the sun as she jogs over, grinning at the sight of the garden conga line.
"Sam! Get over here, we need backup!"
"This must be the most stubborn vegetable in town," Sam laughs, taking her place behind Lena. She wraps her arms around Lena's belly, her tank top riding up as they all prepare for another pull.
Now, the line is four deep: Sam hugging Lena, Lena clutching the belt holes of Tara's fraying shorts, Tara gripping Maggie's belly, and Maggie with both hands wrapped around the turnip. They dig their heels into the dirt, cheeks puffed and bodies trembling. Each belly is pressed, folded, or bulging, straining with the combined effort. Suddenly, Tara's shorts split along the side, the fabric tearing as Lena's hands are still hooked in the loops.
"Oh, shoot!" Tara laughs, feeling the breeze against her exposed underwear.
"Sorry!" Lena snorts, not letting go.
Undeterred, Lena stands up, dusting herself off and grabbing Tara's belly instead, her hands sinking into the plushness. Sam grabs Lena's belly, and Tara resumes her grip on Maggie, who once again clutches the turnip with all her might.
"Alright, one more time, everyone! On three—one, two, three!"
Muscles strain, bellies wobble and bulge, and the air is filled with laughter and grunts. The turnip trembles in the soil, the leaves shuddering in Maggie's grip. For a long moment, nothing happens—then, with a great shudder and a loud squelch, the earth gives way. Maggie stumbles backwards, the enormous turnip cradled in her arms, as the others tumble in a heap, soft bellies jiggling as they land in the grass.
"We did it! Look at the size of this thing!" Maggie crows, beaming at her friends.
"Totally worth the wardrobe malfunction," Tara grins, adjusting her ruined shorts.
"Next time, I'm bringing over my dad," Lena laughs, brushing dirt off her crop top.
"Or maybe just some better pants," Sam adds, her tank top now streaked with soil.
The sun shines down on the laughing, victorious group, their bellies wobbling with mirth as they admire the legendary turnip, already planning how best to cook it up together.
