This choice: Distract Peggy (reserved) • Go Back...Chapter #5Peggy and the Pegged (Part 1) by: Vlard   “A-aaaal, I’m coming downstairs,” A familiar voice calls through a window on the Bundy house’s top floor. You instantly recognize it, as does the audience; with woos and cheers. “You’d better be ready.”
“Crap, the dragon’s coming down from the tower,” Al grumbles. He points you towards the sliding glass door into the house. “Alright, you get in there and keep Peg distracted until I get back. She doesn’t figure out anything’s wrong, you get one night in the dog bed.”
“What am I keeping her from figuring exactly?”
“I’m walking out the bedroom, Al,” Peggy sings
“Look the less you know, the better,” Al seems to be a bit distracted as he talks to you. His eyes keep giving sideways glances behind him while the audience laughs. “Just get in there and make something up, okay?”
You have plenty more questions to ask, but Al is already walking away from you. It’s just as well. You likely wouldn’t’ve gotten any answers out of him. He’s probably sneaking off to a strip club or some hair-brained scheme he’s cooked up. You decided to leave it at that as you started toward the house, but you couldn’t help peeking over your shoulder. A glance at Al talking to a mailman only leaves you with even more questions. Again, you decide to mind your business and head into the house.
________________________________________
Aside from the musty odor and must, the Bundy house is just as you remember it from TV: the plain wallpaper, the couch, the kitchen, the bedroom stairs; everything is here. The living room is a lot more cramped than you’d guessed it would be, but that makes sense. This was designed to be a set, after all. It wasn’t designed to be lived in for real.
Which brought you to the one thing that was amiss. Something that you’d never seen in any episode of Married with Children: a wall. A wall standing behind the vintage TV the Bundys watched in practically every episode. But there shouldn’t be a wall there. There should be an open partition with lights, cameras, directors, and crews milling about in the background. But there’s nothing there. Come to think of it, there wasn’t anything like that outside either. Were you really in an episode? Or were you whisked off to some weird alternate universe where the dismal world of Married with Children was reality? If that’s the case, how’re you supposed to get home.
“Aa-aal,”
The sound of high heels descending the stairs breaks your existential contemplation. No time to have an existential crisis. The audience is hooting, howling, and cheering. That means the matriarch of the Bundy household is here. Whether this is a show or not doesn’t matter now. If you don’t distract Peggy for Al, your ass is on a park bench.
That wasn’t to say you weren’t looking forward to doing so. As it just so happened, you had had a crush on Peggy since you started watching the show as a young(er) kid. Her leopard print dress, her walk, her wild red 80s bouffant with the bangs, her attitude, oh that smart sassy wit. Peggy really had it all. You looked to the bedroom stairs, eager to see her in person, and found…something noticeably amiss.
Okay, maybe amiss wasn’t the right word to describe what you were seeing. Nothing was missing, exactly. The problem was that there was much more Peggy Bundy coming down the stairs than you were expecting. And from the looks of it, much more than her wardrobe was used to. Peggy’s black leggings were stretched near the limit keeping her swollen thighs and wobbling dump truck butt contained. You could just make out the profile of her underwear through the near-frayed fiber. Her signature leopard print dress had similar problems. Peggy’s big saggy chest threatened to spill out with every step down the stairs. With its resources heavily taxed up high, the top failed to do anything about the bit of Peggy’s gut hanging out underneath. Peggy wasn’t exactly fat, but she was defiantly straining the definition’s boundaries. Is this episode happening after she had her third kid?
“Ready or not, Al,” Peggy’s signature high heel sashay sent her rump into an undulating frenzy. Like she was hauling waterbeds for a couple of obese raccoons. “Here I…”
Peggy’s eyes stopped on you, then narrowed to pair with the chary expression on her face.
“Who the hell are you?”
“I’m…Al’s cousin…” Concentrating on your lie is difficult with Peggy’s suspicious eyes locked on you. So hard, you almost forgot your name. “Rocky.”
Peggy keeps her surly glare on you. For a second, you think she’s got you figured out before she just nods her head. “…yeah, that makes sense,”
A sigh of relief almost passes through your nose before you realize it could spoil your grift.
“So where is he?”
“Uh…” You can’t think of a lie. Not with Peggy staring at you. You’ll have to stall her so you can figure out a way to…stall…her. “Where’s who?”
“Al,” she says curtly, hands sinking into her thick curvaceous hips.
"OH! Right. Right. That’s right. We were talking about Al…right,” The lie slowly forms with every ‘right’ you blurt out. “He was…working on the car last I saw him. Yeah; turns out he didn’t have the parts he needed, so he had to go out and-“
“Bit of advice, Rich,” said Peggy. “If you’re gonna try and lie about Al, don’t mention work.”
The laugh track saps your ability to rebut Peggy. You just stammer, buying time you don’t have to figure a better lie.
“So where is he?”
“He…” Not a single idea comes to you while the audience giggles at your discomposure, so you give up. “He didn’t say.”
“Now that’s believable,” Peggy shimmied over to the couch and plopped her plump self over all three of the cushions. Watching her buxom body undulate makes your cheeks burn hot enough to sting. Blood rushes through your chest and far below; far enough that you need to hide your lower half behind the back of the couch for decency’s sake. The audience starts howling, but Peggy doesn’t seem to notice. “He probably went down to the strip club or something.”
“Look, I’m really sorry about lying to you about your husband,” You have to stare at the ceiling to talk to Peggy. Otherwise, you’d keep stammering while your eyes roll down the cavernous valley of her cleavage. Seriously, why was all trying to get away from this woman? “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”
“If you could go out back and get started on digging Al’s grave, that’d be great, Randy,” says Peggy. You hear the television turning on, followed by the voice of Oprah Winfrey rattling off some generic “inspirational” anecdote. “He’s gonna need it as soon as he gets home.”
“It’s…Rocky,” you say through the audience’s crowing. You know Peggy can’t hear them, so try your best not to raise your voice. “Could I do something that won’t make me complicit with murder?”
You hear Peggy give an irritated sigh. “There’s a thing of Bonbons in the fridge you can get for me,” she says. “Or is that too dangerous for you?”
“No, no, that’s fine. I can do that.”
“Why’re you staring at the ceiling like that?”
“No reason!” The audience cracks up while you almost stumble over your own feet sprinting into the kitchen, trying desperately to hide your arousal from Peg. You throw open the freezer and hastily hide your lower section behind the door. It’s only after you look inside that you realize how massive the entire refrigerator is, stocked with all kinds of sweet dairy and meat. The freezer part alone is big enough to be two entire refrigerators. It defiantly wasn’t this big in the show, although it might explain how Peggy got so huge.
Smack dab in the front of the fridge’s interior is a tub of Bonbons -- "Industrial-Sized” according to the label stretched across its gargantuan carton. It takes a while for you to dig and move the entire thing out of the tightly packed freezer while making sure nothing else falls out on the floor. The Bonbons are way too heavy for you to lift. So, you end up shoving it across the kitchen floor, then lifting it on the living room carpet so you can move it near the couch. You can’t help but gawk when Peggy absentmindedly lifts the entire tub of Bonbons off the floor and on her bulbous stomach with only a single arm. All without taking her eyes off the TV; or even acknowledging you, for that matter.
Your eyes are back on Peggy, and you can’t take them off. Honestly, you don’t really want to. Even while she’s shoving fistfuls of Bonbons into her mouth, there's something weirdly erotic about how she goes about it that’s strangely erotic to you. Maybe it's how her pursy lips wrap around each mouthful she swallows. Maybe it's how she runs her tongue over the melted ice cream and chocolate stuck to her fingers. Then there’s the rest of her provocatively corpulent body. It borders on hypnotic; the way it wobbles with every move she makes. You could get lost all day in those curves. You almost do until you hear Peggy’s shrewish voice ring in your ears.
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