"Well, the fattest sandwich I ever made was a brown-sugar-coated pulled chicken between two halves of a French crueller," Peter Frampton seemed very pleased with himself, as he laid spooning with Uncle Truck the following morning.
"Yeah, well the fattest thing I ever did was sandwich a chocolate bar between two blocks of provolone cheese. I'm not sure if I enjoyed it, but I did ingest it and there's not much I can do about it now." The two of them had already discovered that they shared hobby: overeating. This conversation originally stemmed from the two of them trying to decide what they should have for breakfast and who would make it. Before long, they were arguing which one of them could create the least healthy breakfast. Now they were having, what they happened to call, a fat-off. They were previously discussing the fattest ice cream they had ever ingested. Now they had moved on to sandwiches.
This competition continued until little Jason awoke. He blinked a couple times to make sure he wasn't dreaming and quickly remembered that he did not fall asleep at his uncle's house last night.
"Good morning, Jason!" Uncle Truck rolled over, her long hair looking like a like a brunette ocean wave flopping over one side of her head.
Jason got himself up and scuttled toward the bed. He crept between his uncle and the young blonde and said, "This is your friend, Peter Frampton!"
"Well, yes! Yes, I am!" Peter was often confused by the strange things Uncle Truck and Jason had to say. He gathered it must have been a Baltimore thing and never questioned their weirdness. He found it quite endearing, actually.
Uncle Truck had to go home to feed Chip Chodesworth and Peter Frampton decided to come along to see if he could fix the water problem. And on behalf of Peter Frampton just being the pinnacle of perfection, he was able to find and repair the water valve and Uncle Truck's home returned to its previously harmonious and watery condition.
"Chip! Chip Chodesworth! Come eat your fish taco!" Uncle Truck dropped the seafood corn-shell into his sophisticated clear-glass food chalice. Chip sashayed into the kitchen and examined the feast closely with his pushed-in face. He accepted and dissected the taco into piles of fried fish, iceberg lettuce, and avocado. He purred with gusto. Uncle Truck was unquestionably the woman of his dreams. "Chip, this is my friend, Peter Frampton!" Chip slowly turned his attention upward and away from the fold of his taco. He saw a young, handsome man who was clearly fond of Uncle Truck… Chip was suddenly not in the highest of spirits, but nobody could tell because his face always looked angry anyway. The cat continued to stare, feeling overprotective of his precious Uncle Truck as he was all too aware of her low standards.
"I don't think he likes me very much," Peter Frampton was slightly hurt but he didn't make it obvious.
"Oh, he's just wary of strangers! He'll warm up to you." Uncle Truck assured him.
"M'yao!" Chip's response was mistranslated by the humans as "Oh, I'm just wary of strangers! I'll warm up to you." But what he actually said was, "I don't trust the motherfucker."
Chip had been stalking Peter throughout the entire day. In all honesty, Chip wasn't finding anything wrong with Uncle Truck's new friend. Peter was friendly, welcoming, resourceful, intelligent, and so beautiful it was kind of annoying. The man did not even use foul language and gasped at nearly every curse that flew out of Uncle Truck. But that's exactly what was wrong in the yellow-disc eyes of Chip Chodesworth; Peter was too perfect. He was hiding something, he was up to something… or maybe he wasn't, there was that possibility too. But Chip was determined to dig up any dirt that he could on this curly-blonde fox. Until it could be confirmed that Peter was as pure as his alleged virginity, Chip was not going to let him off the hook.
A pleasant surprise, Uncle Truck was sharing Jason's new feelings and felt like she had a family. Uncle Truck, Peter, Jason, and Chip Chodesworth proposed a family movie night and crammed themselves onto Uncle Truck's infamous couch. Chip had grown exhausted from a day-long job that entailed the search of a deal-breaking flaw in Peter Frampton's possession. He'd found nothing… NOTHING! And now he was tired. Chip, dissatisfied but too tired to fight about it, curled his body into the shape of a fluffy tire and drifted off to sleep in Jason's lap. Jason had passed out early as well. Peter looked to the right over his shoulder to observe the two sleepers. That intimidating, overprotective cat father wasn't going to stop the strapping young man from copping a feel on Uncle Truck now. He whispered to Uncle Truck, asking if they could go to her room. Uncle Truck could feel her body parts shrinking inward and toward her midsection. She so wanted to devour Peter Frampton, but she was adamant about her vow. "Ok, sure, I'm down!" Damn it! The two of them rose from the couch. For the first time since she had moved to her home, a man was allowed to enter her room.
They were making out pretty disgustingly. Uncle Truck could feel Peter becoming aroused. He was thrusting himself into the side of her thigh as he hovered above her. Uncle Truck was conflicted… she had never let a guy even get that far since she relocated. She was enjoying it, but the enjoyment was blanketed in a mist of fear. Peter caressed his perfectly-groomed fingernails along the walls of her curves. Sneakily, but not sneakily enough, he tried to casually slide his hand under her shirt. Uncle Truck was so close to grabbing him by the wrist, forcefully yanking his warm, manly hands onto her ample attributes while screaming in a very Robert Plant-esque croon, "I'm gonna give you every inch of my love!" …but she instead lazily pushed his hands away. Her push was gentle, but she was fighting on the inside.
"Can I get you now, or still must I hesitate?" He asked in such a persuasive and sexy tone. Uncle Truck was tirelessly trying to draw memories of unsexy things to mind to keep certain parts of her body from moistening up and becoming vulnerable to the beautiful man. If he asked her to click like a dolphin while inserting a pirouette cookie into his anus, there's a possibility she would have done it; especially considering she was actually capable of speaking a little bit of dolphin. No! Now she was thinking of pirouettes and dolphin noises when she was trying to think of things like centenarian tortoises performing coitus in a pool of porridge. "What did you say about pirouettes?" Peter Frampton was, as was often the case, confused.
Crap! Uncle Truck was whispering her daydreams out-loud again. She told him it was nothing and that she was simply craving a flaky, hazelnut-filled cookie. Apparently he was too. Oh, what a perfect distraction. Peter Frampton stopped humping her leg and instead went off on a tangent about pirouettes being proof of God's existence and that he loves us. Uncle Truck did not agree, but she thought it was adorable and was most pleased that the focus had shifted away from her brawl with self restraint. But it wasn't long before Peter Frampton was attempting to grab her again, while still prattling about the deliciousness of pirouettes and the love of the lord Jesus Christ.
"Peter, please, this is difficult for me."
"I want you… to show me the way…"
Uncle Truck bent her back upward and she became a ninety-degree angle. "I'm not sure I can show you the way. It's been so long… I'm not sure I even know how to do it anymore."
Peter Frampton, ashamed and realizing the seriousness of Uncle Truck's vow, brought her close and hugged her tightly. "Trakina, it's ok. I'm sorry… I'm just a dude. I'll wait as long as you like… but will you kill me if I don't stop trying?"
"I think I'd be offended if you did stop trying," Uncle Truck smiled seductively.