Rosie could not remember having such a wonderful time with a man before. She could feel from the hard pressure from Andrew on her thighs that he could continue for the foreseeable future, but she felt if they continued her legs would give way and she would make a fool of herself before this ultimate stud. She was more than weak at the knees: she was positively collapsing.
As soon as he finished the call (it was a company from Bangalore offering him life assurance with a special offer of double glazing and a new cellular phone,) she gave a little groan, , just enough to suggest her pleasure. She didn’t want to give him the idea she was not interested in more.
“That was wonderful,” she said and Andrew grunted. “How about being somewhat a bit more comfortable?” As there was no answer she continued “How about I come to see you this evening? What’s you name?” she added, as she did not know.
Andrew knew that any genuine jock named Andrew would automatically be Andy, but he couldn’t bring himself to call himself that. No amount of hypnosis could make Andrew forget in the depth of his being the utter humiliation when a child, of being called Andy Pandy, after the sickeningly cute rag doll in a blue and white stripped costume in a 50s BBC TV children’s’ program. Ironically Andy Pandy was literally dumb and apparently less intelligent than the dumbest jock going.
As through a fog, Andrew thought what he should be called. He didn’t realize that to name himself by that name would lead to a further transformation, as well as fixing for good his personality as a straight jock.
“Uh” Andrew grunted, “my name’s….”