Pullin’ The Pud: Flo, From the Progressive Insurance Ads
It’s difficult to go an entire day without coming across a Progressive Insurance advertisement and subsequently, their spokesperson; a chipper young lass by the name of Flo. Television spots, full page magazine ads, website banners, radio…she’s everywhere! And, as a male, I am biologically obligated to mentally have sex with her. How would it go? What would it be like?
Flo is a pretty bland girl. She has no distinctly feminine body structure since she dresses all in white with a smock and she is so damn happy and upbeat, you’d figure the sex would be really encouraging. Even if you prematurely ejaculated she’d probably give you a reassuring pat on the back. But a pre-jac will be most unlikely considering her pansexual features. In fact, all we know about Flo is that she loves the company she works for and everything else would come a distant second in her life. The question must be asked, “How does one get into those starchy white pants of hers? How could I turn her on in my own imagination?”
So, I am in my corner office behind my grand oak desk, sitting in my buttoned leather chair. The office is fully furnished in fine mahogany, stained dark and it smells of old money. On the desk stands a name placard. It reads: Michael Jenkins, President & CEO, Progressive Insurance. I suddenly realize that anyone who is anyone probably already knows that and doesn’t need a name card to identify myself if they are called into my office. I quickly throw the nameplate in the trash. The fireplace has a gentle flame going, but it is raising its intensity, like my lust: smoldering, ready to hiss and pop.
I press the intercom button and tell my receptionist, Janet, to let Flo into my office. (Janet is a wonderful receptionist, but a pretty weak lay, if I’m going to be honest with you.) Flo flows into my office, eyes wide with excitement. She is all smiles as per usual. I tell her to close the door and have a seat. I commend her on her diligence to bring my company up out of the cellar. She accepts the compliments with such modesty, claiming that she just loves saving people money on their insurance. She’s so coy. She’s so…Flo.
To demonstrate her passion on saving people money, she pulls out her price-zapping gun and shoots down any imaginary hidden fees and last minute taxes that the other companies are known for. She starts zapping near my collection of hand-made Pez dispensers and as she works her way over to my 1st edition Vonnegut novels, I put my hands up defensively. “Whoa, Flo! Whoa! Take ‘er easy. Nice shootin,’ but you needn’t that pistol in here.” I motion her to give me the price gun, and when she does hand it over, she also leaves herself open and vulnerable to my seductive ways.
I move out of my chair gracefully and tell her of some exciting new pricing bundles and insurance plans I would like her to represent. Her smile rolls over wide, her hands fisted and shaking with eagerness. Eagerness to sell.
Eagerness to please.
I place myself on the corner of my desk with my left leg dangling in front of Flo, letting her be aware that it is within touching distance.
I mention price bundles, deductibles, auto, home, life, renter’s…her eyes loom large and her mouth salivates like a Pavlovian Dog. I tug at my pant leg and she mimics the action and reaches out to rub my leg. It’s not me, it’s the insurance that’s doing this to her. And for some reason, I am quite ok with that.
The only challenge I can bring myself is to keep the conversation alive and electric. I am going to need to bring my full arsenal of insurance jargon to put this thing to the next level. She soon succumbs to my verbal swooning of interest rates and premium pricing plans and she takes the bait. The bait that is my penis.
As I clear off my desk with one fell swoop of my arm, I have to think about more insurance stuff to whisper into Flo’s ear. It’s going to be a monumental task to be sure: First, to talk insurance for the duration of the sexual encounter and secondly, sustaining an erection while talking about said insurance. I do know what I am going to save for the climax though. I am going to shout, “Full Medical! Full Medical!” Something like that.
Anyway, we proceed to have the most boring, palest sex imaginable, like indulging in a meal of white rice and skim milk.
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