Mr. Spontaneity

I am a professional male.

I get off of work on Fridays at 3 p.m., so I am looking for someone that is within 10 minutes of downtown. I have to be back at home at 5p.m. So if I get to your place at about 3:15, that would give us roughly 45 minutes before I would have to leave in order to make it home at 5. I am disease free, and like wearing a condom. I do not have one with me since I am at work now, so it would be required that you have one for me to wear. I will check my email at 2 p.m. and respond to you by 2:30. Right before I leave work at 3, I will email you letting you know I am on my way. AJ.

I don't think this is the kind of guy you want to call for hot, spontaneous sex. But if you ever need to know the subway schedule, definitely put his ass on speed dial.

I think a lot of women have finally figured out that if they truly want variety in the bedroom, they'll have to install a salad bar.

You see, women tend to thrive on sexual spontaneity. You never see a man bragging that he got fucked so hard in the car last night that he woke up with the word "Nissan" plastered across his jawline. Why? Because women love to know that a man wants them so badly they cannot control themselves. Women don't want sex planned out all the time. And if that means head-butting 37 cantaloupe-shaped skull dents in the Hyatt service elevator, so be it.

In AJ's personal ad, we can deduce that spontaneity isn't his specialty. He's about as spontaneous as the ritual preparation of a Thanksgiving Day turkey. Which, ironically, might make it easier for him to fuck you, because if he fucked you in a 4 inch pan lined with carrots and rotated you every thirty minutes, at least he'd know he was following the proper directions. But either way, I guarantee you his stuffing would somehow end up leaving you dry.

All women know the same-tired-recipe guys like AJ. He plans sex for 9PM sharp, and "foreplay" commences at 8:59 when he dislodges his penis from his Hagar wrinkle-free slacks and lets it dangle like a breeze-blown windsock in front of your face. He then looks at you, then back at his dick, and then back at you, implying that perhaps his penis contains some kind of miracle youth cream you should be begging for.

You want him to do something new like talk dirty to you, but all he can come up with is "Your vagina feels like a nicely waxed car seat", murmured with all the monotone conviction of the Prudential Insurance Automated Helpline.

You want him to start by nibbling on your ears for a change, and instead he juices up his tongue and dives for dopamine in your ear canal like he's forcing a garden slug into the smallest available cheesehole in a large chunk of swiss.

You want him to finally go down on you, and he laps at you like a dog licking the knee of a crying, wounded child. Ironic in that they both think they are helping you feel better, but in reality, all they're really doing is slopping a bunch of saliva on something that would really be better off if you just left it alone.

For guys like this, it's all about the finished product (his orgasm), but with no focus on the process (yours).

So AJ, you're not stirring any fallopians here with your well-planned, timed-to-the-minute sexual encounter. But I do have an idea of something spontaneous you could do. How about you go home and fuck your wife?

Funny how you didn't mention that in your ad.

Douche.