Rollover washes are usually afterthoughts to another business, stuck behind a gas station or tucked in the corner of a supermarket parking lot.  They are self-service—no attendant, no boys with towels, no lines of vehicles, nobody to spot your junk in the event of poor timing or slow performance.  You remain always in control of your vehicle.  If the dryers get to blasting while pants are off and parts are still in other parts, you can remain parked in the garage until you’ve gathered yourself and descended back into your body, ready to drive off any lingering moisture in the grill.

All settled.  Select a self-service, inbay-rollover carwash as your arena for actualization.

(Westdale Wash on the outskirts of Cedar Rapids, Iowa will get the job done—cut through the mall parking lot at Edgewood Road if you are coming from the International House of Pancakes.)

Now come to terms with this: in your extensive consideration of these practical matters, the fantasy has changed, is losing the luster of dreamcolor, as it settles into the grittier shades of reality. You may be forced to rely on compulsion as much as desire if you wish to continue this venture. Existential anxiety will accompany the transition from fantasy to compulsion but you are getting ahead of yourself; you need a lover who won’t suspect you’re crazy.

Devise a Feasible Plan of Actualization:

Ensure both parties wear clothing that allows for easy access to all erogenous zones (nipples, crotches, butts, knees, and toes)—that cute little sundress for her, those Margaritaville swim trunks for you.  Maybe flip flops and maybe a towel.  There is nothing cheesy or unusual or at all classless about visiting the carwash as if you are on a daytrip to the beach.  

The drive to the wash must include light sexual banter.  Or not.  Whatever she’s up for, really: do not be confused—she is calling the shots.  Time will be her primary concern because she knows how you are.  The fantasy will not suffer if she jumps the gun by rubbing at your crotch as you roll up to the self-service kiosk. 

Don’t be cheap.  Buy the most expensive (deluxe, premium, typhoon-tempest-of-the-gods-with-four-different-colors-of-wax) wash because you will need the maximum time.

Park the armrest in the seatback position.  Recline.  Do not attack but do not be lackadaisical.  Let the wash’s robot arm set the tempo.  Do not panic.  Do not forget to kiss her (you bastard).