Unless something happens in the next couple of months, the first week of April 2018 will mark four years since I have had sex. Now, that’s not too uncommon; I’ve had a few… dry spells… before. A lot of guys do. And, besides, I have a couple years of dealing with heart failure in there, too.
That said, between dealing with the events of the New Year, and my particular levels of loneliness – not to mention what regular exercise at the gym is starting to do to me, it’s fair to say that I am getting a little restless. But how do you move on that when your heart is still off somewhere else? Slowly, I suppose; a day at a time. (But, hey; just the fact that I noticed this woman in the office parking lot…)
Of course, when you’re a car in a comic you can only draw on the world you know of. And while The Dangermouse is my imaginary road buddy, he is woefully unprepared to deal with the desires of a real flesh and blood boy. Not that he’s wholly wrong about my needs. Just that, well…
Eh, sex is sex; and I’ve had a mess of it in my almost forty-four years. Not that I wouldn’t pass up a chance to get busy, again; because I might not. But love is also love, and I’d sure like to have that back, too. Otherwise there’s not much to talk about after Bedtime for Bonzo, is there?
But, right now, as Weird Al sings; “I’m stranded all alone in the gas station of love, and I have to use the self-service pumps.”