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?
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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.”
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