Making the Hook-Up by Cole Riley

know I’m going to get some. But I miss being spontaneous. Like when we first moved into our townhouse and were hitting it right and left because we wanted to “christen” every room: doing it on the carpet in the living room during yet another “Law and Order” rerun, playing Jack Nicholson and Jessica Lange in The Postman Always Rings Twice on the kitchen table, getting between her luscious brown legs and eating her pussy on the stairs, or doing our own version of Jason’s Lyric out in the backyard in the middle of the night, hoping none of the neighbors were watching. Now that was fun. But you know…life happens and things change. Suddenly you’re both older, thicker, and you’re not kids anymore. That’s just the way it is. You seem to forget that a finger slowly run up her inner thigh always gets rewarded with a shudder and wetness between her legs. Somehow you put away the fact that it is her left nipple and not the right one that is more sensitive for that fuck-filled tomorrow that doesn’t come as often as it did. She no longer scratches you behind the ear like a pet, causing the skin on your arms—and your dick—to stand at attention. All these things get lost as Life Happens, and a quick trip around the Internet becomes the easiest way to get rid of a morning hard-on. Not that I know anything about that, of course…
    Sometimes you need something to remind you of what’s what.

    â€œHave you met the new guys next door yet?” Lynn asked me one night.
    I put down the remote and called out to her in the next room. “What was that? What did you say?”
    â€œI said,” she repeated, wiping her hands as she came into the room, “have you met our new neighbors yet?”
    â€œNo, not really. I mean I saw them when they moved in, we both did, you know, with all their boxes and furniture. Brian and…uh…Joe, right? I might have seen one of them a few times as I was on the way in to work, but I can’t say I’ve met them yet, no. Why?”
    â€œYou know they’re gay, right?”
    I looked at her. “Gay? What do you mean ‘gay’?”
    â€œYou know. I mean ‘gay.’ They’re, like, homosexuals.”
    I shook my head. “Get outta here—those guys? Come on.” Brian, light-skinned, bald and thick, and Joe, the shorter, darker of the two with longish dreads, seemed like just average brothas to me. I thought they were two young guys who’d maybe been friends or roommates in college and were sharing a house to save on expenses until they could get places of their own. “How do you know?”
    â€œI was running a little late today leaving the house, and they were leaving too. And I saw them kissing each other in the doorway, and then they both left together. I don’t think they saw me until they got to the end of the walkway and waved to me as I started to drive off.”
    â€œKissing? Like out in public? In the open? On the porch or what?”
    â€œNot completely in the open, no, in the doorway. There wasn’t anyone else out on the street, but even if there were I don’t know if anyone else could have seen them.”
    I shook my head. “I’m not sure that this neighborhood is
ready for two men kissing on the front porch.”
    â€œI thought it was sweet.”
    â€œYeah, well, you would. All that running around with your brother and his friend and your cousin Derrick… You’re used to that kind of thing.”
    â€œSee, I always knew you were homophobic.”
    â€œI am not homophobic! I just…I’m not sure how safe it would be for them to be doing that in public around here, that’s all.”
    â€œWhat do you think? That somebody’s going to do something to them? A mid-morning mid-kiss drive-by or something.”
    â€œNo, no, of course not, this isn’t that kind of neighborhood. Most people don’t care. I