A Taste of the High Life

A Taste of the High Life

By Victor Rolling Jr.

I'm standing here at his front door, and I don't want to knock. Let's go back to how I got here.

****

It's been 4 years, 11hrs, and 27 seconds since my husband was killed by a drunk driver. And like every year I've taken it upon myself to sit in a dark house and drink and watch Instagram videos until my body is as numb as my heart. This year wouldn't have been any different had it not been for the slip of a finger on a video, and a sliding in of the DM.

Now, I've never dated an Asian American man. I don't know if I just never got around to it, or if I was scared by the way that westernized American gays fetishize them. However, here I was clicking on one of his videos. He starts it off by lighting up a blunt, smoking, until the whites of his eyes are light strawberry ice cream pink, and then cooking an amazing dish. Today its chicken alfredo. I watch as he preps his veggies, and garnishes and then he begins. After he finishes, he tastes his food, and the way he moans, my God. After watching at least 12 videos, in a state of liquid lubrication, I slid into his DM's. Of course, I waited, and he didn't respond. Feeling like a straight groupie I dropped my phone on the floor and made my way to the bathroom.

I'm not a bad looking man, 6 ft 2, 210 pounds muscular, dark umber skin, and a bushy afro that I've been growing since retirement along with my goatee. But my eyes told my true story, they are sad, and hickory in color. I turned and flung myself on the bed. Since retiring from the military I did nothing that I said I was going to do. I wanted to travel, see the world, but I was supposed to do this with my husband. I often found myself flashing back to that night. The night that I got the news that changed by life.

****

"BMCM Winters?" asked a strange voice on the other end of my phone.

"Yes?"

"Is your husband Kameel Winters?"

"Yes, what's going on?"

"I'm sorry to inform you sir, but your husband has been killed in a motor vehicle accident. We are going to need for you to come down to identify the body."

I didn't even respond, I just hung up the phone and sat there on the quarterdeck and cried. I cried for hours.

****

The next morning, I got up and I noticed that I had a response from Josh, that's his name, Josh's Taste of the High Life. He replied to my message. I was completely ecstatic, but I was like he's probably talking to so many guys, so I'll just take the conversation little by little.

However, that's where I was wrong, we talked on Instagram for hours and then he gave me his cell phone number. The way my stomach instantly began doing backflips and somersaults I thought I was going to poop myself. I took several deep breaths and picked up the phone.

"Hello?" he said in the deepest smoky voice. It was as if it just wafted around my condo.

"Hey, it's Donovan," I replied trying to hide the smile.

"We been talking all day, so I figured why not chat on the phone. I really like the content on your page. You can tell you really do it for you, vice anyone else," he said.

"Yeah, just document my life. Spent 20 years in the military could have done 30, but I was done," I continued laying back on my sofa taking in his melodic voice.

"When your husband passed away?"

In that moment he was the first person who didn't shy away from the Kameel subject. "Yeah, when I lost him, I think I lost myself."

"Man, that is so beautiful. I would love to fall in love with a guy like that, but I just keep falling for the dudes who just wanna smoke, have sex, and leave me heartbroken."

"So, he is gay?" I gasped because that was supposed to be an internal thought.

"Yes, he is, and he is interested in meeting you. However, you live in British Colombia, and I live in LA." A silence fell over the phone.

"I can take a trip there," I said filling the silence hesitantly.

"Would you really?" Josh asked surprised.

"Yes, I have a little som' som' stashed away."

I really had quite a bit stashed away because for the last couple of years I've been teaching online, I felt guilty for using the life insurance money, and my retirement and disability check just collected in my savings.

"When?"

"How about next week?" I replied trying not to seem so eager.

"You're gonna come for the entire week?"

"I can, but if that's..."

"No, don't take anything by my shock. I am just a little surprised," Josh replied. "I'm normally the one traveling for someone, its just a little different having someone do it for me."

"Glad I can repay the favor," I said giggling.

We talked for hours that night. Almost every day. He filled the void that alcohol was doing a bad job at.

****

I am still standing at the front door. I haven't knocked. I am too afraid. Maybe he won't be attracted to me. Maybe he will think I'm a weirdo. Maybe he'll be a weirdo. Or, Maybe he'll be a nice guy, and I'll fall in love at first sight.

The front door opens without me knocking.

"I've been waiting here for five minutes to see how long it was going to take you to knock," he says looking at me. I say absolutely nothing. I just smile.

He's even more beautiful in person, a couple of lines of grey in his jet-black hair. He pulls me in with his muscular arms. I can smell him, he smells like weed, and Yves Saint Laurent.

Pulling away from me, he looks into my sad eyes, and leans in kissing me on the lips. He pulls me in the house and closes the door behind me.