QColumn: A Gay In The Life: The Elephant In The Room

The Elephant in the Room
By Steve Prince
The match combusts and a flash of light sparks between my finger tips. I pause and look at the flame, acknowledging its warmth. Slowly, I raise the burning match to the blackened wick. Like a kiss they connect and ignite one another. I shake the match to extinguish it and lay the blackened scrap on an ashtray. I close my eyes and inhale.
Six hours earlier…
Shit, I wasn’tt going to last. As a streak of neon yellow blazed past me, my body stretched to reach. My racket extended. I missed. I was totally off my morning tennis game that day.
Alex, who’s extremely competitive, usually grins broadly and pumps his arm when he makes a point. However, as I waited for his serve he looked at me in earnest.
“What’s up with you?” he asked, beginning to walk towards the net, “Is something going on?”
“Nah,” I lied.
“Steve,” he pressed, “you’re a terrible liar. What’s going on?”
I sighed. “Y’know, honestly,” I began, “I don’t know. Lately I just feel like I’m not myself. Y’know, where you feel all fuzzy? I dunno. I’m not making sense am I?”
“Is this about Kelly?” Alex asked.
“No!” I said emphatically; maybe too emphatically. I so didn’t want this to be about Kelly. I really was over this whole thing or at least was trying to be over it. It had been over a month since we’d even talked, and by “talked” I mean “texted” because that’s the only way he could communicate.
“I think I feel weird because I haven’t been exercising like I should,” I changed the subject. “Now come on and let’s play.”
We played in silence for about ten minutes before either one of us spoke.
“Okay,” Alex said, as if he’d been thinking that entire time, “We have to narrow down your problem.” He slammed a forehand ball down the line.
I scrambled to return with a pretty decent backhand (if I do say so myself). “I don’t know the problem,” I grunted while swinging. “That’s the problem.”
“Well,” Alex said between breaths, “you know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I know,” I said. Thankfully, I already knew that about Alex; I’m not afraid to tell him anything. “I appreciate that, sugar.”
Alex ran cross court, paused and pummeled the ball. “Look, Stevie,” he said watching me scramble to return (to no avail), “maybe this is a good time for you to take a look at yourself and make the changes you want in life. Clear your mind.” He tossed me a ball as he stepped backwards. “Your serve.”
Clear my mind. Maybe Alex was right. Okay—let’s be honest—he was right; I was officially in a funk. Admittedly, the Kelly thing still bugged me but honestly, I just felt stressed in general; I had a lot on my plate. I don’t use drugs. I don’t really drink that much. So what’s this boy to do to take a break from life and zone out? Nothing. As Oprah as it sounds, I hadn’t been taking time out for myself at all. Maybe meditation would do the trick.
I tried meditation a couple of years ago, but didn’t stick with it. It was just so hard to not think about stuff. That afternoon, I went to a bookstore to get a meditation book, hoping it would make the process easier.
I pick up men in bookstores; it’s just a fact. I don’t know why it happens but it does. Sure enough, just as I began perusing New Age books, a cute man about four years old than me stood near and picked up a book. Five minutes later, we were chatting. It was a fine conversation and I got his number. However, I tried not to focus on his dimples and long eyelashes. Clear your mind Steve. Clear your mind. I hurriedly grabbed a book called HOW TO MEDITATE, bought it, and left. HOW TO MEDITATE, sounded simple enough, right?
A few hours later, I flipped through the pages. The book suggested I make some type of physical focus for the meditation, like a shrine or altar. I decided I would use a black candle tray stuffed in the back of my closet. On it, I placed a large orange candle that smelled like some type of herb that I can’t pronounce. I erected my “altar” on the floor in the middle of my bedroom. I shut the door, turned off the lights, and sat in front of it. HOW TO MEDITATE instructed that I use a mantra, something to say or think over and over. The way I figure, a mantra helps you think about only one thing so you don’t think about everything else. Then, after you keep thinking about that one thing, you don’t really think about it anymore at all. Huh?
Okay, so the mantra thing confused the hell outta me but still I decided mine would be “Free and Clear.” Yes, I know it sounds like a slogan for Clearasil, but the example mantras were in some language I’d never heard of before. Besides that’s what I wanted—a clear mind, free of funk. I crossed my legs, grabbed a matchbook from my bedside table, and struck the match.
The match combusted and a flash of light sparked between my finger tips. I paused to look at the flame, acknowledging its warmth. Slowly, I raised the burning match to the blackened wick. Like a kiss they connected and ignited one another. I shook the match to extinguish it and laid the blackened scrap on an ashtray. I closed my eyes and inhaled.
I tried to imagine my breath flowing through my nose and deep down into my lungs.
I sat on the floor for about five minutes. It felt difficult not to count the time, but all-in-all I did fairly well. And then those long eyelashes came to mind. I started thinking about the man from the bookstore. He was cute. He had the best lil’ smile and when he walked away he had the cutest lil’ Latin ass that I totally wanted to rim and then stick my—Damn! No!
My dick began to move.
Fuck. No Steve! Clear your mind. Clear your mind. Think of puppies or Miss Jane Hathaway from The Beverly Hillbillies. There… that helped.
I shook my head, trying to clear it of sexual thoughts. Not that those are bad, but you know… Clear Your Mind.
I closed my eyes again. This time, things went much better; I stopped paying attention to the time. My mind was clear. In fact, random images began popping in my brain. HOW TO MEDITATE said this would happen and instructed me to acknowledge the image and then put it in the back of my brain. Soon, I saw a flash of something that looked like a tent. That made me think of lions and I put it back in my brain. Next, an elephant popped in my consciousness. Oh, Dumbo! I loved Dumbo. Back of the brain Steve.
Then, I thought about an elephant’s big ears and trunk. Oh, that long trunk’s so flexible and strong. When it becomes engorged with water, it gets stiff and rigid. I pictured the ridges on the trunk and suddenly, a man’s ripped abdomen. Back of the brain.
For a second, I saw only darkness. But then the abs were back and this time with a face: dark brown eyes and finger-length black hair, full lips smirking, wet with an eager tongue. I imagined him turning around. His baggy sweatpants hung on his ass revealing just the top of his crack, with fine chestnut hairs dotting his skin.
Back of the brain, Steve. Back of the brain.
I exhaled slowly and tried to imagine an inky blackness, like a night sea. The water seemed placid and sluggish. Yes, this was much more calming. The sun’s rays tiptoed on top of the moving water. A dolphin’s fin poked out of the water and returned into the grey. Suddenly, something broke from the horizon—a shirtless man with shoulder-length hair bobbing in the glistening sun. His sun-streaked blonde locks clung to his forehead. He threw his head back. Droplets of water glittered in the air, tickling the top of the moving ocean behind him. He looked at me fiercely with deep aquamarine eyes and dived into the ocean, a dark green merman’s tail rising in the air and vanishing. (Yes, Mermen are hot, and I’m not ashamed of that. I remember getting turned on during The Little Mermaid. What? Ariel’s father totally had a hot body.)
Back of the brain, Steve. Back of the brain.
The inky darkness of my clear mind returned while I ignored my throbbing erection. Focus on the blackness, I thought. Shit the bed. Why did I think “blackness”? Vividly, Taye Diggs appeared in my mind wearing a scarlet robe hanging from on his shoulders. I could see his chest through the opening. I imagined my hands cupping his face in my palms, the faint waft of cologne tickling my nostrils. We kissed and he parted my lips with his tongue. I pushed back his robe and as it dropped to the floor, his huge, thick cock pressed against my own. His left hand grabbed the back of my head, while the fingers of his right hand traced down my back and began to fondle my ass, probing it.
Back of the–OH WHO THE FUCK AM I KIDDING!??
I opened my eyes. Not wanting to reach for the lube, I spat into my palm and reached into my pants, letting my mind taking over and imagine freely…
Ten minutes later…
Jeremy Taylor, some old priest guy from the 1600’s, said “Meditation is the tongue of the soul and the language of our spirit.” I don’t know if this is true for me or not, but I think it sounds nice. I wanted meditation to take me away from the stress in my life. Free and clear. Still, as I sat there on my floor, sighing with my dick in my hand and cum on my stomach, I tried to notice my thoughts.
There weren’t any. My mind felt free and clear.
I had never given so much thought to my fantasies before. Truthfully, I don’t fantasize a lot; I usually just turn to porn. Yet in fantasizing, I acknowledge a sexually creative part of myself I don’t often get to explore. The last time I remembered fantasizing a lot was as a teenager. Back then, sexual fantasies felt good, but always left me feeling ashamed afterwards for thinking of men. It felt good to reconnect with some of my fantasies and not feel shameful now.
So that’s become my meditation practice. Some days, I’m able to just sit with myself and sexual thoughts don’t enter my mind at all, and that’s fine. However, on days when I can’t focus or fantasies began to bubble up, I go with it. It might not be what HOW TO MEDITATE says I should do, but how often have I been rewarded for not following what someone else says I should do?
So what’s your fantasy? Have you paid it any attention lately? Well sugar, maybe it’s time you should.
————————————-
Years after moving from Oklahoma, Steve Prince is still acclimating to the gay scene in Los Angeles—he’s a slow learner. By trial and error and a lot of sex, his mission is to make the uncomfortable, comfortable. Also it should be known that he is gayer than butt sex.
————————————-
Previously, on A Gay In The Life:
The Birds and The Birds
Lyin’, & Twinks, & Bears—Oh My!
Going Public
Christmas in July
Luck Be A Lady Tonight
I Left My Heart In Oklahoma
As Luck Would Have It
Shock & Awe
Blame It On Britney
The Unending Journey
Makin’ Copies
Bullets and Bracelets… and Lube
To Tell The Truth…
Stars Aren’t Blind
The Dark Knight
Come As You Are
A Date?
A Happy Ending
Better Than Nothing
A Man With A Slow Hand
Taking The Long Way
Everybody Knows
Wake Me Up, Before Ya Go-Go
Definition
The Best
The Upper Hand
Hit Me With Your Best Shot
2000-Date
Dick The Halls
The Queer Dear
A Night At The Museum
A Conversation
I’m Just A Girl Who Can’t Say No
Change The Way You Feel
Kissing A Fool
Leo The Lamb