Dear Jonathan, I’m having a moral crisis. I’ve been having sex dreams involving my neighbor. Considering the whole thou-shall-not-covet-thy-neighbor’s-wife clause, I’m feeling kind of guilty. What do I do?

First of all, I’m writing in while on sabbatical in lovely Eureka Springs, Arkansas, and it is very beautiful out here. I’ve only heard “dueling banjos” once and am under the impression that it was done ironically. I’m kind of sitting on this big pedestal of disbelief, being that I’m at this writer’s colony on the top of mountain writing gay erotica in a small cabin. There was some trepidation at first as I was imagining this angry mob of Rick Perry fanatics surrounding my cabin with torches. In this fantasy, the mob is pounding on the door while me and the resident cook do the musical number “Defying Gravity” from Wicked and I’m like holding a broomstick and shit. But don’t worry. That hasn’t happened – people have been very friendly and welcoming. I’m doing great.

On the inside, Jonathan’s soul looks like this.

And oh my goodness, the houses here are gorgeous. They are these beautiful Gingerbread Victorians that are painted with vibrant colors and have so much architectural detail. It’s amazing. I’ve never wanted to make love to someone’s front porch before and don’t know how it would be accomplished, but I am inspired to do so. All this historic preservation makes my nipples hard enough to cut glass. It is damn gorgeous here.

Architecture is sexy.

Anyway, sex dreams are great.

The way I see it, if you spend 6-8 boring hours sleeping in a night, your mind needs something to entertain itself. Hence we dream. We tend to dream about things that excite, intrigue or frighten us. Well, it’s a safe assumption that everyone at some point is either excited or intrigued or frightened about sex. Also, dreams tend to populate themselves with familiar faces. A next door neighbor, a friend, a pop singer or the President – all of these people exist in that mental rolodex of images. And that makes them easy targets for your brain to pluck out and populate your dreams. So, sex dreams with people you know are natural and nothing to feel guilty over. I actually had a sex dream the other night that took place right here in Eureka Springs.

And here’s a picture of this gorgeous gazebo that’s down the road from me. I love the colors. And it’s right near this little gardened seating area with a big stone table. I might eat lunch there tomorrow.

It’s absolutely beautiful!

So, my sex dream took place here in the Ozarks, but had this sort of magical realism to it. Apparently, big handsome lumberjacks had evolved to the point where they possessed these kangaroo-like pouches in their big masculine bellies. If were nice to the lumberjacks, they would let you snuggle up in the pouches and take you on their magical lumberjack adventures. It was delightful.

But if you weren’t nice to the lumberjacks, say, you spilled a mojito inside said kangaroo-like pouch, something evil and deranged would happen! I know you’re expecting Paula Deen in halter top, but this turned out to be way worse. The sex lumberjacks would take you to the Den of Iniquity! Which is also known as Costco. There, between the electronics and the aisle where you can pick up enough toilet paper to clean a giant’s ass, they would tie you to a spittle, (usually that’s a noun for a complicated sex act, but in this case it was an actual spittle). Then, they’d start to scream, threatening to kill your family and all the people you truly love the most as they turned and twisted you over hot burning flames.

Are you as turned on as I am right now?

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Got a question? Send it to jonathandefenestrates@gmail.com!