Update on SteffWorld: Brought to You By ADHD

I'm taking this break from world autocracy to let you know that I'm delving into reader questions for the next week or so, I suspect, off and on -- as my whims command.

If you have a question, hit me. Gimme all the gory details and we'll see what I can muster.

A couple people have emailed me and I've been too busy to get back to you, but She of the Low Sex Drive, I will be tackling your question. And She of Anal Toying Desires, I will be tackling yours, as well, to the limited extent I feel comfortable. If you actually want a response, email me, don't use the comments, you lazy punks. I'll never get back to you in comments and it'll languish there, unattended to! And it'll be all yer fault.

I've had a whirlwind of a week, mentally and emotionally, and it's settling down now. I think I got a gameplan to Deal, and tomorrow I will begin. Today, I took an incredibly good bike ride around the city and through the Endowment lands, despite the record-breaking heatwave we're having. Now I'm off to bed so I can have an early morning ride to beat the heat, so I can replenish energy in hopes of an evening mid-week dirty s-e-x encounter with this beefy Eastside guy I've been hookin' up with... provided his evil arch-nemesis The Office doesn't exact mind-controlling powers to once again force him into overtime.

Okay, everyone, turn on your brainwaves. Let's overpower the evil arch-nemesis, The Office, with our collective neurojuices! We shall overcome! Better yet, we shall come! Okay, well, maybe not collectively, but coming sounds like a nice goal. C'mon, we all need more sex, less overtime. I mean, my god, it's been six days already! The horror, the horror! Sex me up and watch me go.

(Don't you ever wonder how you went those months and/or years without sex whenever you're finally getting it? I had a friend who always said sex was an aphrodisiac. The more you have it, the more you want it. Too true.)

And to the guy who wrote to me about his fetish with angora, I mean... C'mon, couldn't you have, oh, I don't know, written an introduction instead of just jumping right into telling me about how you've been gotten off via angora? It's the literary version of foreplay. Try it. You'll like it. C'mon, people, don't just dump this shit on me. Make small talk and be friendly before you tell me your dirty lil' whorey secrets! It's officially Cunting protocol! Small talk must be had! Puff me up and stroke my ego, or at the very least, a "Hi, Steff, I thought I'd share this with you..." would be nice.

I'm sure angora does indeed, however, feel nice on a penis when a woman's going down on you and decides to stroke your cock in between the angora-ish goodness of her boobies. That's why they charge so much for the sweaters, and I'm sure more than a few guys reading this are bitter it's summer and their wives will be looking at them oddly if they saunter in with a gift of an angora sweater, all spontaneous-like.

(And, of course, Angora had to mention this, as well, in the same mail. I don't get the whole "that penis deserves to be in prison!" chastity devices. I'm old-fashioned, I think penises deserve freedom, since they've bloody well earned it, in my books. But, then again, hey, if it's good enough for Shakespeare,* it must be good enough for everyone, or, then again, practically everyone dies in MacBeth, so... maybe the guy had some repressed anger after all.)

*Apparently the bard himself wore a chastity belt from time to time, but I can't find evidence of it. I was told of it years and years back. Sure wrote about them enough, though. The chastity belts date as far back as 1405, for the curious out there.