Mr. Steed
@mrsteed.bsky.social
Lapsed academic. Author. Often NSFW. Not a tame lion. Metro NYC.
Woman in ShopRite On Her Phone: I met him in yoga class. We both were VERY flexible. Me: 🤨 Her: Oh, it was the most erotic movie I've ever seen. I was RARIN' to go after. Me: 👂 Her: But after, he said he had to go back home to his wife. Me: 👀 Her (glaring at me): Got to go. No privacy. Me: 😕
I'll probably appreciate Wicker (2026) more in retrospect. Despite some lovely visuals and committed performances, I sat there thinking the film was a pokey Edward Scissorhands with a lot of foley artists going to town on the creaking noises.
At the close of every October for the last five or so years, I awaken to discover that the local apps are populated solely by men in pup play masks. It always takes several minutes of confused blinking before I remember that Furpoc is a neighborhood thing.
Patrick Stewart's passing is unfortunately timed, since I was just inflicting my story about him upon someone earlier this afternoon. Picture it: a cold Saturday in Manhattan, 2013. I'm sitting in the 7th Ave Starbucks in the Village, waiting to head out to a meeting a little later.
Mathematically, my flannel sheets in cold weather produce the highest cuddling coefficient possible, and I challenge doubters to come try it with me.
The Mob (2026) is effin' ridiculous even for a reality game show, but it stars Parker Posey with a smoky eye in the Alan Cumming host role, so I will be cooing with homosexual delight every time she swans onto set sporting a new turban.
Me, in my not-so-internal monologue every morning of my life: Where are my shorts? Why can't I find my shorts? Is that my sock? That's not my sock. That's a t-shirt. Where's the other sock? Why can't I find my socks? Now, where is that t-shirt? Him: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PUT ON YOUR GLASSES ALREADY
One reason I secretly love autumn is that I can start wearing my thick-heeled he-man boots that elevate my height from a mere 6’3” into the elevations of the comically tall.
Little Kid's Choir Church Girl: You're very good at the piano. Me: Thank you! Her: You play with both hands and everything. Me: Sometimes! Her: And you didn't hit any wrong notes. Me: Why th— Her: This time. Me: Child...
The first hour of You Can See Everything (2026) has so many shots of Nathan Fielder in dark corners glowering at a pretty blonde on a monitor that you'd think he was reenacting a Human League video, but once the documentary steps into and embraces uncertainty, it's brilliant. Deserves all the hype.
I began keeping a diary at the tender age of 15 as a 9th-grade assignment. (My teacher apparently found it 'delightful!') I began chronicling the everyday in earnest during college, though, working my way through multiple spiral notebooks until I began using a word processor in the early '90s.
Have you subscribed to my substack? It’s free (for now) and very raunchy. open.substack.com/pub/petersch...
Peter Schutes | Substack
Author of vintage-style pulp paperback erotica and true confessions. These posts are intended strictly for audiences aged 18+ due to mature themes/explicit language. Click to read Peter Schutes, a Sub...
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Every frame of Sense & Sensibility (2026) is rapturously composed, then illuminated solely by a single beeswax candle and perhaps the glint of a lonely firefly’s tremulous glow reflected off a wee fairy’s gossamer wing.
Halfway through #locktober on this #fcf — so here are some throwback commissions I did last year. I want to celebrate #teamlocked — and a big year ☺️ — so I’m goin’ wild and offering HALF OFF commissions 😱😱 through Oct. 31! Code: TEAMLOCKED26 form.jotform.com/250794027068... #gayart #queerart
Sniffies Stranger: Know what I like about your profile? Me: I do not. Him: I like that you don't dye your hair. You're like, I'm super old and gray and you get what you get, dudes Me: Only my beard is gray, though? Him: You're like, I don't pretend to be good looking, This is where I'm at Me: 😑
Prepared today to pronounce that Kelly Clarkson has put us in danger at the slightest foreshadowing of personal contretemps.
Good morning I am on day 6 of not having a refrigerator and it is fine everything tastes better at room temperature it is fine and I am used to these trying circumstances I said everything is FINE thank you
Today, I learned for the first time that we have, and have always had, such a thing as a 'rag bag,' to which I have been unwittingly contributing for years. The news made me recoil in horror, clutch imaginary pearls, and declare, "When I have I EVER been in possession of a 'rag'?!"
Me <to myself>: <Dang, these jock bros in Rangers jerseys are gonna sit next to me on this crowded train!> Me: <Is this bro eyeing my screen? I’m watching a Drag Race commentary! Should I switch to something less queer? Fuck it. Enjoy the lip sync, bro.> Bro, leaning in: Coco was robbed, y’know.
Lip Sync Assassin Rpdr
ALT: Lip Sync Assassin Rpdr
static.klipy.com
Day 4 without a working refrigerator: I have reached the stage of hallucination in which I fantasize cartoon ice cubes, dancing the can-can.
Witnessed this morning during my perambulation at my bizarro public park: a tire-flipping coach operating out of an old Nissan hatchback, barking at his young woman client, "Girl, you can't work out in those Crocs!", then nodding with approval as she changed into a pair of identical Crocs.
Mr. Steed@mrsteed.bsky.social · last yr.The park at which I sometimes take my constitutional is notorious as a meeting place for personal trainers with dubious-to-no credentials and their clients. But this one trainer tossing Funyuns from a bag for a client to catch (and eat) while she bounced on a portable trampoline was a new one.
Ending a long-running podcast with a 90-minute episode centered on how much the host dislikes his listeners and then concluding by inviting them to imagine a wall between themselves and him seems kind of wild to me, but hey. Hope it was worth getting that last jab in.
I've been working this week on preparing my old non-digital journals for archiving, and ran across this horrifying family story I'd utterly forgotten: In 2003, my dad and his sister decided to disinter their father from his burial site and have the remains cremated. (He died before I was born.)
I am commencing Day Two Without A Refrigerator. Please, someone send ice.
