If I could, I’d make love to Steve Jobs. I’d creep into his bedroom and mouth, “Get my sexy on,” and orgasm as the room dims and an Apple screen with automatic Photoshop appears on the ceiling. Steve would be in bed, black-rimmed glasses on and playing with his….gadgets. An array of Apple products surround him and again, my pepa™ orgasms.
Suddenly, he curls his index finger. This action unveils a moving red carpet with white rose petals strewn about. I, of course, step onto the bright red fabric and in 1.23487 seconds I am resting in the arms of Steve Jobs.
Let the lovemaking begin.
He caresses me with the aluminosillicate glass of the iPhone 4G screen. Soon, he moves down to my inner tights, kissing my flesh with the 33 percent thinner and 15 percent lighter iPad 2. A flash appears and I smile. Nerdy Steve just took a photo of my pepa™ with the iPad’s tiny HD camera. That dirty Jobs! And the iPod? It’s a part of his seduction as he blasts the R&B playlist – entitled The Forbidden Apple Remix – that he made just for this occasion. The iPod’s waterproof earphones serve as tiny whips when Adina Howard’s “Freak Like Me” plays. The action is also being caught on tape. The iMac LED-backlist display that hangs from the ceiling displays our moves vividly. The Photoshop software is in full affect, removing the cellulite from my ass and the stretch marks that line my hips.
How does this sensual rendezvous end? With a little bit of pillow talk, of course. Steve discusses the new trends in the technology and shares his fears of being outdone by that meanie, Bill Gates. Soon, he sings me to sleep with the following lullaby:
And I drift off, snuggled in the arms of my Jobs and dreaming of Apple…