Getting [F]ucking Soaked Behind the Genius Bar: Or How I Saw My Ex-Best Friend’s Dad Again

I’m a twenty-four year old woman. Currently, and hopefully not forever, I work in my town’s Apple Store. It’s a decent gig. I work behind the Genius Bar, but I’m no genius. I only work on the mobile devices. I don’t know much about tech stuff, but luckily the job is 90% customer service/retail and 10% technical. At least in my experience so far.

Earlier this week, the father of my ex-best friend walked in. Let’s call him Steve, and let’s call his daughter Evelyn. Evelyn and I were inseparable from about 6thgrade until towards the end of high school. We were your classic mean girls. Luckily, I reformed; Evelyn didn’t. Evelyn’s mother died way before I met her, so Steve was the one who picked us up if we were hanging out afterschool, made us snacks, etc. Evelyn, and by extension me, was a total brat to her dad. Following her lead, I would barely say hello to him and never laugh at his dad jokes. The complication was that Steve was the hottest dad I had ever seen. He had a rock-hard body, which he wasn’t afraid to show in the summer; a handsome jaw line; steely blue eyes; a sexy salt-and-pepper hair.

Junior year, Evelyn and I had our last Big Fight, and called it quits. I gravitated towards the theater kids, and learned humility; Evelyn started doing coke and, after we graduated, moved to Arizona. I thought her dad had left town too. I went away for college, and had a bunch of that vanilla sex I mentioned. During my senior year, I started dating this marginally older dude. He was BIG into the whole “call me daddy” thing. I never understood that (my dad is a fat, jolly red-nosed Irish guy, so I never got why evoking him was sexy), but I tend to be a sexual chameleon, slightly changing my habits to confirm to the guy I’m with (hence the butt plug stuff, that was boyfriend number two). This guy made not-so-subtle hints that he wanted to be called daddy, so I tried it once during sex. Suddenly, I remembered not my dad, but Evelyn’s. I moaned “daddy” and thought of his chiseled body, I screamed “fuck me daddy” and thought of his smile. I came harder than I have before. The guy thought he was a stallion. I knew it wasn’t him; it was Steve.

So, when he walked into the Apple Store, of course my hands are sweating. He sees me. I quickly go through the queue of names of people with Genius bar sessions, and I see his name. I select it, which means he is mine. Steve is just as sexy as I remembered him. A little more salt in his salt-and-pepper hair, a slight bit of stumble, which totally works for him, but still a strong looking body, and beautiful smile.

“Small world,” he says. I agree and smile. We make the smallest of small talk, I tell him I’m back in town for a bit, he lies and says Evelyn is doing well, I smile again. He is doing that thing that some guys do, where they can’t look at me directly in the eyes for too long. I’ve been told by everyone – every boyfriend, every older relative, every cashier, every random person on the bus – that I have “beautiful blue eyes.” Some guys can’t handle looking at them for too long. I heard how high my voice was getting. I switched the conversation over to his phone. Some classic problem. I have to deduce if it is hardware or software, which just means I have to erase his phone and see if the issue persists. I explain this and ask Steve if he has a backup. Like most older adults, he has no idea if he has a backup. I asked him if he has anything important on his phone. “Just pictures. I got thousands on here. I think they are all on my computer, but I don’t know, you know?” I ask Steve if he has his laptop with him. He does. I offer that he can either backup his whole phone now, or just his pictures, that way he won’t lose anything. He says he only really has pictures, that his contacts were definitely in iCloud (so the old man DOES know something), and that he will back up his photos now. I help him set it up. In doing so, our hands touch for a fraction of a second. I still hope he didn’t feel how sweaty they were.

I told him it might take a minute or two. He said he’d go browse the Bluetooth speakers. I turned the computer screen away from the rest of the room, so the other customers couldn’t see the photos flashing on the screen as they are saved, and Steve walked away. I pretended to look at my iPad for the next customer in the queue, but really was looking at this photos. He really did have a lot.

Then, it happened. A series of dick pics. Even using that term seems wrong. Dick pics are ugly, strange things that guys think girls want to see. These weren’t that. These were photographs of the biggest cock I’ve ever seen in my life. It was like a baseball bat, like soda cans stacked on top of each other, like my extended arm. The photos flashed quickly, but he clearly had a lot of these pictures. I saw his hands wrapped around throbbing shaft, I saw the head of his cock purpled and ready to explode, I saw ropes of cum resting on his flat stomach, his devilish smile in the upper corner, disappearing, reappearing, like the Cheshire Cat. I could feel myself getting soaked. The photos finished saving. I closed the app and, as Steve and I discussed, erased his phone. After I turned it on again, his technical problem persisted. I called him over. I must have been red-faced.

“It’s okay; I can see the look on your face; it busted, right?” I told him, or at least I think I told him, I was too overwhelmed to remember properly, that it was a screen issue, but we can make the repair in store, it will take a day. He was very understanding. “So I come back tomorrow and ask for you?” I explained I wasn’t working tomorrow, but anyone could help. “You’ve been very helpful already. It was nice bumping into you like this.” He smiled and was gone.

I took the phone to the repair room in the back. I don’t do the repairs, I just hand it off. In the stairwell, while clutching his phone, wishing foolishly that all the pictures were still there, so I could stare, so I could soak them in, so I could commit every detail to memory, Steve got a text. This happens sometimes. We are just supposed to keep it in airplane mode. I had forgotten to turn it on. Steve hadn’t restored his iCloud contacts, so the text was just from a phone number. The area code was local. The text was a picture of a pert pair of breasts and a glowing tan stomach. The message read: “see you tonite daddy?” I stared. The woman in the picture couldn’t have been much older than me. I shut off the phone and brought it to the repair room.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Steve’s perfect cock and this mystery woman. This all happened this week, so I haven’t seen Steve since. At least not in person. In my mind, he is constantly stroking his thick cock, smiling at me, and I become overwhelmed. I haven’t masturbated this often and this intensely for years. I want his cock inside me. I want to taste his sweat. I want to lose myself in his embrace. I want to be the mysterious woman in the picture. I want to see daddy tonite.

Since posting a version of this on another subreddit yesterday, I’ve been getting a lot of encouragement to message Steve. So yesterday afternoon, I did. I was pretty forward that it was great to see him, that it brought up a lot of memories, and I wanted to see him again. It’s been about twenty-four hours and he hasn’t responded yet… I pray, pray, PRAY that I will have a follow-up story to share with y’all. If he never responses, at least seeing him gave me a chance to write this all out and share with you.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ap6prs/getting_fucking_soaked_behind_the_genius_bar_or