I was working on deadline when it happened -- my laptop crashed and it wouldn't restart. Damn, I thought, I need to get this proposal out the door tomorrow morning to a client and here it is, 2 pm.
Fighting a growing panic as I kept trying to reboot it, I remembered the computer repair shop a couple of blocks away and rushed over.
"Hi," I said to the young guy at the counter. "I'm in a bit of a rush. My laptop crashed and it won't restart. Would you be able to have a look this afternoon and get it fixed? I'll pay extra."
"Depends on what's wrong with it," he said. "We'll have a look and give you a shout. There'll be a rush fee, though. Just sign this form giving us permission to work on it. Include all your contact info."
"No problem," I said, breathing a sigh of relief. I headed home feeling hopeful.
As the afternoon wore on and no word came, though, my anxiety started to increase. Then, just before 5 pm, my phone rang. It was the computer shop. My laptop was working, and they were going to do some more tests, but it would be ready by closing time at 6 pm.
Relief swept over me.
About 45 minutes later, I headed back to the shop. There was a different guy behind the counter, though. Older, maybe in his late 40s, a little overweight and balding. Not your typical techie, I thought. Maybe he owns the place.
"Mr. Wilcox?" he said, as I approached the counter.
"Yes," I replied. "Here to pick up my laptop."
"It's working just fine now," he said with a smile. "Let me just lock up and then we can settle the bill. Don't want other customers coming in just at closing."
"Great," I said. "Thanks for getting it done so quickly. I'd ask what was wrong with it, but I probably wouldn't understand the answer."
"Ha, we get that a lot," he said, as he returned to the counter.
We settled the bill, including the extra $50 rush fee. I put the laptop in my case and was about to leave when he stopped me.
"Hang on a sec," he said. "When I was doing some tests to make sure everything worked, I was pretty thorough."
"Okay," I said. "Great, I'm just glad it works."
"Well, I had a look at some of your folders and files, including your, um, photos," he said.
I felt my face flush.
"Yep, I saw the ones of you naked on a bed, including a couple with dildos either shoved up your ass or in your mouth," he said. "What the fuck is with that?"
"That's an invasion of my privacy!" I cried.
"Settle the fuck down," he said. "You signed a form allowing us to do our job. I had to, uh, 'test' it."
My heart sank.
"And those bookmarked videos. Whoa, lots of videos of guys sucking and fucking by the looks of it."
"Look, can I just go?"
"Oh, and here's a pro tip for ya," he said. "Don't have a folder that says 'passwords.' That's truly idiotic, though more common than you'd think. I had a look there, too. Nice of you to include the websites and user names. It seems you're a member of a couple of gay dating sites. Quite the profiles you had, I must say. Guy like you get hit on a lot? Can't imagine so."
"Look, whatever," I said. "Thanks for the advice. I need to get home and finish a project."
"Well, now, here's the thing, Mr. Wilcox, or can I just call you Pete?" he said, with a sneer on his face. "I put some of the photos and your contacts list on this USB stick and you're going to do me a big favour or some of the photos get circulated. Follow me."
"Please, man," I cried. "I need to get home."
He held up the USB stick, winked and walked through a door. I dropped my head and slowly followed him. We entered what appeared to be a break room, with a sink and counter, a small fridge, two chairs and a table, and a couple of easy chairs.
He sat in one of the chairs.
"I've never had a blowjob from a guy, but today's your lucky day," he said. "Think of it as extra payment for the rush job on your computer."
"Oh, please, I can't," I cried. "Look, I've never really ever sucked a guy off."