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Chrisann Brennan's book describes what a colossal jerk Jobs was as a boyfriend. He fathered a child with her but denied it was his, and subjected her to a stream of indignities, including evicting her from the bedroom in a house they rented together as roommates because he wanted the biggest room.
But the bit that will solder some unwelcome imagery into your brain forever is Brennan's description of their sex life:
But after a month Steve literally picked me up and moved everything I owned and took over the master bedroom. He'd finally realized that I had the better deal: a larger room with an en suite bath and the privacy of the backyard. Steve had paid the security deposit for the rental so was, in fact, entitled to the room he wanted. But he was so graceless that I felt humiliated and outraged.
Even after swapping rooms in this way, Steve and I still shared nights of lovemaking so profound that, astonishingly, some fifteen years later, he called me out of the blue to thank me for them. He was married at the time of his call and all I could think of was, Whoa . . . men . . . are . . . really . . . different. Imagine if I had called him to say such a thing.
We remembered different things. Mainly I recalled how awful he was becoming and how I was starting to flounder. But he was right: our lovemaking had been sublime.
There's a bit at the end of this excerpt in the New York Post that talks about how hot-and-cold the relationship was at the end:
And where Steve's fullness met mine with staggering beauty (there was a reason he called fifteen years later to acknowledge the importance of the nights we'd shared), he was also becoming so creatively unstable, so out of integrity with himself that everything could slip out of alignment in an instant.