Free The Venus Fix by M. J. Rose

had touched her. He had smelled her skin and felt her lips on his cock.
    He tried to shake off her ghost, but he couldn’t. She wouldn’t go away.
    Sometimes he fixated on her like this and got himself all worked up over what had happened. His heart would start to race and he’d feel nauseous and panicky. He didn’t want to feel all that shit tonight. There was nothing he could do about Simone. It was too late.
    Timothy clicked on the hard-drive icon, and then the documentfile icon. Next he clicked on the term-paper file. Inside of that he clicked on the American History file. And within that he clicked on the folder called “Presidents.” Inside were a dozen JPEGs, labeled GW1, GW2, GW3, GW4. And there was one MPEG. He moved the cursor over it and let it hover there.
    No one knew he still had this. He’d lied and told Amanda he hadn’t kept it, and she’d believed him. Since last spring, he hadn’t opened it, afraid that if he did it would alert some spyware somewhere, and his headmaster and his parents and the girls’ parents and every college he had applied to would know that he was watching it.
    That was ridiculous. He was a computer geek. He knew as much as anyone else about how the Net worked. There was no such thing as what he was imagining. But still, he couldn’t do it.
    He wanted to click on the MPEG damn bad. He knew what he’d see if he hit the key. They’d fill his screen. The two of them naked, touching each other, the one pale, the other darker. He knew the way they’d lean toward each other to kiss and…
    His erection strained against his jeans.
    How could he? What kind of animal was he that he could still get a hard-on even now that she was dead? But he needed to come. Besides, it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t asked them to make the movie. That was their idea—to entice him and show him how sexy they were and how much they were willing to do for him. And Hugh. And Barry. For all of them.
    His head was fighting with his cock.
    Hit the key, watch it.
    Don’t watch it.
    Don’t touch yourself.
    I have to.
    I have to.
    Their images appeared on the screen. He fast-forwarded tothe kiss, to where he couldn’t see their faces. He didn’t want to see their faces. Just the fucking kiss.
    There it was. A long, slow kiss. A kiss that went on and on. He was transfixed. Under its spell. Lost in the sensation it aroused. He didn’t even know he was stroking himself. He was too far gone. The pressure was building.
    When he came, exploding into his own hand, the clip was still running. He hit the stop button quickly. He hadn’t even gotten through sixty seconds of it.

 
    Wednesday
Sixteen days remaining

Sixteen
     
    B ob was early for his second appointment of the week, but Allison kept him waiting as per my instructions. When she finally let him in, he just stood glaring at me.
    “It’s worse. Everything is worse,” he barked.
    “I think you should sit down.”
    “What difference does it make? Sitting? Lying? It won’t change anything. My wife doesn’t talk to me anymore, and when I’m out, she’s in my office snooping around. I found papers on my desk out of order, a framed photograph broken on the floor.”
    “What was it a photograph of?”
    He looked at me as if I were speaking in tongues. “Of her. On some trip.”
    “What trip?”
    He thought for a moment. Frowned. “Our honeymoon.”
    I nodded.
    “Have you talked to her about being in your office?”
    “I’ve tried. But she just shakes her head and leaves whatever room we’re in.”
    He walked to the French doors that led to my tiny balconyand stood there with his back to me. Beyond him, the solid gray sky was unrelenting. Bob opened one of the doors and a fresh blast of freezing air, mixed with some snow, flew in.
    “Bob, can you close the door?” I got up, ready to rush over, ready for anything, but Bob shut it himself and started to talk to me.
    “There is a story in the newspaper this morning about a young woman who