Sara Sidle lay awake gazing at the alarm clock. Its luminescent red digits
glared back at
her that it was five twenty three. Little more than a half hour of bliss before having to
return to normality she thought. The sun was coming up, and the window blind allowed
a rectangular shaft of warm sunlight to blaze through the window and rest peacefully on
the brown, muscular form that was the back of her husband Gil. He was blissfully
unaware of its presence, sound asleep, his rhythmic breathing lulling Sara. This was her
favourite time of the day. It had been ever since she married Gil seven years ago. He,
always the more fitful sleeper of the two, would lie on while she busied herself with the
necessities of her early morning life, her vital two-mile run before breakfast, organising
and finalising meetings for the day ahead, phoning what at times seemed like every one
in the phone book, and all of this before showering and dressing. After she showered
and dressed she would take over feeding and dressing their eight-month old baby
daughter Maura.
Five twenty four she thought. She changed her focus to Gil. His face cuddled into his
pillow, powerful arms under his head, and his mop of curly salt and pepper hair
curtaining his face. His face was the perfect combination of boyish grace and taut
rugged maleness. There wasn't a shadow of doubt in her mind that he was the single
greatest human being she had ever encountered. She didn't love this man, she adored
everything about him. His humour, tenderness, focus and determination, what he
sacrificed every single day for her. There was no one like Gil Grissom.
She met him her final year at university, she was twenty-four, the youngest to graduate
her masters class. He was a guest lecturer, thirty-six, and unhappy about giving yet
another entimology lecture to a group of students who more often than not couldn't
care less. They had no appreciation or concept of how demanding the world of forensics
was, they wanted an easy life, and teaching biology to the fourteen year olds was as hard
as it was going to get for them. All that was except Sara Sidle. That was the day that she
fell in love with both a man and a career, dumped the idea of teaching applied maths
and physics, and knew she wanted to become a crime scene investigator.
Gil Grissom entered the lecture theatre, five eleven, blue eyed, bronzed by the sun, mop
of curly salt and pepper hair, khaki pants, a tight black polo shirt, topped off with steel-
rimmed spectacles. Sara straightened up in her seat dumbfounded by the sheer physical
presence of the man. His confidence in both himself and his knowledge was
overwhelming. Sex appeal oozed from every pore of his body. The next forty- five
minutes wear a blur, each time Gil adjusted his spectacles his bicep bulged over the t-
shirt. No man in her twenty-four years had ever had this affect on her.
"Well good morning to you Mrs Grissom, how are you?" His question caught her off
guard. She grinned "Better for seeing you, can I have a kiss?" she whispered.
"Ah now, you see there's a toll charge for that kind of thing before six am" he said in
mock serenity.
"Well now, being that I'm married to a very wealthy forensics investigator, I think I can
afford a toll.what do I owe?" she breathed while sliding her hand beneath the covers
over his naked muscular thighs, which was always guaranteed to drive him up the wall.
She then tenderly traced the outline of the bulge that was appearing within his boxers.
Gil sighed deeply his back arching slightly to rub against her touch. "I believe lip service
is the going rate," he giggled. Together they slipped off his boxer shorts while she kissed
and teased at his chest. Slowly he slipped his hands around her waist, using his fingers
and thumbs to gently massage her. Their mouths met, her tongue ever hungry for his,
traced his lips and then teasingly darted in and out of his warm sweet mouth. Gil felt
himself harden still. Wanting to respond to her he pulled her on top of him allowing her
to rub against him, her breathing quickened and with a slip of his hands Gil removed
the t-shirt she was wearing tossing it to the floor, ironically it was one of his. Outsized,
baggy and of his own scent, few things aroused him more than the sight of Sara clad in
his cast offs. She now straddled him naked, beautiful. He could feel her wetness pouring
over his now rock hard arousal, and with one move of her hips she slid him inside. They
rocked together; painfully slow at first as Gil ran his hands into her hair while sucking
at her now full breasts. She groaned. In their seven years as lovers he had perfected this
to a near art form. "Fuck me Gil, please fuck me," she breathed in his ear. With that he
forced her onto her back and held her down, moving deeper inside with each thrust. She
looked up at the blue of his eyes, the need, the want reflected in them. "I love you so
much Sara.", he breathed before climaxing. The two of them lay entwined, soaked in
one anothers sweat and shaking. "You have no idea what you do to me, do you?" was all
that he could muster under his breath.
She smiled the smile that Gil knew was reserved only for him.
Sara blinked back warm salted tears as her alarm screeched in her ear. She was
dragged kicking and screaming from her slumber to reality. She bit at her lip agonizing
over what felt, tasted and smelled so real.
"I don't know how much longer I can do this..." she breathed.
Pulling herself from bed and heading for the shower before she had to start yet another
shift working for a man she had become completely intoxicated by, but who was
permanently oblivious to Sara and her feelings.
her that it was five twenty three. Little more than a half hour of bliss before having to
return to normality she thought. The sun was coming up, and the window blind allowed
a rectangular shaft of warm sunlight to blaze through the window and rest peacefully on
the brown, muscular form that was the back of her husband Gil. He was blissfully
unaware of its presence, sound asleep, his rhythmic breathing lulling Sara. This was her
favourite time of the day. It had been ever since she married Gil seven years ago. He,
always the more fitful sleeper of the two, would lie on while she busied herself with the
necessities of her early morning life, her vital two-mile run before breakfast, organising
and finalising meetings for the day ahead, phoning what at times seemed like every one
in the phone book, and all of this before showering and dressing. After she showered
and dressed she would take over feeding and dressing their eight-month old baby
daughter Maura.
Five twenty four she thought. She changed her focus to Gil. His face cuddled into his
pillow, powerful arms under his head, and his mop of curly salt and pepper hair
curtaining his face. His face was the perfect combination of boyish grace and taut
rugged maleness. There wasn't a shadow of doubt in her mind that he was the single
greatest human being she had ever encountered. She didn't love this man, she adored
everything about him. His humour, tenderness, focus and determination, what he
sacrificed every single day for her. There was no one like Gil Grissom.
She met him her final year at university, she was twenty-four, the youngest to graduate
her masters class. He was a guest lecturer, thirty-six, and unhappy about giving yet
another entimology lecture to a group of students who more often than not couldn't
care less. They had no appreciation or concept of how demanding the world of forensics
was, they wanted an easy life, and teaching biology to the fourteen year olds was as hard
as it was going to get for them. All that was except Sara Sidle. That was the day that she
fell in love with both a man and a career, dumped the idea of teaching applied maths
and physics, and knew she wanted to become a crime scene investigator.
Gil Grissom entered the lecture theatre, five eleven, blue eyed, bronzed by the sun, mop
of curly salt and pepper hair, khaki pants, a tight black polo shirt, topped off with steel-
rimmed spectacles. Sara straightened up in her seat dumbfounded by the sheer physical
presence of the man. His confidence in both himself and his knowledge was
overwhelming. Sex appeal oozed from every pore of his body. The next forty- five
minutes wear a blur, each time Gil adjusted his spectacles his bicep bulged over the t-
shirt. No man in her twenty-four years had ever had this affect on her.
"Well good morning to you Mrs Grissom, how are you?" His question caught her off
guard. She grinned "Better for seeing you, can I have a kiss?" she whispered.
"Ah now, you see there's a toll charge for that kind of thing before six am" he said in
mock serenity.
"Well now, being that I'm married to a very wealthy forensics investigator, I think I can
afford a toll.what do I owe?" she breathed while sliding her hand beneath the covers
over his naked muscular thighs, which was always guaranteed to drive him up the wall.
She then tenderly traced the outline of the bulge that was appearing within his boxers.
Gil sighed deeply his back arching slightly to rub against her touch. "I believe lip service
is the going rate," he giggled. Together they slipped off his boxer shorts while she kissed
and teased at his chest. Slowly he slipped his hands around her waist, using his fingers
and thumbs to gently massage her. Their mouths met, her tongue ever hungry for his,
traced his lips and then teasingly darted in and out of his warm sweet mouth. Gil felt
himself harden still. Wanting to respond to her he pulled her on top of him allowing her
to rub against him, her breathing quickened and with a slip of his hands Gil removed
the t-shirt she was wearing tossing it to the floor, ironically it was one of his. Outsized,
baggy and of his own scent, few things aroused him more than the sight of Sara clad in
his cast offs. She now straddled him naked, beautiful. He could feel her wetness pouring
over his now rock hard arousal, and with one move of her hips she slid him inside. They
rocked together; painfully slow at first as Gil ran his hands into her hair while sucking
at her now full breasts. She groaned. In their seven years as lovers he had perfected this
to a near art form. "Fuck me Gil, please fuck me," she breathed in his ear. With that he
forced her onto her back and held her down, moving deeper inside with each thrust. She
looked up at the blue of his eyes, the need, the want reflected in them. "I love you so
much Sara.", he breathed before climaxing. The two of them lay entwined, soaked in
one anothers sweat and shaking. "You have no idea what you do to me, do you?" was all
that he could muster under his breath.
She smiled the smile that Gil knew was reserved only for him.
Sara blinked back warm salted tears as her alarm screeched in her ear. She was
dragged kicking and screaming from her slumber to reality. She bit at her lip agonizing
over what felt, tasted and smelled so real.
"I don't know how much longer I can do this..." she breathed.
Pulling herself from bed and heading for the shower before she had to start yet another
shift working for a man she had become completely intoxicated by, but who was
permanently oblivious to Sara and her feelings.