Sessions

Grissom was fifteen minutes early for his session this week. He sat in the waiting room pondering not what she was going to ask him, but rather more what he was going to answer. He feared what he was going to find out in the end. He wanted to know the answers to all of his questions, but at the same time he was near petrified to find out.

Thoughts of whorehouses rushed into his head. Every woman there was blonde, not a brunette to be seen. Was he in whorehouse hell? He looked around, he thought he saw Heather; she was walking away just out of his reach. To his left was Sara, she was smiling her 1000-watt smile and then disappeared. She evaporated into thin air. She left him standing with his pants at his ankles and his hard cock in his hand.

“Mr Grissom.” The short woman was before him. He stood up and shook the thoughts out of his head and followed her to her office. She shut the door and he sat in the big leather chair across from her. She sat down in her chair. “So, Mr Grissom, how have things been?”

“Fine.” He was abrupt.

“Care to elaborate?” She asked.

“Nothing has changed.” His voice changed to one that was almost arrogant.

“So tell me,” She began. “How many times this week did you got to the brothel?”

“Seven.” He looked down at the floor purposely avoiding eye contact with her.

She was quickly scribbling things down on paper. Her thoughts about him made him nervous. She knew things that he didn’t. He was sure she knew that he was aware of things but just repressed them into the void unknown of his subconscious.

“So once a night for the last week you paid for sex, is that true?” He nodded in agreement.

“Do you find that this problem of yours has been costing a large amount of money?”

“What else do I have to spend my money on? I’m a forty-eight year old hermit.” His tone was sad.

His life was sad. He would go home to his tarantula but no matter how hard he tried she would not keep him warm or offer him a shred of comfort. His house was a cold shell of who he was. It was reminiscent of a museum or a library with all the pictures and window boxes containing bugs. There were also walls and walls of books. None of these would keep him warm on a cold winter’s night. He thought that if he died today no one would really notice and his obituary would be the saddest yet.

Gil Grissom 1956 – 2005

Well-known entomologist. He was alone. He died alone.

Grissom shook that thought out of his head as the shivers sent tremors over his body.

“Does that fact bother you?”

“What do you think?” He spat at her. “Do you think I aspired to be a single old man who lives with himself and his bugs? Do you?” His thoughts went back to the empty obituary he had pictured just minutes before.

“Mr Grissom, don’t get defensive with me. This is why you are here, to deal with your problems.”

“Can we change the subject please?”

“Sure. What about masturbation? How often do you masturbate in the span of a week?”

She was taking notes and it made him uncomfortable, shifting in his chair. He was silent. She really knew how to lighten the mood, he laughed silently to himself; to go from talking about feelings to talking about masturbation.

“I can’t help you if you aren’t willing to help yourself.” Her voice was condescending as she looked at him over the top of her glasses. He knew that look; he had used it before when he knew that Catherine wasn’t being completely truthful with him or when he knew that Warrick had started gambling again.

“Let me see,” he began. Quickly he did the math in his head; five times a day for seven days. Yes that’s thirty five times, at least. “Somewhere in the ballpark of thirty-five times, I guess.” He got silent.

She sensed his embarrassment. “Mr Grissom, there is nothing to be embarrassed about. That is about normal for people suffering from this illness, some are even worse.” Grissom looked at her trying to will himself to feel better about it.

“Do you want to talk about this? Do you feel it is getting worse?”

He was soundless. His head slowly nodded. “It has been harder to control. I nearly got caught at work. Me. A respected member of the lab nearly got caught whacking off in the men’s bathroom like some horny teenager in high school.” He shook his head.

“Tell me about it.” She urged him on.

“Its embarrassing.” He blushed lightly.

“Mr Grissom, it would have to be really awful for it to offend me, come on, tell me. It will help you to better deal with it.”

“Alright,” He began. “I ran out of my office with my hands in my pockets, mostly to hide the erection growing in my pants. I had my lubricant in my left hand.” He paused briefly. “I keep it in my drawer in my office, it makes it easier. I ran to the men’s bathroom nearly knocking over anyone in my way.” He stopped and looked at the ceiling. “I always went into the handicapped bathroom, it was furthest from the door and offered me more privacy for what I was doing.” His face was getting hot.

“Continue.” She urged him.

“I perched on the toilet with my pants and underwear around my ankles on the floor. I had done this many times before, twice already this same day.” His voice drifted away. He cleared his throat. “I placed a small bit of lube in my hand and …”

“Are you going to continue?” She questioned.

“Do I have to?” She gave him a ‘I hope you don’t think you are done’ look. He cleared his throat again. “I began to rub myself. I was good and hard and I quickened my pace.” He paused. “It was then I heard voices, I couldn’t recognize them. I didn’t want to get busted but I was caught up in what I was doing, I just pushed them into the back of my mind and went on with what I was doing.” He wiped his brow. When did I start sweating? “I pumped hard in my hand biting back the groan that was emitting low in my throat. That would give me away for sure.” He closed his eyes for a minute to regain his senses. “Within seconds I let go into the tissue I had in my hand. It was everywhere but by now I was used to this. I waited for them to all vacate the bathroom before I got up, I didn’t want to risk anyone seeing me. I returned to my office.”

“So how did that make you feel?” She asked.

“When?” He paused. “Now or then?”

“Both. Now first. Then we will discuss then.”

“That was actually liberating. It was extremely embarrassing, but liberating no less.”

“Explain to me what you mean by liberating?”

“It is nice for a change not to be the only one with the knowledge of what is actually going on with me. It kind of liberates me. Is this making any sense to you?” He looked at the doctor.

“Why yes, it means that we are making progress.” She jotted something down quickly. “So, how did it make you feel then, while you were doing this?”

“Repulsive, really quite repulsive. To be a man of my age cowering in the men’s room whacking myself off was really quite revolting. I was ashamed and that shame got worse when I got company.”

“There is nothing to be ashamed of, you are ill.” She took her glasses off and sat them on the table beside her. “Besides, you are getting help. You should feel proud of yourself.” She got up and walked over to the cupboard and returned to her seat and crossed her legs. “How about we try some word association? I’ll show you some pictures and you tell me the first thing that comes to mind. Lay back and relax.” Doing so he tried to push all the thoughts of Sara out of his head.

The doctor began to flip flash cards in front of Grissom. “Tell me the first thing that jumps in your head.”

She showed him the first flash card; it was nothing more than a blob on the paper. “What does this make you think of?”

“Sara.”

“And this one?”

“Sara.”

“And this one?”

“Sara again.”

“Mr Grissom, who is Sara?”

“What?” He asked. He didn’t even realize what he had just said to her.

“Who is Sara, do you care to fill me in?” His eyes were filled with shock.

“Sara is a co-worker.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “ More specifically I’m her boss.”

“So tell me, why is this Sara occupying your thoughts? Have you had a relationship with Sara?”

“Er um aah.”

“Spit it out, after what we already talked about, this should be easy.”

“Yes. We have had a relationship.”

“What about now?”

“No.”

“Care to elaborate, Mr Grissom?”

“No.” He was abrupt and shifted in his seat.

“Alright, I’ll let you off this time, but we will discuss this next time, agreed?” He nodded. “Same time next week.”


In the truck on the way home; the therapist’s comments rang out in his head. So tell me, why is this Sara occupying your thoughts? Why was she occupying his thoughts? What they had was long ago. She had moved on or so he thought until he asked her to come to Vegas and she did. Why did he asked her to come to Vegas? He was so stupid. Maybe this would have never happened if he never asked her to come and investigate Warrick. This was his entire fault. All that pain came rushing back to him.

He got out of the truck and rushed into the house. He had gotten into a routine on the days he went to the therapist. He would come home thinking of Sara, masturbate, take a cold shower and then go to sleep, waking up early enough to head over to Belladonna’s for his daily rendezvous with Candy. He would then go to the office to work late and practice for false persona, his “I’m alright” expression while he was there and pick away at his work.

He used to love work, even live for work but these days it was just another façade he was keeping up. He was a workaholic and had been for as long as he could remember but lately he was dragging his ass to work. It was fortunate for him that he was respected and most people found him to be odd to say the least. What else were they supposed to think about a single man who was pushing fifty? He figured that most people would probably be relieved he was sleeping with women; it would dispel the rumors that he was gay. He didn’t care about rumors though, they kept them all in the dark about the true Gil Grissom.

He hadn’t worked with Sara in forever. He tended to pair himself with Greg or Sophia. Mostly Greg though so he could hide behind mentoring him. He was new to the field and the poor boy looked up to him and even respected him. Grissom was nearly ecstatic that Catherine was in charge of her own shift, she could read him too well and that wasn’t what he needed. Catherine had called him on his actions many times before. If she wasn’t working with him so much she would at least leave him alone. He was content just to hide.

He rolled over to go to sleep willing the impure thoughts away. If he was a praying man he would’ve prayed for her memory to be stripped from his brain, but he hadn’t conversed with God since his father left. As far as Grissom was concerned, as religious as his father claimed to be, it never helped him accept his wife’s illness or his eccentric young son. God was never there when Grissom needed him, so why would this time be any different. Besides, he was sure that God wouldn’t forgive him for any amount of Hail Mary’s or Our Father’s. He may be a forgiving man, but he wouldn’t forgive his recent behavior. Nothing would help him to repent for the sins he has caused to himself and to Sara. The thoughts of his father invaded his mind for a few minutes and made him angry enough that he could will himself to sleep.

“Gil stop using that foolish language and talk to me like a normal person.”

“Its called Sign Language.” The small blue-eyed boy spoke out. “And it’s the only way momma can talk to us. She is deaf you know.”

“I know she’s deaf. I’m not stupid.” Could have fooled me the little boy thought to himself.

The man went in the bedroom and appeared a few minutes later carrying a suitcase. “Where are you going daddy?” The boy asked with hurt in his voice.

“Away from here. That freak of a mother of yours has corrupted you too.” The words were harsh.

He looked over and saw his mother crying into her hands. “Why are you doing this daddy? Don’t you love us?”

The man walked away. The door banged shut.

Mommy, it will be ok, I’ll take care of you. He signed to her.

She pulled him into a warm embrace and held him tight the tears dripping from her red eyes.

The week seemed to fly by. His appointment with the therapist was the next day and he was nervous about discussing Sara with her. He woke up at four in the afternoon and decided to skip food and head straight to the brothel. Blanche greeted him at the door and took him aside.

“Mr. Grissom, are you happy with the services Candy has been offering you?”

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“She has asked me to pair you with another one of our girls.”

“Did she say why?”

“Yes.”

“Would you mind telling me?”

“You scared her, to be honest. She said you were unfeeling and it was not something she could deal with, she is young and new to this.” She waited for his reaction. “Do you have any preferences on who I should pair you with this time?”

“Someone older, maybe, if she could be.” He thought for a minute. “They have to be brunette and thin. That would be appreciated.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” She walked away and returned within minutes. “Mr Grissom, you are with Beatrice today. She is thorough and should be to your liking. She is the second door on the right at the top of the stairs.”

“Thanks.” He said moving quickly up the stairs.

Beatrice met him at the door to her room. “I’m Beatrice, but you can call me Bea, that’s what everyone calls me.”

“Hello, Bea.” He said walking inside the room. Beatrice was a thin woman who looked older than he presumed her to be. He guessed her age to be around forty but time had not been kind to her. He figured that a life of drugs and alcohol had led to her haggard appearance. Not to mention the sex He couldn’t imagine what a life of meaningless sex had done to her. He knew what it was doing to him.

She was dressed in a black bustier and g-string accompanied by a see-thru robe. He figured that was probably the preferred dress of this profession. Most of the girls he had seen dressed similar. Her hair was dark, but not dark like Sara’s. No ones’ was like Sara’s. Hers was unique. Only Sara could be Sara. Her hair looked course like straw. He assumed it was due to brown not being her original color and the years of peroxide and ammonia to color it that way.

“How do you wanna do this, sweetheart?” Her accent was Southern. He placed her probably from Louisiana. “What do you like?” She said as she toyed with the buttons on his shirt.

He shot her hand away from him. “I only like what I like and nothing more. Is that going to be a problem?”

“No sir, I’m a professional, I have been doing this for over twenty years. Since I was seventeen.” She looked in his eyes. “So what do you want?”

“Felatio and intercourse, nothing more, no foreplay, no kissing and no touching other than that.”

“Your wish is my command sweetie, it’s your dollar.”

She lay on the bed and pulled him near. He removed his pants and stood before her. The whole time she was doing her job his mind was on someone else; that someone was Sara. Bea finished and he left the money on the table and walked out. He went home to shower before he went to work.