Seatbacks and Tray Tables | Prequel to The Liberated Wife

by Danica Boutté

  “I know. My sister’s husband was on that site.”

  I looked at her confused. She nodded toward Jim’s letter.

  “That site.”

  “Oh. OH! Okay.”

  The gate agent gave me my new ticket and Cheryl rounded the counter and gently put her hand on my elbow and led me out of earshot of those around us.

  “She tried to do it for almost a year but it killed her. She would sit home and worry herself wondering where he was and what or who he was doing. She stayed because of their children and she was a shell of herself when she finally told me what she was dealing with.”

  I started crying again.

  “I was so furious I started packing his shit myself and throwing it out of the house. The only reason I stopped was because I knew my nephews and my niece were on their way home from school. I sent my sister to my house with them when they got there and I waited on my brother-in-law to get home.”

  “What did you do?”

  “My brother and two of my cousins convinced him it would be best if he slept elsewhere and that’s all I have to say about that.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “About three years ago. She’s remarried and happy now. Started a group for teenage girls focusing on teaching them confidence. She thinks that’s why she stayed because she didn’t have confidence and she was insecure.”

  “Oh.”

  “Look…it’s a lot I know. Here is my unsolicited advice. If you decide to stay, remember that an open marriage is open at both ends.”

  I looked at her puzzled and she sighed as if I was dumb. She looked around to make sure we weren’t being overheard. “Get you a fuck buddy and enjoy yourself instead of waiting around while he dips his peen in other women.”

  And I blushed beet red again. She softened and surprised me by giving me a quick hug. “Enjoy First Class.”

  “Thank you. Oh…may I ask you a question?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Where did you buy a scrunchie? I haven’t seen one in years.”

  She burst out laughing. “Me neither. I saw a tutorial on Pinterest and made my own. I like them.”

  They both noticed the woman staring at them at the same time. The woman took their notice as permission to approach and gushed, “Taylor Ansley? Ohmygosh I just love your blog! Are you on your way to the Design Blogger’s Conference in Miami?”

  “And on that note…I’m out. Have fun in Miami.” Cheryl said.

  “Thank you, Cheryl.”

  “You’re welcome.” And she left. I took a deep breath and tried to put on a good face while the fan told me all about her kitchen disaster remodel.

  ###

  I was distracted by checking comments on my blog so it was a while before I got on the plane. I was balancing my computer bag, my magazines, the snack bag Jim had given me, my purse and my coffee. My seat was 6A and I saw him in 6B pretty much immediately. Of course he’d been one of the first to get on the plane so he was settled and comfortable reading something on his phone again. I stopped beside him and he looked up at me. He unfolded his long limbs and stood up as I scooted past him to get to my seat.

  “Would you like me to hold that?” he asked and I looked at him quickly confused. “Your coffee. Would you like me to hold it as you get settled?”

  “Oh. Of course. Yes, please.” And I handed him the coffee and then put my computer bag under the seat in front of me and my magazines in the seat pocket. I was extremely aware of him watching me to see when he should pass the coffee back and I realized how stupid I’d been to not have already thrown it out because it was completely cold by now and I hated cold coffee. There is just no getting past that for me. I hated Frappuccino’s and all of that. I didn’t even like coffee flavored ice cream.

  I reached my hand out towards him. “Thank you. I’ll take that now.”

  The rest of the passengers boarded and the flight attendant asked us if there was anything we needed before takeoff. I handed her my coffee and asked her if she’d please throw it away for me. She took it away and my phone started ringing. I dug it out of my purse and saw that it was Jim. I sent the call to voicemail and then it signaled I had a text message. I opened the text message from Jim: I love you. Travel safe. I wanted to text back BITE ME! but I didn’t.

  I turned off my phone and put it back in my bag. My seatmate was still reading something on his phone and, once the announcement to put it away was made, he did so and then crossed his leg over his knee. I looked down at his crotch and noticed the bulge against his pants and looked up to find him watching me with a smirk on his face.

  “So, is Miami home or is home here?”

  Embarrassed as hell I stuttered, “I, I mean I’m, I’m from here.”

  “So is this trip work or pleasure?”

  And I realized I’d been holding my breath. I exhaled and then inhaled, smelling his amazing scent and wondering why he wasn’t wrinkled. And why he was laughing at me. “Work. Kinda. I’m a blogger. I’m on a panel. Down there. In Miami.”

  “A blogger? Let me guess, you’re a sports blogger.” He smiled.

  And his whole face lit up like a 12 year old boy who’d made a joke. Damn he is handsome.

  “Why yes. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me. I’m Tom…assina Brady.” I laughed. I can’t believe it. I actually laughed.

  “Ah! Tomassina.” He licked his lips quickly and smiled, “So nice to meet you. I’m Christopher Reddick.” And he held his hand out. I held my hand out slowly and he took it looking into my eyes. The shock was electric and I blinked like a light had gone out suddenly, startled. He released my hand and I felt it throb and I looked down catching the slight twitch of the bulge between his legs. What in the hell? I turned to the window as we took off.

  “It’s not going to help you know.”

  Startled at the sound of his voice, I jumped a bit. “What’s not going to help?”

  “Pretending I’m not here for the rest of the flight.”

  “I wasn’t doing that.”

  “Yes you were.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes I do.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “Yes. I do. I know that and more about you.”

  “What in the world could you know about me?”

  “I know that someone made you cry this morning and that someone is probably your husband which is why you didn’t answer the phone when he called.”

  “How do you know that was my husband who called?”

  “Because if you were my woman I’d make sure you made it to your plane safely too. So, what did he do to hurt you so badly?”

  “You’re mighty damn cheeky.”

  He laughed. “Did you say cheeky? That’s priceless.”

  I turned away from him again.

  “You’re not going to tell me? The stranger you’ll never see again? Haven’t you heard it’s all the rage to talk your seatmate’s ear off with your woes while traveling?”

  I didn’t say anything. He leaned closer. Not even over the line of my armrest but I felt him closer. He dropped his voice, “Taylor…”

  I whipped my head around, “How do you know my name?”

  “They called you up to the counter at the gate.”

  “You were watching me?”

  “Well, you were watching me so why wouldn’t I?”

  “I wasn’t watching you!”

  “Yes you were.”

  “Here we go with this again.”

  The flight attendant came and asked if we wanted anything.

  “We’ll both have a Bloody Mary. Leave the can of mix unopened as well as the bottles. And we’ll have two bottles each please.”

  “I don’t want a Bloody Mary.”

  “Yes you do.” He addressed the flight attendant, “And she needs something to eat.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “The hell?????”

>   “You’ll thank me later. Trust me. Now, are you going to tell me why you’ve been crying?”

  “Because men suck.”

  “Yes, we do. In more ways than one. So do women.”

  “Why do I have the feeling you’re baiting me?”

  “I’m not Taylor, um, Tomassina. I’m just here so why not listen if you want to talk? What’s the harm in that?”

  I stared at him and he stared back.

  “Yes. It was my husband.”

  “What happened? Did he cheat on you?”

  “No. I mean yes. Well, he did before but we went to therapy and well, he hasn’t cheated again but he wants to.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He told me.”

  “He told you?”

  “Yes. He says he wants an open marriage.”

  “Oh.” He seemed at a loss for words.

  “Yeah. Oh.”

  The flight attendant returned with our drinks and he expertly mixed first his and then mine. When he’d finished, the stewardess brought me a bagel and cream cheese with some fruit.

  He waited until she left. “Well, did you agree to it?”

  “No. “ I took a big swallow of my drink and he added more mix to it and emptied the second bottle into it for me.

  “So what happens now?”

  “I don’t know. I guess he’s going to do whatever he wants anyway so…”

  “Interesting choices you have.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Agree to an open marriage or blame yourself when he cheats again because you know he’s going to cheat again right?”

  “Yes. He said he’s already met someone.”

  “Wow. What an ass.”

  “I know, right?”

  “So, have you thought about what having an open marriage means for you?”

  “Yes. I’m giving my husband permission to sleep with other women.”

  “And he’s giving you permission to sleep with other men, or women if you so prefer.”

  “Um…no. Just men.”

  “Just men then.”

  “But, I, well…I don’t think I’d ever do that.”

  “Trust me, he doesn’t think so either.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No man would rest well knowing you were in the bed of another man. You’re not the type of woman who can do that. You’d end up making a man fall in love with you and he’d do whatever it takes to keep you.”

  I took another gulp of my drink starting to feel warm. “That’s what he’s thinking?”

  “Maybe. Probably.”

  I started looking out the window again.

  “Are you married?”

  “No. I’m divorced.”

  “Did you cheat?”

  “No.”

  “Did she?” I looked at him.

  “No. But she wanted someone there all the time and my work didn’t allow me to be there all of the time so she wanted out to find someone else.”

  “Did she?”

  “Within six months.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “No. I have women I have sex with. Often.”

  Fuck buddies I thought. Why in the hell is he staring at me so intently? “Do you want to get married again?”

  “Yes.” He raised his glass and took a sip of his drink.

  “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

  “Because I think you’re beautiful.”

  “Is this how you get women?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you hitting on me?”

  “I have been since the moment you almost caught me looking at your ass at Starbucks.”

  I caught my breath but didn’t look away. “I’ve never…”

  “I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do.”

  He put his hand on mine and that shock shit happened again.

  “Do you feel that Taylor?”

  “Yes.”

  “That only happens when it’s going to be good. Great even.”

  “It’s happened to you before?”

  “Twice before.” He turned my hand over and I felt warm from the drink and warm from his touch. It was so sweet and the emotions pouring out of me were so intense that I felt the tears again because he was right. Jim didn’t think I had a choice. He thought I was going to agree to it and then stay home and let it beat me to the ground like Cheryl’s sister except I don’t have a sister that I’d ever tell. And the tears started again. Slowly, as I finished my drink.

  He used his other hand to pull out a handkerchief and used it to wipe my cheek and then handed it to me. He was being so sweet. So thoughtful. I lifted his hand and put it in my lap thinking I won’t let Jim break me. I looked over and saw that Christopher was staring at me again and I looked down to his now very large bulge. He released my hand in my lap and palmed my thigh. I pulled my wrap up over his hand and moved his hand up my thigh until his thumb was in throbbing distance of my clitoris. I didn’t know how his hand hadn’t melted I was so hot down there. And he moved his thumb closer, his fingers splayed and I closed my eyes and lifted my hips up into his hand and his finger found my center and lightly rubbed over it. I groaned.

  “Shhhhh Tomassina.”

  I couldn’t look at him so I didn’t and he started moving his finger back and forth with slow but solid persistence and I squirmed, lifting my hips up in a mock grind you could hardly detect. It was the most amazingly sweltering feeling all over my whole body and I felt the pressure building. Winding me up making even my toes moist and hot as I couldn’t focus on anything but his finger, back and forth, sweeping slowly and hotly across my pussy and then it snapped and I opened my mouth silently as Christopher turned to me and captured my silent cry in his mouth kissing me ardently, on a plane. On a plane I’ll get off in less than an hour never to see him again because he’s a stranger and my breathing slowed as he stopped kissing me and he pulled his thumb up to his nose and smelled me on his hand, his eyes dark. I turned my head back to the window, as I couldn’t look at him. I wanted to bury my head in my hands in shame and never look up again. He pressed the call button and asked the flight attendant for two more drinks. When she left he leaned over to me.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  I didn’t say anything and kept looking out the window. This time yesterday I was happily married. Perfectly content with my life as it was, flaws and all, and today my husband wants permission to sleep with other women and I just let a stranger make me cum on an airplane where anyone could have caught us had they looked long enough. This can’t be me. I can’t do this. I can’t do this to my brand. I’m a brand. I have people who depend on me and my brand to be constant. I can’t have things out there about my husband sleeping around and me damn near fucking strangers on planes.

  The flight attendant brought our drinks and he mixed them again using his right hand for everything. He handed me my drink and I downed it. He topped it off again and I downed that too leaning into my seat.

  Jim would never think that I’d do something like this. We never talked about it but a major problem in our marriage is that he has this Madonna/whore complex when it comes to me. He loves porn and would probably fuck anything with a beaver but me? He doesn’t like me to be overly sexual. Says it’s odd. I’m his wife. He cherishes me. Treats me like a Princess when really I’m screaming inside to be my husband’s dirty whore. I snuck a look at Christopher’s perfect nose and he turned to me.

  “Are you okay?”

  “How do I smell?”

  “Fuck, don’t do this to me Taylor. Please.”

  “How do I smell?” I leaned toward him. “Does my pussy smell good to you?”

  He closed his eyes and groaned. “Yes.” He lifted his thumb back up to his nose. “It smells so good. I want to put my nose in your pussy and lick you slick.”

  “No you don’t.”


  “Yes I do.”

  And I pulled my wrap over to his lap under his tray and unzipped his pants.

  “Taylor…” he growled.

  “My pussy is so hot for you right now.” And I pulled his penis through the hole in his underwear with my eyes widening at the length and thickness of it in my hand.

  “You’re playing with fire.”

  “No I’m not.”

  “Yes you are. I’m not going to let you get away from me if you push me over the edge like this.”

  I licked my lips and he groaned again with his mouth closed looking into my eyes as I stroked him. I lifted my hand and licked the tips of my fingers wetting them and placed it back on his large cock stroking him up and down, looking into his eyes. Stroking him past that point and over that edge into my wrap. I moved his still solid penis back inside the hole of his underwear and zipped his pants back up, pulling my wrap away carefully and folding it placing it inside the bag my magazines came in.

  Then I unbuckled my seatbelt and went to the bathroom where I wiped myself dry surprised at the amount of cum clinging to me. I then wetted a napkin and added a dab of liquid soap to wipe myself and try to get rid of that musky, hot smell from my pussy. I dried myself again and washed my hands really well before dabbing a cool, damp napkin to my neck to cool me down. I looked at myself in the horrible airplane bathroom mirror and I cringed at how I looked swollen all over.

  Even the release of an orgasm didn’t remove the pain from Jim’s betrayal of our marriage vows. I got sad thinking that even as I hadn’t given him an answer, my recent actions had answered for him. For me. His Madonna was going to be game for it and I doubt if he was ready. I didn’t know what this meant for us and our future but I figured it would all be orderly and polite as always. Except for his hair that was always tussled boyishly consistently - like a bad boy with his shirttail out when it was tucked in not five minutes before. I doubt if he was ready for what he’s done to us. I doubt if I’m ready.

  Using the napkin to open the bathroom door, I returned to my seat and noticed Christopher was gone. He must have gone to the restroom in the back. I consolidated our drink containers and hit the call button for the flight attendant and she came and removed them and my bagel, which I hadn’t touched.

  When Christopher returned to his seat he smelled fresh and clean. He didn’t say anything and looked straight ahead capturing my hand in his and holding it firmly.