Seatbacks and Tray Tables | Prequel to The Liberated Wife by Danica Boutté

I walked down to our basement storage and picked a suitcase for my trip.  I’d be in Miami for five days so I couldn’t take a carryon and decided on the mid-size bag.  I grabbed a travel laundry bag from the basket of travel accessories on the shelf, which held luggage, and looked around at the neat, orderly basement with pride.  Jim and I had installed wall-to-wall galvanized storage shelves and arranged everything according to use, labeling appropriately.  Everything had a place.  My tools and crafts, all of our holiday décor, the different outdoor wreaths I changed monthly, all of it had a place on the shelves.  I even had an entire wall for all of my entertainment dishes, which didn’t store properly in our butler’s pantry.  It took us years to do it all properly but now that it was done, it was a true Virgo’s dream storage and well, a true Virgo I certainly am.
    I took the suitcase up to our master suite and placed it on the pullout luggage rack Jim had designed into the jewelry and accessory island and started packing.  The weather in Miami was supposed to be perfect for most of the time I would be there and my agenda was filled with meetings, panels and interviews so I chose flattering necklines and figure enhancing clothes.  Most of the tops I picked were sleeveless with some sort of embellishment or a flow to it given I still hadn’t grown the large breasts my mother had that I begged for as a teenager.  I mean, I have enough, but sometimes a girl wishes she had more you know?
    “Taylor?”  Jim called as he walked into the room.  “Where are you?”
    “In my closet.” I called out and looked up with a smile as he stuck his head in the doorway.  He was wearing jeans and a light gray and blue striped dress shirt looking boyishly handsome as always.  His hair was perfectly haphazard in the way only a $200 haircut could be.
    “Hey.  Are you finished packing yet?  I wanted to talk to you about something.”
    “Not about vacation with your parents again I hope because honestly Jim.”
    He looked annoyed.  “No, Taylor.  I would never force my parents on you again.  Ever.  You’ve made yourself more than clear.  I just want to go over the list of sponsors at the convention you should make a connection with and a few other things.”
    “Oh, o kay.  I’m almost finished.”  I held up two pairs of almost identical Jimmy Choo’s.  “Which pair?”
    His look of annoyance deepened.  “Seriously?”  And he walked out.
    “Party pooper.   What do you think Winston?”  I asked our dog.  He opened one eye at the sound of his name and immediately closed it back.   I looked at the pairs of shoes and put them both in their shoe bags adding them to the suitcase zipping it up.  Then, I started choosing jewelry, laying it all out on the velvet tray on top of the island.
    It took me about twenty more minutes but I was finished packing by the looks of all the check marks on my packing list and I went to our office to place the list on my desk so I could start packing my computer bag.  As a lifestyle blogger I was never far away from my MacBook Pro, my internet hotspot, my iPad, smart phone and several peripherals.   
    I noticed Jim’s Fortune magazine on my desk and tossed it over to his desk where it landed on his keyboard, which illuminated the screen to his iMac.  As always, some form of porn was paused.  This time the woman had her back arched while being impaled by the man behind her, her skirt pulled up around her waist and her shirt missing.  The man was half dressed as if the decision to fuck was instant without time to undress properly. 
    One of his hands was caressing one of her voluminous breasts he’d released from her black lace bra and the other was, presumably, on her clitoris.  His lips were almost on hers as her head was turned to the side seeking his mouth with what seemed to be an escaped, “Oh.” The picture was so erotic and I wondered what category