She wondered about taboo; she liked the sound of the word, she liked what the word meant and how the word and meaning scared the average person. Yes, she had read taboo in stories; she had met the man who encased the word, he was dark eyed, dark haired and very very sexy. She had taken him from marriages, relationships, and having to be hourly accounted for; to places in his mind that was truly erotic for him, places in hotel rooms that released him from the daily grind, places that made him orgasm, harden and think; places that he wanted to return to, places that he was aroused by and were taboo.

He wanted to know, they shared what they liked. They would message each other when they saw things that aroused, women with long blonde hair, with pencil line skirts, that outlined the curves of their bodies. He would watch the woman bend, straighten her skirt, skim her hands over her hips and arse, this would send a message straight to his cock; he would harden and text, interstate. She would receive the text, the message would register and send spasms of arousal straight to her pussy. Her lips would plump, her eyes would brighten and her arousal would show as a smile on her face.

Men would smile at her when they recognised the look. If they thought about it, and only a very small percentage would, they would recognize it as a glow. Men knew it as the feeling when a woman had orgasmed around their cock, her face and body flushed; a tightness of pussy, a receding of thrust, a gentle taboo. It was a moment that women held onto, they would soften, become beautiful and feel fulfilled. For some the word meant danger; for the lucky ones taboo was a moment to be filed away and replayed in quietness, in a taste of a wine, or the line of a leg. Taboo; a moment, a measure, or a memory.