Complete anonymity

I sit in the quiet, padded room in complete darkness. No sound intrudes from outside. I have no idea how long I've been in here. Definitely more than ten minutes, but it could be an hour.

I scratch my side, the sound of my nails on my bare skin loud in my ears. I think back on the questionnaire I filled out earlier, listing preferences, things I'd like to do and things I definitely wouldn't. This wasn't a dating service, it wasn't even a hookup service, not in the traditional sense. You didn't get to see photos, or read about hobbies, or even chat. You got three choices: age range, gender, and what acts you were looking to participate in.

The Darkness was a really strange sex club meets social experiment. The founders have a manifesto, claiming to want to decouple sex from appearance and attraction, simplifying it to nothing but the act itself. Two people bringing each other pleasure, who never have to even speak, know each other's names, or even what they look like. As near the platonic ideal of anonymous sex as was achievable in the physical realm.

I ponder the strange cave where the shadows of idealized anonymous banging appear on the wall, the chains keeping me from turning around briefly clear on my wrists and ankles.

Time is growing meaningless as I sit in the quiet dark. It is supposed to heighten the experience, let the body rely on other senses, touch, taste, smell, hearing. Some reviews mentioned being in a trance-like state by the time the second door opened.

The room is big enough that I could lay stretched out in the center and not touch any of the walls, so that's what I do. In my imagination, I'm a star fish, the darkness around me caused by the unimaginable weight of ocean water above me blocking out the bright rays of the sun.

In the first few minutes in this room, I'd known some anxiety. Should I have shaved instead of just trimming my pubic hair? Does my breath smell? What if they don't like what I do, or I can't get them off? Should I have made different choices on the form earlier? The darkness and quiet has taken them away though. I am here, my partner for the evening will be here, both of our own free will.

All I hear is the blood pumping through my ears. I can't even hear the ventilation, which was entirely on purpose. I know there's some necessities by the second door. Condoms, dental dams, gloves, lube, towels, bottled water. I haven't seen them, but the pamphlet had told me exactly where they were.

I can hear my own heart beat its slow rhythm when the door opens, causing it to leap up into my throat. I sit up immediately, folding my legs under myself. I don't want to get stepped on, there was a specific checkbox for that and I left it empty.

"Hi." Their voice is deep and melodic.

"Hello," I respond, my throat suddenly dry.

I hear them move, but don't see anything. I can feel the air move over my skin as they move closer.

"Have you been here before?"

I suddenly regret checking the "talking okay" box. Really? You come here often? I take a deep breath, and center myself as best I can, waiting a few beats for my heart to slow and my emotions to calm. It's an innocent remark, and honestly useful information to have here. They're not trying to pick me up in a bar, we're past that already.

"First time. You?" I try to keep my voice warm and friendly, and think I mostly succeed. The room eats the sound of my voice as I speak. There is no echo, nothing reflects off the walls.

"Me too. I'm a little nervous if I'm honest."

I laugh softly, a nervous little laugh, and they join me right away.

"Same." I pause. "Did you wait long?"

There's a brief silence, before an amused, "I honestly have no idea."

"Me neither."

We sit silently. They're close, I can hear their breathing slow as they relax into the moment. I try to breathe in time with them, but start to feel out of breath soon. Bigger than me then, or maybe just in better shape.

"Would you mind if I laid down?"

"Not at all," I answer immediately.

I hear them shift, feel the stir in the air as they move. They're not close enough that I can feel the padding move.

"I'm laying down too," I say when the sound of movement stops.

Slowly, I settle. I don't mind the idea of touching them, I just don't want to bash our skulls together.

As we lay there in the dark, the air between us feels electric. I know nothing about this person, they know nothing about me. All we know is that we both want to do the same things tonight. I consider asking for their pronouns, but there is no one else here so there's no need to refer to them in the third person. I enjoy knowing as little about them as possible.

"Can I hold your hand?" they ask.

"Yes."

I slowly reach out, crawling my hand along the floor. The first thing I touch is a wrist, turned up. I can feel the sinew and the swell upwards toward their palm. Proprioception takes over, and without any further hesitation, our hands find each other.

Their hand is soft, but strong. No callouses I can feel.

"Hi," they say again.

"Hello," I repeat.

"It was beginning to feel a little lonely here in the dark."

"Mm-hmm."

There's a deep thrill in knowing so little about this person that soon enough will hopefully be getting me off. I don't even know for sure what equipment they have, nor do I care. I ticked all the boxes.

"How would you like to start?" I ask.

I hear their breath catch, and I almost feel like I can hear their heartbeat. Are they having second thoughts?

"Oh god, this is so weird to say." Their nerves are clear in their voice.

"It's okay, we both know why we're here."

"I'd like to just touch you if that's okay, to start out with."

"Mm-hmm, that's fine."

I hear them shift, their hand leaving mine already. Did they sit up? Or are they kneeling? Or did they just roll over onto their side?

As they move closer, I can smell the soap they used. Floral and light, barely there at all. Is that a brush of long hair across my hand?

I jump as their hands touch my underarm.

"Sorry!" they say, pulling away.

I shake my head, then realize they can't see me. "I'm a little nervous too, go ahead."

Their hands touch my arm again, gentle fingertips running along the sensitive skin on the inside. I had expected something quick, a confident partner kissing me without a word, then quick, intense sex trying to race each other to orgasm, but this touch alone said this was going to be different.

"That feels nice," I say, meaning it.

"Do you want a massage?"

I consider it. I like massages, but it's not what I'm in the mood for. It is one of the options I left unchecked. I also don't want to turn things awkward.

"I'd like more of this, all over," I say, compromising. I really do enjoy their gentle touch, and the idea of them exploring my body feels nice. There is no rush, the room is ours as long as we want it.

They move slowly up my arm, then pause near my shoulder.

"Can I touch your chest?"

"Mm-hmm."

They shift, their leg bumping into my hand. I pull it back, I haven't asked to touch them yet.

"Sorry," they say, then pause. "You don't have to move your hand if you don't want to."

I put my hand back on their thigh, somewhere close to the knee I think. Their skin is soft, and I can barely feel a light fuzz of hair.

I hum softly in appreciation as their fingertips glide along my shoulder and down my sternum. They stop around my belly button then go back up along my side. They move closer, my hand sliding up their thigh and onto their hip. Now both hands slide in along my collarbones, down my sternum, then down my sides and along my legs down to the knee, up my thighs. The perfect PG version of an erotic massage.

I can smell their excitement in the air, a clean scent that goes straight to the animal part of my brain. Something in that smell changes how their fingers feel on my skin. The areas their fingers steer away from aren't being avoided out of an unwillingness to touch me there, they are building our anticipation. It must take a lot of willpower to keep their hands away.

My body responds to the new realization, blood rushing, back arching, skin flushing red in the pitch black room. I ache to be touched, their network tv safe touch only fueling the fire inside of me.

"You don't have to be shy, you can touch me wherever," I say, trying to sound sexy. My voice catches a little, ruining the sentiment in my ears.

"Your skin feels very soft," they say, then I hear their mouth shut with a click and their hands pull away. "Sorry, that sounds like I'm a serial killer."

I purposefully keep my hand on their side, squeezing gently. "It's okay, I once told someone I liked how their skin smelled in an elevator when I was trying to compliment their perfume."

They laugh, their voice switching to a different register, high and warm.

"I thought I would die, I was so embarrassed. We were both going to the top floor too, twenty stories up." I pause, gently rubbing their side. "I don't think you're a serial killer, don't worry."

I pause again, consider, then decide.

"Kiss me."

I feel them move, and slide my arm up their side to guide them close. Their long hair drapes over my face, but slides off as they get so close. The first attempt, we miss, their mouth hitting my nose. They giggle, then find their target on the second try.

Their lips are soft on my own, smooth skin brushing against mine. The idea that I don't know anything about this person, barely exchanged two dozen words with them, and now we're naked and making out, floods my awareness. I float in the darkness, aware of nothing but the mint flavor of their mouth and the gentle probing of their tongue along my lips.

I part them, then dart my tongue out to meet theirs. I feel the heat inside me build, then reflect off them and back into myself. Seconds later, we're both moaning, our tongues twining. Tentatively, I nibble on their lower lip and they melt against me. Their fingers brush through my hair as mine tangle in theirs.

The slow start is soon forgotten. Their hands roam over my body, focusing on the areas they previously ignored, touching, probing, tweaking, cupping, brushing, pinching. My own fingers run along their sides, their chest, their back, pulling them on top of myself. My hands find their butt, one on each cheek, and I squeeze.

The darkness does indeed make me feel much more. Every inch of their body pressed against mine distinct and delicious. I can smell their soap, their shampoo, the spearmint gum they'd chewed before coming here. Their excitement floods all my senses, the little moans, the hint of a clean smell, the intensity of their touch, all build on my own.

Without a further word, they kiss down my neck, along my chest and stomach, until their head is between my legs. I look down, purely out of habit. All I see is colors swirling, shapes changing, the biologic equivalent of a tv tuned to a dead channel.

Their fingers on me make me gasp. Gentle but firm, insistent. I moan, letting them know how good it feels. Their gentle touches earlier, combined with the ever increasing heat of our kiss, feeding off each other, had me writhing with anticipation already. I feel the pleasure and pressure inside me build as they work absolute magic, knowing instinctively where to touch and when.

They seem to sense how close I am getting and slow down. I whimper, needing the release, but loving the delay. Their tongue sends a shiver up my spine, a tremble, and I teeter on the edge for a brief second as they pause, then continue.

I stroke their hair, encouraging but not controlling or forcing. It's soft and luscious in my hands. I wonder what color it is, but cannot know, will likely never know. All I know is they're good, so very good. I can feel how they focus on me, on my pleasure. They hold me on the edge for as long as they can.

I feel a burning need inside me to say their name as I cum, but I don't know it, so I just scream my ecstasy wordlessly into the quiet room. I tremble, gripping them tight as their delicious tongue and mouth prolong my climax, then pull them up when the stimulation gets to be too much.

We kiss, and I can taste myself on their lips. I can feel in every motion they make that they want more, feel the heat inside of them reignite my own, and pull them up further.

The kneel with my face between their legs, stroking my hair as I try in vain to match their virtuoso oral performance. My fingers touch and caress and squeeze as I file away every little twitch and moan and gasp, finding what they like. I love this process, relish doing it with every new partner I am with, finding what brings them pleasure, what gets them off, then mercilessly exploiting it.

When I feel their balance shift, I steady them, and together we reposition so that they can rest on their hands. Their thighs either side of my head muffle sound further. Even the tiniest shudder feels like it translated directly into me, giving me back the feedback I lose from not hearing them. The smell of them fills my nostrils, not their soap, but of them. I feel myself grow more aroused, stoking the fire that was diminished with my climax, but is now raging anew.

When their climax comes, it surprises me with its intensity. I don't receive complaints about my skills with my mouth and fingers, but I feel I lack their intuitive touch. I try to keep up with them as they tremble and buck through their pleasure, until they pull away from me.

For a brief moment I'm alone in the room, laying on my back. All I can smell is them on my face and lips. Blood is rushing through my ears, effectively deafening me from their quiet breath and careful motions. After so much close and intimate contact, the lack leaves me floating in an ocean of darkness. My mind, suddenly devoid of stimulation, splashes colors in my field of vision. Again I want to call out their name, get them back, but I flounder as I still don't know it.

I feel a touch on my shoulder, then I hear them settle next to me. There's a loud crackle of plastic and the familiar pop-pop-pop of a twist cap breaking its security seal.

"Here, drink something." They guide my hand to the bottle and help me sit up a little. I smell nothing from the bottle, don't hear any bubbles effervescing.

The water is room temperature, but after the exertion of the last... How long has it been? I have no idea. The water is delicious, and I drink about half the bottle before handing it back.

I listen as they take small sips. The bottle crackles and I can hear them swallow carefully, nothing like my greedy gulps. The bottle crackles loudly again as they twist the cap back on, then I hear them lay down.

"You're really good at that," I say, my hand finds theirs as I speak, our fingers intertwining.

"You too, I think I blacked out for a sec there at the end."

Without a word, we both shift and embrace, bodies pressing together. I can feel the low burn of my arousal, in the background but not sated. We stroke each other's hair, a post-coital intimacy it usually takes me a while to work up to, but the anonymity in this pitch blackness destroys all social barriers for me.

I lose time again, pressed against them. This person I know nothing about, that played me like a fine instrument, who's fluids I can still feel on my face and taste on my tongue, is letting me lose myself in the comfort of their arms.

I start drawing patterns on their arm, enjoying how my fingertips glide through the slight sheen of sweat. They respond by pressing against me closer, their hands sliding down my spine. Their lips find mine, and we kiss. The intensity builds slowly, our caresses becoming more intimate.

Their hands squeeze my ass, then pull me on top of them with gentle pressure. I ease my weight onto them, our sweat slick skin sliding together. I want them so badly I can taste it, the heat in their touch and their inability to stay still underneath me tell me how much they want me as well.

"I want--" I break off, not able to articulate the sentiment adequately.

"Me too."

I shift and we find each other in the darkness, coming together like we both want and need. Pleasure shoots through me. I have known of this person's existence for all of... I really don't know how long, but less than an hour surely, and now we're pressed together, moving together, bringing each other such pleasure. The intensity of the experience is overwhelming and I teeter, but their hand on my chest steadies me.

There is an intensity in their movements that speaks of deep and overpowering desire, a need to reach a climax, but not before we are both ready. I feel their need reflected in myself, building with them, until it consumes me.

The physical sounds of our coupling are drowned out by our moans and grunts, our panting breath. All the self-consciousness about sounding "right" in this intimate moment was left outside this room, or was driven away by the darkness. The rawness of their responses drives my own, urging me on.

The smell of sex fills the room, mixing with the fresh smell of their sweat and my own. Their cries of pleasure sound close in the anechoic environment of the padded room, increasing the intimacy of the moment.

We shift, no words wasted on when or how, just because it feels like it is necessary. They are on top of me, and we find each other again. I steady them like they did me, the mirroring of our positions perfect in the moment.

The room spins around me, despite the solid contact with the padded floor. I feel like I'm floating on a sea of sensation, my only rock in the storm writhing against me as if our joined ecstasy is the only thing keeping us afloat.

Our motions grow more erratic as we get close, blood rushing, conscious control of our bodies becoming harder. I can feel them holding back, waiting for me. The intensity of pleasure they are feeling washes over me, putting me right on the edge.

"Yes," is all I can say, before we both crest and scream wordlessly in joined climax, both of us still moving together, trying to draw every last delicious hum and moan and grunt out of the other, needing this moment to be complete and all encompassing.

After, they lay on top of me in my arms. We stick together, fluids and sweat and emotional intensity keeping us close. We kiss, stroke each other's hair. Their fingers feel like heaven as the tips brush along my scalp.

The heat in our motions is gone, replaced by a depth of intimacy I can't remember feeling in years. Eventually, they slide off of me, and we cling to each other, not wanting to lose the moment but knowing it will end soon. The real world will intrude again, and it's likely we will never see each other again. I consider telling them my name, my phone number, every bit of information I can so we can find each other outside, but I don't. This is part of the experience. I hope I won't regret it after.

We kiss one last time, and I can feel that they know it's time as well.

"This was -- amazing," they say, and I recognize the inadequacy of the the word in their tone and inside myself.

"It was more," I say, and feel them nod.

Without another word we part, each back to our own doors. When I get through the second door, the lights in the dressing room are dim. My clothes sit where I left them. I shower in the little cubicle, quick and efficient, rinsing away the final evidence of our time together.

The towel is fluffy, the hairdryer efficient. I check myself in the mirror, then slip on my clothes, feeling the real world come back to me.

As I walk to the door, there's a tablet mounted on it. There's a big green YES and big red NO button on the screen, and some text.

"Do you want another experience tonight?"

I don't even have to think before tapping no. Something else, especially so soon, would tarnish what I had with my unknown partner.