The Dark Room: Part 1

A group of lesbians gathered together for a will reading in a stately white house. At the end, each of them received a key with a note.

Among them, a well-formed, curvaceous Scottish-Cherokee woman, Grace, took her key: it was golden, but generic.

Not a lesbian per se, Grace nonetheless moon-lighted with lesbians when she was not currently dancing at the pole-dance club in downtown Les Spirites: call it bi-sexual curiosity. With a dancer’s body, she was like a panther in the bedroom, among both men and women. Tired of men, she took more to women. And formed many partners.

One of her partner passed on. Some woman named “Kinky Pink” left her key to an old apartment complex. Her note instructed her to go there.

Grace drove in her Corolla to the complex. At full-height in the parking lot, she was formidably strong and beautiful: many hours on the pole left her thigh muscle rippling with strength. In daylight under a coat and trousers, her form was barely perceptible.

She entered the apartment complex and proceeded as directed from a note (paper) to a room.

Kinky Pink held some games in this complex: she remembered. Some of them inventive, others mundane. She once hid in rooms to avoid her sex toy, tucked securely in her groin from going off at Pink’s handheld remote.

Grace was successful on the pole: less so with tech sex gadget. Her strength and agility meant little or nothing where the reach of wireless signals were abuzz.

Grace enter a room as instructed. It was large, with blue carpeting: but dark. At the center, was a concave dish. At its terminus, in the center, was a small hole. On the table near the entry was another note.

“trigger the sensor to open the door, be smart, be sexy, be fluid”

Grace looked across the room: sure enough, there was a door. It had no apparent knob or device to open to it. It was seamless in the wall. For old times sake, Grace took off her clothes. She felt freer. With renewed focus, she examined the door. Whatever it was, it was impenetrable.

Grace prowled like a panther: irritated, her muscles rippling, useless once again in Pink’s world: even from the dead, Pink could frustrate her strength.

She look over the note: on the back was written, “be fluid with the dish, it holds the key”. The dancer stopped and looked keenly at the dish. It wasn’t really a dish, but like a dish: obviously an enclosure with sensors and some electronic or wireless connection to the door.

“Be fluid”. Grace understood word-play. She knelt and leaned her face near the dish: up close it was dazzlingly beautiful, exotic as mixed Scottish-Indian women often were. She spit into the dish. And waited.


After a minute of waiting, then spitting again into the dish: she paused then turn and leave. She had things to do, and this game wasn’t doing it for her. She decided to make a pitstop at the bathroom within the complex.

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Grace flushed the toilet. As she washed her hands at the sink, she abruptly paused. At the vending machine down the hall, she grabbed a bottle of water and drunk it down. She return to the Room: and waited.

On the next urge, she peed into the dish. And waited. After a minute, she peed again.

Nothing. The note was in her hand: Grace strained her mind to understand. “Be smart Be sexy” the note said. Grace looked at her groin. As far back as she remembered, Kinky Pink lived to see her orgasm: whether by remote toys or by her own finger. You could bet: the answer was there. Grace laid on the floor and rhythmically rubbed and fingered her own groin. After minutes, it became fully engorged.

It seemed like hours, but after fifteen minutes, she rolled over and orgasmed into the dish. A second passed, two seconds, three, ten, fifteen: Grace heard a click and was rewarded with seeing the door open.

Slick with sweat, Grace rubbed her thigh and shook off a slap of wetness from her hand. She picked up the note. It was signed “PH”. Hours ago, it seemed to meant Pink with perhaps another initial. But KP was Pink’s initial.

Grace remembered with effort her science class.

“PH” was an acidity level on a scale used in science. Her spit was roughly at 7, her urine at 6. Her vagina discharged fluids at a level of 3-4 ph, roughly the acidity of a tomato – meaning the door was opened by fluids at a certain PH level (under 4.5).

Kinky Pink was nothing if not imaginative: even from the grave.

She returned to the Hall and grabbed a soda.

Grace returned to the Room. She looked at the opened door.. and walked through.

“To Be Continued..”


From the creative of commons for LGBQT Creative Writing. Retrieved and shared with permission from a local association of LGBQT Writers. Free to use, re-use, modify, and share with this notice included.

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