Welcome to the Dark Room
"I woke up beside my best friend, in a hotel room, and his breath smelled of willy..."
“Your breath stinks,” I murmured, scared to open my eyes, as my mind worked overtime to pull together the happenings of the night before.
“Your’s would too after 5,” he whispered, rolling over, his back to me.
And believe me, after the people I’ve spoken to, that’s tame. Very tame.
There’s a moment, one I’ve experienced many times, where you step into the dark, and the world falls away. You leave behind the clamor of the club, the drinks, the music, and walk through a doorway that’s less about where you’re going and more about who you might find. For some, this is exhilarating, for others, intimidating. But for anyone who’s curious, let me tell you - there’s nothing quite like a dark room.
But wait - what is a dark room? The question’s come up more times than I can count, and it always feels loaded. Depending on who you ask, you might get the glint of nostalgia in someone’s eye, or a knowing smirk followed by a wink. But the real answer is that it’s more than just the room itself - it’s the history, the people, the shared experience of queer desire, all wrapped up in something as simple, and as thrilling, as darkness.
A short history of Dark Rooms
In simple terms, a dark room is a space, often found in queer clubs or saunas, where people go to have sex in the semi-anonymity of darkness. But that barely scratches the surface. In reality, these spaces have a deep-rooted history in LGBTQ+ culture, emerging as sanctuaries at a time when expressing queer desire openly could be met with violence, criminal charges, or worse.
Dark rooms started popping up in the mid-20th century, particularly in big cities with vibrant gay scenes. New York, Berlin, London - you know the usual suspects. They often functioned as part of bars or clubs, hidden behind curtains or down narrow staircases, an architectural nod to their clandestine nature. Back then, these spaces weren’t just about sexual release (though, let’s be real, that’s a key part of it); they were about freedom. In a world that treated queer love and desire as something shameful, dark rooms provided a place where men could explore their sexuality without fear. And it wasn’t always men, but mostly, sure.
In the post-Stonewall era, cruising - the art of seeking out anonymous sex - evolved alongside the LGBTQ+ liberation movement. Dark rooms became a staple of gay bars and clubs, providing a physical manifestation of the community’s defiant push for visibility and autonomy over their bodies and desires. By the time the 1970s rolled around, dark rooms were in their heyday.
But then, of course, came the AIDS crisis.
For many, the early ‘80s marked the death knell of cruising culture. Dark rooms, saunas, and bathhouses, once places of community, became associated with illness and fear. Governments began closing down these venues, and the queer community itself was forced to grapple with the devastating impact of the epidemic. Sex - once celebrated in these spaces - became fraught with anxiety. But like all aspects of queer life, dark rooms adapted, survived, and eventually, thrived once again.
A return to the shadows
Today, dark rooms are back - if they ever really went away. The rise of dating apps like Grindr might’ve led some to believe that anonymous sex was now as easy as a swipe right, but dark rooms offer something those little screens can’t: real-life connection. Raw, immediate, physical connection.
Take Berlin, for instance. The city has become synonymous with its dark rooms, especially in venues like Berghain and Lab.Oratory, where sex and techno are inextricably linked. I mean, where else could you dance for hours, lose yourself in a beat, and then step into a dark room to...connect.
But it’s not just Berlin. In cities like New York and London, dark rooms are making a triumphant return, with new generations of queer folks finding the allure irresistible. In London, places like The Backstreet and Vauxhall’s Fire keep the spirit alive, while smaller, more niche spots have popped up, each with its own set of rules and etiquette.
Rules? In the Dark?
Yes, rules! Believe it or not, there’s a code to dark rooms, one that’s been passed down through the years. You don’t just walk into the darkness and start groping wildly - unless, of course, you want to be that person. There’s etiquette.
A good dark room interaction starts with non-verbal communication. Eye contact (if you can see), a gentle touch, a lean-in to gauge consent. It’s like a silent dance, where you’re paying attention to body language. And then, well, whatever happens, happens.
There are unwritten rules of hygiene and respect, too. Cruising might have a reputation for being all about the body, but it's as much about the mind. The last thing you want is to make someone uncomfortable or break the flow of the room. Respect is key.
Why do dark rooms still matter?
Some people might wonder, why are dark rooms even still a thing? With hookup apps like Scruff, Tinder, and Grindr dominating the gay scene, isn’t this kind of experience a relic of the past? Not quite.
Dark rooms offer something you won’t get through a phone screen: intimacy and anonymity, side by side. It's the freedom of surrender, of letting go of who you are outside that space. When you walk into the darkness, you’re not your job, your family history, or your social media presence. You’re just a body moving through space, connecting with others in an unspoken language of touch and breath.
For many, the resurgence of dark rooms is about reclaiming queer spaces that are for us, by us. It’s about rejecting the sanitised versions of gay culture that have been co-opted by mainstream society and returning to something a little dirtier, a little more dangerous, a little more exciting. Dark rooms are part of our sexual heritage, and like any part of history, they deserve to be remembered, celebrated, and most importantly - experienced.
Where to from here?
As I’ve started writing this series, I’ve been speaking to people who have their own stories to tell - some funny, some sexy, some downright filthy - about their dark room experiences. In the coming weeks, I’ll be sharing those stories, some of which will make you laugh, some might make you blush, and a few might make you reconsider everything you thought you knew about queer spaces.
Dark rooms, in all their gritty, mysterious glory, are as much about the future as they are the past. They’re evolving, as is queer culture, and I, for one, can’t wait to dive deeper into the shadowy world of anonymous encounters and shared histories.
So, grab a drink, dance a little longer, and the next time you find yourself at the edge of a dark room, you might just want to step inside.