How a brush with darkness exposed the hidden dangers of gay hookup culture.

When Danger Feels Familiar
I met a serial killer in 2006. I just didn’t know it then.
It was in Barking. I used to hang out with a mate in a quiet block of flats. His neighbour, Stephen, was soft-spoken, shy and polite. We talked a few times. I even stepped into his flat once. Nothing stood out. He seemed normal.

Years later, it made the news. Stephen had been arrested for murdering four young queer men. He had used Grindr to find his victims. He didn’t start killing until 2015. But still, I knew him.

With time, I stopped thinking about it. Then one night, I’m watching a true crime documentary on Netflix. The story of a gay serial killer who hunted through dating apps. And there he is again. Stephen. That familiar face, now on screen. And suddenly, that memory changed shape.

This wasn’t a near-miss. I wasn’t his type. I don’t think I was ever in danger. But what hit me wasn’t fear. It was something else. The quiet shock of how close we, as gay men, often come to danger without even knowing it.

What Dating Apps Don’t Show
Grindr is part of everyday gay life. So are Scruff, Tinder and Romeo. They give us connection, sex, distraction, validation. Sometimes all at once. Sometimes too fast.

We know the rules. Share your location. Tell a friend. Trust your gut. But predators don’t come with warnings. They’re quiet. Polite. Familiar. Just like Stephen.

These apps don’t just connect. They expose. They speed up intimacy and remove context. They rely on trust we often give too quickly. And when queer lives are still treated as disposable, it’s no surprise that people like Stephen operate in plain sight.

How Apps Are Used Against Us
In countries where homosexuality is criminalised, dating apps are used to trap gay men. Officers pose as matches. Then the arrests begin.

According to Human Rights Watch, Egypt, Iran and Nigeria have used Grindr and similar platforms to target LGBTQ+ people. In Saudi Arabia and the UAE, users are tracked through the app, sometimes leading to forced outings, violence or imprisonment.

In 2023, Grindr issued safety warnings across more than 140 countries. Even in the UK and the US, LGBTQ+ people face rising harassment and hate crimes, many linked to dating apps.

These platforms were meant to help us connect. In the wrong hands, they do the opposite.

When Risk Becomes Routine
The danger isn’t just physical. It’s emotional and systemic.
We’ve learned to accept unsafe encounters as part of the deal. Because we’re lonely. Because we’re tired. Because we’ve been taught to find intimacy in secret.

Stephen’s victims weren’t reckless or naïve. They were just doing what many of us do. Trying to connect. When that connection turns violent, we’re left with silence or blame.

The Cost of Being Close
That’s what sits with me now. Not fear exactly. But something unsettled.
Because I knew him. And I never saw it coming.

And I wonder how many others are out there. Hiding in plain sight. Blending in. Protected by silence, politeness and the fast pace of queer dating life.

We shouldn’t have to choose between intimacy and safety. Between being ourselves and staying alive.

We Need to Talk About Safety
Not to scare each other. To protect each other.

The real problem isn’t the app. It’s what we’ve accepted inside it. The quiet rules we never chose but still follow.

We deserve better. Better ways to connect. Better ways to stay safe. Better conversations.

So here’s the question I can’t stop asking:
In a world where apps are our main way to find intimacy, how do we stay open without staying exposed?