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Unfortunately for me, I soon realized that the gay dating world came with its own set of rules, most of which are pretty weird and somewhat racist. I needed a break. It took a lot of convincing, but I gave a few of these apps a shot. I downloaded both Grindr and Scruff and immediately starting messaging people.

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But aside from that, the string of weird encounters just got worse every time. In January, I finally deleted all the apps and have sworn off online dating and hookups for good. I chatted him up about all things Ireland and told him about a trip I was planning for spring The vibe was friendly for the first few days, and then he wanted to see some pics, which I was more than willing to share.

I sent a face pic to start and he sent one back. He was a bald, rugged, bearded man with green eyes. We talked for a week and he eventually asked me if I had a dick pic. I sent the most recent one and waited for him to send something back. He then responded with a picture of him smiling with his grandmother, saying nothing else.

Two days later he messaged me to ask what I was doing. I told him I was just enjoying my day off and asked big black ass gay dating site what he had planned for the day. He then sent a picture of his spread asshole dripping with cum, a picture of him and his dog, and then a picture of him having family dinner, again saying nothing else.

That or he had a fucked-up sense of humor. As funny as the whole thing was, I decided to stop communicating with him entirely. He messaged me back and said he comes to Toronto for work every day and wondered if we could hook up later that evening. I told him we should drink a few beers at my place and see where it goes.

Before things escalated, he stopped me and said he needed to tell me something. I remember being puzzled and asking what was wrong. I kind of giggled and then looked at him again. At that moment I realized he was being serious and took a deep breath because, as a black man and a human being, the whole thing had just thrown me off.

Solely based on curiosity, I asked him exactly what this type of roleplay scene would entail. He asked me if I was mad that he was into that. According to him, a play scene would involve me in a cage, getting choked with his dick, while he spits on me and calls me nigger a few times.

He assured me that while it was a lot to handle, it was actually a pretty popular fetish. I looked at him, extremely puzzled after that statement. He stood, confident in his belief that was an acceptable thing to get off to, and it took a minute for me to figure out the best way to respond.

Wanting to end this interaction on a peaceful note, I told him that while I respect his honesty, the thought of a man getting off to calling me racial slurs and performing violent sex acts on me was enough to make me want to commit murder. When I said that he laughed it off, but once he saw the expression on my face, I could tell he knew it was probably in his best interest to call it a night.

There are certain thoughts and images that linger in the subconscious and lead us to the fetishes we have. During our first hangout we drank a few beers and talked about Toronto, which was a nice change from the usual in-and-out hook up.