I didn’t expect to feel unsafe. That’s the hardest part to admit.

The person I was speaking with—a renowned sexologist, celebrated for their kink-aware, trauma-informed approach—had built a public reputation on consent, care, and empowerment. I had admired their work from afar. So when they asked about my medical condition in passing, I answered honestly. I was vulnerable, but I trusted the space.

What followed was not care. It was emotional domination disguised as engagement. The conversation veered into territory that felt coercive, destabilizing, and eerily reminiscent of a D/s dynamic—without negotiation, without safety, and without consent. I was misgendered after clearly stating my pronouns. My health condition was weaponized against me. They insisted on being the one to send the Zoom link, failed to ask if I wanted the session recorded, and never offered me control over the space.

And then—to top it all off, so to speak—it felt like they were playing cat and mouse with me. Like I was the tied-up sub and they were a literal psychopath hiding in plain sight. The dynamic was not therapeutic. It was predatory.

I left feeling retraumatized.

And I’m not alone.

We live in a time when boundaries are under siege—from political rhetoric that dehumanizes queer and trans bodies, to therapeutic and spiritual spaces that promise safety but sometimes deliver harm. The rise of authoritarianism isn’t just happening in governments—it’s happening in micro-interactions, in the misuse of power by those who should know better.

This is why instinct matters.

Instinct is not paranoia. It’s not drama. It’s the body’s wisdom speaking before the mind can rationalize. When something feels off—when a conversation leaves you feeling smaller, silenced, or emotionally cornered—that’s your signal. And it doesn’t matter how many degrees someone has, how many books they’ve published, or how many panels they’ve spoken on. Anyone can violate a boundary.

And anyone can choose not to listen when you say “no.”

As queer folx, as neurodivergent beings, as survivors, we are often taught to override our instincts in favor of politeness, professionalism, or perceived authority. But politeness won’t protect us. Only truth will.

So here’s mine: I was harmed. And I’m speaking up not to shame, but to protect.

If you’ve felt something similar—if your instincts whispered “this isn’t safe” and you doubted yourself—you’re not alone. You’re not overreacting. You’re remembering what safety feels like.

And that memory is sacred.

Let’s build spaces where instinct is honored, boundaries are respected, and care is more than a performance. Let’s haunt the canon with our truth.

About the Author Kandy Fontaine (aka Alex S. Johnson) is a queer writer, editor, and literary agitator whose work spans poetry, fiction, memoir, and radical cultural critique. As the founder and editor of Riot Pink, Kandy curates voices that haunt the canon—centering queer, neurodivergent, and trauma-informed perspectives in defiance of literary gatekeeping. Their work appears in Neurospicy!, Nocturnicorn Books, and across underground zines and performance spaces. Kandy is also co-host of The Smol Bear N Pickles Show, where they explore the intersections of art, identity, and resistance with fellow visionary Alea Celeste Williams.

Kandy believes in the power of radical empathy, messy truth, and literature as a tool for survival and transformation.

📧 Submissions & inquiries: georgebailey679@gmail.com 📚 Riot Pink: Queer literature that bites back.