Not Held. Just Held Down.

Issue Seven: The Subtle Violence of Unconsensual Affection

I went on a date. He asked what I did.

I said, “I’m a clinical sexologist.”

He said, “That’s hot.”

I said, “No. That’s evidence-based, regulated and trauma-informed.”

Then he asked if I’d ever tried handcuffs.

Sir. I teach the erotic architecture of power.

You’re bringing Ikea furniture to a cathedral.

I laughed it off at the time—until he hugged me goodbye.

A hug that felt like the rest of the conversation:

all assumption, no attunement.

It was a kind of touch that didn’t ask—it took.

And that’s the thing about intimacy, even in small gestures.

It reminded me of two friends who both hug me tightly.

Both hugs look identical.

Both tight. Both lingering.

One leaves my body feeling cherished.

The other leaves my body trying to shrink.

One of them wraps me in his arms and I exhale—fully.

My heart softens. My chest leans in. The energy feels reciprocal.

He’s not holding me, he’s holding with me.

Another friend pulls me in the same way. But my body tightens.

I feel compressed. Trapped. I want to pull back, but he holds on—longer than I want, stronger than I need.

He doesn’t notice the shift in me. Or maybe he does—and ignores it.

On paper, the hugs are the same.

In my body, they’re a world apart.

That’s the difference between consensual power exchange

and covert intrusion.

It’s not about intensity.

It’s about intent.

It’s not about duration.

It’s about attunement.

Because even a hug can become a small theatre for power.

And the body always knows:

• “I’m being held down, not held.”

• “I’m enduring, not engaging.”

• “He’s hugging me, but not with me.”

The moment it stops being relational,

it becomes possession masquerading as affection.

Consent isn’t just about sex.

It’s not a checkbox or a contract.

It’s the ongoing, subtle negotiation of presence.

Whether I’m on a date, in a session, or on a stage—

I care less about what people do

and more about how they do it.

A good hug?

You feel it in your spine.

It listens before it lands.

A bad one?

It talks over your body and calls it love.

Power—like intimacy—needs to be earned, not assumed.

And the smallest acts can teach us everything

about what kind of power someone really holds.

Or wants to take.

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