The First Red Flag Was “Rat Bastard”
...and what it taught me about gut instinct, catching vibes, gaslighting myself, relationships, and kink.
I saw a note in my Substack feed that asked:
“What’s the first red flag you shouldn’t have ignored?”
I instantly thought of one from 25 years ago. Not listening to that sinking feeling in my gut that night cost me nearly a decade of my life.
We usually remember the big, cinematic, epic-saga level red flags like,
“That time they got drunk on Thanksgiving, screamed ‘THIS IS MY HOUSE, BITCHES!,’ and threw the turkey through the bay window.”
But something like that is typically red flag #857, not the first.
That first red flag is almost always small. It’s a tiny, wordless twitch in your gut that whispers, “pssst… hey, something’s kinda off here.” But it’s so subtle and non-descript that you can easily shrug it off and fool yourself into thinking you’re being too paranoid or judgmental. Like many of us, I learned to ignore those little whispers -- especially when I couldn’t explain them.
I’m a logic-based, pattern-seeking thinker who was raised in a world that punishes women for having boundaries that aren’t “nice” or “justified” enough. If I got a bad feeling about someone but couldn’t outline and defend my reasons like a master’s thesis, I assumed the problem was me.
I couldn’t have been more wrong about that. It turns out your gut often knows before the logic part of your brain does.
And being wrong about that is how I missed the first red flag in the worst relationship I’ve ever had. It was an abusive, unhinged, controlling, violent hell that took me years to leave -- and more to recover from (still working on that, TBH).
The very first time my gut said “NOPE!” was the night we first met. It was over something small and absurd, too -- but that’s exactly how it flew under my radar.
A bunch of us were hanging out, having drinks, and we started playing word association. It was a silly, fast-paced game that served as an icebreaker to help us jibe with our new friend (who, unbeknownst to me at the time, was also my future nightmare).
We went around the table blurting out ridiculous words and laughing our asses off -- but every time we got to him? He just froze and sat nervously silent for an uncomfortable amount of time.
The vibe was weird. Not “new friends, socially awkward” kind of weird. It was a profound weird I couldn’t put my finger on. Flittering eye contact, wringing hands, brow sweat, and the kind of tension that somehow felt ominous. Then he’d finally mutter with a forced smile and half-giggle, “Rat bastard.” It went down like this every single turn for an hour straight.
I felt that pang in my gut that told me something was off. But I told myself I was being bitchy and unfair. That it was a bit odd, sure -- but who was I to judge? I knew it seemed deeper than just run-of-the-mill social awkwardness, but I also couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was either. The gnawing feeling I had didn’t seem to make logical sense. So I laughed it off and convinced myself that I was the asshole judging someone by something they coudln’t help.
The thing I couldn't pinpoint was this man, who would end up being a parade of red flags and my future abuser, couldn’t play. He couldn’t be absurd, couldn’t improvise, couldn’t lean into the irrational joy of unfiltered, uninhibited play. And the discomfort he displayed when being put on the spot wasn’t social awkwardness -- it was concealed rage.
And little did I know that tiny little flicker I saw a glimpse of would one day manifest as screaming rants, smashed phones, and violent tantrums whenever he wasn’t in control and the center of attention.
This seemingly little thing I brushed off ended up being the canary in the coal mine. It was the first warning that vulnerability, surrender, ridiculousness, creativity, honesty -- all things required for intimacy, growth, and you know, not being an abusive asshole -- weren’t just foreign to him. They terrified and enraged him.
Humor, absurdity, and play are at the core of who I am. Play and laughter are how I connect and how I process my emotions. It’s how I build safety, trust, and repair after conflict. And in kink, they also play into how I approach power exchange and embody consent.
He couldn’t access that, not even a little bit. He couldn’t loosen up, get silly, or allow himself to get wholesomely unhinged on someone else's terms. He couldn’t play by rules that he didn’t orchestrate or control. He was ashamed of being playful. And even though he tried to hide it that night with his new friends, that pissed him the hell off.
But I ignored it all because I couldn’t put that pang of dread in my gut into words at the time. My body tensed and said “no” -- and I decided to override it because I couldn’t explain it. And before I knew it, I found myself in a relationship with someone who tried to crush everything I was.
Now I pay attention to those little whispers because I’ve learned that they’re almost never wrong. And every time I’ve ignored them -- whether about potential partners, friends, business associates, or that strange-vibes person in line at the grocery store, I’ve regretted it.
We treat “vibes” like they’re flimsy nonsense. Like instinct needs to be fact-checked before it can be valid. But cerebral, logic-based thinkers -- gut feeling is data. So is discomfort. And so is weird silence and that “off” sensation deep down in your body when someone’s turn comes and all they can say is rat bastard.
I don’t need a crime scene or prosecutable offense to justify walking away. I don’t need a “reason.” And neither do you.
And if you're kinky? That little gut flicker matters too. If someone gives you uneasy vibes before a negotiation, or if your stomach flips mid-scene and you don’t know why? You don’t need to know why. You’re allowed to tap out without explanation and without having to justify your decisions to anyone. You’re allowed to listen to your body before your brain catches up, and you don’t owe anyone (not even yourself) “concrete proof.”
You don’t have to wait for them to throw a stuffed turkey and all the trimmings through your goddamn window to believe what you already know. Not liking someone is enough. A vibe is enough.
You don’t need a reason. You just need a ‘nope.’
What was your first red flag?
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AUTHOR BIO
Sunny Megatron is an award-winning Clinical Sexologist, BDSM & Certified Sexuality Educator, and media personality. She’s the host & executive producer of the Showtime original series, Sex with Sunny Megatron, co-hosts AASECT Award-winning American Sex Podcast and Open Deeply Podcast, plus was 2021's XBIZ Sexpert of the Year.
Known for her unique, build-your-own-adventure approach to kink, sex & relationships, Sunny coined the community catchphrase Kink is Customizable™. Her signature “edutainment” style blends humor, interactive learning, and the latest research into sell-out workshops that challenge the status quo, leaving students feeling empowered, informed, and radically seen. Her latest work, The Seven Project, investigates emotional intimacy, identity, and power exchange through the lens of AI.
On a personal note, Sunny is queer, biracial, neurodivergent, consensually non-monogamous, and a BDSM dominant -- specifically, a psychological sadist with a soft spot for mindfuckery. She lives what she teaches.
More at sunnymegatron.com or direct.me/sunnymegatron.