I've scared other people: thir still has trouble with my writing so much brutally non-consensual stuff. And a lot of people are upset over a story I wrote called "Barbecuing Betty", about a slave being roasted alive and glorying in being able to suffer so horribly for her Mistress' pleasure. (I was trying to play with Dolcettian woman-eating fantasies without the death element, by setting it in a future where any amount of injury can be repaired good as new.) But I don't think I have ever worried myself about the difference between fantasy and reality.