I don’t remember why he hit me the first time. You would think that I would. You would think something like that would stick out in my memory. After a while, all the times run together though, not to mention the relationship was over three years ago. Even though I was hit and controlled, I don’t really think of it as an abusive relationship.
Let me explain some, I started dating JMC in my freshman year of high school. He was a real jealous guy, always suspicious. It was heightened because we didn’t go to the same high school. I remember it was about a month after we first started dating that he started hitting me. He would cut me. He was smart, only bruising me where clothes would hide it. Only cutting shallow enough never to leave scars. I never told anyone. I was careful in gym class when changing never to show the bruises and cuts.
I never told because I knew my friends would make me break up with him. See that’s the thing, from the first slap, cut, hit to the last I knew it was wrong. I knew also that I could leave, he never threatened me if I left or anything like that. I chose to stay. Why did I stay? Because the sex was awesome.
As a freshmen I already knew that my sexual tastes and desires were not the norm. JMC was very open to experimenting. It was my first time roleplaying, spanking, dirty talking, among other types of naughty deliciousness. I accepted the abuse because the sex was awesome. Of course I know how silly that sounds looking back, but at the time I thought I was doing what was right for me at the time.
We ended up splitting not because of the abuse, but because of his jealousy and lies. I told my friends about the abuse about a year after we broke up they admitted that they thought something was up. Looking back I realize that it may not have been the smartest relationship on my part. I think that it was a give and a take though. He hit, and I got to explore my sexuality. While if anyone came to me with the same situation I would tell them to seek help, not all abuse situations need help. I knew I could leave. So, I guess what I’m saying, that abuse isn’t always as cut and dry. It’s not always black and white.