I am coming to this writing today wondering why I do this? I know why, there's a part of me that just loves to write. And I love the thrill of knowing someone I don't know, could read this. That my writing is going out to the blogosphere. Wow!! Kind of a secret excitement. And it challenges me. I don't challenge myself much in any way any more. I used to. I took on all kinds of things I was scared of. All I needed was someone to say "you can't do that". My husband told me I couldn't drive a 5 speed. (that was back in the 60's) I heard myself say or rather yell "they haven't invented the car I can't drive" And I drove it. After he hit me I drove it with my foot pressing hard on the gas, I drove it across the street and up the sidewalk and up the stairs as he ran as fast as he could for safety. I didn't really want to hit him, I didn't want to ruin that pretty little brand new car that we could NOT afford. And I didn't want to go to jail. Other than that, at that moment I wanted to hit him. I wanted to hit him back for all the times he hit me. He had hit all love and any respect out of me. I really didn't like him, not a bit. And I wondered how I ended up with this creep.
The afternoon he began yelling at me and threatening to leave me, I said as politely and sweetly as I could "Lyle if you really want to go it's alright, you can do that". He yelled back, "if I leave I'm not fucking coming back" and I thought I said under my breath "That's fine with me" but apparently he heard me because he kicked me square in the center of my forehead. My beloved wore steel toed boots, and the goddess sent me equipped with a very hard head. I fell backwards on the bed and he jumped on top of me. He pinned my shoulders with his knees, and began to choke me. I was trying to scream and couldn't, and I was scared. I decided as quickly as I could to hit him. I had never hit him before, but his sister said I should hit him back, that had never dawned on me, to hit him back. I thought the violence would just escalate. I always tried to calm him down, and stop what was going on. I wanted it over. Usually he was very drunk, and if I could get him to settle down for a moment he'd pass out. But this day he wasn't drunk. So I decided quickly to hit him, I tried to raise my arm to slap him, i couldn't because my shoulders were pinned. The next moment taught me why i hadn't hit him, and what would make me so angry I'd punch him. As I raised my forearm and tried to slap him he began to laugh at me, i didn't know how badly i hated to be laughed at until that moment. As he laughed he rocked backwards and released his knee from my right shoulder, I saw in my side vision my fist fly by and hit him square in the mouth. I felt an orgasm spread up my arm with a delicious satisfaction I'd never experienced before. I liked it so much I wanted more, so I hit him again, and then again and again. I didn't stop until my knuckle was bleeding and so was his mouth. I loved seeing blood on him. I loved knowing that I had hurt him back . After that whenever he even looked like he was going to hit me I hit him. Sometimes I hit him hard. And I hated it. I am at heart not a violent person, and I didn't want to live like that. So it wasn't his hitting me that got me to leave him, it was my hitting him. It was also the disgusting way i felt after sleeping with him. I felt dirty in a way that wouldn't wash off.