I was 15 when I met M. He wasn’t my type physically, but we connected on a level that was much more important. I rushed into a relationship with him, not batting an eyelash at his age. After all, I’d dated men much older than him. (You’d think I’d have learned my lesson.)
I was 16 the first time he hit me. I tried to defend myself. I don’t do that anymore. Better to stay still and get it over with. His fist is the only thing that connects with me on any level. He dropped his act years ago.
((See my journal for the longer rant.))