Thanks for The Memories; Hope's and Kissinger's Mind Controlled Slave
Brice Taylor
Chapter Five:
Brice Taylor
Chapter Five:
Initiation into the Political
Arena as a Sex Slave
My father sold me as a prostitute to neighbors and business contacts. He programmed me to ride
my bike to the gas station at the corner of Ventura Boulevard and Fallbrook Avenue in Woodland Hills.
Mr. Teesdale and Mr. Roberts owned the station. Frank, the auto mechanic and gas station attendant
who worked there, traded my father free gas and auto servicing in exchange for having sex with me in the
bathroom at the station. That went on for several years. The gas station has since been demolished and
in its place stands a large office building, but the memories of what happened to me remain. He also took
me to the next door neighbor, Mr. Faciano, to perform sexual favors, always in exchange for twenty
dollar bills. My father also sold me for sex to groups of men who met at the welding shop he owned.
These men took me by the hand, behind Smitty's Wood Lot, and sexually abused me (I performed oral
sex, or they would rape or sodomize me) in exchange for cash paid to my father. My father, and later my
brother Rick, who through a series of events ended up owning the family welding business, sold child
pornography out of the shop. These pornographic materials were kept behind a corrugated metal wall
and sold to interested customers when they came in. (My brother may not be consciously aware of his
criminal activities.) Over the years, I was well trained, through trauma and sexual abuse, in line with the
technology that was shared with my father so he could condition me for a higher level of future use.
One night at the dinner table my father announced that the actor, Robert Taylor, had been in to
visit him again. I never knew why a famous actor like Robert Taylor would want to visit my father at his
welding shop, but even though I couldn't yet piece the separate parts of my mind together enough to
understand, I was impressed nevertheless. During this time when I was around 8-10 years old, my father
told me that Robert Taylor watched a ballet performance where I danced the Swan Lake ballet on toe
shoes. I wore a pink sequined leotard with pink sequined straps and the outfit had pink feathers attached
to it. I had a pink-feathered headband that made it look like I had pink feathers all around my face, like a
swan. Later on I found out that Robert Taylor liked child pornography; my father sold it to him from his
welding shop, and he also liked sex with 7-10 year old girls.
This was an important time of deciding just how far I would "go." Dad wanted me to go all the way
to the top. He said he was so proud of me and together we'd make his father Ivan, a proud grandfather.
My father had a group of pedophile friends with daughters my age. They traded us sexually and
each independently participated in filming us pornographically, sometimes including bestiality. I had
many personalities who were trained both in porn and prostitution.
Corbin Bowl
At age seven, I was further trained by older women prostitutes in a back room at the Corbin Bowl,
located on Ventura Boulevard in Tarzana, California. I was taught the "tricks of the trade," most of which
I already knew from years of sexual abuse. The prostitution and pornography I was a part of was a highly
organized activity.
There were times a personality within me was programmed and used to entice and kidnap other
children off the street and into a big black car. The kidnapped children were initially kept in cages in
back rooms and then used in pornography and usually killed, often in snuff films. We were all shocked
with cattle prods or other electrical devices for lots of different offenses. Pornography was filmed at the Corbin Bowl, with other children, women, men, and animals. Perhaps this is where many of the
missing children, whose faces we see so often on postal cards or billboards are disappearing to and why
they are never found. At this young age, I was also locked in a small, darkened room with a bed and sold
as a prostitute to large numbers of men in a day. The people in charge left ropes, whips, and sex toys for
use by the men who paid for sex with me.
One of my father's pedophile friends and partners in the child porn and prostitution business was
Dean Hartshorn. Although Dean was nearly 20 years younger than my father, their shared sexual
perversions kept them close friends. Dean and his family lived in the Encino Hills area and he operated a
pesticide business. Dean had a beautiful daughter, named Donna, who had the blondest hair and bluest
eyes I'd ever seen. She was traded to my father for sex and I was traded to Dean and some of his friends
and relatives. The Hartshorn family joined my family on vacation several times a year and Donna and I
were filmed as we performed sexual acts with numerous different people.75s
Other Locations
Over the years I was taken to many different locations and filmed and/or programmed. Some of
these were: Turlock Lake, Mount Shasta, Clear Lake, Lake Arrowhead, Bass Lake, Lake Cachuma, Lake
Isabella, Millerton Lake, Pine Flats, Lake Elsinore, Big Bear Lake, La Jolla, Mission Bay, Salton Sea,
Coronado, San Juan Capistrano, the Colorado River, Lake Mead, Lake Mohave, Lake Havasu, Death
Valley, Las Vegas, and other places we went for so-called "water skiing vacations."
Cliff Spear was also a pedophile friend of my fathers. His daughter Debbie (also known as DeeDee) was my age and was in my brownie troop and class at school. I was traded to Cliff by my father, and was molested by him every time I spent the night at Debbie's house. In the middle of the night, Debbie and I, and sometimes her younger sister Jana, were awakened and taken to Cliff's carpeting business to be filmed pornographically.
Guy Cooper was a man who filmed me in porn at his home in Hidden Hills, with his younger daughter, Buffy. In this porn I was also forced to have sex with animals, some of them large farm animals. You can imagine how shameful and degrading these experiences are to a child.
To my knowledge, my father's affiliation was not limited to any single group, nor did he subscribe to membership in any group for any length of time. Instead, his membership was temporary, as he moved from one group to another, suiting my programmer's needs for the time. The groups I am aware of that he attended for different periods of time were the Lions Club, Ku Klux Klan, and Neo-Nazi groups. Publicly and consciously my father adamantly professed that he was not prejudiced against any race or religion and taught me not to be racially prejudiced. In private, secret gatherings with like minded men, he witnessed and participated in ceremonies where they humiliated, tortured, dismembered and killed Black people and Jewish people. I know, because as a child I was present at some of those "meetings."
I was taken often to rituals that were performed late at night. One incident that stands out in my mind was a night near my 10th birthday when a group of men sacrificed a Black man, saying it was done in my "honor," to give me power. As I watched in sheer panic, devastation, and horror, they tortured and then threw this man alive into the bonfire. To withstand this extremely traumatic event, I split off another personality to deal with it. On another occasion, as a Fourth of July event, a small child was delivered by a black sedan to my father at the gully at the end of our street. I watched in horror as my father strapped a homemade bomb he had made to this little boy's body and told me he was so powerful he could make the child live or die. The next thing I knew the bomb went off and the child was nowhere to be found. The tactics used to keep me dissociated and split were endless.
The Shriners
I remembered my father and our Shriner neighbor, Jack Rice, taking me to a meeting where a group of men, all wearing red Shriner hats, sat at tables. My father was given a Shriner hat and acted like he felt uncomfortable wearing it. I was patriotically wearing a navy blue v-neck dress with a large white sailor collar. Mr. Rice sat on one side of me and my father on the other. They ate dinner but I just sat at my place in a daze and didn't eat anything. One of the Shriner's stood at his table and clinking his glass to get everyone's attention, he announced, "We have a little member here tonight to entertain and delight you. Please welcome her with a round of applause."
I walked up onto the stage and began dancing to The National Anthem. "Oh say can you see, by the dawn's early light," the words played as I danced and slowly began taking off first my dress, then my shoes, pantaloons, nylons, bra, and panties until I stood dressed only in a tiny tasseled white satin gstring. Why I didn't strip all the way I don't know. All the men cheered and after I was through Mr. Rice stood at the bottom of the stage stairs to take me backstage to dress. He held out his arm and I took it. I felt like I was blind and couldn't see to find my way so he led me as he recited the program he had continually taught me to memorize, "There was a man who had no eyes and he went out to view the skies, he saw a tree with apples on it, he picked no apples off but left no apples on it." It was a "blind" program and I was told I couldn't see while I was there. Mr. Rice led me to a back room. It wasn't like a dressing room, just a side room. He gave me some kind of red robe to wear, "They'll bring your clothes on into us in awhile, we'll just wait." Other nights at different Shriner places, there were satanic rituals where I was raped on an altar in front of the group of robed men. There were many other Shriner meetings; lots of them disguised "under the big top," at Shriner circuses. Circuses were a place of trauma over the years and I usually ended up getting hurt.
My neighbor Peggy and I performed Alice in Wonderland in what seemingly appeared to be an innocent backyard neighborhood play for these elderly neighbors, Mr. & Mrs. Rice. They sat on their patio, having cocktails like they always did at happy hour and watched while we performed. In the middle of the play, Mr. Rice wiggled his finger and calling me over to him, he said, "Come here, Susie, I want to tell you a secret." I stood by this elderly man's chair on the patio and he motioned for me to bend over so he could whisper a secret to me. His pungent alcohol breath permeated the air as he said, "I have a little surprise that will help you act out the play better," and he put a small role of lifesavers into my hand and told me, "open your mouth for the next surprise." Naively and with complete trust, I opened my mouth as he said, "Close your eyes for the hidden surprise, and remember the real surprise is in your hand." Then he reminded me, "open your mouth for the hidden surprise."
In childlike innocence, I kept my eyes closed, waiting in anticipation for the surprise. Mr. Rice placed something in my mouth that was round as he said, "This is a heavenly wafer, my dear, a hidden heavenly wafer, in which you will appear." I didn't know what he meant but I began feeling very weak and funny inside, just like Alice in Wonderland did. Then he said, "Go finish your play now and act your part. Your part is about to start, so don't be late for a very important date or you will end up in trouble over and over and over again. Always obey the white rabbit, follow him inside for he has the time of day in which you will play. So go now and play your play. Which is it, play? The play or the play?"
In a confused stupor, I walked back over to my friend Peggy and entered the play again, saying my part, which was, "I'm late, I'm late for a very important date."
Mr. Rice was my date at other evening affairs with the Shriners, some where I was even the "altar girl" but it wasn't like a sacred ceremony at the Catholic Church, instead, I was taken to satanic rituals. They were really bad rituals where I was raped on an altar in front of lots of Shriners late at night, in dark outside places and they hurt and tortured me in the name of what they called, "the holy one."
Peggy and I also performed The Parent Trap for the Rice's. This was a way of cementing and concretizing the Susan and Sharon twin sister programming. I played Sharon in the backyard play and Peggy played Susan. We even cut my dress just like in the movie.
As I remembered what had actually happened, in full detail, instead of merely recalling the small slice of conscious reality of this past event, I could smell the Rice's home, Mr. Rice's alcohol breath, and his daughter Joanie's perfume, which was strong and also had an alcohol base to it. Hidden behind all the fairy tales and seemingly good things were painful memories of the places I was taken to for programming.
The Onset of Puberty
I began puberty around this time and my father snuck into my room like he always did at night. He explained to me while I was in a haze of sleep, that I was of the superior race, that I was of Aryan descent and that he was proud of my blond hair, green eyes, and fair skin. At the time, I had no idea what he was talking about and ignored it, pretending I didn't hear him.
I started menstruating at ten. This heralded abuse in rituals which involved being raped and impregnated, sometimes twice a year. When the fetuses were two to three months old, they were aborted at rituals and ingested by members of the group in order to fulfill the beliefs of the group; that it made those participating "more powerful." These were devastating, deeply traumatizing, and soulfully painful experiences, the memory of which was repressed along with all the other traumas. These traumatic events served as mind control reinforcement, to insure amnesia of my use in pornography, prostitution, and later projects I was to serve in.
By the end of the 5" grade, when I was almost eleven, I had gone through puberty, was fully developed and had already had my menstrual cycle for a year. Despite the abuse, I was programmed to be an average student, with many "school" personalities who helped me act like a "normal kid." Often I displayed behavior problems in school, as I acted out, due to what was secretly going on at home and at other dark, hidden places. My teachers merely passed off my joking and constant disruption as typical mischievous behavior and I won an award for class clown. I also had personalities who were totally amnesiac of any of my abuse who were able to function normally at school. As I entered junior high school, I did the things that normal kids do; I was a cheerleader, performed in the chorus, sang solos at school performances, won awards for the most beautiful smile and for being the class clown, and obtained other awards for service. And my mother had the cleanest house in the neighborhood.
To all outward appearances, all of these families I've mentioned, seemed to be normal, upstanding citizens of the community. NO one would have ever suspected that, in secret, all of this abuse was occurring. The mothers kept clean children and clean houses, smiled and were polite and caring in public, and the fathers acted charming and were considered responsible businessmen in the community. What went on behind closed doors--that no one wanted to believe or hear about, not even my school principal--was the spiritual, physical, and emotional devastation of many, many children.
In my desperation to obtain help or understanding, I started very early trying to figure out what was wrong. I kept bumping into mind control programming that re-routed my thoughts, and exasperated with my statements and questions, my mother constantly "re-minded" me from her own programming, "You just think too much!"
When I turned eleven, my father announced he was flying me to his small hometown of Correctionville, Iowa, to meet my grandparents. I was surprised by this invitation, as family problems had estranged my father from his parents for years ...in fact, from even before my birth. My father never had anything pleasant to say about his parents. But I was excited to fly on an airplane (which I mistakenly thought was my first time) and curious about meeting my grandparents for the first time. The telltale fact that my father hated them, and had stolen their car and run away from home at fifteen never entered my thought processes. Nor was I able to wonder why my mother and brothers were not invited to go along. Unfortunately, due to the mind control I was under, I did not have the ability to question or to wonder about anything along certain lines. I merely went along with what I was told to do.
I was impregnated several months before we were to go to Iowa. My mother took me shopping to a clothes store called Stardusters. It was like Hollywood there. The saleslady picked out dresses and took me into the dressing room and, in spite of my embarrassment, dressed me in outfits complete with accessories. My mother bought me several expensive outfits, complete with hats, belts, purses and fancy, frilly undergarments, although she wore old, ragged clothes and at home the word was that we were broke.
On the way home from our shopping spree, my mother took note of my maternally pooching tummy, and over the next few months, yelled at me constantly saying, "Hold in your stomach." Neither of us consciously knew that I was pregnant and I tried my best to hold in my tummy. During my teen years, I was usually anorexic, very thin, and didn't eat much, so the fact that I was pregnant for a month or two was not easy to detect, especially to those who wouldn't have ever expected it.
My paternal grandfather, Ivan Charles Eckhart, was a Jersey Ice Cream manufacturer, a multimillionaire and mayor of the town of Correctionville, Iowa, where he lived with my grandmother. Later on he won a landslide election to become the supervisor of the Third District and for years was involved in both local and state politics.
My paternal grandmother, Leah Eckhart, was a small but angry-tempered woman. Now I understand why. Instead of sleeping upstairs in the plush bedroom with my grandfather, she slept in the bare cement floored basement on a small cot. At the time I could not question or wonder about that either. My grandparents are now both deceased, left with never having the opportunity of understanding or healing the intergenerational abuse that created this problem to begin with.
I had many traumatic experiences on my visits to Iowa. I suppose, back then, my father's return visit to his parents appeared just to be a family reunion, but nothing could have been further from the truth.
While in Iowa, I had the first of several forced abortions, which was performed in a torturous fashion by a local doctor. Although I was actually raped and made pregnant at a ritual, I was humiliated and shamed for becoming pregnant. As in all trauma-based mind control, everything was a double-bind. I was blamed and shamed for everything that happened, none of which I ever had any control over. My baby, which was not yet old enough to be born alive, was nevertheless a perfectly formed fetus. My grandparents and my father performed a ritual behind their house in which they convinced me that I had killed my own baby (it was obviously born dead), and they ate it and forced me to participate. Since I was suffering from Multiple Personality Disorder, this traumatic experience, along with many others, was stored neatly away from my conscious mind, hidden in alternate personalities, and sealed away from my conscious awareness by programming that covered and hid the truth of my life.
One night after returning to my grandfather's house, somehow the experiences that terrified me were not so neatly hidden from my consciousness and in an act of panic and desperation, I frantically tried to phone my mother to ask her to help me. Overhearing me, my grandfather grabbed the phone out of my hand and proceeded to rip the phone out of the wall and in retaliation, tied me to the post of his iron bed frame for two days, while they went out of town. My grandfather was very brutal. But my father 79 was very proud of the human technology I possessed. He was pleased to be able to show his father all of my "trained" abilities.
During the remainder of the time we were in Iowa, I was forced to entertain my grandfather's business and political friends. I danced naked on the table at meetings and performed sexual favors for many of my grandfather's associates. To demonstrate my abilities, my father prompted the men to use their cigars or cigarettes to burn my vaginal area as I kneel before them. My father wanted to demonstrate that I would smile and show no signs of the pain due to mind control. After these meetings, I was connected to a higher level of politicians.
From then on, when my father took me on our yearly trips to Iowa, I was slowly connected to more and more political figures. In the meantime, he used me wherever he could to get cash, or more often, courtesies for favors. We started having enough money to go out to dinner, which was a treat we could not previously afford. It's likely that some of the money came from my father's payoffs from my use in porn and prostitution.
Training Farms
There were child and adolescent training centers called "farms," that I believe were located in Montreal, a city in the French Canadian Province of Quebec. I was taken to one for "grace training," and to step up the etiquette and formal training I would need to be used a notch higher. Other teenage girls were also there in training. It felt like a prison. I think I was there for a week - it was difficult to determine the actual span of time. It had to be winter because it was chilly and windy outside, and the trees were barren and there were leaves on the ground. This place was located out in the countryside. It wasn't on the way to anything so if anyone came near they could easily be identified as intruders. We were seen to public eyes as unwed mothers. We even had to stuff a pillow in our pants and go into town every once in awhile. I slept with other girls in a white farm building that had cement floors and cots with mattresses that lined the room. We all compliantly took the medicine they gave us every morning. The people that worked at "the farm" changed daily, men and women both, but never the same ones two days in a row. We ate dinner and we all got into bed, then someone told us a story. They treated us like a herd of cows and we all totally obeyed instructions; there was no fuss and no fight, just total obedience.
I was taught how to walk elegantly with a book on my head and had to be able to squat down without dropping the book, and then stand up again. I was assigned to work with language input tapes in a small sound room equipped with headphones. I was given a mirror to look into to practice making certain sounds. All the instructions were given to me auditorily, even down to, "hold your mouth like you are saying A or O," and then I heard the sound I was to mimic. Once I learned the physical impressions of how to make the sounds they could easily attach language skills. I don't know how it all works, but later they had me lay down with headphones on while they played sounds so fast that I couldn't hear the words. Later they said that it had "worked," and that I had received French language enhancement. The lady explained that in most foreign countries it was proper to ask for a translator, but it was to be common background for the upper class to at least speak fluent French and Italian, and preferably German and Russian also. Since I was going to be used with foreign people and in foreign countries, I had to know their languages and customs.
I was also shown movies from a film projector onto a screen. I saw films on different foreign countries in order to obtain the necessary culture. They instructed me, "Put this in your China file," and then I would watch a movie intently recording all of it, the places, the names, dates, historical facts, everything. Then later on when Henry and I arrived in these foreign lands, I was familiar with their cultural background so I wouldn't make a faux pas.
All we did at the training farm was eat lightly, sleep and learn; input was ingested in large quantities for later use. Henry didn't visit me there. He said he might stop in to check on me, but he never did. Beforehand, he tied my Wizard of Oz programming to this event when he told me to believe, "I left my bed in Kansas, and went on the wings of a tornado to the farm." When I came back "to Kansas" I woke up in my own bed in California and was very, very sick. My mom took care of me and told me that I had the flu. I had a high fever and was a little delirious. I couldn't even manage to keep my eyes focused. I felt exhausted and so sick that I couldn't sleep, so I lay in my bed and prayed to die.
During summer vacation one year, Mr. Rice, our Shriner neighbor, re-introduced me to his daughter, Joanie Rice, who was visiting for the summer from her home in White Plains, New York. She was much older than I and was very attractive. She wore lots of makeup and jewelry, and wore a heavy perfume called Royal Secret. During that time, my maternal grandmother who lived with us had to be put in a rest home and my mother visited her every day, so Joanie, stayed to babysit me and played with me by our pool in my mother's absence. It all looked like a nice arrangement from the outside, but her presence was planned to further my programming. She taught me to be "dignified." I heard that word over and over and over. She taught me social etiquette--to act polished, to have good manners, and she was there to voice-program me when the men came with the equipment. At these times, she and a group of men held me down on the couch, drugged me, placed a band around my head, which they retrieved from a black briefcase full of special equipment including bright lights and machines which delivered different sounds and instructions. I was given names of politicians and programmed with instructions that, when I saw them on TV or heard them on radio, I was to become completely amnestic of who and what I was involved in. She also programmed me from lists of numbers and codes. Other years, I was flown to her glamorous apartment in New York. She escorted me to Washington, DC at first, so I wouldn't feel afraid or alone and could work at my maximum capacity. My mother and I also began to wear Royal Secret perfume, like Joanie.
Twenty-nine Palms
My family bought property in Twenty-nine Palms, California and built a small cabin on the desert land. One weekend my father explained that my mom needed a little time to herself since her mother had just passed away. I, too, was sad that my grandmother had died. My controllers told me she went to the streets of hell as evidenced by the blood coming out of her face. She died of high blood pressure, which caused the bleeding. But they said she went to hell and I hoped she would come back alive so we could re-route her. But after awhile that didn't scare me because I knew my "Gram" didn't go to hell. Although in a programmed state, my grandmother participated at times in my abuse, I knew she was really a nice quiet, gentle woman, who like my mother, never would have intentionally hurt anyone.
So, my father took my brothers and I to our Twenty-nine Palms cabin and one day they involved me in a sex ritual. They got me drunk, then stripped and tied me by my wrists and ankles face up in the sand in the intense desert sun. They seemed so excited as they did this to me. My father painted a satanic pentagram and green swastikas on my body. Later on, as it began to get dark he poured gas in a wide circle around me and once it was really dark he lit a match which started a fire burning all around me. I thought they were going to cook me. They put a half-dead, sandy, horned toad in my mouth and told me to hold it there. My brother Rick was running all around in an excited frenzy and my brother Jim was there also. At this ritual, in addition to traumatizing me, they were being taught how to be in charge. I was raped by all of them and their friends.
My Future Marriage Was
Arranged In 7th Grade
During this time, I attended Hale Junior High School, which was located directly across the street from our church, the First Presbyterian Church of Woodland Hills. It was at Hale, in the 7'" grade (we were thirteen), that I met Craig Ford (Robert Craig Ford). One afternoon, my mother picked me up from school and I introduced Craig to her. After Craig left and I got into the car, my mother announced, "That 81 is the boy you will marry." I laughed and asked her how she knew. She said she just knew. I never questioned further. Craig asked me to go steady soon afterward.
Over the next several years, Craig and I were "bonded" to each other through cross programming and shared trauma to insure that Craig was under sufficient mind control to later serve as my "handler." A ritual at the First Presbyterian Church served to seal our bond, and soon other more sophisticated means of programming were utilized.
White Programming Vans
Large white vans with men in suits in the back picked us up at differing locations in Ventura and Oxnard, California, and directed us into the back of the van. Specialized equipment in briefcases and other larger equipment in the van awaited us. They routinely beat Craig in front of me to demonstrate what a weakling he really was and how powerful and in control of me they were. They would slap me around in front of him, as well, to show him how powerless he was to help me and how much in control they were.
Electroshock was used on both of us, first by inserting and activating an electric prod in my vagina and then delivering the same to Craig on his penis. We were forced to watch in a dissociative, trance state as the other was tortured and traumatized as they readied us for programming.
The bond that was formed by shared trauma was profound. It created subconscious feelings of being in this whole mess together and enforced the feelings that we would never be able to get out. After they had sufficiently worn us down, they strapped us into sophisticated chairs and hooked us up to electrodes. Tones were combined with electroshock in order to create access cues that gave them quick and easy access to us both later on. Hypnotic suggestions and love songs were presented to us, in order to facilitate our "falling madly in love." In fact my controllers created an entire system of songs intended to invoke selected, preordained feelings toward Craig and others. The list of songs was added to and cultivated over the years depending on what attitudes and emotions they wanted to create within me. These songs were some of the strongest measures of control and literally created what I thought were my own feelings about Craig, but which really were contrived feelings created to support the interests of my controllers.
Combined with scenarios such as this, my brothers and their muscle-bound friends would intercept us when we were parked after a date to kiss. They pulled Craig out of the car and beat him up as they instructed him not to touch me sexually. Then one of them would rape me in front of him as they restrained him nearby, rendering him once again powerless to help.
All these conditioning experiences served to "prepare" Craig to robotically deliver and hand me over to other men, then step aside while I passed messages or serviced them sexually. It was always his job to make sure I was delivered to the right place, at the right time, to the right person, and for many years, that is exactly what he did.
I didn't have sex with Bob Hope until later. Bob said the wait would do him good, "give him something to look forward to," and then he would lean down and poke me and do that ole' soft shoe dance. . He did that often. He said, "I like my fruit ripened, not plucked before its time." At other times he would say to his friends when I was around, "See, I know how to pick my fruit, huh?" Then he'd say, "Hey kid, get me some grapes," and I'd go get them and he would show off how cute and efficient I was. He was always showing off my new acts. He would say, "Do your Coca Roca dance." So I'd do a dance. Then he would say, "No, the other Coca Roca," and I'd take off my clothes while dancing. Or he would have me sing I Enjoy Being A Girl, which was a song I sang for a junior high school performance and later for him and others.
The Theater in the Round was built and opened in Woodland Hills and drew large crowds to watch the live action plays that were performed in the round theater. I attended the plays often and it was there that I was prostituted to Bob's friend, Sammy Davis, Jr. It was a brutal event that I "forgot" about as soon as he was through with me.
"Love suffereth long, and is kind..." -- 1 Corinthians 13:4
Many men were brought into the cause simply because they wanted to own a piece of the rock and have their own robots to do their work or create their pleasures: At first they were given just bits of information at a time, to determine if they would be cooperative. Then they were given a little more information to test the waters to see if they were ready for the final blow. Usually dozens of meetings occurred on superficial levels before any real information was given out and that was only released when the men were "deeply committed," which meant that they would be compromising themselves or their family if they backed out at a certain point.
In the beginning when Henry was cultivating my relationship with JFK and insuring him of my security guarantees, Henry didn't fill me with much of an agenda except to give JFK the "royal treatment," which meant the same as Bob's (Hope's) full smorgasbord of sexual positions and favors. Henry told me to carefully note everything JFK said and did for debriefing afterwards. Henry had a challenge with JFK because as he said, "he's so damn self-initiating," and so Henry couldn't have me take the lead, thereby slipping in comments intended for Henry's covert purposes. So for awhile in the beginning, he just let me be with JFK so that he would get used to me, and Henry said, "Then a plan will inevitably open up."
Kissinger didn't spend a lot of time with JFK. They spoke but it was like they were "...polar opposites and constantly repelled each other," Henry said. But Henry, and especially Bob as the front man, got to JFK and paved the way for his acceptance of me. Once we were in, then Henry started strategizing heavily. That is what happened after I began having sex with JFK. Henry said, "Mind files were created to delight the young president." As Kissinger counted on, JFK was a romantic and seemed to get caught up in many of the messages I delivered to him. The messages made him feel good and Henry wanted him to feel good and powerful with me. I was delivering high level Council messages created by Bob and Henry, that Henry instilled in me to deliver to "John-Feeee," that's what I called him. They got a war underway through JFK, a big war that was to influence not only America but also the international climate.
It was as common for foreign dignitaries, heads of state, senators, congressmen, governors, and other leaders, to ride the Lincoln Memorial (Oral Sex) Tour, as it was for them to get their shoes shined in the local hotels. In fact, that was one of the jokes I was instructed to deliver to get a man loosened up. I was programmed to say, "Want your shoe shined?" Then I would unzip him and begin. There were lots of men who wanted further servicing later on, but I was instructed to refer them to my boss.
I serviced many men on this so-called shuttle service over the years of my life that should have been filled with junior high, high school and college extracurricular activities of my own choosing. The elitists I worked for had an endless supply of slaves that kept the tour shuttle running regularly. I wasn't really giving tours, just sex in the limo. The men felt safe and protected from public exposure by their placement in the back of the limo because they couldn't be seen due to the security windows. They had privacy when they exited the limo so they wouldn't be exposed. Security employees would always await the arrival of the shuttle limo to open the door and coach them out when the "coast was clear," then transfer them immediately into their own personal limo so no one would ever detect.
There were times when Henry would have a driver take us from DC to his office in New York. He would work with me in the back seat after he told the driver, "I'll be busy working and I don't want to be interrupted." So the driver shut the window between the seats and Henry would debrief me and take sketchy notes, draw diagrams and plans while I was talking or he would touch his finger to my forehead and start uploading me for future assignments. Much of our work took place like this on drives between places usually just before or after I had been used at the White House or other places. It was convenient, as well as a security measure, because he could account for his time spent with me by saying, "I was en route to NY or DC," or wherever he was going, and since I was on the same time track as Henry it was all very time efficient, and concealed his activity and connection to me. To Henry the efficient use of his time was everything. He told me, "When people can master their use of time, they have the secret to success." He often talked on and on to me about his ideas, events and people, using me as a sounding board, completely assured that I couldn't ever break the security programming necessary to remember his conversations.
Henry said I was much more than his efficient secretary, I was a "diplomat extraordinaire." I wore a brownish tan wool suit, tailor-made by my mother, to my first meeting in the Soviet Union. Henry taught me then that the Soviet Union, USSR and Russia basically all meant the same thing. He also told me that my mother was always with me giving me strength and maturity, and that I could feel connected to her by wearing the suit she made for me. I guess I was emotionally needing to be older than 10, my actual age at the time. So he bolstered me maturationally by mentally tying me to my mother. It was funny because if I wore wool pants or a wool jacket, I would scratch myself and I couldn't stop it. And no matter how many times Henry gave me the hypnotic suggestion, "it's not scratching you, the material is soft and smooth on your skin," it still itched. So my mom had to line everything she made for me that was wool.
JFK rode the L.M. sex tour regularly and while I was down on my knees he would pat me on the back and say, "You are really going to move up the ranks." Or, "You're really going to amount to something when you grow up, kid." He loved lunch-time oral sex and the secret service agents rode in the front with the limo driver and chewed him out royally for, as they said, "...breaking stride that is nullifying National Security, Sir."
To calm the disgruntled Secret Service agents, Jack would laughingly explain, "Relax, I deserve a relaxing lunch break, that's all." I can still remember his accent so clearly.
JFK was really gutsy. He would even sneak me into the White House for "nooners." Sometimes there was another sex slave with me and when we'd get up to the bedroom he would say, "We're just furthering your training so you'll be top-notch when you grow up." He taught me, "A man likes a woman who's aggressive sexually. My wife doesn't satisfy me. She just lays back and waits. But a man likes a woman who takes charge." Then he would lay back and wait for the two of us to stimulate him, at which point he turned into an animal. Jack said he was training me for the future. I didn't know what that meant. He said I was serving my country by meeting the needs of their leader. He said, "By easing my stresses you help me make better decisions." Touching the tip of my nose he continued, "So young lady, you are very important to our nation." I was just out of braces.
JFK had a lean muscular body and a hairy chest. He worked out on the rowing machine. On one occasion as we were lying in bed together, he said to me, "You know, we both have the same kind of teeth." I reached out and put my hand into his mouth to feel his teeth and he was right, we both had big teeth--only his were more squared off.
JFK also liked anal sex, like his brother Ted. After he found out I was with Ted he asked me what his brother was really like. When I explained that he hurt me, he just shook his head and said, "I never could understand what happened to my brother. We both had the same parents, but we did go to different boarding schools and had different friends." He further explained that they didn't see their parents often and that their family had so much money that they chose the school that was the most fitting for their sons and sent them there. So as he explained, there weren't many family interactions. He said he felt lonely a lot when he was growing up, that he was closer to the maids and nannies than to his parents. He said, "The Kennedy Clan publicly appears to be a close knit family, but I never saw my parents except on holidays when they would meet in Hyannisport and us kids would be flown from our respective schools to meet them. It was more like getting reacquainted with strangers than meeting my family. Everyone was awkward and we really had nothing to talk about. I went out in a boat we had there and spent hours alone, playing all by myself. I was estranged from my brothers also because none of us lived together so when we came together we didn't know each other. Usually by the end of the holiday, we were friends again -- like real brothers -- but then it would be time to go back to our respective schools and it would start all over." Then he added, "I don't know why I'm telling you this, you're just a kid yourself and wouldn't really understand." He looked shy and vulnerable as he said, "I'm sorry for telling you all this."
I smiled and said, "It's okay." It seemed to be the fact that I listened and couldn't think to talk, that made these men feel good. All they really wanted was someone to really listen.
JFK never caused physical injury to me. He wasn't violent, just aggressive sexually but never brutal like his brother Ted. JFK liked all kinds of sex. He liked things varied, nothing routine. He got bored easily and asked for new things all the time. We had sex in many places. He got high on taking risks ...the riskier the better. We even had sex in a public bathroom somewhere in DC. On those occasions, the Secret Service Agents were doubly mad at him. They would totally freak out and say to him, "We could loose our jobs when you pull one of your little disappearing stunts." And they would be really upset, sweating and nervous because as they explained, they'd been running all over the city looking for where he had ducked them. Jack just told them to relax, that he was fine and that they still had their jobs.
I went on late night walks with JFK in DC. Sometimes the cherry blossoms would be in bloom and it smelled so sweet. The Secret Service agents followed close behind us. They seemed irritated to be on duty for JFK because he was so uncooperative and unpredictable. We walked by a river or waterway. He really enjoyed seeing it at night and said the exercise did him good. The Secret Service agents complained of being tired and hated having to get up at 1:00 or 2:00 a.m. to go outside with him. But when the President left, they had to go with him. I don't know where Jackie was, but she wasn't always at the White House the nights I was brought in. Jack would sneak me to his room and supposedly no one knew I was there. Like I explained, he loved taking risks.
Sometimes I had difficulty understanding exactly what Jack was saying because of his accent and at other times, I wouldn't be able to hear for awhile from the noise of the helicopter or plane I had been flown in on.
My hearing would feel muffled, like I had earmuffs on. I felt so much older than my young years, but then I was totally physically developed by the 5th grade (ten years of age). The personalities that were created to be with JFK were created to be older and more mature than my actual years.
During my years at Hale Jr. High School there were times Henry Kissinger preprogrammed and sent me in with a message to deliver while I was prostituted to JFK. I was a cheerleader and was prostituted to the boy's coach along the way. I had a group of girl friends that were part of my Girl Scout Troop and one of my friends was named Beth. I wasn't ever allowed to go to boy-girl parties, but I went to a lot of sleepovers. Many times I didn't end up staying overnight, but was instead shuffled off for a quick rendezvous to the White House or to Massachusetts or wherever the higher ups wanted me to go to be with JFK.
I called him "John-Feeee" (pronounced "John F.E."). Craig was "president" of the Student Body and it may have been a cover for my White House presidential use.
Beth's mother was an attractive petite blonde woman and she was hardly ever home. I think Beth's father was a pilot and maybe her mom was a stewardess, but she was gone most of the time. Beth had older sisters though and so they counted as adults in my protective mother's eyes, so I was allowed to spend the night when Beth's mother was not at home. One day I walked home from school with Beth, as she lived very close to Hale. We messed around and listened to records, and then, suddenly, I became upset and told her I wanted to go home. She said her mom wasn't there to drive me and she didn't want me to go home, but I called a number from her kitchen phone and a yellow checkered taxi came to the house and picked me up. Beth followed me out the door crying and said, "Do you want me to call your mom?"
"No, I'll be home in a minute anyway." I handed the driver a note I had in my overnight bag and he took it from there. I was driven to LAX. The airport was much smaller in those days, but still busy on Friday's and weekends with lots of traffic. The driver dropped me off in front of TWA and asked if I needed any help. I said no, I was fine. I walked up to the desk and told the woman my name, "Sharon Weatherby," and she had a ticket waiting for me. She asked if I knew where to go and pointed me in the direction of the gate.
I usually flew TWA, United, or Continental on national flights - not international - and I even had a little pin with wings, that a pilot who knew me gave me because he said I was an honorary stewardess. He had sex with me on the way back from assignments but no one had sex with me before JFK. There were usually pilots on commercial airlines that were "regulars," which meant they knew me and were instructed to keep me under their wing. Sometimes I helped the pilot on flights, but usually I slept up in first class. I think one of these pilots could have even been my friend's father, and he was told to keep an eye on me. I usually curled up in first class and slept for the long flight. When I arrived at the airport in DC, I was met by different people. This time it was a blonde lady in a uniform and she walked me out to a waiting black limo and opened the back door for me to get in. I did and she put my bag in next to me. This was before I met Craig so I was eleven or twelve years old, going on twenty-five.
I wasn't taken directly to JFK but was taken to the area where they operated the "Lincoln Memorial Shuttle" (oral sex ride). A limo pulled up and I was whisked into the back of it. Once inside I saw that "JohnFeee" was there and he said hello and began tickling me. He played with me and teased me a lot. Then he pulled me over close to him and said, "Now it's time to be more serious." And he started kissing me and slipped his hand inside my shirt and felt my breasts. Then he unfastened my bra and pulled my shirt up and began sucking on my nipples. He said that really got him hard to see young, firm breasts and he circled my nipples with his fingers. I didn't like it when I saw his wedding band on his hand while he was doing that to me because even under mind control, I knew who his wife was. Henry had told me to emulate her and so I felt bad... like here was this innocent, beautiful woman and I was having sex with her husband and there was a feeling of guilt--even under mind control.
That day, JFK took sexual initiative and liked being in charge. Before he closed the window and left us alone, the driver had said to him, "Jack, don't you think we should connect back up to your security?" meaning the Secret Service.
JFK said, "No. Hell no. I deserve to have a life." And so we toured around the city while "JohnFeee" got himself warmed up--sucking and licking me all over and I gave him a "preview" of the coming event by way of oral sex, backing off just before he orgasmed. He loved to run his tongue over my belly because he said, "I love young, firm, tummies," and he loved mine especially because he said it was so tan. He said I had a "golden tan."
After awhile, JFK tapped on the inner window in the limo to get the driver's attention and said, "Stop here."
The driver said, "Here, Sir?"
JFK commanded, "Yes," and opened the door and grabbed my arm and took me into this small motel. He already had the key to a room and went right to it and opened the door. It wasn't a very nice place but he said we wouldn't be looked for there, that "certainly no one would come looking for the President in a place like this," and then he laughed, lit up a cigarette and sat down at the small table and chairs. Taking a puff off his cigarette he said he wanted to take a break to "enjoy the view" and indicated I was to take off my clothes in front of him.
Slowly, I began removing my blouse and then my skirt, bra and then my nylons attached to my lacy garter belt and then my panties. I had on those plain white ones and for some reason he liked them, so Henry had me wear them with him. Then I stuck my finger into my vagina while I had one leg propped up on the bed and the other holding me up. Then I put my fingers to my mouth and that's when he jumped up and came over to me and said, "You're a big tease."
I smiled seductively and he put his arms around me and held me for a long moment and then when he moved back I began unbuttoning his shirt. It was a bit stiff like it was heavily starched and then I rubbed his chest and belly and talked to him about how his hairy chest and hard belly turned me on. I put my fingers in my mouth again. He said, "I'd like to be where those came from." I can remember his accent so well. He laid me back on the bed after he pulled the sheets back and he began oral sex. I told him how hot I was for him and began wiggling and moving all over, while I moaned. He said I was making him dizzy and he came up and began kissing me passionately, hard, almost roughly. Then he went inside me and satisfied himself. After he came he pulled back and said, "Sorry it couldn't have been longer, but I've got to get back." So he dressed and stepped outside the door and whistled. The driver came right up to the door. He went out and opened the door for me, and we got into the limo and left. The driver dropped him off at another limo to a bunch of Secret Service agents all in a tizzy over where he had gone. He shut the door and walked into the center of them without saying goodbye or acknowledging me.
These agents were really angry with him. I could see him using his hands and speaking to calm them down. JFK escaped from his Secret Service agents often. I heard one of them say one time, "I don't know how he does it, one slip and he's gone."
The driver put the window back up and drove me directly to the airport. I picked up my bag and he let me out and said, "Will you be needin' anything, ma'am?"
I smiled and said, "No thanks, I have everything I'll need." And I went to the ticket counter and said, "You're holding a ticket for me? Sharon Weatherby?"
Handing me my ticket the man smiled and said, "Your gate's in that direction."
Henry had me think of the gate numbers as the numbers on billiard balls and all I had to do was follow the line of numbers until I got to the one that matched my ticket. Sometimes I got lost but someone always helped me, often saying, "Excuse me, miss, but are you lost?"
I'd say, "I'm looking for gate eight," and they would point me in that direction. Once I got onto the airplane it seemed like there was always someone there to watch over me and I would go back to sleep. The return synchronization between my mother and me had to be perfect and this time I was driven back to Beth's house to wait by the curb for my mother.
The driver said, "Just sit here and wait, your mother will be here any minute." He pulled away from the curb and went and parked nearby. I saw him watch until my mom picked me up. She, too, always waited for me to get picked up when she dropped me off at places. Everyone always waited to make sure the exchange had taken place and I was in the correct hands.
JFK was my first presidential assignment. After having sex with Bob Hope in his 50's, a younger President wasn't as bad. Sharon was the personality programmed to be with JFK and due to the reality that was created for her, she had a lot in common with him, like being Catholic and from an elite family. One time Bob arranged for him to have some time out with me in Key Biscayne. Bob flew me there to take care of him, keep him happy and entertained. The Secret Service agents stood outside. JFK started by shaving and I sat on the counter and watched him. I giggled and hugged him while he stood in front of the mirror with a small white towel around his waist. I licked the shaving cream off his ear and then put my fingers into the remaining shave creme and licked it. Gently, he took my hands away and laughed softly as he explained that you weren't supposed to eat shaving cream. I thought it was whipped cream, like I had tasted in the pornography I was filmed in, and mistakenly was triggered into reciting my program, "Lick it and suck it, 'til it's all gone, yum, yum don't miss a drop, or you will stop; your heart that is." This must have been a program glitch because I wasn't suppose to recite this program out loud; it was supposed to just drive me from inside. Maybe JFK knew how to handle me nicely because of his sister who seemed like she was retarded. They didn't let her out much, and later I was glad when they didn't have her at their reunions, because I didn't understand what was wrong with her.
During this time, I wasn't allowed to eat as much sugar as I had been previously used to. I was told to be repelled by it and that, even as my hand reached for it, the sugar would move away and I couldn't ever get it so I should quit trying. Before this programming I was used to eating tons of sugar, so it was a major adjustment. Also, my mother used to get so angry with me for not eating enough at mealtimes, but I couldn't, as my programming dictated. She said I didn't eat enough to keep a bird alive. But when I tried to eat I usually felt sick.
Catholic girls had to act proper and Jack never had any cause to be embarrassed by my actions. He was spunky and aggressive and tickled me a lot, often until tears were falling down my cheeks. Then he would lay me on the bed, kiss my tears away and start having sex with me. He said he liked my short hair - that it was stylish - and he would play with my hair and mess it up. I'd just get it done again; in those days I didn't even know how to do my own hair. I never had to, my own personal hairdresser, a family friend, came to the house and washed it, cut it, curled and styled it.
Afterwards, JFK and I ran around naked, playing like school kids, and when it got dark we walked on the beach and the Secret Service agents always walked close behind. Boy did they get an eyeful. They would wink at me sometimes if I turned around to see if they were still there, when I was getting ready to make a move on John-Feee.
One night, Henry let me off at the White House to target JFK. I didn't go up to his bedroom, we had sex in a room near the kitchen that had two beds in it. I had on a short white crop top and low hip hugger jeans. My belly button showed and he said it turned him on. He would stoop down and lick my "bare spot," he called it. His pronunciation sounded funny to the personality dedicated to him because of his accent. I was tan and slim, and he said he liked that my tummy was flat. He said he hadn't had such a flat one in awhile and it turned him on. After we had a quick sexual encounter, I had to hurry to get my clothes on and exit real fast. He would open the door and look down the hall to see if the coast was clear. Then he would say, "Okay, now." And, I would run down the hall, out the door and down the steps to Henry waiting for me in the limo smoking his cigar. He would usually say something derogatory about JFK and tell me to button my clothes correctly. My bell bottoms had buttons on the front and if I was rushed I had trouble getting them buttoned right. I was always skipping a button. Henry would look down at my buttons and tell me to straighten up. Then I would button them correctly. I couldn't help that JFK had rushed me - I think he enjoyed that part as much as the sex. He seemed to like the adrenaline rush.
There was a very close call on another night. Jackie was down the hall calling out, "Jack, Jack, Jack!" Looking surprised, he grabbed me and put me in the closet, fixed the bed and answered her 89 quickly before she opened the door. You could hear the sound of her shoes when she veered off the hallway runner and onto the wood floor. I was in the closet when she came in the room and asked, "Jack, what are you doing?'
I heard him laugh and say he was looking for John-John's shoe. He said one was missing. Jackie asked him to come upstairs and he told her he would just look for a while longer and then he would be up. This guy actually let his wife out of the room, pulled me out of the closet and started having sex with me again, this time with more passion than ever before. He seemed to thrive on the risk factor. When I left, the Secret Service agents usually walked me from the White House down the block to a waiting limo, unless Henry was waiting for me outside.
Henry was cultured. There were little blue vases with flowers in the back of his shiny black car. They had a little light next to them and you could see the flowers in the dark. If after one of these escapades I began talking silly and sexual, Henry would give me the sign to hush up by simply buttoning or zipping his lips and then I knew to be silent and obedient. I could be turned off or on, volume up or down. I ran very mechanically like a Rolls Royce. Henry didn't like noise or children so he created me to be quiet and dignified. As I grew older it wasn't as hard because I was more fully trained and didn't get my personality switching messed up. I got used to being silent with Henry. But it was a difficult transition after I was in the presence of JFK because he was wild and noisy, and his playfulness put me in the same frame of mind, until Henry toned me down.
Why JFK and His Brother
Really Got Shot
JFK had ties to Frank Sinatra and his group. I was shared around all these type groups because of Bob's and Henry's influence. The Kennedy’s were highly mob connected, especially Bobby, as surprising as that might seem for the family man image he projected. JFK took a mob dispute with him clear to the White House and attempted to use his political power as President to shut down his enemies. He publicly appeared to go after the Mob, but he was interested in shutting down only one enemy faction. But he had to publicly say he was going after all underworld crime in order to be able to legally do what he tried to do: dismantle the Mob that opposed the Kennedy family clan. I overheard Joe Kennedy yelling at JFK at a family reunion when he was President. He told him to stop messing with the Mob, to leave it alone, that he didn't know what he was doing. It was shortly after that that Joe Kennedy had a stroke or brain seizure, and Rose blamed Jack for causing it.
Joe Kennedy was very happy with the marriage of Jackie to Jack because Jackie brought with her a faction of mob that would help build up Jack and the future Kennedy dynasty. At least that's what I heard him say. Joe Kennedy was big on mob connections, like his friend J.P. Morgan, who was an important mob buddy and supporter. They supported each other.
As Joe Kennedy got weaker, the tight rein of coexistence he held with the Mob began to loosen and his sons became sloppy and careless, and didn't take seriously the rules of the Mob. Like Uncle Frank (Sinatra) said, "You don't ever try to go against the Mob or you'll wind up in the morgue or worse yet, sleeping with the fishes." I was born into Uncle Charlie's mob connection and he heavily influenced my life because of his arms, munitions and drug connections all over the globe. These were some serious connections that made him sought after by members of the Council. In those days, the Mob made the money and powerful connections. Different mobs supported each other like allies from foreign countries do. They were the power behind the Council, initially - the connections that allowed the Council to get such a toehold, as the mobs worked cliqueishly for or against one another. The Mob provided important funding in the early years, but later the Council took away much of their power over monopolies when the Council outstripped them of their power through intelligence and outsmarting them with technology.
The Mob couldn't begin to compete. In the beginning the Council knew how to work the different factions of the Mob for the Council's benefit and gain. Once the Council attained the strength they needed to get over the hump and into the big money, they outsmarted the Mob with their mind control technology and were then able to control the Mob. It was a game of intellect and the Council won checkmate!
Joe Kennedy, William Randolph Hearst, J.P. Morgan and others were part of a powerful underground group. They created their own revenue and their own justice, and they knew how to play by the rules to stay alive and in the game, but the rules suddenly changed with the power created by the Council as they utilized the Mob's success and made it their own. People like Jack (JFK) didn't play by the new rules so they got snuffed.
Often when I was sent in to target JFK, I would be loaded with messages from the different mobsters like Uncle Frank (Sinatra). I gave instructions for JFK to do some favor for the Mob or else, he was told, "the small, sweet favors will dry up." JFK scared me because he always laughed and acted like he didn't take the messages with the seriousness I believed they carried. I had seen Uncle Frankie in operation and he had friends, lots of them, who killed people for nothing much at all, and I was afraid that if JFK didn't listen and do as they said that they would kill him, too. But he didn't seem the least bit concerned about them ...ever. I took them even more seriously after JFK was killed. Then I knew they weren't joking but were very serious and meant what they said about doing everything they said or be killed.
I heard Uncle Frank talk often about people's positions in the Mob. He talked to lots of Mob buddies in front of me. I was used for dangerous connections and, as far as Frank and Dean Martin were concerned, I knew far too much, so they wanted me to "sleep with the fishes." But Henry wouldn't hear of losing his "personal computer" and threatened serious retaliation if they harmed me. Henry had a new kind of power that the Mob didn't understand at first, until they got burned a few times. Then they understood. But some serious action had to be taken to prove this power, like, as I overheard, "the assassination of a President and his big mouth brother who just wouldn't listen," in order for the Mob - a strong political faction of it - to see where the new power lie, so they would know to back off. By then the banks and newspapers were taken over and reorganized by the Council and their constituents, and HIGH LEVEL TECHNOLOGY took over - something the Mob knew nothing about. It took the wind out of their sails. This was happening during the 60's and early 70's, when I was only a teenager approaching early adulthood, and listening and recording everything I heard per instructions from my boss, Henry Kissinger.
One day in his office, Henry said, "You won't be servicing him (JFK) much longer. The higher ups have some alternate plans for him." At the time I felt he meant death. Henry said, "This will lock you in for life." Later, they used JFK's death on me heavily.
When JFK was killed I was in junior high school and my controllers told me, "If we can take out the President without anyone knowing, who would miss the likes of you?" They told me I was dispensable, easily replaceable, and that no one would ever miss me if I were gone. To give me a clear example the suited man reminded me, "Does your mother even have a clue where you are right now? NO. So who would miss you? Not even your own mother."
In order to insure that I was under program and their total control they continued the ritual torture and trauma. Then they tied the ritual trauma that occurred at home or at the church across the street from my junior high school to songs or hypnotic commands, like "If you try to begin to recall this area of your mind, you will immediately recall this horror scene," which they reminded me of in complete detail, in order to keep me terrified and programmed.
Most people are now familiar with Marilyn Monroe's connection to the Kennedy family and her use with the President. It has been said by insiders that Marilyn was one of the first programmed Presidential models, created under mind control for sex with the President and use in Hollywood connections. While I did not possess the physical beauty that Marilyn Monroe did, I had the mind files and all the right connections to further my controller's interests.
For my assignments, when I wasn't flown out of LAX, I left from Van Nuys Airport, John Wayne Airport, or local helicopter pads that were atop buildings in Los Angeles. My mother took me and picked me up and nursed me back to life if I was hurt or really messed up mentally or psychologically. She would try to make me eat if I couldn't and she put me to bed. I was usually so out of it from the food and sleep deprivation and electroshock done for "National Security purposes" to keep memory of the events safely away from my conscious awareness, that I often couldn't think to bathe, eat or get into bed to sleep. My mom would tell me what to do and the parts of me that participated in these escapades always felt so relieved to be back in my clean bed at home. In my attempt to create some semblance of safety and security I slept against the wall to remind myself I was in my own bed and safe. That was, until my father came into my room at night-then the nightmare started all over again. More than anything in the world I wanted my mother, or someone, to help me--to protect me--to stop the nightmarish experiences. But she never could.
I will do everything in my power to stop these atrocities from happening, so that my daughter, my sons, and any future children born into our family will not have to suffer any longer. I am sure the Mob with their huge capacity for family love and loyalty will understand and pardon this need I have. And to Dr. Kissinger, Bob Hope, UCLA, CIA, NASA, U.S. Department of Defense and all those who participated in my family's high-tech programming, I ask that you honor this request for my family's freedom and safety. I will hold you in prayer, asking God to show you the ramifications of your actions.
"Be ye kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you." -- Ephesians 4:3
next
All the way with LBJ
Cliff Spear was also a pedophile friend of my fathers. His daughter Debbie (also known as DeeDee) was my age and was in my brownie troop and class at school. I was traded to Cliff by my father, and was molested by him every time I spent the night at Debbie's house. In the middle of the night, Debbie and I, and sometimes her younger sister Jana, were awakened and taken to Cliff's carpeting business to be filmed pornographically.
Guy Cooper was a man who filmed me in porn at his home in Hidden Hills, with his younger daughter, Buffy. In this porn I was also forced to have sex with animals, some of them large farm animals. You can imagine how shameful and degrading these experiences are to a child.
To my knowledge, my father's affiliation was not limited to any single group, nor did he subscribe to membership in any group for any length of time. Instead, his membership was temporary, as he moved from one group to another, suiting my programmer's needs for the time. The groups I am aware of that he attended for different periods of time were the Lions Club, Ku Klux Klan, and Neo-Nazi groups. Publicly and consciously my father adamantly professed that he was not prejudiced against any race or religion and taught me not to be racially prejudiced. In private, secret gatherings with like minded men, he witnessed and participated in ceremonies where they humiliated, tortured, dismembered and killed Black people and Jewish people. I know, because as a child I was present at some of those "meetings."
I was taken often to rituals that were performed late at night. One incident that stands out in my mind was a night near my 10th birthday when a group of men sacrificed a Black man, saying it was done in my "honor," to give me power. As I watched in sheer panic, devastation, and horror, they tortured and then threw this man alive into the bonfire. To withstand this extremely traumatic event, I split off another personality to deal with it. On another occasion, as a Fourth of July event, a small child was delivered by a black sedan to my father at the gully at the end of our street. I watched in horror as my father strapped a homemade bomb he had made to this little boy's body and told me he was so powerful he could make the child live or die. The next thing I knew the bomb went off and the child was nowhere to be found. The tactics used to keep me dissociated and split were endless.
The Shriners
I remembered my father and our Shriner neighbor, Jack Rice, taking me to a meeting where a group of men, all wearing red Shriner hats, sat at tables. My father was given a Shriner hat and acted like he felt uncomfortable wearing it. I was patriotically wearing a navy blue v-neck dress with a large white sailor collar. Mr. Rice sat on one side of me and my father on the other. They ate dinner but I just sat at my place in a daze and didn't eat anything. One of the Shriner's stood at his table and clinking his glass to get everyone's attention, he announced, "We have a little member here tonight to entertain and delight you. Please welcome her with a round of applause."
I walked up onto the stage and began dancing to The National Anthem. "Oh say can you see, by the dawn's early light," the words played as I danced and slowly began taking off first my dress, then my shoes, pantaloons, nylons, bra, and panties until I stood dressed only in a tiny tasseled white satin gstring. Why I didn't strip all the way I don't know. All the men cheered and after I was through Mr. Rice stood at the bottom of the stage stairs to take me backstage to dress. He held out his arm and I took it. I felt like I was blind and couldn't see to find my way so he led me as he recited the program he had continually taught me to memorize, "There was a man who had no eyes and he went out to view the skies, he saw a tree with apples on it, he picked no apples off but left no apples on it." It was a "blind" program and I was told I couldn't see while I was there. Mr. Rice led me to a back room. It wasn't like a dressing room, just a side room. He gave me some kind of red robe to wear, "They'll bring your clothes on into us in awhile, we'll just wait." Other nights at different Shriner places, there were satanic rituals where I was raped on an altar in front of the group of robed men. There were many other Shriner meetings; lots of them disguised "under the big top," at Shriner circuses. Circuses were a place of trauma over the years and I usually ended up getting hurt.
My neighbor Peggy and I performed Alice in Wonderland in what seemingly appeared to be an innocent backyard neighborhood play for these elderly neighbors, Mr. & Mrs. Rice. They sat on their patio, having cocktails like they always did at happy hour and watched while we performed. In the middle of the play, Mr. Rice wiggled his finger and calling me over to him, he said, "Come here, Susie, I want to tell you a secret." I stood by this elderly man's chair on the patio and he motioned for me to bend over so he could whisper a secret to me. His pungent alcohol breath permeated the air as he said, "I have a little surprise that will help you act out the play better," and he put a small role of lifesavers into my hand and told me, "open your mouth for the next surprise." Naively and with complete trust, I opened my mouth as he said, "Close your eyes for the hidden surprise, and remember the real surprise is in your hand." Then he reminded me, "open your mouth for the hidden surprise."
In childlike innocence, I kept my eyes closed, waiting in anticipation for the surprise. Mr. Rice placed something in my mouth that was round as he said, "This is a heavenly wafer, my dear, a hidden heavenly wafer, in which you will appear." I didn't know what he meant but I began feeling very weak and funny inside, just like Alice in Wonderland did. Then he said, "Go finish your play now and act your part. Your part is about to start, so don't be late for a very important date or you will end up in trouble over and over and over again. Always obey the white rabbit, follow him inside for he has the time of day in which you will play. So go now and play your play. Which is it, play? The play or the play?"
In a confused stupor, I walked back over to my friend Peggy and entered the play again, saying my part, which was, "I'm late, I'm late for a very important date."
Mr. Rice was my date at other evening affairs with the Shriners, some where I was even the "altar girl" but it wasn't like a sacred ceremony at the Catholic Church, instead, I was taken to satanic rituals. They were really bad rituals where I was raped on an altar in front of lots of Shriners late at night, in dark outside places and they hurt and tortured me in the name of what they called, "the holy one."
Peggy and I also performed The Parent Trap for the Rice's. This was a way of cementing and concretizing the Susan and Sharon twin sister programming. I played Sharon in the backyard play and Peggy played Susan. We even cut my dress just like in the movie.
As I remembered what had actually happened, in full detail, instead of merely recalling the small slice of conscious reality of this past event, I could smell the Rice's home, Mr. Rice's alcohol breath, and his daughter Joanie's perfume, which was strong and also had an alcohol base to it. Hidden behind all the fairy tales and seemingly good things were painful memories of the places I was taken to for programming.
The Onset of Puberty
I began puberty around this time and my father snuck into my room like he always did at night. He explained to me while I was in a haze of sleep, that I was of the superior race, that I was of Aryan descent and that he was proud of my blond hair, green eyes, and fair skin. At the time, I had no idea what he was talking about and ignored it, pretending I didn't hear him.
I started menstruating at ten. This heralded abuse in rituals which involved being raped and impregnated, sometimes twice a year. When the fetuses were two to three months old, they were aborted at rituals and ingested by members of the group in order to fulfill the beliefs of the group; that it made those participating "more powerful." These were devastating, deeply traumatizing, and soulfully painful experiences, the memory of which was repressed along with all the other traumas. These traumatic events served as mind control reinforcement, to insure amnesia of my use in pornography, prostitution, and later projects I was to serve in.
By the end of the 5" grade, when I was almost eleven, I had gone through puberty, was fully developed and had already had my menstrual cycle for a year. Despite the abuse, I was programmed to be an average student, with many "school" personalities who helped me act like a "normal kid." Often I displayed behavior problems in school, as I acted out, due to what was secretly going on at home and at other dark, hidden places. My teachers merely passed off my joking and constant disruption as typical mischievous behavior and I won an award for class clown. I also had personalities who were totally amnesiac of any of my abuse who were able to function normally at school. As I entered junior high school, I did the things that normal kids do; I was a cheerleader, performed in the chorus, sang solos at school performances, won awards for the most beautiful smile and for being the class clown, and obtained other awards for service. And my mother had the cleanest house in the neighborhood.
To all outward appearances, all of these families I've mentioned, seemed to be normal, upstanding citizens of the community. NO one would have ever suspected that, in secret, all of this abuse was occurring. The mothers kept clean children and clean houses, smiled and were polite and caring in public, and the fathers acted charming and were considered responsible businessmen in the community. What went on behind closed doors--that no one wanted to believe or hear about, not even my school principal--was the spiritual, physical, and emotional devastation of many, many children.
In my desperation to obtain help or understanding, I started very early trying to figure out what was wrong. I kept bumping into mind control programming that re-routed my thoughts, and exasperated with my statements and questions, my mother constantly "re-minded" me from her own programming, "You just think too much!"
When I turned eleven, my father announced he was flying me to his small hometown of Correctionville, Iowa, to meet my grandparents. I was surprised by this invitation, as family problems had estranged my father from his parents for years ...in fact, from even before my birth. My father never had anything pleasant to say about his parents. But I was excited to fly on an airplane (which I mistakenly thought was my first time) and curious about meeting my grandparents for the first time. The telltale fact that my father hated them, and had stolen their car and run away from home at fifteen never entered my thought processes. Nor was I able to wonder why my mother and brothers were not invited to go along. Unfortunately, due to the mind control I was under, I did not have the ability to question or to wonder about anything along certain lines. I merely went along with what I was told to do.
I was impregnated several months before we were to go to Iowa. My mother took me shopping to a clothes store called Stardusters. It was like Hollywood there. The saleslady picked out dresses and took me into the dressing room and, in spite of my embarrassment, dressed me in outfits complete with accessories. My mother bought me several expensive outfits, complete with hats, belts, purses and fancy, frilly undergarments, although she wore old, ragged clothes and at home the word was that we were broke.
On the way home from our shopping spree, my mother took note of my maternally pooching tummy, and over the next few months, yelled at me constantly saying, "Hold in your stomach." Neither of us consciously knew that I was pregnant and I tried my best to hold in my tummy. During my teen years, I was usually anorexic, very thin, and didn't eat much, so the fact that I was pregnant for a month or two was not easy to detect, especially to those who wouldn't have ever expected it.
My paternal grandfather, Ivan Charles Eckhart, was a Jersey Ice Cream manufacturer, a multimillionaire and mayor of the town of Correctionville, Iowa, where he lived with my grandmother. Later on he won a landslide election to become the supervisor of the Third District and for years was involved in both local and state politics.
My paternal grandmother, Leah Eckhart, was a small but angry-tempered woman. Now I understand why. Instead of sleeping upstairs in the plush bedroom with my grandfather, she slept in the bare cement floored basement on a small cot. At the time I could not question or wonder about that either. My grandparents are now both deceased, left with never having the opportunity of understanding or healing the intergenerational abuse that created this problem to begin with.
I had many traumatic experiences on my visits to Iowa. I suppose, back then, my father's return visit to his parents appeared just to be a family reunion, but nothing could have been further from the truth.
While in Iowa, I had the first of several forced abortions, which was performed in a torturous fashion by a local doctor. Although I was actually raped and made pregnant at a ritual, I was humiliated and shamed for becoming pregnant. As in all trauma-based mind control, everything was a double-bind. I was blamed and shamed for everything that happened, none of which I ever had any control over. My baby, which was not yet old enough to be born alive, was nevertheless a perfectly formed fetus. My grandparents and my father performed a ritual behind their house in which they convinced me that I had killed my own baby (it was obviously born dead), and they ate it and forced me to participate. Since I was suffering from Multiple Personality Disorder, this traumatic experience, along with many others, was stored neatly away from my conscious mind, hidden in alternate personalities, and sealed away from my conscious awareness by programming that covered and hid the truth of my life.
One night after returning to my grandfather's house, somehow the experiences that terrified me were not so neatly hidden from my consciousness and in an act of panic and desperation, I frantically tried to phone my mother to ask her to help me. Overhearing me, my grandfather grabbed the phone out of my hand and proceeded to rip the phone out of the wall and in retaliation, tied me to the post of his iron bed frame for two days, while they went out of town. My grandfather was very brutal. But my father 79 was very proud of the human technology I possessed. He was pleased to be able to show his father all of my "trained" abilities.
During the remainder of the time we were in Iowa, I was forced to entertain my grandfather's business and political friends. I danced naked on the table at meetings and performed sexual favors for many of my grandfather's associates. To demonstrate my abilities, my father prompted the men to use their cigars or cigarettes to burn my vaginal area as I kneel before them. My father wanted to demonstrate that I would smile and show no signs of the pain due to mind control. After these meetings, I was connected to a higher level of politicians.
From then on, when my father took me on our yearly trips to Iowa, I was slowly connected to more and more political figures. In the meantime, he used me wherever he could to get cash, or more often, courtesies for favors. We started having enough money to go out to dinner, which was a treat we could not previously afford. It's likely that some of the money came from my father's payoffs from my use in porn and prostitution.
Training Farms
There were child and adolescent training centers called "farms," that I believe were located in Montreal, a city in the French Canadian Province of Quebec. I was taken to one for "grace training," and to step up the etiquette and formal training I would need to be used a notch higher. Other teenage girls were also there in training. It felt like a prison. I think I was there for a week - it was difficult to determine the actual span of time. It had to be winter because it was chilly and windy outside, and the trees were barren and there were leaves on the ground. This place was located out in the countryside. It wasn't on the way to anything so if anyone came near they could easily be identified as intruders. We were seen to public eyes as unwed mothers. We even had to stuff a pillow in our pants and go into town every once in awhile. I slept with other girls in a white farm building that had cement floors and cots with mattresses that lined the room. We all compliantly took the medicine they gave us every morning. The people that worked at "the farm" changed daily, men and women both, but never the same ones two days in a row. We ate dinner and we all got into bed, then someone told us a story. They treated us like a herd of cows and we all totally obeyed instructions; there was no fuss and no fight, just total obedience.
I was taught how to walk elegantly with a book on my head and had to be able to squat down without dropping the book, and then stand up again. I was assigned to work with language input tapes in a small sound room equipped with headphones. I was given a mirror to look into to practice making certain sounds. All the instructions were given to me auditorily, even down to, "hold your mouth like you are saying A or O," and then I heard the sound I was to mimic. Once I learned the physical impressions of how to make the sounds they could easily attach language skills. I don't know how it all works, but later they had me lay down with headphones on while they played sounds so fast that I couldn't hear the words. Later they said that it had "worked," and that I had received French language enhancement. The lady explained that in most foreign countries it was proper to ask for a translator, but it was to be common background for the upper class to at least speak fluent French and Italian, and preferably German and Russian also. Since I was going to be used with foreign people and in foreign countries, I had to know their languages and customs.
I was also shown movies from a film projector onto a screen. I saw films on different foreign countries in order to obtain the necessary culture. They instructed me, "Put this in your China file," and then I would watch a movie intently recording all of it, the places, the names, dates, historical facts, everything. Then later on when Henry and I arrived in these foreign lands, I was familiar with their cultural background so I wouldn't make a faux pas.
All we did at the training farm was eat lightly, sleep and learn; input was ingested in large quantities for later use. Henry didn't visit me there. He said he might stop in to check on me, but he never did. Beforehand, he tied my Wizard of Oz programming to this event when he told me to believe, "I left my bed in Kansas, and went on the wings of a tornado to the farm." When I came back "to Kansas" I woke up in my own bed in California and was very, very sick. My mom took care of me and told me that I had the flu. I had a high fever and was a little delirious. I couldn't even manage to keep my eyes focused. I felt exhausted and so sick that I couldn't sleep, so I lay in my bed and prayed to die.
During summer vacation one year, Mr. Rice, our Shriner neighbor, re-introduced me to his daughter, Joanie Rice, who was visiting for the summer from her home in White Plains, New York. She was much older than I and was very attractive. She wore lots of makeup and jewelry, and wore a heavy perfume called Royal Secret. During that time, my maternal grandmother who lived with us had to be put in a rest home and my mother visited her every day, so Joanie, stayed to babysit me and played with me by our pool in my mother's absence. It all looked like a nice arrangement from the outside, but her presence was planned to further my programming. She taught me to be "dignified." I heard that word over and over and over. She taught me social etiquette--to act polished, to have good manners, and she was there to voice-program me when the men came with the equipment. At these times, she and a group of men held me down on the couch, drugged me, placed a band around my head, which they retrieved from a black briefcase full of special equipment including bright lights and machines which delivered different sounds and instructions. I was given names of politicians and programmed with instructions that, when I saw them on TV or heard them on radio, I was to become completely amnestic of who and what I was involved in. She also programmed me from lists of numbers and codes. Other years, I was flown to her glamorous apartment in New York. She escorted me to Washington, DC at first, so I wouldn't feel afraid or alone and could work at my maximum capacity. My mother and I also began to wear Royal Secret perfume, like Joanie.
Twenty-nine Palms
My family bought property in Twenty-nine Palms, California and built a small cabin on the desert land. One weekend my father explained that my mom needed a little time to herself since her mother had just passed away. I, too, was sad that my grandmother had died. My controllers told me she went to the streets of hell as evidenced by the blood coming out of her face. She died of high blood pressure, which caused the bleeding. But they said she went to hell and I hoped she would come back alive so we could re-route her. But after awhile that didn't scare me because I knew my "Gram" didn't go to hell. Although in a programmed state, my grandmother participated at times in my abuse, I knew she was really a nice quiet, gentle woman, who like my mother, never would have intentionally hurt anyone.
So, my father took my brothers and I to our Twenty-nine Palms cabin and one day they involved me in a sex ritual. They got me drunk, then stripped and tied me by my wrists and ankles face up in the sand in the intense desert sun. They seemed so excited as they did this to me. My father painted a satanic pentagram and green swastikas on my body. Later on, as it began to get dark he poured gas in a wide circle around me and once it was really dark he lit a match which started a fire burning all around me. I thought they were going to cook me. They put a half-dead, sandy, horned toad in my mouth and told me to hold it there. My brother Rick was running all around in an excited frenzy and my brother Jim was there also. At this ritual, in addition to traumatizing me, they were being taught how to be in charge. I was raped by all of them and their friends.
My Future Marriage Was
Arranged In 7th Grade
During this time, I attended Hale Junior High School, which was located directly across the street from our church, the First Presbyterian Church of Woodland Hills. It was at Hale, in the 7'" grade (we were thirteen), that I met Craig Ford (Robert Craig Ford). One afternoon, my mother picked me up from school and I introduced Craig to her. After Craig left and I got into the car, my mother announced, "That 81 is the boy you will marry." I laughed and asked her how she knew. She said she just knew. I never questioned further. Craig asked me to go steady soon afterward.
Over the next several years, Craig and I were "bonded" to each other through cross programming and shared trauma to insure that Craig was under sufficient mind control to later serve as my "handler." A ritual at the First Presbyterian Church served to seal our bond, and soon other more sophisticated means of programming were utilized.
White Programming Vans
Large white vans with men in suits in the back picked us up at differing locations in Ventura and Oxnard, California, and directed us into the back of the van. Specialized equipment in briefcases and other larger equipment in the van awaited us. They routinely beat Craig in front of me to demonstrate what a weakling he really was and how powerful and in control of me they were. They would slap me around in front of him, as well, to show him how powerless he was to help me and how much in control they were.
Electroshock was used on both of us, first by inserting and activating an electric prod in my vagina and then delivering the same to Craig on his penis. We were forced to watch in a dissociative, trance state as the other was tortured and traumatized as they readied us for programming.
The bond that was formed by shared trauma was profound. It created subconscious feelings of being in this whole mess together and enforced the feelings that we would never be able to get out. After they had sufficiently worn us down, they strapped us into sophisticated chairs and hooked us up to electrodes. Tones were combined with electroshock in order to create access cues that gave them quick and easy access to us both later on. Hypnotic suggestions and love songs were presented to us, in order to facilitate our "falling madly in love." In fact my controllers created an entire system of songs intended to invoke selected, preordained feelings toward Craig and others. The list of songs was added to and cultivated over the years depending on what attitudes and emotions they wanted to create within me. These songs were some of the strongest measures of control and literally created what I thought were my own feelings about Craig, but which really were contrived feelings created to support the interests of my controllers.
Combined with scenarios such as this, my brothers and their muscle-bound friends would intercept us when we were parked after a date to kiss. They pulled Craig out of the car and beat him up as they instructed him not to touch me sexually. Then one of them would rape me in front of him as they restrained him nearby, rendering him once again powerless to help.
All these conditioning experiences served to "prepare" Craig to robotically deliver and hand me over to other men, then step aside while I passed messages or serviced them sexually. It was always his job to make sure I was delivered to the right place, at the right time, to the right person, and for many years, that is exactly what he did.
I didn't have sex with Bob Hope until later. Bob said the wait would do him good, "give him something to look forward to," and then he would lean down and poke me and do that ole' soft shoe dance. . He did that often. He said, "I like my fruit ripened, not plucked before its time." At other times he would say to his friends when I was around, "See, I know how to pick my fruit, huh?" Then he'd say, "Hey kid, get me some grapes," and I'd go get them and he would show off how cute and efficient I was. He was always showing off my new acts. He would say, "Do your Coca Roca dance." So I'd do a dance. Then he would say, "No, the other Coca Roca," and I'd take off my clothes while dancing. Or he would have me sing I Enjoy Being A Girl, which was a song I sang for a junior high school performance and later for him and others.
The Theater in the Round was built and opened in Woodland Hills and drew large crowds to watch the live action plays that were performed in the round theater. I attended the plays often and it was there that I was prostituted to Bob's friend, Sammy Davis, Jr. It was a brutal event that I "forgot" about as soon as he was through with me.
"Love suffereth long, and is kind..." -- 1 Corinthians 13:4
Chapter Six:
JFK and the Sex Shuttle
During a demonstration of the high level of technology available to those willing to join the ranks,
Henry masterfully delivered a slide presentation of the mind control technology. I sat in the darkened
room in "park mode," with my conscious mind seemingly blocked from the information, yet carrying out
the command of my master to perfectly record all that went on around me. First Henry flashed a slide of
me in my normal California life. He said, "Who in their right mind would believe that this kid was having
sexual relations with the President of the United States?" The men agreed. Then he followed by a series
of slides of me artfully made up, dressed formally and in different disguises. The men were amazed at the
difference.Many men were brought into the cause simply because they wanted to own a piece of the rock and have their own robots to do their work or create their pleasures: At first they were given just bits of information at a time, to determine if they would be cooperative. Then they were given a little more information to test the waters to see if they were ready for the final blow. Usually dozens of meetings occurred on superficial levels before any real information was given out and that was only released when the men were "deeply committed," which meant that they would be compromising themselves or their family if they backed out at a certain point.
In the beginning when Henry was cultivating my relationship with JFK and insuring him of my security guarantees, Henry didn't fill me with much of an agenda except to give JFK the "royal treatment," which meant the same as Bob's (Hope's) full smorgasbord of sexual positions and favors. Henry told me to carefully note everything JFK said and did for debriefing afterwards. Henry had a challenge with JFK because as he said, "he's so damn self-initiating," and so Henry couldn't have me take the lead, thereby slipping in comments intended for Henry's covert purposes. So for awhile in the beginning, he just let me be with JFK so that he would get used to me, and Henry said, "Then a plan will inevitably open up."
Kissinger didn't spend a lot of time with JFK. They spoke but it was like they were "...polar opposites and constantly repelled each other," Henry said. But Henry, and especially Bob as the front man, got to JFK and paved the way for his acceptance of me. Once we were in, then Henry started strategizing heavily. That is what happened after I began having sex with JFK. Henry said, "Mind files were created to delight the young president." As Kissinger counted on, JFK was a romantic and seemed to get caught up in many of the messages I delivered to him. The messages made him feel good and Henry wanted him to feel good and powerful with me. I was delivering high level Council messages created by Bob and Henry, that Henry instilled in me to deliver to "John-Feeee," that's what I called him. They got a war underway through JFK, a big war that was to influence not only America but also the international climate.
It was as common for foreign dignitaries, heads of state, senators, congressmen, governors, and other leaders, to ride the Lincoln Memorial (Oral Sex) Tour, as it was for them to get their shoes shined in the local hotels. In fact, that was one of the jokes I was instructed to deliver to get a man loosened up. I was programmed to say, "Want your shoe shined?" Then I would unzip him and begin. There were lots of men who wanted further servicing later on, but I was instructed to refer them to my boss.
I serviced many men on this so-called shuttle service over the years of my life that should have been filled with junior high, high school and college extracurricular activities of my own choosing. The elitists I worked for had an endless supply of slaves that kept the tour shuttle running regularly. I wasn't really giving tours, just sex in the limo. The men felt safe and protected from public exposure by their placement in the back of the limo because they couldn't be seen due to the security windows. They had privacy when they exited the limo so they wouldn't be exposed. Security employees would always await the arrival of the shuttle limo to open the door and coach them out when the "coast was clear," then transfer them immediately into their own personal limo so no one would ever detect.
There were times when Henry would have a driver take us from DC to his office in New York. He would work with me in the back seat after he told the driver, "I'll be busy working and I don't want to be interrupted." So the driver shut the window between the seats and Henry would debrief me and take sketchy notes, draw diagrams and plans while I was talking or he would touch his finger to my forehead and start uploading me for future assignments. Much of our work took place like this on drives between places usually just before or after I had been used at the White House or other places. It was convenient, as well as a security measure, because he could account for his time spent with me by saying, "I was en route to NY or DC," or wherever he was going, and since I was on the same time track as Henry it was all very time efficient, and concealed his activity and connection to me. To Henry the efficient use of his time was everything. He told me, "When people can master their use of time, they have the secret to success." He often talked on and on to me about his ideas, events and people, using me as a sounding board, completely assured that I couldn't ever break the security programming necessary to remember his conversations.
Henry said I was much more than his efficient secretary, I was a "diplomat extraordinaire." I wore a brownish tan wool suit, tailor-made by my mother, to my first meeting in the Soviet Union. Henry taught me then that the Soviet Union, USSR and Russia basically all meant the same thing. He also told me that my mother was always with me giving me strength and maturity, and that I could feel connected to her by wearing the suit she made for me. I guess I was emotionally needing to be older than 10, my actual age at the time. So he bolstered me maturationally by mentally tying me to my mother. It was funny because if I wore wool pants or a wool jacket, I would scratch myself and I couldn't stop it. And no matter how many times Henry gave me the hypnotic suggestion, "it's not scratching you, the material is soft and smooth on your skin," it still itched. So my mom had to line everything she made for me that was wool.
JFK rode the L.M. sex tour regularly and while I was down on my knees he would pat me on the back and say, "You are really going to move up the ranks." Or, "You're really going to amount to something when you grow up, kid." He loved lunch-time oral sex and the secret service agents rode in the front with the limo driver and chewed him out royally for, as they said, "...breaking stride that is nullifying National Security, Sir."
To calm the disgruntled Secret Service agents, Jack would laughingly explain, "Relax, I deserve a relaxing lunch break, that's all." I can still remember his accent so clearly.
JFK was really gutsy. He would even sneak me into the White House for "nooners." Sometimes there was another sex slave with me and when we'd get up to the bedroom he would say, "We're just furthering your training so you'll be top-notch when you grow up." He taught me, "A man likes a woman who's aggressive sexually. My wife doesn't satisfy me. She just lays back and waits. But a man likes a woman who takes charge." Then he would lay back and wait for the two of us to stimulate him, at which point he turned into an animal. Jack said he was training me for the future. I didn't know what that meant. He said I was serving my country by meeting the needs of their leader. He said, "By easing my stresses you help me make better decisions." Touching the tip of my nose he continued, "So young lady, you are very important to our nation." I was just out of braces.
JFK had a lean muscular body and a hairy chest. He worked out on the rowing machine. On one occasion as we were lying in bed together, he said to me, "You know, we both have the same kind of teeth." I reached out and put my hand into his mouth to feel his teeth and he was right, we both had big teeth--only his were more squared off.
JFK also liked anal sex, like his brother Ted. After he found out I was with Ted he asked me what his brother was really like. When I explained that he hurt me, he just shook his head and said, "I never could understand what happened to my brother. We both had the same parents, but we did go to different boarding schools and had different friends." He further explained that they didn't see their parents often and that their family had so much money that they chose the school that was the most fitting for their sons and sent them there. So as he explained, there weren't many family interactions. He said he felt lonely a lot when he was growing up, that he was closer to the maids and nannies than to his parents. He said, "The Kennedy Clan publicly appears to be a close knit family, but I never saw my parents except on holidays when they would meet in Hyannisport and us kids would be flown from our respective schools to meet them. It was more like getting reacquainted with strangers than meeting my family. Everyone was awkward and we really had nothing to talk about. I went out in a boat we had there and spent hours alone, playing all by myself. I was estranged from my brothers also because none of us lived together so when we came together we didn't know each other. Usually by the end of the holiday, we were friends again -- like real brothers -- but then it would be time to go back to our respective schools and it would start all over." Then he added, "I don't know why I'm telling you this, you're just a kid yourself and wouldn't really understand." He looked shy and vulnerable as he said, "I'm sorry for telling you all this."
I smiled and said, "It's okay." It seemed to be the fact that I listened and couldn't think to talk, that made these men feel good. All they really wanted was someone to really listen.
JFK never caused physical injury to me. He wasn't violent, just aggressive sexually but never brutal like his brother Ted. JFK liked all kinds of sex. He liked things varied, nothing routine. He got bored easily and asked for new things all the time. We had sex in many places. He got high on taking risks ...the riskier the better. We even had sex in a public bathroom somewhere in DC. On those occasions, the Secret Service Agents were doubly mad at him. They would totally freak out and say to him, "We could loose our jobs when you pull one of your little disappearing stunts." And they would be really upset, sweating and nervous because as they explained, they'd been running all over the city looking for where he had ducked them. Jack just told them to relax, that he was fine and that they still had their jobs.
I went on late night walks with JFK in DC. Sometimes the cherry blossoms would be in bloom and it smelled so sweet. The Secret Service agents followed close behind us. They seemed irritated to be on duty for JFK because he was so uncooperative and unpredictable. We walked by a river or waterway. He really enjoyed seeing it at night and said the exercise did him good. The Secret Service agents complained of being tired and hated having to get up at 1:00 or 2:00 a.m. to go outside with him. But when the President left, they had to go with him. I don't know where Jackie was, but she wasn't always at the White House the nights I was brought in. Jack would sneak me to his room and supposedly no one knew I was there. Like I explained, he loved taking risks.
Sometimes I had difficulty understanding exactly what Jack was saying because of his accent and at other times, I wouldn't be able to hear for awhile from the noise of the helicopter or plane I had been flown in on.
My hearing would feel muffled, like I had earmuffs on. I felt so much older than my young years, but then I was totally physically developed by the 5th grade (ten years of age). The personalities that were created to be with JFK were created to be older and more mature than my actual years.
During my years at Hale Jr. High School there were times Henry Kissinger preprogrammed and sent me in with a message to deliver while I was prostituted to JFK. I was a cheerleader and was prostituted to the boy's coach along the way. I had a group of girl friends that were part of my Girl Scout Troop and one of my friends was named Beth. I wasn't ever allowed to go to boy-girl parties, but I went to a lot of sleepovers. Many times I didn't end up staying overnight, but was instead shuffled off for a quick rendezvous to the White House or to Massachusetts or wherever the higher ups wanted me to go to be with JFK.
I called him "John-Feeee" (pronounced "John F.E."). Craig was "president" of the Student Body and it may have been a cover for my White House presidential use.
Beth's mother was an attractive petite blonde woman and she was hardly ever home. I think Beth's father was a pilot and maybe her mom was a stewardess, but she was gone most of the time. Beth had older sisters though and so they counted as adults in my protective mother's eyes, so I was allowed to spend the night when Beth's mother was not at home. One day I walked home from school with Beth, as she lived very close to Hale. We messed around and listened to records, and then, suddenly, I became upset and told her I wanted to go home. She said her mom wasn't there to drive me and she didn't want me to go home, but I called a number from her kitchen phone and a yellow checkered taxi came to the house and picked me up. Beth followed me out the door crying and said, "Do you want me to call your mom?"
"No, I'll be home in a minute anyway." I handed the driver a note I had in my overnight bag and he took it from there. I was driven to LAX. The airport was much smaller in those days, but still busy on Friday's and weekends with lots of traffic. The driver dropped me off in front of TWA and asked if I needed any help. I said no, I was fine. I walked up to the desk and told the woman my name, "Sharon Weatherby," and she had a ticket waiting for me. She asked if I knew where to go and pointed me in the direction of the gate.
I usually flew TWA, United, or Continental on national flights - not international - and I even had a little pin with wings, that a pilot who knew me gave me because he said I was an honorary stewardess. He had sex with me on the way back from assignments but no one had sex with me before JFK. There were usually pilots on commercial airlines that were "regulars," which meant they knew me and were instructed to keep me under their wing. Sometimes I helped the pilot on flights, but usually I slept up in first class. I think one of these pilots could have even been my friend's father, and he was told to keep an eye on me. I usually curled up in first class and slept for the long flight. When I arrived at the airport in DC, I was met by different people. This time it was a blonde lady in a uniform and she walked me out to a waiting black limo and opened the back door for me to get in. I did and she put my bag in next to me. This was before I met Craig so I was eleven or twelve years old, going on twenty-five.
I wasn't taken directly to JFK but was taken to the area where they operated the "Lincoln Memorial Shuttle" (oral sex ride). A limo pulled up and I was whisked into the back of it. Once inside I saw that "JohnFeee" was there and he said hello and began tickling me. He played with me and teased me a lot. Then he pulled me over close to him and said, "Now it's time to be more serious." And he started kissing me and slipped his hand inside my shirt and felt my breasts. Then he unfastened my bra and pulled my shirt up and began sucking on my nipples. He said that really got him hard to see young, firm breasts and he circled my nipples with his fingers. I didn't like it when I saw his wedding band on his hand while he was doing that to me because even under mind control, I knew who his wife was. Henry had told me to emulate her and so I felt bad... like here was this innocent, beautiful woman and I was having sex with her husband and there was a feeling of guilt--even under mind control.
That day, JFK took sexual initiative and liked being in charge. Before he closed the window and left us alone, the driver had said to him, "Jack, don't you think we should connect back up to your security?" meaning the Secret Service.
JFK said, "No. Hell no. I deserve to have a life." And so we toured around the city while "JohnFeee" got himself warmed up--sucking and licking me all over and I gave him a "preview" of the coming event by way of oral sex, backing off just before he orgasmed. He loved to run his tongue over my belly because he said, "I love young, firm, tummies," and he loved mine especially because he said it was so tan. He said I had a "golden tan."
After awhile, JFK tapped on the inner window in the limo to get the driver's attention and said, "Stop here."
The driver said, "Here, Sir?"
JFK commanded, "Yes," and opened the door and grabbed my arm and took me into this small motel. He already had the key to a room and went right to it and opened the door. It wasn't a very nice place but he said we wouldn't be looked for there, that "certainly no one would come looking for the President in a place like this," and then he laughed, lit up a cigarette and sat down at the small table and chairs. Taking a puff off his cigarette he said he wanted to take a break to "enjoy the view" and indicated I was to take off my clothes in front of him.
Slowly, I began removing my blouse and then my skirt, bra and then my nylons attached to my lacy garter belt and then my panties. I had on those plain white ones and for some reason he liked them, so Henry had me wear them with him. Then I stuck my finger into my vagina while I had one leg propped up on the bed and the other holding me up. Then I put my fingers to my mouth and that's when he jumped up and came over to me and said, "You're a big tease."
I smiled seductively and he put his arms around me and held me for a long moment and then when he moved back I began unbuttoning his shirt. It was a bit stiff like it was heavily starched and then I rubbed his chest and belly and talked to him about how his hairy chest and hard belly turned me on. I put my fingers in my mouth again. He said, "I'd like to be where those came from." I can remember his accent so well. He laid me back on the bed after he pulled the sheets back and he began oral sex. I told him how hot I was for him and began wiggling and moving all over, while I moaned. He said I was making him dizzy and he came up and began kissing me passionately, hard, almost roughly. Then he went inside me and satisfied himself. After he came he pulled back and said, "Sorry it couldn't have been longer, but I've got to get back." So he dressed and stepped outside the door and whistled. The driver came right up to the door. He went out and opened the door for me, and we got into the limo and left. The driver dropped him off at another limo to a bunch of Secret Service agents all in a tizzy over where he had gone. He shut the door and walked into the center of them without saying goodbye or acknowledging me.
These agents were really angry with him. I could see him using his hands and speaking to calm them down. JFK escaped from his Secret Service agents often. I heard one of them say one time, "I don't know how he does it, one slip and he's gone."
The driver put the window back up and drove me directly to the airport. I picked up my bag and he let me out and said, "Will you be needin' anything, ma'am?"
I smiled and said, "No thanks, I have everything I'll need." And I went to the ticket counter and said, "You're holding a ticket for me? Sharon Weatherby?"
Handing me my ticket the man smiled and said, "Your gate's in that direction."
Henry had me think of the gate numbers as the numbers on billiard balls and all I had to do was follow the line of numbers until I got to the one that matched my ticket. Sometimes I got lost but someone always helped me, often saying, "Excuse me, miss, but are you lost?"
I'd say, "I'm looking for gate eight," and they would point me in that direction. Once I got onto the airplane it seemed like there was always someone there to watch over me and I would go back to sleep. The return synchronization between my mother and me had to be perfect and this time I was driven back to Beth's house to wait by the curb for my mother.
The driver said, "Just sit here and wait, your mother will be here any minute." He pulled away from the curb and went and parked nearby. I saw him watch until my mom picked me up. She, too, always waited for me to get picked up when she dropped me off at places. Everyone always waited to make sure the exchange had taken place and I was in the correct hands.
JFK was my first presidential assignment. After having sex with Bob Hope in his 50's, a younger President wasn't as bad. Sharon was the personality programmed to be with JFK and due to the reality that was created for her, she had a lot in common with him, like being Catholic and from an elite family. One time Bob arranged for him to have some time out with me in Key Biscayne. Bob flew me there to take care of him, keep him happy and entertained. The Secret Service agents stood outside. JFK started by shaving and I sat on the counter and watched him. I giggled and hugged him while he stood in front of the mirror with a small white towel around his waist. I licked the shaving cream off his ear and then put my fingers into the remaining shave creme and licked it. Gently, he took my hands away and laughed softly as he explained that you weren't supposed to eat shaving cream. I thought it was whipped cream, like I had tasted in the pornography I was filmed in, and mistakenly was triggered into reciting my program, "Lick it and suck it, 'til it's all gone, yum, yum don't miss a drop, or you will stop; your heart that is." This must have been a program glitch because I wasn't suppose to recite this program out loud; it was supposed to just drive me from inside. Maybe JFK knew how to handle me nicely because of his sister who seemed like she was retarded. They didn't let her out much, and later I was glad when they didn't have her at their reunions, because I didn't understand what was wrong with her.
During this time, I wasn't allowed to eat as much sugar as I had been previously used to. I was told to be repelled by it and that, even as my hand reached for it, the sugar would move away and I couldn't ever get it so I should quit trying. Before this programming I was used to eating tons of sugar, so it was a major adjustment. Also, my mother used to get so angry with me for not eating enough at mealtimes, but I couldn't, as my programming dictated. She said I didn't eat enough to keep a bird alive. But when I tried to eat I usually felt sick.
Catholic girls had to act proper and Jack never had any cause to be embarrassed by my actions. He was spunky and aggressive and tickled me a lot, often until tears were falling down my cheeks. Then he would lay me on the bed, kiss my tears away and start having sex with me. He said he liked my short hair - that it was stylish - and he would play with my hair and mess it up. I'd just get it done again; in those days I didn't even know how to do my own hair. I never had to, my own personal hairdresser, a family friend, came to the house and washed it, cut it, curled and styled it.
Afterwards, JFK and I ran around naked, playing like school kids, and when it got dark we walked on the beach and the Secret Service agents always walked close behind. Boy did they get an eyeful. They would wink at me sometimes if I turned around to see if they were still there, when I was getting ready to make a move on John-Feee.
One night, Henry let me off at the White House to target JFK. I didn't go up to his bedroom, we had sex in a room near the kitchen that had two beds in it. I had on a short white crop top and low hip hugger jeans. My belly button showed and he said it turned him on. He would stoop down and lick my "bare spot," he called it. His pronunciation sounded funny to the personality dedicated to him because of his accent. I was tan and slim, and he said he liked that my tummy was flat. He said he hadn't had such a flat one in awhile and it turned him on. After we had a quick sexual encounter, I had to hurry to get my clothes on and exit real fast. He would open the door and look down the hall to see if the coast was clear. Then he would say, "Okay, now." And, I would run down the hall, out the door and down the steps to Henry waiting for me in the limo smoking his cigar. He would usually say something derogatory about JFK and tell me to button my clothes correctly. My bell bottoms had buttons on the front and if I was rushed I had trouble getting them buttoned right. I was always skipping a button. Henry would look down at my buttons and tell me to straighten up. Then I would button them correctly. I couldn't help that JFK had rushed me - I think he enjoyed that part as much as the sex. He seemed to like the adrenaline rush.
There was a very close call on another night. Jackie was down the hall calling out, "Jack, Jack, Jack!" Looking surprised, he grabbed me and put me in the closet, fixed the bed and answered her 89 quickly before she opened the door. You could hear the sound of her shoes when she veered off the hallway runner and onto the wood floor. I was in the closet when she came in the room and asked, "Jack, what are you doing?'
I heard him laugh and say he was looking for John-John's shoe. He said one was missing. Jackie asked him to come upstairs and he told her he would just look for a while longer and then he would be up. This guy actually let his wife out of the room, pulled me out of the closet and started having sex with me again, this time with more passion than ever before. He seemed to thrive on the risk factor. When I left, the Secret Service agents usually walked me from the White House down the block to a waiting limo, unless Henry was waiting for me outside.
Henry was cultured. There were little blue vases with flowers in the back of his shiny black car. They had a little light next to them and you could see the flowers in the dark. If after one of these escapades I began talking silly and sexual, Henry would give me the sign to hush up by simply buttoning or zipping his lips and then I knew to be silent and obedient. I could be turned off or on, volume up or down. I ran very mechanically like a Rolls Royce. Henry didn't like noise or children so he created me to be quiet and dignified. As I grew older it wasn't as hard because I was more fully trained and didn't get my personality switching messed up. I got used to being silent with Henry. But it was a difficult transition after I was in the presence of JFK because he was wild and noisy, and his playfulness put me in the same frame of mind, until Henry toned me down.
Why JFK and His Brother
Really Got Shot
JFK had ties to Frank Sinatra and his group. I was shared around all these type groups because of Bob's and Henry's influence. The Kennedy’s were highly mob connected, especially Bobby, as surprising as that might seem for the family man image he projected. JFK took a mob dispute with him clear to the White House and attempted to use his political power as President to shut down his enemies. He publicly appeared to go after the Mob, but he was interested in shutting down only one enemy faction. But he had to publicly say he was going after all underworld crime in order to be able to legally do what he tried to do: dismantle the Mob that opposed the Kennedy family clan. I overheard Joe Kennedy yelling at JFK at a family reunion when he was President. He told him to stop messing with the Mob, to leave it alone, that he didn't know what he was doing. It was shortly after that that Joe Kennedy had a stroke or brain seizure, and Rose blamed Jack for causing it.
Joe Kennedy was very happy with the marriage of Jackie to Jack because Jackie brought with her a faction of mob that would help build up Jack and the future Kennedy dynasty. At least that's what I heard him say. Joe Kennedy was big on mob connections, like his friend J.P. Morgan, who was an important mob buddy and supporter. They supported each other.
As Joe Kennedy got weaker, the tight rein of coexistence he held with the Mob began to loosen and his sons became sloppy and careless, and didn't take seriously the rules of the Mob. Like Uncle Frank (Sinatra) said, "You don't ever try to go against the Mob or you'll wind up in the morgue or worse yet, sleeping with the fishes." I was born into Uncle Charlie's mob connection and he heavily influenced my life because of his arms, munitions and drug connections all over the globe. These were some serious connections that made him sought after by members of the Council. In those days, the Mob made the money and powerful connections. Different mobs supported each other like allies from foreign countries do. They were the power behind the Council, initially - the connections that allowed the Council to get such a toehold, as the mobs worked cliqueishly for or against one another. The Mob provided important funding in the early years, but later the Council took away much of their power over monopolies when the Council outstripped them of their power through intelligence and outsmarting them with technology.
The Mob couldn't begin to compete. In the beginning the Council knew how to work the different factions of the Mob for the Council's benefit and gain. Once the Council attained the strength they needed to get over the hump and into the big money, they outsmarted the Mob with their mind control technology and were then able to control the Mob. It was a game of intellect and the Council won checkmate!
Joe Kennedy, William Randolph Hearst, J.P. Morgan and others were part of a powerful underground group. They created their own revenue and their own justice, and they knew how to play by the rules to stay alive and in the game, but the rules suddenly changed with the power created by the Council as they utilized the Mob's success and made it their own. People like Jack (JFK) didn't play by the new rules so they got snuffed.
Often when I was sent in to target JFK, I would be loaded with messages from the different mobsters like Uncle Frank (Sinatra). I gave instructions for JFK to do some favor for the Mob or else, he was told, "the small, sweet favors will dry up." JFK scared me because he always laughed and acted like he didn't take the messages with the seriousness I believed they carried. I had seen Uncle Frankie in operation and he had friends, lots of them, who killed people for nothing much at all, and I was afraid that if JFK didn't listen and do as they said that they would kill him, too. But he didn't seem the least bit concerned about them ...ever. I took them even more seriously after JFK was killed. Then I knew they weren't joking but were very serious and meant what they said about doing everything they said or be killed.
I heard Uncle Frank talk often about people's positions in the Mob. He talked to lots of Mob buddies in front of me. I was used for dangerous connections and, as far as Frank and Dean Martin were concerned, I knew far too much, so they wanted me to "sleep with the fishes." But Henry wouldn't hear of losing his "personal computer" and threatened serious retaliation if they harmed me. Henry had a new kind of power that the Mob didn't understand at first, until they got burned a few times. Then they understood. But some serious action had to be taken to prove this power, like, as I overheard, "the assassination of a President and his big mouth brother who just wouldn't listen," in order for the Mob - a strong political faction of it - to see where the new power lie, so they would know to back off. By then the banks and newspapers were taken over and reorganized by the Council and their constituents, and HIGH LEVEL TECHNOLOGY took over - something the Mob knew nothing about. It took the wind out of their sails. This was happening during the 60's and early 70's, when I was only a teenager approaching early adulthood, and listening and recording everything I heard per instructions from my boss, Henry Kissinger.
One day in his office, Henry said, "You won't be servicing him (JFK) much longer. The higher ups have some alternate plans for him." At the time I felt he meant death. Henry said, "This will lock you in for life." Later, they used JFK's death on me heavily.
When JFK was killed I was in junior high school and my controllers told me, "If we can take out the President without anyone knowing, who would miss the likes of you?" They told me I was dispensable, easily replaceable, and that no one would ever miss me if I were gone. To give me a clear example the suited man reminded me, "Does your mother even have a clue where you are right now? NO. So who would miss you? Not even your own mother."
In order to insure that I was under program and their total control they continued the ritual torture and trauma. Then they tied the ritual trauma that occurred at home or at the church across the street from my junior high school to songs or hypnotic commands, like "If you try to begin to recall this area of your mind, you will immediately recall this horror scene," which they reminded me of in complete detail, in order to keep me terrified and programmed.
Most people are now familiar with Marilyn Monroe's connection to the Kennedy family and her use with the President. It has been said by insiders that Marilyn was one of the first programmed Presidential models, created under mind control for sex with the President and use in Hollywood connections. While I did not possess the physical beauty that Marilyn Monroe did, I had the mind files and all the right connections to further my controller's interests.
For my assignments, when I wasn't flown out of LAX, I left from Van Nuys Airport, John Wayne Airport, or local helicopter pads that were atop buildings in Los Angeles. My mother took me and picked me up and nursed me back to life if I was hurt or really messed up mentally or psychologically. She would try to make me eat if I couldn't and she put me to bed. I was usually so out of it from the food and sleep deprivation and electroshock done for "National Security purposes" to keep memory of the events safely away from my conscious awareness, that I often couldn't think to bathe, eat or get into bed to sleep. My mom would tell me what to do and the parts of me that participated in these escapades always felt so relieved to be back in my clean bed at home. In my attempt to create some semblance of safety and security I slept against the wall to remind myself I was in my own bed and safe. That was, until my father came into my room at night-then the nightmare started all over again. More than anything in the world I wanted my mother, or someone, to help me--to protect me--to stop the nightmarish experiences. But she never could.
I will do everything in my power to stop these atrocities from happening, so that my daughter, my sons, and any future children born into our family will not have to suffer any longer. I am sure the Mob with their huge capacity for family love and loyalty will understand and pardon this need I have. And to Dr. Kissinger, Bob Hope, UCLA, CIA, NASA, U.S. Department of Defense and all those who participated in my family's high-tech programming, I ask that you honor this request for my family's freedom and safety. I will hold you in prayer, asking God to show you the ramifications of your actions.
"Be ye kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you." -- Ephesians 4:3
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