By the age of four, I was taken to my father's friend, Andy the policeman, where I was instructed to perform oral sex on Andy, in exchange for a courtesy card my father proudly carried in his wallet that pardoned him from any violation he might acquire, should he ever be stopped by a police officer. At a very young age, I was subconsciously aware that everyone was in on these activities and that policemen wouldn't even protect me, but that knowledge was kept from my conscious awareness because I believed the reality, as my programming commanded, that I had a perfect life.
When I was less than five years old, my father took me to Long Beach for what my mother was told was a visit to my father's Aunt Maude. We did go to visit Aunt Maude, but really we were there to meet with Uncle Charlie. Uncle Charlie was very distinguished looking and wore very formal clothes, even though this was just a family gathering. At this young age, although I sensed this was a very important event, I had no way of knowing how pivotal this meeting would factor into the design of my life. In a complete nightmarish horror, I watched as my grown father looked retarded and became very childlike when this relative, Charles Lilley Horn, spoke to him. And when the talk turned to subjects I could not fathom, and Uncle Charlie held out a paper for my father to sign, I pulled on my father's hand and begged him, "Daddy, stay big, this is really important, please Daddy." But due to my father's own early childhood abuse, he could not maintain his adult mental state because he, too, had Multiple Personality Disorder, with many wounded, fragmented, hurt children inside of him whose consciousness had also been programmed for use by others. And so, when Uncle Charlie asked him to sign the paper, he reached out robotically, and without thought, signed it. Somehow I knew that this event was a very important moment when I needed my father to pull himself together to protect me. But he was not able to, due to his own dysfunctional state of mind.
Uncle Charlie further directed my father where to take me for the early programming that involved machines and told him about the arrangement with Bob Hope and the connection to the government. My father continued to look retarded and just kept robotically shaking his head, nodding in agreement, while Charlie told him what to do.
Elitists in the market for mind control slaves attend auctions that appear at first like children's fashion shows and then progress to striptease acts. I made «appearances» in many shows before I was actually sponsored or sold.
My father took me to a slave «model» auction where I wore a fancy white taffeta and black velvet polka-dot dress, a hat and matching purse that my mother had bought for me at the expensive Stardusters clothing store.
At this particular show where Bob Hope bought me, there were lots and lots of little girls and boys competing. They said these children were what they called «sponsored» if they were chosen. And they said it was better to be chosen early because then the sponsors (owners) could mold you the way they wanted. There was a modeling ramp where all of us children were displayed. I modeled casual clothes, then sophisticated evening clothes, and then sensual/sexual attire and, finally, appeared totally naked. First I performed Swan Lake Ballet in pink feathers for my casual and wore black velvet for my formal and my naked performance was called "the tiger dance." I won first place at this show and was sold to Bob Hope on the open market. They put a white cape around my naked body and Bob came up and stood with me while everyone in the audience cheered. Somehow it seemed like a sport for some of these people to attend auctions. Then I was seated again next to my father. When the whole show was over, an older man dressed in a tuxedo came and escorted me to Bob Hope who shook my hand and said, "Hi ya, Honey. Do you know who I am?"
"Yes, Mr. Hope." I answered like I had been instructed.
"I'm going to be your man, but we'll have to talk more about this later … when you're a little older." He laughed.
I smiled at him and said, "Thank you, Mr. Hope. My father will be very proud." But my father never came over to meet Bob. He stayed in his chair until the man in the tux ushered me back to him.
Throughout my formative years, I was molded to be extremely sexual through the sexual abuse with my father and others. The personalities that were created from that abuse didn't always experience the encounters as abusive, because that is all they knew. Bob later told my father through an instilled message delivered through me during an incestual encounter with my father, "Daddy, Bob says he wants me to really love sex and have a lot of it. Okay?"
"Sure honey, whatever you want. You're the boss," my father answered from his own split consciousness.
Bob was Catholic and so was the part of me that performed. She was my "inner twin sister" for programming purposes, to keep that part of me separate from my created «normal» reality and her name was Sharon. Bob said he liked Catholic girls because they were easy and he liked "em like that."
Bob was always racy until he got to acting old around 1987. I had a lifetime of Bob Hope and his antics, and over the years, he lost his funny and happy persona and became just a mean and nasty old man. And then, he became cruel to me, there wasn't anything fun left in him. He was just real old and mean.
Consciously unbeknownst to my parents, I was in contact when necessary with my "Uncle Charlie." He escorted me to many affairs when I was a child, even in Europe. Often they were arenas where the mind control elitists gathered to share their latest creations. At these gatherings, I walked out on a ramp on Uncle Charlie's arm. I was the "latest in human technology," and all the «uncles» were there to display their "wares." It was a fashion show of sorts for what they called "children attendants." Men in the audience held little placards and they held up certain numbers for different things. I think they were like judges. I don't think they wanted to buy me because someone else already had. While I was presenting, a man announced I had already been sold to, "…a very funny man they say, called Bob Hope. Do you know him?" And everyone in the audience laughed.
When I asked Uncle Charlie why those people were there and what we were doing there, he said, "This is a show for Cadillacs and you my dear," he took a hold of my chin, "are my Cadillac."
"I am? What is that?" I asked very enthusiastically, straightening my blue satin dress and pushing on the skirt that kept popping up on the other side due to the hoop around the bottom.
"A car," he answered. When I kept asking questions he said that big word others also used to describe me, "My, you are precocious, aren't you? Well it's time for you to run along now," at which point another man in a suit took my hand and led me away.
Later that day when we were alone, Uncle Charlie very secretly and with great import informed me that he was my real father and that my dad wasn't my real father, but had adopted me for some very specific purposes. He said it was my destiny, but I didn't know what that word meant either, and didn't ask because I was still pretty upset about my dad not really being my dad. Uncle Charlie said he had the money to take care of me in the ways I deserved and that my father never would have the money to do what he was going to be able to do for me. I didn't understand what this all meant then but he made it sound good. (Forty some years later through my constant search to piece together the actualities of my life, I would discover that Charles L. Horn was the owner of Federal Cartridge Company, which later funded Olin Foundation, where he sat as President.)