“Birds of a feather, flock together…”
I was programmed to stay thin, tan, and silly, and to act like a stereotypical dumb blonde. One warm and beautiful Southern California summer day, I brushed the Malibu Beach sand from my bikini and feet, and jumped into my car to head down Pacific Coast Highway to my next assignment. Clad only in my bikini, a short white lace cover-up and sandals, I headed into the Malibu Courthouse. The woman at the desk waved me through to the judge’s private quarters.
Without hesitation, I entered the judge’s office and climbed into Judge Merrick’s lap — sand, suntan lotion, and all. He laughed, sat back, and enjoyed the attention as I precociously performed my sexual acts on him. I satisfied him sexually and left as quickly as I had arrived. Bob had a joke for me to say to judges as a means for variety of orgasmic experiences. When a judge was orgasming he preprogrammed me to say, “Here come the judge, here come the judge,” like they said on Laugh-In, the popular television show of the time.
Bob also had me instilled with top tunes, like a jukebox. I had a personality system that delivered impromptu verses from songs at the perfect time so that they would cleverly fit into a social situation. I had personalities that could sing the songs very closely to the way the original artists sang them. I knew the words perfectly and sang with similar inflections and tones as the singers. Lots of people thought I was very adroit when I cleverly popped a song into a conversation, but I was really programmed to do that.
Bob sent me to have sex with Casey Kasem, the KRLA Disc Jockey. Then the next day, I had to listen to his station all day long because he gave histories and stories about the singers of the current popular songs just before he played their records. Bob said I had to listen the whole day because it was important to “keep my lid on tight.” Bob told me to think of myself as a trash can and that no matter what, he would always be there to hold the lid on. He used this trash can memory-stuffer and scrambler idea on me for a long time. My oldest brother, Jim, undoubtedly under his own programming, was used to help keep me in line by having me watch Sesame Street. I was told to sit down in front of the television and watch with his children and if my eyes moved away from the screen my brother would rap my knuckles. Watching the Cookie Monster trash can character in the show ‘re-minded’ me to ‘keep the lid on.
During this time in my life, I was finishing up high school, and although my parents and school counselors reminded me that I wasn’t college material, I was looking forward to attending junior college at Pierce College in Woodland Hills. Craig and I had been going steady since we were thirteen years old and except for a brief break-up in high school, I did not date any other boys. Craig prepared to go to the University of Colorado. I was completely unaware that secretly laced into my life was a whole array of discreetly hidden sexual rendezvous with men in powerful, yet diversified, positions.
I was filmed pornographically in many locations, including Woodland Hills, Hollywood, Malibu, Bel Aire, Studio City, other areas in the San Fernando Valley, and varied locations all over California. I also worked for a short time for Harold Anderson Construction Company in Bel Aire, but don’t remember exactly what I did to work for him. I do remember lots of pornography being filmed at this stage of my life and the level of pornographic filming was more professional. There were themes, costumes, music, professional make-up, special props and lighting. Personalities inside of me were taught how to work with the lighting to catch the best poses, and to move my body so the filming crew could get the best shots. Upon completion of the filming, I went home to my mother and father in
Woodland Hills and later might even go on a date with Craig, fully believing that I was an innocent, loyal and loving girlfriend. Due to the mind control I was under, I had no way of knowing that I was leading anything other than a normal life, as a normal teenager, in a normal family, in Woodland Hills.
The extensive contact I had with Bob Hope as a teenager and during my early 20’s showed me that Bob was much more than an entertainer. Entertainment was actually just a clever hobby of his. I witnessed his participation as a strategically placed, influential, and integral part of an underworld group that secretly sought to control the world. He had direct ties to the White House, but not direct phone lines like Nelson Rockefeller had. Through my affiliation with Bob Hope, I was to meet and interact with many powerful businessmen, politicians, and celebrities.
I was flown into a small airport in Palm Springs to be with Bob and his cronies. I was picked up by a silver limo and taken to his house. The men in suits met me and took me to Bob, wherever he was — at home, on the golf course, or in town. Before I was delivered to Bob, they gave me clothes, shoes, and jewelry to adorn myself.
If Bob was in a meeting or at the club with ‘the guys, he would motion me over towards him and say, “Let me have a look at you honey.” He often raised his eyebrows as if to say I met with his approval and/or was sexy enough for him, and then he would pull me to him and sit me on his lap. He wanted to show his buddies that he had what he called “a sweet young thing.” Depending on which crowd we were with, he would introduce me as his niece, his budding starlet prodigy, or his “sweet young thing.” Bob very often introduced me as his “favorite niece, Sharon Weatherby.” I guess he left people to their own conclusions. But he never did refer to me by my own name — NEVER!
I often accompanied Bob to the golf course in Palm Springs. One day he was dressed casually, in light blue slacks, pastel yellow shirt, white belt and white golf shoes. There were several other men golfing with him. I was there just to serve Bob. I was seventeen or eighteen, thin, tan, blonde and dressed in a tiny white dress with spaghetti straps. I wore white sandals that came up from my toe and met at a strap around my ankle, with a gold heart anklet on my left ankle. Bob or the men in suits always gave me everything to wear. I was not invited to play the golf game, but was instructed to watch and SMILE! This particular day Bob sang to me, as he did at other times when he was feeling jovial in spirit, “Button up your overcoat, take good care of yourself you belong to me.” He sang and joked with me often like I was able to really react and respond to him. As a programmed slave, I was merely compliant and smiled all the time.
After the golf game, we all went to the clubhouse and had dinner. A lady approached with a camera, attempting to photograph Bob. The men in suits denied her access. People often tried to take pictures but he directed someone to get the camera and remove the film. He commented on how rude people were to interrupt or to invade his privacy like that. There usually were not many (if any) people in places we frequented, unless it was for a show and then he had bodyguards to protect him.
At this dinner, when his male group hit upon a «sensitive» subject, Bob asked me to go powder my nose for awhile and handed me some money. I knew that meant to be gone for a long while. After what seemed like “a long while” had passed, I kept checking back to see if it was time for him to motion me back, as was his custom. Finally, he waved me over to join them and pulled me onto his lap.
Sometimes Bob met with men I recognized as Secret Service agents from seeing them previously with Richard Nixon or Ronald Reagan. After these «meetings» we would often go by limo to a hotel or to his home when no one was there. Most of the time his wife, Dolores, was not at home.
Bob and Dolores
On other occasions when we were with people and he wanted me to leave, Bob would pat my bottom and say good-bye with a smile. Then the men in suits would step in and get me. Usually I was taken back to his house to get ready for an evening event. Bob enjoyed having people around. He had parties attended by lots of famous people. Sometimes I was given as a gift to one or more of his friends for the night, but was programmed to return to his room to sleep. Unless Dolores was home. Dolores was not there often, but when she was, I was usually flown home early.
It was strange the few times I did see Dolores at a party, knowing that I was having sex with Bob and had accompanied him to different places with his friends and business associates. I couldn’t think to question what Dolores thought her husband did!
Bob introduced me to many of his «famous» friends. At gatherings, with one arm around me he would elbow the guys and say, “Why would I want to be with an ole’ bag like Dolores, when I can have this?” And his friends would laugh and nod in agreement.
Although my programming kept these activities hidden from my conscious mind, later I would wake up late in the mornings in my own bed in Woodland Hills, with burning, red eyes, feeling totally exhausted, after what I thought was a full night’s sleep. I was not able to understand that the exhaustion was actually caused by food, water, and sleep deprivation, coupled with drugs and electroshock for programming purposes.
Bob had lots of security at his home in Palm Springs. The lights on the outside of his house came on at night automatically when a car approached. He also had numerous security alarms and systems in the house even a television monitor like Reagan had at his ranch. When I arrived, he would sit me on the bed and he would sit in the chair and say, “Okay, let me hear it.” And I’d rattle off what Henry Kissinger told me to tell him.
Bob didn’t have all the sophisticated numerical codes to my mind files that Henry did. Henry wanted it that way. I overheard Henry speak out loud to himself in front of me, saying, “I want you to be security safe.” Henry put into my system of reporting personalities instructions to tell him if Bob tried anything out of line. I was instructed to report to Henry if Bob tried to access information he wasn’t involved in and wasn’t suppose to be privy to. Henry said, “It’s none of his business.”
Dolores Hope was elderly when Bob was fooling around with me; so was he, since he was nearly fifty years my senior. She did not like it when I was around and, unfortunately, Bob didn’t have much of an excuse for my presence, unlike Reagan. Reagan could say I was his secretary or aide, but Bob told his wife he was spending lots of time with me to “groom me” for the shows for the boys.
I can remember hearing Dolores nagging at him while I was still there one morning after a party in Palm Springs. He lied and told her I was there with some other man at the party. Not that I did not have sex frequently with many of his friends and business associates, but this time I had not. When Dolores confronted him on these issues, Bob would stand behind her, and like a child, made faces insinuating she was going on and on and on and he was bored to tears. He heard her out, mimicking her behind her back, and then we would leave for the golf course together. But, to her face, he always played it cool, acted lovey, and sent her off shopping or vacationing. Bob called Dolores «dear» a lot. He would tell her he had to introduce me to some of his business associates so I would get to know the ropes. It was all a front, just a cover to use me for sex. Although I did meet a lot of businessmen and friends of Bob’s and I did go with him, at times, to rehearse for the shows and do the voice-over tapes for some of the tours, most of it was for his sexual pleasure and to show his old friends that he could still get “the young stuff.”
I certainly was never there by choice. I was a complete slave, under total mind control, with no ability to choose consciously for myself what or where I wanted to be, or even to know who I really was! I did not consciously know that I was being used in these ways. I simply thought that I was a normal student and I continued to carry the belief to my marriage bed that I was a virgin.
At times, the entertainer, Phyllis Diller, was at Bob’s parties. She was really loud. She did not particularly care for me and just brushed me aside. She was always joking. Phyllis and Bob came up with one joke after another. Once when I was smiling adoringly at Bob, she yelled at me, “Wipe that smile off your face.” Then she laughed that real loud laugh, and it frightened me. Bob told me not to pay attention to “that ole’ bag,” so I tried not to, but she was so loud it was hard to ignore her. I tried to avoid Phyllis Diller’s disapproval at all costs.
At one time, Bob’s bedroom was decorated in a large floral print with creme-colored background. He had a wooden bed frame and nightstands and a large closet. Sometimes there were fresh flowers placed in the room or one on the pillow. Bob usually had a new nightie waiting on the bed for me to wear and sometimes there were satin sheets on the bed. A drawer in his room was filled with all sorts of sexy panties, bras, nighties, and so on, and he said they were there just for me. He always went to the drawer and selected what I was to wear. He also had clothes in the back of his closet that were just my size. I don’t know who bought them, but they always fit me. I was usually programmed to maintain a “perfect size six,” although there were times I fell below that and wore a size two or four. My weight was within 99-102 Ibs. in those days and I was 5 5″ tall. “Young and lovely,” he would say.
Since deprogramming and speaking out publicly, I’ve met other programmed sex slaves who were also with Bob. Most likely we were all programmed to be the same size, and Bob just said the clothes were for me, but they were available for a number of his girls. Bob preferred 18–20 year olds.
Bob had an average size penis. Sometimes Bob frightened me during sex, when he got aggressive, but he never physically hurt me. He «let» me do everything sexually I was trained and programmed to do, but he liked to orgasm in his own way. Then he would go to sleep. As he got older, he got meaner and stranger and subconsciously I hated him. There was a small metal high voltage cattle prod that Bob would insert in my vagina at times. He used that on me after sex late at night when we were in bed. After that it was “lights out” and I didn’t remember anything else.
Bob slapped me at times, if I got out of line, which was also part of a program to stay in line. When I got slapped, I would switch into a different personality and then I would be happier, more «congenial» he would say, and he would lift my chin and kiss me. Once when he was mad at me for some infraction of the rules, Bob yelled, “You’re just a wind up doll — a toy for my pleasure, and don’t forget it!”
Bob referred to me in my earlier teenage years as his “little bunny.” He was friends with Hugh Hefner and Hugh came to Bob’s parties sometimes. He always brought at least two women with him, usually blondes.
Starlite was my personality that Bob named to become his “starlet.” He told Starlite, and other people when I was on his “arm,” that he was giving me a “leg up” into the industry. My instructions were that Starlite was to wear her hair parted on the side with it combed down over one eye for a sexy look. She was to act very sexy. When Bob took me to parties he would tell everyone he was showing me the ropes, that I had endless talent and potential in the industry.
Bob took me to several of Hugh Hefner’s penthouse parties in Los Angeles. On one of these occasions, Bob went all out on his outfit. He wore a grey suit and ascot with a white tux shirt and a grey top hat and white gloves. He looked ‘dapper’ but old to me, though his clothes were perfect — not one wrinkle. There was a door panel, with small silver buttons on it that you had to push in a certain sequence to gain access to Hefner’s penthouse. Bob knew the numerical code. I watched the perfectly manicured hand that stretched out of his clean, neat, white starched shirt sleeve go out from his black jacket as he punched in the sequence.
The elevator up to Hefner’s had mirrors and Bob said, “You look nice tonight, honey.”
“Thanks, Bob.” I replied as he took my elbow from behind and said as he turned me around, “Look into the mirror. You can see yourself over and over and over again without end. Like a file, we will slip one out of a slot or like in the jukebox when one record is selected. This evening I want to select a sexy prom girl who is beautiful, intelligent, and submissive. Sexy is always the most important quality. Do you understand?” After I slowly nodded my head yes, he continued, “You are to stay close by my side this evening. There will be no intermissions so don’t ask for any. You will simply stay close to my side. Is everything understood?”
I smiled and said yes. Next he turned me away from the ‘infinity mirror’ used for ‘reminding’ me in order to select from one of my many personalities, and we went through the elevator door as it opened moments later.
My dress made crackling noises as I walked and I had a matching black cape. When we arrived I handed my wrap to the doorman, a tall handsome man in a tux. And he, in turn, handed it to another man and replied, “This is for the lady with Bob.”
Holding my cape, the older doorman looked me in the eye, and bowing his head said, “Ma’am,” before leaving with my cape and Bob’s show cane.
Bob took my arm and guided me over to the fireplace where a zebra painted girl walked through the fire without being burned. Her naked voluptuous body was painted all over with thick black and white paint stripes. The paint gave an appearance of dress but you could clearly see that she was naked. She smiled at Bob and continued dancing in very seductive poses within a very small area. She had a very haunting faraway look in her eyes.
There were windows all around and at night you could see a breathtaking panoramic view of all the pretty twinkling lights of the city below. They looked like jewels on a black velvet background. Bob told me that when I was “on his arm” for the evening that he was mine, but at other times he was someone else’s.
The stars liked their parties because no one gawked at them like fans did in public places. Everyone was more equal and they could enjoy being normal like other people when they were at ease with peers. Hefner’s parties were a place where many stars gathered and shared, a playground for the stars and their playmates. It seemed people floated in and out of Hefner’s parties and there were times when there were not very many people. From what I saw people didn’t necessarily come there to group together for the party. It was more like a place people got stimulated, wowed, and entertained in order to have their own private experiences and fun. Hefner’s place was very modern, full of sharp lines and angles with lots of glass, and was some kind of meeting place for the stars and the wealthy upper class. Bob got ideas from Hefner’s parties that he used at his own parties in “the Springs.” Bob’s parties were pure class, in the most exquisite Hollywood style. He had wild parties and some night’s there were orgies.
Noticing Bob had arrived, Hugh Hefner came over and shook Bob’s hand. Bob said, “Hal, this is my main tease …I mean main squeeze.” They both laughed and Bob leaned over and whispered something I couldn’t hear to Hefner. Hefner never stayed around long to talk with Bob at the parties.
“Bob, it’s good to see you.” They shook hands again and Hefner placed his other hand on Bob’s elbow and said, “I’ll be back, don’t go away, I just have to catch her before she gets away.” He seemed to acknowledge his guests and then quickly excused himself. In a moment he returned and said, “Step into my kitchen.”
Bob sneered and said to him, “I’ll follow you anywhere the girls are!” So we followed Hefner into the kitchen where lots of playboy bunnies dressed in traditional black bunny outfits with black and white bow ties, fish net stockings, and black high heels were busy preparing food trays. Bob’s eyebrows raised and with obvious sexual emphasis, he called out, “WHAT’S TO EAT!”
All the girls turned around and laughed and looking seductively at him sang out, almost in unison, “Hi, Mr. Hope!” One bunny said, “I’m available!” and she laughed as she arranged the butter squares that were stamped with the playboy insignia.
Bob said, “Well, maybe you can be course number five, honey. How’s about you and I meeting at that course.”
“Yes,” she teased.
Bob looked around the room, “Any other’s?” No one took him up on it but they smiled cordially. Bob ushered me back out to the room where the zebra girl was still dancing. “She’s still at it,” he announced and I smiled up adoringly at him, just like I was programmed to do.
Bob took a drink off a tray that a bunny offered him and when she offered me a choice of the different drinks, per program, I smiled and recited, “No thank you, I’ve had my quota for the evening.” Although I’d really not eaten or drank anything for hours. Bob was good at taking a drink and then setting it down somewhere out of the way like he didn’t want anyone to know he wasn’t really drinking. Later on he’d take another drink or two, but I rarely saw him drink much of it before he set it down, abandoned it and moved on.
Hugh Hefner had bizarre, exotic entertainment at his parties …naked women painted like animals …or tamed wild animals, like lions that were ‘whipped into shape’ by a playboy bunny. One time he even had a man dressed like Tarzan whipping a playgirl dressed like Jane. They said the girl was not really being hurt, that it was just an illusion. I don’t know if that was true. There were often scenes like that — magic sex shows.
Bob instructed me to pay attention, to watch the playboy bunnies so I could acquire ‘bunny skills’ and know some of the moves for our shows with the troops or get my edges polished so I’d be poised and ready for the Rockefellers. Bob was very impressed with the Rockefellers. He took me to Hefner’s because he wanted me to be “bunny trained.” Bob placed playboy collars on me and at other times put a diamond necklace round my neck for certain Hope occasions. It was a single row of diamonds that fit tightly around my neck. Bob liked me to wear them in private. He said I was “in training” and that these were “training diamonds.” He said that I had better get used to wearing diamonds because I would be treated right my whole life, and sometimes he called me his princess.
Food, drink, whatever anyone, except me, wanted, was always available at Hefner’s parties.
Champagne fountains were popular in those days. If someone delivered a drink — champagne, wine, etc., to me, sometimes Bob would let me take it and then he would quickly whisk it away. Bob told me to hold my champagne glass and look pretty and smile but not to sip it, “Not one little sip,” he said. So I didn’t. He told me, “One itty bitty little sip is all it would take for your coach to turn into a pumpkin and your beautiful dress into rags. We don’t want that now do we?” This reference made to the Disney classic, tied my subconscious mind back into the Cinderella programming that was installed within me for the purpose of his and others control.
I smiled sweetly and said, “No, Bob.” I was not allowed to eat or drink. Bob told me to say that I had just eaten and was not hungry.
Hefner was pretty unavailable at his own parties. I never knew why. One night, he had the current centerfold do a little show for a small group of guests. She had on a red sequined body suit, red heels and a feather in her hair. She danced around and stripped for the guests. The men loved it and clapped and said, “encore, encore…” but she left and didn’t return.
There were rooms people could go into to have sex if they wanted. One bedroom had a huge four poster bed with black satin sheets and comforter. Bob parked me in the corner of the room while he had sex with the playboy bunny he’d propositioned earlier. He did those kinds of things often. Having sex with an available girl at a party and then sex with me later or I’d just give him oral sex, was not uncommon, depending on his whim for the evening. Bob got this girl into bed and kissed and mauled her and then got on top and finished her. They seemed to forget that I was in the room. She had real big firm breasts, and Bob always really liked those who were as he called it, “fully endowed.” After they finished they got out of bed and Bob kissed her hand and she got dressed and left, closing the big wooden double doors behind her. Bob motioned for me to come over to him and I picked his clothes up off the floor and began redressing him. He always loved that game. I held his boxers as he put first one leg in and then the other. While I helped him he said, “I don’t know what I’d do without ya kid.” I smiled lovingly as programmed and retrieved his shirt and helped him on with it. The buttons were difficult and he said, “Whew, it took a lot less to ‘get it on’ than it seemed to getting it off!” And then he’d laugh at his own sexual joke.
Bob said, “Sex is a state of mind. A state of mine I’d like to live in!” I knelt down and put his socks and shoes back on, combed his hair and we reemerged together and joined the party. I didn’t know most of the people.
Bob said to a heavyset man in a tux who I also didn’t recognize, “This one’s mine.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” I said smiling.
Quickly, Bob quipped, “She was trained at the Gloria Swanson School of Manners.” And everyone around including the man laughed. The man took my hand politely but he was also laughing. I always thought people were laughing at me because I was stupid, I wasn’t able to be aware that they were laughing at Bob’s jokes. I never could «get» the jokes, because I was programmed not to be able to think about them.
If nothing was available to him sexually Bob would take me to a hotel or we went home and had sex. He always scored, either way.
At another Hefner party, when we arrived, Bob said to Hefner, “Look who followed me home.”
Hefner said, “Not bad Bob, not bad. Hey, tell me, where were you walking? Are there any more like her?”
Bob said, “No they broke the mold after they made this one.”
Hefner laughed and they shook hands again. He used both of his hands in his handshake with Bob. He reached out in a regular handshake and then put his other hand on top. In keeping with his usual routine, Hugh Hefner said, “Excuse me Bob, I have some important matters to attend to. You and your lady enjoy. That’s what it’s all about here.” And he winked and walked away.
Tarzan and Jane and a lion were at this party. The Tarzan guy had heavy make-up that made him look tan and he had blonde hair and a beautiful body. So did Jane. The lion was very small. I was allowed to touch him and the tan fur on its back was so neat it looked like it had been evenly shaved. Suddenly, the lion turned around and opened his mouth and it really scared me! He had big teeth. Bob laughed at my reaction and said, “Honey, maybe you’d like to have one of these at home. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!” And as he cleverly weaved in a line to ‘remind’ me of my Wizard of Oz programming, he laughed again and so did the people who were standing around. Little did they know that Bob Hope had just masterfully delivered one of the program phrases intended to keep me from remembering the life I was living, serving him as a total mind-controlled sex slave.
Later at the party there was a huge square-tiled shower with clear glass sides and several nozzles. Lots of men and women all got in it at the same time and rubbed soap all over themselves and then rubbed up against each other and it ended in a huge orgy. Personally, Bob liked more of the one-on-one stuff, but liked to watch me be involved with groups, or to watch individual couples have sex.
Sometimes someone from the Council pre-programmed me to deliver a message to some entertainer or celebrity at a party they knew I was going to attend. I don’t think Bob even knew some of the messages I was delivering. I was instructed to hold the message until I had gotten «in» on the targeted person and then after I had made eye contact and had their full attention, I was to carefully “drop the message” always maintaining eye contact.
I was usually very quiet, and when I would deliver these Council messages, Bob was not always aware I was going to speak. He was often caught off guard and would joke about loving to be with me because he never knew what would come out of my mouth from one minute to the next. He told people that I had natural wit, but I was really programmed by others to deliver clever messages, tailor-made for certain select individuals.
At one of Hefner’s parties, Bob had me wear a black, form-fitting, long slinky, strapless and low-cut evening gown. A white flower was pinned over my left breast. I carried a black clutch and wore black high heels. We arrived at the party in one of Bob’s limos. The limo drivers always waited for us in case Bob wanted to leave at any time. Sometimes Bob would take me to the car for sex during the party or for a “little talk” about my behavior or about what to watch for or remember. He liked to do spankings when I was naughty and he would make me pull up my dress and lay naked over his lap to be spanked. I was trained for that to be a “turn on” and when this happened, he got real turned on and the sex was better for him.
At the parties we attended at Hefner’s, the men did not usually show up with their wives. The nights I was there, it seemed like there was an unspoken rule that wives were not allowed, as if it was their exclusive ‘men’s club’ where repeat women were occasional, but no wives allowed. The rooms were often smoky and loud and the people, especially the women, were so made up they looked plastic.
At one party, Bob took me into a back bedroom where a playboy bunny was supposed to “teach me some things.” She lay naked on a white fur rug and touched herself all over in front of Bob and me. Bob stooped down and told me to quietly and gently step into her world. The two of us were touching each other while Bob said, “What a thing of beauty you both are, like a piece of beautiful artwork.”
The playboy bunny took off my dress and began performing oral sex on me while Bob watched. I am not sure exactly what I “learned,” but from then on, I had lots of playboy bunny costumes — bunny collars, feathers to wear on my bottom, and high heel shoes to match. I ended up «treating» many men at Bob’s parties to things I had “learned.”
Sometimes I danced, too. I think lots of things may have been filmed without my knowledge. They used dancing often in pornography. Bob would snap his finger when it was all over and I was to “snap out of it,” get up and go home with him or do something else. Some parts of me wanted my mom to help me, or get me out of there, but she never could.
Bob would put a playboy collar around my neck and say, “Is this your necklace or your collar?” I was programmed to respond to wearing those collars. When the bunny collar was on, out came Starlite the sexy show girl personality. Sometimes Bob would put the collar on me at his home, “just for the fun of it,” he would say. The diamond collars or necklaces were reserved for use with the Presidents and other higher-ups.
When it was time to leave, Bob got our coats from the butler and we left. Two younger handsome men, in suits, who were buff and looked sort of like Secret Service agents, followed directly behind us and stayed with us until we entered the black limo that picked us up out front. It seemed like they were guarding Bob until we got to the safety of the limo. Somehow the limo drivers were always there or close by and immediately brought the car around when Bob appeared. Once in the limo Bob would ask me for a foot or neck rub or oral sex and, as programmed, I complied. This night he asked for a foot massage. “Golden foot award,” Bob said. “Maybe I could manage to win the golden foot award since I can’t ever seem to manage a whole Oscar,” he said, laughing at his own joke.
I was usually one of the youngest girls at the parties and most of the men were pretty old. Dean Martin was at a party one night and he was drunk. He wanted me to sit on his lap. Looking over at Bob slyly, Dean said, “Come on Bob, share some of your pretty young stuff.”
I looked to Bob for direction and he answered, “Okay,” smiling broadly at his friend. Shyly, I went over and sat on Dean Martin’s lap. All eyes in the room were now on Dean. He took one of the straps from my dress down as everyone cheered him on. I looked over at Bob, feeling shy and scared but smiling, as my programming dictated.
Then Dean took the other strap down, pulled my dress down, and grabbed my breast. With each move he made he slowly turned to Bob, asking for permission, “Bob, can I take her bra off?”
“Yes,” Bob said with a sly smile on his face as everyone continued to cheer.
“Bob, can I put one of her breasts in my mouth?” And as Bob gave his permission, Dean put his drink and cigarette down and leaned over to suck on my breast. He stunk like hard liquor. His eyes were all bloodshot and he spoke slowly and slurred. He scared me because I didn’t know if he would hurt me. Then he asked Bob if he could remove my dress to which Bob replied, “Yes,” while the group hailed him again.
After removing my dress, Dean asked, “Bob, can I remove her panties?”
Bob said it was all right with him and so Dean took off my panties and laid me over a table and began sticking his finger in me. I was moving all around and making sexual noises, like I had been trained to do. All the people watching were getting turned on and it started group sex.
When Dean was finished, Bob came over to “rescue me,” took me to the bathroom, slipped me into the shower and told me to get dressed, that we were going home to our own private party, now that Dean had warmed me up.
Later that evening a man I didn’t know approached us and said, “Bob, you must tell me your secret. You must have something you’re not telling about if you can attract the attentions of a pretty young girl like this. So tell me… what’s your secret?”
Bob looked snidely at him and said, “Geritol.” And then he laughed and said, “You don’t think I’d tell you my secret do you? Then it wouldn’t be a secret any longer and you’d be getting the pretty young stuff instead of me.” And then they both laughed but the man still seemed very curious, like he wondered how Bob did it.
“Is he paying you large sums of money?” the man asked me.
“No, sir, it’s a pleasure just to be with Bob,” I smiled, looking adoringly up to Bob like I was programmed to do.
The man shook his head and said, “Well it’s been a pleasure to see you again Bob and to meet you Miss …what did you say her name was?”
“Weatherby. Sharon Weatherby.”
And the man smiled and said, “A pleasure,” and walked away. The more that I attracted the attention of other men, the more Bob wanted me sexually that night.
Bob Hope and Frank Sinatra played golf together. When I was with them on the course, Bob told me to call Frank Sinatra, “Uncle Frank” or “Uncle Frankie.” Over the years, “Uncle Frankie,” would show up as Bob’s representative, ‘the heavy, to get me ‘back in line. He seemed to just appear at a place I was taken to and would let me see him and then quickly leave. Just the sight of him was terrifying because of the violent experiences I had with him from the time I was a teenager on. Frank Sinatra was connected high up in the Mob — very high up.
Uncle Frankie displayed some Catholic behaviors and used Catholic jargon and seemed sincere as when he talked about his love for his family and country, but his actions were never supportive of what he espoused to believe. He arranged, easily and with no remorse, many peoples’ deaths, sometimes explaining to the hit men exactly how he wanted it done-at times while he was having sex with me. He once told this guy to dismember this man and throw his arm to the sharks. “Let the man stay alive to watch the shark eat his arm and then do likewise with his leg, but make sure he is still alive and watching so you guys will have to do it quickly. Use a chain saw for all I care and tell the bastard his whole body will be next and that his arm and leg were just appetizers for the sharks.” I was horrified but knew better than to even acknowledge I heard anything, so I smiled and acted like I wasn’t even listening and went to sexually satisfy him to insure my safety. Frank said, “Wait a minute doll, I have to attend to business first.” So I lay there and waited, running my hands in short little nervous motions all over his chest.
After the hit man left, Frank started biting me all over and acted like he was in a good mood and was playing with me. But I will tell you he thought nothing of having someone killed and there were times I overheard him ask for a personal item of the persons returned to him for assurance that the job had been done. One time he threw a ring from a man he’d had killed into a waterway. The water was flowing fast and he told me the ring would be swept far away from where he had originally dumped it. I just smiled and took his hand. I was always trying to please him in order to stay alive.
One Christmas, Bob gave me as a surprise sexual present to his good friend and peer, Bing Crosby. Bing had just finished the taping of his Christmas show. Bob had me installed and waiting in a closet in Bing’s dressing room and I was instructed to, “Stand there like a mannequin, without moving until Bing opens the door.” Bob put me into a ‘stay stiff like a mannequin’ instruction mode and wrapped me with a huge red ribbon and bow. Otherwise I was totally naked. A card was attached to the ribbon. Bob instructed me to “stay put,” until Bing opened the closet.
As he closed the closet door on me, Bob said, “You’ll be okay.”
When Bing opened the closet to get a change of clothes, there I was, totally naked, clad in a red ribbon and holding a greeting card. Bing started laughing and read a portion of the card out loud, “a f-k me doll??!” And he laughed and laughed. He laughed so hard he bent over and held his stomach.
Bing took off his tux and put his jacket over the back of the chair, laid the rest of his clothes on the seat and stood there wearing only his black top hat, shoes and socks. He had on the kind of socks that had black elastic holding them up. He kept watching me, never taking his eyes off me while he was changing his clothes. He seemed excited about this gift, but he also seemed apprehensive.
There were instructions on the card; I know, because he laid it down and I read and retained it in my photographic memory. It said, “This lovely young lady is yours for the evening. You can’t wear her down. She will please you in every way imaginable. You have only to reach out, take her left hand, squeeze it and say, ‘Come on honey, we’re going home. Oh, by the way, put a raincoat on her while you’re in transport, she didn’t come with clothes.”
So Bing took my hand and led me out of the closet. He acted like I would break or wake up or something. He treated me like I wasn’t real. He was very cautious at first.
Bing and I got into a waiting limo and went to a penthouse apartment, “to unwind,” Bing said. It was his home away from home, a safe place, he said, like in the song “up on the roof.” He sang and danced a little and I sat on the bed and watched him. He sang some old song that I had never heard of and he looked ancient but always had a smile on his face. It seemed like he danced out of nervousness, of not knowing quite what to do.
He never looked away from me for a minute. Then he came over, undid the tie on my raincoat and slowly undid the buttons. I was barefoot and my feet were purple and cold. He pulled down the bed covers and I climbed in, and he began touching me, still with his own clothes on, when the phone rang. He put the receiver aside while the person was talking on the other end. He laughed kind of awkwardly and whispered to me, “Just last minute instructions from Bob!”
Bing hung up and said, as if I could not hear or comprehend, “Bob said to rub here in circular motions to turn you on to HOT!” He began rubbing circular motions around my belly button, activating my sexual passion touch programs, and I began to do the programmed «ohhhhhh» moans and he got an erection after hearing that and pulled off his pants while he was still rubbing. It was as if he perceived me as a robot and was afraid of not knowing how to work me …afraid something might go wrong.
I went into my dancing mode on the bed and took off the rest of his clothes. I did like Bob had instructed me, “Tell him you’re dreaming of a White Christmas and then wink.” Once I had delivered that, I performed oral sex and rubbed him all over. Then I climbed on top of him and satisfied him sexually. He’d had a drink in the limo that mixed with his cologne, and he smelled like alcohol. After we were through, he went right to sleep. I curled up beside him and fell asleep, too. Maybe all this was to make sure he had that White Christmas he was dreaming of.
Sometime later, the phone rang and woke us up. He got dressed, put me back into the raincoat and escorted me down the elevator to a waiting limo. He stayed and I left in the limo and was not taken back to Bob’s but instead was taken to the airport and flown home. The limo driver gave me clothes to put on, and when I got on the airplane I slept the whole flight home, like I was always programmed to do.
You Can Sleep All the Way Home
My programmed mother picked me up at LAX Airport and handed me a brown paper bag with my own clothes in it. I robotically went into the airport bathroom, changed into my own clothes, and went out to my mother, who simply said, “We’re going home, honey. You can sleep all the way home.”
I slept all the way home in the car. When we arrived at the house, I crawled into my own bed and buried all memory of this occasion, like all others before it, deep into my subconscious mind, as my programming commanded.
If it was nighttime when I returned, I was instructed to wash away all remembrances of the evening with a nighttime bath. The hypnotic command embedded in my programmed mind was, “All that happened will go down the drain with the water and will be forgotten and gone forever.” Then, I could go to sleep. If for some reason I didn’t have time for a bath before I left Bob’s to return to Woodland Hills, I was instructed to take one at home before I went to bed and it had the same amnesiac effect.
In those days, I felt very tired most of the time. Some days I had to go to high school the next day or, later on, to college, and woke up with my eyes burning and my make-up still on from the night before. My mother always had trouble waking me in the mornings. There were times she or my father would pour water over my head in an attempt to wake me. On weekends, I was allowed to sleep until 11 or 12 o’clock if I wanted. I could never figure out why I was always so exhausted. Now I know why.
During my high school years, Bob said he was training me to be a starlet, but he was really training me to privately entertain his rich political and celebrity friends, or the troops.
It was during these early years that I began being heavily accessed and programmed by the Council, for use with many influential men and women in positions of power. My use within government circles was guaranteed to be security proof due to the mind control I was under. They felt my programming kept the information I carried from my own awareness and from access by others who did not know the keys and codes to my system. But what those in government did not seem to know was that the Council also had the ability to access me. They were secretly slipping in their own psychologically tested and carefully researched messages for me to deliver to presidents, governors, senators, foreign leaders, entertainers, and many other people who were in positions of power or public influence.
The Council studied people’s profiles and knew exactly what their likes and dislikes were, their sexual preferences, and any other information that could be used to influence people in ways the person was never even aware of. The Council pre-programmed me with instructions, all based on careful prior research of the targeted person… what to wear, how to act, what type of sexual stance to take, specific words or phrases to say, and the best time to deliver them. The Council always worked up a complete strategy and never sent me to a targeted person unprepared.
In these ways, they influenced government leaders to act in their own favor, to pass or veto laws or bills that benefited their corporate holdings, to bring into office those people who could be used as pawns, to influence judges and government agencies, to enlist large sums of monies, and to control people in all walks of life.
My experience was that the Council was publicly nameless and unknown, and this anonymity is what made it possible for them to wield power over the masses. From my perspective, these individuals acting in the shadows actually dictated in a subversive and inconspicuous manner the direction our government took at the time. They were connected to powerful people like Bob Hope, through me as their secret liaison, though I was programmed not to be aware of it. They felt they had their identities and security locked up tight.
“Command those who are rich in this present world not to be arrogant nor to put their hope in wealth, which is so uncertain, but to put their hope in God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment.”