tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64038792548912138862024-03-13T03:24:54.487-07:00CofA Blog, R Rated VersionSummer 2013 it hit me, this story is about SEX. So here at City of Angels 16 is the Adults Only Version of City of Angels Blog.Kay Ebelinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13753284586265566961noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6403879254891213886.post-26395568762962891992015-06-17T11:40:00.000-07:002015-06-18T03:25:08.555-07:00R-Rated Outtake 2 for Chapter 3 <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 4.5pt;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">Outtake 2 for <a href="http://cityofangels15.blogspot.com/2015/06/ch-3-considering-who-we-are.html">Faster Than The Speed of Life Chapter 3</a></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Rumors spread the Northwest Territory of The Glutton in Paris at Moulon Rouge who </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">lifted her skirts doing the can can and on her pants was embroidered a heart, or she’d kick a man’s hat off his head, antics repeated so often they now appear in Wikipedia under history of the can-can.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tula went much farther. In Paris customers were not allowed to touch the can-can dancer. No such laws existed in California. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Watch her. He loved to watch the way she’d gyrate as he handled her seven year old genitalia. He loved to watch it grow, the part of her that was deep inside that came forth and pushed out and reached out asking his fingers for more, watching that happen in such a ripe young thing, he could not resist. He became a regular babysitter for Tula. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">So now Tula at age eighteen dances in a hall in a spot on Lake Tahoe that today is called Stateline and houses Harrah’s Casino. On a piece of real estate less than a mile into California was The Bijou Tavern where many women danced the can-can, and Tula was the most brazen can-can dancer of them all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tula approaches a customer: If you pay me fifty dollars I can take your hat off without using my hands, she says, and the customer laughs, winks, says, I already know that trick. You kick it with your foot and I get to peek at your panties. I've been to Chicago, I've seen that trick. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tula says, No I can do it without my hands or my feet, for a hundred dollar gold piece. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">CUT PARAGRAPHS to read go to CofA R-Rated outtakes, you must be over 18 years of age.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Then after lifting her skirt with little resistance, but much teasing, she reveals she has on no pants at all. Before the customer knows it, she has climbed up to his lap, is running her open wet and welcoming parts up to him first to his mouth, where yes, he is able to lick it for an instant. She squeals ooh and pulls away, gyrates in front of his eyes, then rises high enough to remove his hat, some say with her vagina but no one sees her do that trick. The hat drops on his lap where it dangles on his massive penis, which by that point is sticking straight up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">She then lowers herself. “Do you really need that hat?” he shakes his head no. “Give me a bigger piece of gold, I'll take the hat,” and he obliges. She puts the hat on his erection, lowers herself and he enters her. She is in control the entire time, the hat even serves as a kind of prophylactic, nothing actually touches her skin. She dances on him through his hat, it only takes two bounces and he's exploded, the cream contained in the hat, she keeps herself clean and dances to the next customer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">BACK TO REGULAR BLOG<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Photo of Adah Menken, who could be a real life role model for Tula character, I learned about Menken a month after imagining Tula. . . maybe I heard of her years ago, funny coincidences.</span></div>
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Photo Courtesy SF Museum </div>
Kay Ebelinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13753284586265566961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6403879254891213886.post-24326289591875858412015-06-17T11:38:00.000-07:002015-06-17T15:56:30.887-07:00R-Rated Outtake 1 for Chapter 3<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Outtake 1 for <a href="http://cityofangels15.blogspot.com/2015/06/ch-3-considering-who-we-are.html">Faster Than The Speed of Life Chapter 3</a></i></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Had to have pants off in scene</td></tr>
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When I did porn, it was simulated sex. The day it became real, I quit, however just before doing porn in Charlie Was A Lady, I insisted on performing one scene with my pants off (see photo at right)<br />
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am in a jumble of bodies, naked people piled on top of each other having simulated sex for an orgy scene, when we find out, right then while the camera and lights are running, that the rules had changed and from now on the sex would not be simulated, it would be real. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I was there. I popped up from the pile of elbows and legs saying, what's that, get out of there, get out of me. </span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Up 'til then I'd been amid dozens of </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">people, all naked, all swarming on top of each other, touching each other, and moaning and groaning and as far as I could tell all of us were faking, as we’d been doing for months. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I did this thing with my face where I pretended to have an orgasm with such amazing awe and joy that the camera guy said, go over there get a closeup of her face, and I did it again, and felt like wow, I am such an accomplished actress. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Then I felt it, a penis going inside me, and I jumped up and said, whoa what was that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">The guy down around my legs said something like, "Better get used to it, don't you know things have changed, ever since the Guccione movie." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I said, whoa no, don't, I only signed on to do simulated sex, and a small chorus of voices reached me saying,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Not anymore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">The guy between my legs who was not attractive at all, in fact he was someone you would cast as a demon or the short skinny creepy guy with a big pointed nose- he started forcing my legs open as he explained to me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">“We're all doing it for real now. Since last Tuesday.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">And I freaked, jumped up, got my clothes and left ,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Because up until then </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">THEY NEVER INSERTED A PENIS into me when I was performing on camera. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tongues yes, but no real sex. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I could, like Bill Clinton, say, I did not have sex with that person, or those three hundred men, even though it was on camera him cumming all over me or me bouncing up and down pretending to have an orgasm, what I was really doing was concentrating on the camera angle to keep my elbow out of the shot. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I keep emphasizing that the sex was simulated in the porn when I did it, because that's got a lot to do with why I left L.A. summer of 1969. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">To go find Timothy Leary. </span></div>
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Kay Ebelinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13753284586265566961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6403879254891213886.post-64781392939657441962014-10-06T15:50:00.002-07:002014-10-06T21:33:56.544-07:00Ted 3 Excerpt, suckled by a nun at age fiveFrom <a href="http://cityofangels12.blogspot.com/2014/10/abuse-not-just-sexual-at-madonna-manor.html">Ted 4, Abuse Not Just Sexual at Madonna Manor</a> R Rated paragraphs:<br />
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<b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Where we slept, a kid was crying and a nun came around. I had to jump back in bed but she caught me. She said, come with me.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">She was probably in her forties, a little heavy set. Earlier in day she was beating me, now she has me suckle on her breast. <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">It's warm it's comfortable, like I was going to get smothered, she holds me like a baby. <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">At this point I was five. She was soft and warm. That became a regular thing. She’d come around at night. I was glad just not to be beaten. That was the only loving touch I had ever gotten. It was respite from daily violence of my life. <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">What made me uncomfortable was when I got older. I'm in the bed. Then she came around and would jack me off. Would put her breast in my face and then she would jack me off. <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">And a younger kid is now on the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Wasn’t just me it was other kids too, just seemed to choose them at random. <o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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Kay Ebelinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13753284586265566961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6403879254891213886.post-15660006208023129812014-04-17T09:50:00.002-07:002014-04-17T10:20:56.950-07:00This cartoon illustrates <a href="http://cityofangels15.blogspot.com/">Chapter 2 of Faster Than the Speed of Life.</a> I drew it to show what my sister looked like at the family reunion we had Thanksgiving 1981. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trish at Family Reunion 1981, cartoon by Kay</td></tr>
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Read the story in a few days at CofA15. This is the R-Rated version, one with a yellow sticker over her nipples is running at the other site. . . because I really can't take anything seriously anymore.<br />
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For the reunion, Trish came from San Francisco, I came from Houston, and no one mentioned that she was wearing a lacy dress where you could blatantly see her nipples, including me, but I took a picture of it. Today the image represents how dysfunctional she and I both were as a result of being molested by Father Horne, and how my parents were clueless as to how to deal with us.<br />
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I can't call Patricia and ask her to send it to me, but in her family photo album is a shot I took that day that looks almost like this of her posed just as she is in this "cartoon" standing over my bewildered mom and dad. So to illustrate Chapter 2, I found a piece of paper and drew it out crudely just to capture the image.<br />
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Since I threw my scanner-copier across the room and broke it about a year ago, I had to snap a photo of the cartoon to post it here.<br />
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Hey you do what you can with what you've got. That's why I am writing this blog, my story is my only asset.<br />
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Please click my PayPal button with high fives, please.<br />
.Kay Ebelinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13753284586265566961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6403879254891213886.post-1870983395900775812014-04-03T19:35:00.004-07:002014-04-03T19:35:30.887-07:00<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Dear Readers, </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>I really need PayPal clicks. Please put some High Fives ($5's) on my PayPal to support this work. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Thank You!</b></span>Kay Ebelinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13753284586265566961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6403879254891213886.post-35040193691586196002014-04-02T17:57:00.001-07:002014-04-17T07:01:28.049-07:00I was raped in the military too, shrug<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">By Kay Ebeling</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">When you are carrying around a secret such
as I am, you avoid those instant intimate conversations that can erupt between
neighbors or in stores. But the other
day was a rare occasion. A woman from
down the hall ended up in my apartment and as we chortled over coffee and pipe,
the words just burbled out of my mouth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">“Oh yeah, I was raped when I was in the
military too.” Shrug. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Of course my friend jumped a few inches in her chair and shook awhile after I said that, but since I've been pouring out my whole sexually dysfunctional life here at City of Angels Blog since 2007 (and it's about to get more graphic) rape in the military does not seem that bad, compared to other things in my life I've written about (link </span><a href="http://cityofangels2.blogspot.com/2010/01/watching-taken-brings-up-time-i-got.html%20%20" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">here</a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> ) and ( </span><a href="http://cityofangels15.blogspot.com/2014/01/they-tried-to-kill-me.html" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">here</a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> link ) and like I said, more to come. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">My new friend listens to KPFK and NPR, so
brought up the current news topic of women getting raped in the military. Before I knew it, I said, “Oh yeah that
happened to me too.” And once the words are out of your mouth, you can’t put
them back in. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg73kvz4KgcxQJyxagZx8G4kcV-z5ipTP8Ik-1Lht1JZYpuNXw8bfbbyvQjDifJ_hOG3ZejAuXwQzhXEI0oGdabgyof2LAlrJN-8bjcJrp5lLoPr7i3j3EgC5ks-RCZkd1ToV3RoaxTIk/s1600/NASNOLA+today.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg73kvz4KgcxQJyxagZx8G4kcV-z5ipTP8Ik-1Lht1JZYpuNXw8bfbbyvQjDifJ_hOG3ZejAuXwQzhXEI0oGdabgyof2LAlrJN-8bjcJrp5lLoPr7i3j3EgC5ks-RCZkd1ToV3RoaxTIk/s1600/NASNOLA+today.png" height="103" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">The rape I went through at Naval Air
Station New Orleans in 1980 is just one of several hundred horrible sexual
memories I carry around in my head, all of them the result of a Catholic priest
putting his fingers between my legs when I was five years old several times,
and starting me on a life of confused sexuality as I pursued and pursued and
pursued a way to repeat that experience
with the priest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">Back in 1953-55 when Father Horne was
diddling me and my sister Patricia, people didn't realize there were long term
permanent effects from sexually activating a child at an early age. I'm pretty sure the archbishop of Chicago at
the time, who gave my dad a check and convinced him to move the family
somewhere else, assured my parents that after a period of time little Patsy and
Kathy would forget all about Father Horne and his digital penetrations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">Everyone thought kids just got over trauma
when they grew up back then. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">I didn't.
I ended up leading this sexually driven life that found me in the early
1980s living in Houston, Texas. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">My junior
year in college, I learned The University of Texas had connections to NASA, and the
tingle between my legs went into overdrive. I lobbied NASA Public Affairs so relentlessly, they gave in and hired me when I graduated
with a degree in Journalism in 1978. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">Once I was at NASA a year or so, I realized
the astronauts weren't going to let me get to them, they were really a bunch of straight laced, rules abiding guys. So I began looking for other places to find men who were connected to the sky and God, because
that's part of what had driven my sexual dysfunction since I’d entered puberty. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">That mania somehow combined with political passion as well. So I ended
up at NASA thinking my PR skills would not only help mankind expand into space, but
I’d also get to fuck a lot of astronauts.
Ha ha. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Neither happened. Mankind is more Earth bound now than in the
1970s, and the astronauts that I did get to, I've decided to not write about them, as I looked them up online and today they are stable family life individuals. Ruining reputations is not one of my goals. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>Base Commander Jackson Miss</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">After I was at NASA about a year, I realized
the need inside me was not going to be met there after all, and I was
vulnerable and ripe looking for some place else to ply my insane wares when-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">A postcard arrived in the mail saying, If
you have any of these skills, the Naval Reserves needs you, and one of the
skills they needed was Journalism. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">My Faster Than the Speed of Life phenomenon
kicked in: Men in uniform, men in high ranks, dynamism, whatever the tickle
feather of memory was, it connected with my brain and my groin at the same
time, and I had that postcard in the mail within hours saying me-me-me I'm a
journalist, take me take me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">So that's how it happened that this former
hippie, this girl who once passed a hasheesh pipe with Timothy Leary, this girl
who once was one of three paid employees of the Peace and Freedom Party (bk even back then I took really accurate notes), this
girl who hitchhiked up and down the California Coast in the late 1960s until
someone said, want to go to Texas, so I ended up in Texas, ended up working at NASA in Houston. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">And boy was I ever out of place there,
especially once people saw the way I’d carry on, having very casual aggressive
sex with my colleagues and their brothers and sons, yes sons, as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">And then I’d wonder why they didn't invite
me over again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">I was so confused and lost in Texas, so I
joined the Naval Air Reserves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">-----<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">“Jack-son Mississippi, that's where I'm
from,” and when he said it he dragged out the Son part of Jackson with an
exaggerated accent, so he’d say, “Jack Soooooon, Mississippi,” with great
pride. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">The base commander at Naval Air Station New
Orleans arrived and left through the same hangar as I did on drill weekends,
and we spotted each other right away.
There, I thought, he's ripe and ready and he seemed to see the same
thing in me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">Since I was working in the Public Affairs
Office as my ACDUTRA (Active Duty Training), the Base Commander from
Mississippi had an office right up the hall, so he’d be drooling over my desk while
I typed out whatever story I was writing for the base paper. That was my assignment when I came to Naval
Air Station New Orleans once a month. Do
a story with photos about some project at the base during the day, then party
like I partied at night. Sometimes we’d
go into New Orleans but the French Quarter was a good hour’s drive from the
base, which was east of Algiers. So it was better to party Friday and Saturday
night of drill weekends in the bars at the base. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">Problem is, going Faster Than the Speed of
Life I had joined up so fast, I didn't even realize the difference between
being enlisted and being an officer. A
lot of my colleagues (I can’t say friends, but colleagues) from NASA flew over
on the same airlift as I did, we conversed and interacted on the plane and as
civilians at work. But since I’d been
going so fast and not really thinking things through when I filled out that
postcard, now I was stuck in a JO billet, an enlisted billet. So if I wanted to party on base, I had to
party with the other enlisted guys, and they were not The Right Stuff that I
had come there seeking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">I couldn't even hold a conversation with
the enlisted guys. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">So ignoring protocol and hundreds of years
of military tradition, I hiked across the base to the OQ and started partying
with the officers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">Believe me, the guys in the OQ bar did not
mind at all that I was not an officer too.
Everyone winked and let the enlisted JO come right in the door, let me
saddle up to the bar, then surrounded me and bought my drinks every night of
every drill weekend I came. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">I only lasted six months in the Naval Air
Reserves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">And drinking at the Officers Club bar was
part of my drill weekend routine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">That flirtation with the base commander
just got deeper and more blatant, earning me nasty looks from the career JO who
was supposed to supervise me in the PAO.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">At one point she said to me, “You know,
he’s an officer and you're an E4, you're not supposed to even be talking to
him.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">But what could she do? The person I was fraternizing with was the
base commander. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">So he would hang over my desk and ask me
stupid questions and we could giggle shamelessly together every drill weekend
there in the Public Affairs Office at Naval Air Station New Orleans. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">The last weekend I drilled, it got drunker
than usual on Saturday night. The topic
of our comedy, as it often was there in the OQ bar, was how easy it was for me
as an enlisted rank to get in and fraternize with the guys. Honest, we drank and laughed about that every
weekend, the way drunks will repeat the same joke over and over again and laugh. Our repeated jokes were things like, “Here she
is, Vicarious Kay.” They called me Vicarious Kay because I liked to hear them
describe their experiences flying high performance jets, and they were Right
Stuff hot shot military pilots, so my hips were leaning more their direction
with every sip on a new drink. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">That Saturday night, the base commander was
drinking in the bar with us. Usually
he’d just drop in but this weekend he was staying there with us, matching us
drink for drink. (Some of those drinking
officers were going to fly planes the next day by the way.) I was probably close to a blackout, as I’d
had a good ten of those strong OQ bar drinks.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">I don't remember how it got started but
soon the guys and I were cooking up a conspiracy to get me up to the sleeping
quarters and into the base commander’s private room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">Giggling and stumbling as drinkers do, they
got me out of the bar and up some stairs and down a hall and then a door
slammed and I was alone with this guy who I’d been flirting with for months. So
at first I was totally up for it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">The Base Commander was still in uniform and,
yes, he did resemble Father Horne and Johnny Carson (<a href="http://cityofangels15.blogspot.com/2014/03/father-horne-looked-like-johnny-carson.html">link</a>). Jackson Miss was lean, with laughter wrinkles
on his face and pointed features, except he was blond, but close enough to make
the thing happen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">So I entered into sex with the base
commander with total consent. I can’t
really call that part of it rape. But
then something else happened. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">Ugh.
Even as I write this, the sense memories make me feel as awful as what
happened then made me feel, but to this day I have not let myself totally relive
the memory. I know what the commander did to
me there in the bed was something awful.
From the way I felt afterward, he might have urinated on me or he might
have sodomized me or both. I just remember being impotent up against his
strength. Saying no I don't want to do
that had no effect on him, he’d do it anyway.
So when it stopped being consensual and started being forced, I blacked
out, and then woke up so sore, with so many places on me having been penetrated
in ways they hadn’t been penetrated before, covered with unidentified body fluids, feeling dirty, so dirty. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">Then Captain Jackson Miss got up, the jiggley
skinny on his butt in my face, and he stuck his head out in the hallway,
signaling the guys that it was time to get me out of there. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">“Before we get caught,” he ordered. So I dressed feeling hurt and demeaned.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">For them it was a routine, they went
through the steps as if they repeated them often, and within seconds I was half
dressed and standing outside on the base grounds alone with the door closed behind me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">I must have been something to look at when
I mustered at 7 AM next day and then hobbled carefully over to the PAO to
finish my assignment for the weekend. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">Everyone looked at me strange, something about
me must have revealed I’d gone through something horrible the
night before. Plus I was shaking from a
hangover. Dripping from between my legs,
barely able to sit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">And Captain Jackson Miss stayed behind the
closed door to his office that Sunday and was not friendly as we boarded our
airlifts home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">Back in Houston a few days later I got a
letter from the U.S. Department of the Navy that said, since it's peacetime and
we really don't have anything critical for you to do, you can check off this
box and go into inactive status, and never come back to drill at Naval Air
Station again. So I checked the box, and
returned the letter, and five and a half years later my Honorable Discharge
came in the mail. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">Since then floods overtook the Naval Air
Station base many times and the last flood destroyed the building where they
kept the records. When I was applying
for Unemployment a few years back, they tried to find something, anything, to
prove that I was in the Naval Reserves for six months, but they could find
nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">However, I carried around my Honorable
Discharge and posted it here (<a href="http://cityofangels2.blogspot.com/2010/05/for-record-birth-certificate-and.html">link</a>) once just to prove, yes I was, this really
happened, just like so much in my life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">Naval Air Station New Orleans closed for a
while I know bk back in 2010 after the BP Oil Spill, I wondered about the base mission "defense of the Gulf" and checked, and I was alarmed bk they were closed then. ( <a href="http://www.cnic.navy.mil/regions/cnrse/installations/nas_jrb_new_orleans.html">Now they are open again</a> link) </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">Hmm. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif";">And I still ache. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Kay Ebelinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13753284586265566961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6403879254891213886.post-63098072694567019282014-02-13T01:23:00.002-08:002014-02-13T01:23:47.106-08:00<b><i>I still don't have the nerve to post the R-rated stuff online. . . maybe in a few months?</i></b>Kay Ebelinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13753284586265566961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6403879254891213886.post-31723677078228845142013-08-11T06:54:00.000-07:002013-08-24T15:41:14.028-07:00Free Book Online works better in a number of waysYou don't have to pay 12.95 to read it and I get more readers. If you have five bucks, put it on my PayPal Donate button. If you don't, read for free. If you have more than most, click with multiples of five on the PayPal button. That way the book gets financed and people read it all at the same time.<br />
<br />
Enjoy.Kay Ebelinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13753284586265566961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6403879254891213886.post-17300033684601451532013-08-10T15:10:00.001-07:002013-08-10T17:14:04.786-07:00Introducing R-Rated Version of City of Angels Blog<b style="font-size: x-large;">Adults Only Version </b><br />
<b style="font-size: x-large;">of Faster than the Speed of Life</b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfELaiZ9gN8PJhhLNiAel2JAo2y2Fg0L3dMr43tulhYq5rghTQo69w2NtXIIsTLygFylWwHtCt3GviZbtzkdPrBOfq-i-i4wQ82FZz9uHgWYqio2bObh9SjVdXd7zTrGBJdEgKyM4X7pM/s1600/sexy_angel_001.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfELaiZ9gN8PJhhLNiAel2JAo2y2Fg0L3dMr43tulhYq5rghTQo69w2NtXIIsTLygFylWwHtCt3GviZbtzkdPrBOfq-i-i4wQ82FZz9uHgWYqio2bObh9SjVdXd7zTrGBJdEgKyM4X7pM/s200/sexy_angel_001.png" width="152" /></a></div>
Here, I'm going to add SEX to <a href="http://cityofangels15.blogspot.com/">the story at CofA 15</a> and post the whole "book" free as an Adults Only blog (with a place to send PayPal high-$5 clicks, the Donate button top right).<br />
<br />
I'm going to write it all, from what happened with the priest when I was preschool aged to what happened to me doing the blog in my fifties, with all the sexual dysfunction of my life in between, YES, add in all the SEX because SEX SELLS and since it permeates my story, Why The F--- Not? So here is where it will be posted, first chapter coming soon after the weather cools.<br />
<br />
I've been writing this story at <a href="http://cityofangels12.blogspot.com/">CofA 1-30 since 2006</a> and at <a href="http://cityofangels15.blogspot.com/">Faster Than the Speed of Life</a> both blogs in a disjointed fashion, throwing in a personal post here and there in between journalism coverage of the pedophile priest epidemic. And I've held to a steady two to three hundred readers for six and a half years.<br />
<br />
Recently I decided, why not include the sex. My story just happens to be full of sex but I've politely left most of it out so far, when, face it, sex is what gets readers into your story. <br />
<br />
So my free filthy book about the pedophile priest scandal in the Catholic Church and how it affected my life goes up here in the next year.<br />
<br />
R-Rated!!!<br />
<br />
Web address is <a href="http://cityofangels16.blogspot.com/">http://cityofangels16.blogspot.com</a> as this is the R Rated version of <a href="http://cityofangels15.blogspot.com/">http://cityofangels15.blogspot.com</a> where I leave out the sex.<br />
<br />
So anyone who wants to find this story can just type in city of angels 16 then dot blogspot dot com. <br />
<br />
This site promises to be hot. <br />
<br />
I'm just sitting here thinking why not. My hyper sexuality ruined everything in my life, why not at least exploit it as a little old lady. <br />
<br />
I'm going to write it all.<br />
<br />
Watch for first post in about six weeks. <br />
<br />
Adults only.<br />
.Kay Ebelinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13753284586265566961noreply@blogger.com0