Juliette M Engel - SPARKY: Surviving Sex Magick

SPARKY: Surviving Sex Magick

Copyright 2019/2020 Juliette M. Engel, M.D. All Rights Reserved

This is a memoir; it is sourced from my memories and recollections. Dialogue is reconstructed, and some names and identifying features have been changed to provide anonymity. The underlying story is based on actual happenings and historical personages.

Published by:

Trine Day LLC

PO Box 577

Walterville, OR 97489

1-800-556-2012

www.TrineDay.com

trineday@icloud.com

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020931391

Engel, Juliette M.

SPARKY1st ed.

p. cm.

Epub (ISBN-13) 978-1-63424-296-7

Kindle (ISBN-13) 978-1-63424-297-4

Print (ISBN-13) 978-1-63424-295-0

1. Engel, Julette M., -- 1949- 2. Sexually abused children -- United States -- Biography. 3. Family & Relationships -- Abuse -- Child Abuse. 4. Behavior modification. 5. Brainwashing. I. Title

First Edition

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Printed in the USA

Distribution to the Trade by:

Independent Publishers Group (IPG)

814 North Franklin Street

Chicago, Illinois 60610

312.337.0747

www.ipgbook.com

I dedicate this book to the lost girls--my angels, sputniks and stars.

Table of Contents

I n the early 1950s, Secretary of State John Foster Dulles officially sanctioned an illegal program of mind control and drug experimentation to be conducted on unwitting American citizens.

In 1975, the Select Committee to Study Governmental Operations with Respect to Intelligence Activities, Foreign and Military Intelligence was chaired by Senator Frank Church. Initial investigations led to revelations that at least 80 American universities, colleges, hospitals, plus 185 private contractors had engaged in 149 separate CIA funded subprojects involving mind control experimentation including forced administration of mind-altering drugs (particularly LSD), hypnosis, sensory deprivation, isolation, sexual abuse, and torture.

In 1977, a small cache of 20,000 documents was discovered and senate hearings were resumed later that year. Each of those victims has a story. Sparky is my story.

It begins in Seattle in 1955. I was six years old.

The Select Committee to Study Governmental Operations with Respect to Intelligence Activities, Foreign and Military Intelligence. Church Committee Report, no. 94-755, 94th Cong., 2d Sess. Washington, DC: United States Congress. 1976.

Chapter 3, Part 4: Supreme Court Dissents Invoke the Nuremberg Code: CIA and DOD Human Subjects Research Scandals. Advisory Committee on Human Radiation Experiments Final Report. US Government Printing Office. 1995.

Project Paperclip: Dark Side of the Moon : www.bbc.co.uk/l/hi/magazine/4443934.stm - 2005-11-21.

Church Committee; p. 390: MKUltra was approved by the DCI [Director of Central Intelligence] on April 13, 1953.

US Senate Report on CIA MKULTRA Behavioral Modification Program 1977 | Public Intelligence.

An Interview with Richard Helms.. Central Intelligence Agency. 2007-05-08.

Project MKUltra, the Central Intelligence Agencys Program of Research into Behavioral Modification. Joint Hearing before the Select Committee on Intelligence and the Subcommittee on Health and Scientific Research of the Committee on Human Resources, United State Senate, Ninety-Fifth Congress, First Session. US Government Printing Office. August 8, 1977.

Private Institutions Used in CIA Effort to Control Behavior. 25-Year, $25 Million Program. New Information About Funding and Operations Disclosed by Documents and Interviews Private Institutions Used in CIA Plan. New York Times . August 2, 1977.

Chapter One

I lost Daddy.

I left him in Seward Park reading Life Magazine . Fog coated Lake Washington. Mist wrapped around the trees. I galloped and whinnied. My breath steamed. When I circled back, everything was grey. Daddy? Where are you?

I heard him strike a match. His cigarette glowed. Scared of a little fog, Fatso? Relieved, I breathed in his smoke. Silly me. Be a good sailor. Go find the lake, he said.

I raced blindly downhill until my feet splashed water. I ran along the shoreline to the breakwater and back until I had to stop for breath. Then I shivered. Something was wrong. Footsteps approached a figure shrouded in mist. Daddy? I sniffed the air. My father wore Old Spice. This man smelled different, but familiar. My stomach hurt. I wanted to run, but my feet were stuck. This was all wrong. Vito couldnt be here. Id kept my promise. I forgot him when we left Illinois. Id started first grade in Seattle as a new kid from nowhere.

Wheres my pal Jimmy? Vito stalked past me. I held my breath until he disappeared.

Bosun! Daddy exclaimed.

Hey, Skipper, Vito laughed. He shook Daddys hand.

I gasped. Daddy could not know this terrible man. It wasnt possible. I followed their voices into the fog. They were talking about some destroyer called the Dortch . They knew each other from the Navy. Daddy spotted me. Cmere. He wiggled a Coca Cola bottle. Bosun brought you a treat. Id never had a Coke. I edged close to Daddy while keeping an eye on Vito. I grabbed the bottle and gulped it. My vision blurred. I felt light-headed. Daddy patted his lap. Come on aboard, sleepyhead.

I woke up face down on a bed. I tried to lift my head, but the room spun. I was naked. My arms and legs were tied to the bedposts. A pillow under my belly pushed my bottom up. I heard voices. Two men came into focus. I smelled Old Spice. I was saved. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy I screamed.

He had his back to me. He wouldnt look, but Vito did. Vito was counting money into my fathers hand. He winked at me. Gotta pay the piper.

I thrashed in panic. Daddy, help me!

Shut up, Fatso. Daddy slurred his words. This is what I raised you for.

I did shut up, strangled by hopelessness, gagging on my heart.

Vito stuck a needle in my thigh. The room sparked and exploded. I was propelled through a swarm of buzzing ladybugs, landing hard on a black horse with my legs spread wide. I galloped bareback across the Great Plains. Pain shot up my spine with each pounding blow. I begged the horse to stop, but he ran wild. Vitos fingers grasped my throat. I couldnt breathe. He beat against me faster and faster. He screamed. I passed out.

I woke up on the back seat of the Plymouth. My bottom hurt. I tried to move. Everything hurt, but mostly my heart. It was a hot ball in my throat. I wanted to cry, but I was all dried up. My father was driving. I stared up at his dark hair, longing to touch it, aching for the comfort of his arms and the safety Id been sure of in the warm curve of his neck. I was doomed.

I pushed myself up on the backseat and pressed my face to the window. The cold glass cleared my head. My brain clicked on. We were speeding across the floating bridge. One of those lights above Lake Washington was my house. I had to figure this all out before we got home. My father had sold me. I could never call him Daddy again. Father, I croaked, testing the new name. He didnt answer. A thousand-foot-thick glass wall had slammed down between us.

Ahead, yellow lights flashed. I knew what they meant: Warning! Slow down. This bridge has a big bulge in the middle . The car lurched and sped faster. Tires squealed. I was pressed against the door. It wasnt locked. It wasnt even closed properly. I tried to push myself back onto the seat but couldnt. What if I pulled the latch? People died at the bulge every day. Would I feel better dead?