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Whenever I see Herman Cain’s face on television I am reminded of the First Sergeant who sexually assaulted my friends and me repeatedly until we came together and filed formal complaints against him with the Inspector General. Ten women came forward, one woman, got a small measure of justice.
First Sergeant was a large gorilla of a man who would pull me into the only bathroom in the NCO office and grope me and swallow my face with his big lips, all while trying to get his hands down my pants. He often used his master key to come into my room late at night. I eventually found a place to live off post so I did not have to worry about First Sergeants midnight assaults.
I joined the Army to get away from my inappropriate family; instead, I entered a world that did not want me because I was a female. In 1977, the Women’s Army Corp was abolished and co-ed basic training was the rage on Capitol Hill.
Before I made it to my Advanced Training, I had to survive basic training: crippling shin splints, a cafeteria shooting, my first spontaneous fainting incident, and a ten-day menstrual period. I excelled with the M-16, earning an expert metal. The company commander himself chewed me out the first day on the rifle range when I could not understand how to zero in my weapon.
I survived every single one of Drill Sergeants mystery runs. I learned to hate PT and love chow time. I barely made it through basic training.
Advanced Training would take six months to complete and was supposed to be a little more relaxed. It was hell. The sexual harassment never ceased. Every day the women I served with faced a barrage of inappropriate invitations to perform sexual favors, and lewd comments about our appearance.
I found respite from the abuse by throwing myself into the training. I loved electronics and I loved chasing bugs. I felt a sense of pride and satisfaction, something I had never felt before.
I became friendly with the civilians, too friendly. Two of the instructors confided in me that the testing scores were lowered so more soldiers would graduate. In other words, I was good, but I was only as good as the lowered standards. I felt betrayed and that last thing pushed me over the edge.
The Army was one big fraud and I would not spend another day serving under abusers and liars.
One day I refused to wear the uniform. I was arrested, and in ten days, my military career was over before it began.
The one woman who received military justice was my friend Alice, a woman on the fast track to becoming a warrant officer. First Sergeant lost two pay grades and the Inspector General assured Alice that she would never be stationed on the same base as the First Sergeant ever again.
For myself the only thing being a veteran ever did for me was get me a discount on weed.
Largest deviant penis I've captured to date.
Whenever I see Herman Cain’s face on television I am reminded of the First Sergeant who sexually assaulted my friends and me repeatedly until we came together and filed formal complaints against him with the Inspector General. Ten women came forward, one woman, got a small measure of justice.
First Sergeant was a large gorilla of a man who would pull me into the only bathroom in the NCO office and grope me and swallow my face with his big lips, all while trying to get his hands down my pants. He often used his master key to come into my room late at night. I eventually found a place to live off post so I did not have to worry about First Sergeants midnight assaults.
I joined the Army to get away from my inappropriate family; instead, I entered a world that did not want me because I was a female. In 1977, the Women’s Army Corp was abolished and co-ed basic training was the rage on Capitol Hill.
Before I made it to my Advanced Training, I had to survive basic training: crippling shin splints, a cafeteria shooting, my first spontaneous fainting incident, and a ten-day menstrual period. I excelled with the M-16, earning an expert metal. The company commander himself chewed me out the first day on the rifle range when I could not understand how to zero in my weapon.
I survived every single one of Drill Sergeants mystery runs. I learned to hate PT and love chow time. I barely made it through basic training.
Advanced Training would take six months to complete and was supposed to be a little more relaxed. It was hell. The sexual harassment never ceased. Every day the women I served with faced a barrage of inappropriate invitations to perform sexual favors, and lewd comments about our appearance.
I found respite from the abuse by throwing myself into the training. I loved electronics and I loved chasing bugs. I felt a sense of pride and satisfaction, something I had never felt before.
I became friendly with the civilians, too friendly. Two of the instructors confided in me that the testing scores were lowered so more soldiers would graduate. In other words, I was good, but I was only as good as the lowered standards. I felt betrayed and that last thing pushed me over the edge.
The Army was one big fraud and I would not spend another day serving under abusers and liars.
One day I refused to wear the uniform. I was arrested, and in ten days, my military career was over before it began.
The one woman who received military justice was my friend Alice, a woman on the fast track to becoming a warrant officer. First Sergeant lost two pay grades and the Inspector General assured Alice that she would never be stationed on the same base as the First Sergeant ever again.
For myself the only thing being a veteran ever did for me was get me a discount on weed.
Largest deviant penis I've captured to date.