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to Davidito so he'll know you really love him."

I tried hard to smile and at the same time listen to what he was telling me to do behind the camera. This video still exists and the adult I have grown to be looks back in time at that sweetly smiling six-year-old child who was me. I am gazing into the camera, seducing it; and what is stunning is the knowing-innocent look in my eyes. What makes it worse in retrospect is at the time Davidito was only six years old—so this request was Mo's sick idea that his namesake should be groomed like him, while the dirty old man enjoyed these dances for his own pleasure.

From then on, nude pictures were taken of us girls on a regular basis and sent to Mo. He told us that he would post them around his room for his daily inspiration—a euphemism for masturbation. It is quite obvious to me now that Mo got his jollies off on voyeurism. However, we didn't realize that he was getting closer to the stage where he would select his favourite girls to be brought to him for his personal gratification. Their parents believed naively that they were in "good hands," even though they were unaware of their children's whereabouts and unable to communicate with them. But all that was in the future and, happily for me, I didn't yet know where some of my friends were destined to go.
    Sex was completely open and transparent in our world. The adults had no inhibitions about making love in front of us and actively encouraged us to masturbate and explore our bodies. As a result, our childish curiosity was exploited, although we were always told to never, never do it in front of strangers, or discuss it where they would hear. "The System hates sex," we were cautioned. "They think it's dirty and sinful." When the weather was very hot, everyone walked around in bathing suits or shorts. I didn't have any problem with running around in only my knickers, like all the children. By the age of five or six I was highly sexualized and extrovert.

My father never did anything to me in a sexual way, nor did I see him do anything improper at this time with my peers, but I assumed he knew what was going on. His best mate was a drummer, Solomon Touchstone, who would often go into town with us on Sundays for lunch at a little taverna overlooking the harbor. Like Dad, Solomon came from London and they'd speak together in fake cockney accents, joking about. Solomon was short—about five and a half feet—handsome, and all the women liked him. I liked him too, because he was fun, and would pay attention to me.

Sexual grooming was normal to us and happened everywhere. Everyone was always hugging and kissing and being affectionate with one another. To me it was just a game. But my openness and eagerness to gain attention, love, and approval was horribly exploited. Playful, friendly Solomon, my dad's best friend, was just one of the many men who exploited my natural, puppyish affection for him. When we were alone in his bedroom he would ask me to dance for him naked while he masturbated on the bed.
    "You're so sexy!" he would moan.

Little wonder that in that video specially shot for Mo I have such a knowing-innocent look. I was innocent—but I was learning what turned men on. The only positive attention we received from the adults was when we did what they wanted, acted flirtatiously or were sexy. Children crave acceptance, and I was no different. We would be rewarded for being "yielded" and showing God's love. Being stubborn, saying no or being prudish was of the Devil and bad, and would get us in trouble. I learned quickly to act in a flirtatious manner to get attention, and didn't know how to act otherwise around men.

Another man who pursued us young girls was Peruvian Manuel. He and his German wife, Maria, taught us our dance routines. They were another childless couple. He had dark eyes and an intense, almost piercing gaze that made me feel uncomfortable. He always paid us girls special attention, especially Mene and Armi.