My other friend was Armi. We could not have looked more different. She had dark, straight black hair and brown eyes just like her mother, who was half Native American. She was one of the first children to be born into the Children of God, in February 1972. Her father, Jeremiah Russell, was one of the first disciples to join Mo’s team in Huntington Beach when there were only fifteen members. He was a musician and wrote songs that were played on the Music with Meaning show. Armi inherited her father’s musical talents and was a star performer and I wanted to be just like her, sing like her, and hang around with her and her group of friends. We laughed at the same jokes, told each other our secrets and she would help me and teach me things, like how to draw a body in proportion, instead of just a triangle for a neck and a circle for a hand. And she was also the one who helped me lose my clipped English accent and speak ‘American’ like most of the other children.
Armi and Mene, Mo’s granddaughter, bonded together as sisters of misfortune. Their parents had been asked by Mo to send their daughters to Loveville with the assurance that they would be returned in six months. This never happened. Instead, Paul Peloquin and Marianne became their guardians.
No one dared to go against Mo’s requests, which were obeyed as orders. After all, he was the prophet. We were conditioned to believe that carrying out Mo’s directives was following God’s will. It’s clear looking back on it now that we were simply his playthings, his followers, used to fulfil his ambitions, lusts and fantasies. When Mo requested the women to dance naked for him on video, Paul got us all together, even the three-year-old girls, for a special meeting to read us the Mo Letters ‘Glorify God in the Dance’ and ‘Nudes Can Be Beautiful’.
‘Thank the Lord! Isn’t it a special privilege to be able to dance for the King?’
Excited, the adult women responded with many ‘Praise the Lords’ and ‘Amens’ to Paul’s question.
Paul continued, ‘He’s given us detailed tips in these letters of how to do it. Praise the Lord.’
I watched as the women picked their music and see-through veils and then performed their strip dances. When it was the girls’ turn, Paul said, ‘Now this is for Davidito – so smile for him.’
Armi, Mene, Renee and Daniella did their dances for the little prince – and then it was my turn. Paul chose two songs for me and tied a white veil around my neck that I was supposed to take off during the dance. He gave me directions from behind the camera.
‘Wiggle!’ He pantomimed it. ‘Wiggle nicely and rub your bottom, honey.’
I simply copied the motions I had seen the adult women perform earlier.
‘Good, very good! Now blow kisses 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 harbour. 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. Maria enjoyed performing lesbian acts with the women, and they both taught the girls to mimic their actions for the enjoyment of the men who would watch. Because I was younger, I was not included in many of the sexual acts that my friends were roped in for. I always counted myself lucky compared with them. But I did not escape completely.
One afternoon Peruvian Manuel came into Silas and Endureth’s caravan, where Renee, Daniella and I slept together in the back. I knew the caravan well and treated it as my second home. The red curtains were drawn. He told me to lie down, then pulled my panties down and spent some time kissing me – ‘This is how the adult women do it,’ he explained as he knelt over me and proceeded to rub himself on me, complete in all respects without full penetration, until he had an orgasm.
When I felt the sticky white stuff come over me, I was repulsed. I had never seen semen before. It felt disgusting and was messy. He took some tissues and wiped it off me then went into the small toilet closet of the caravan and cleaned himself up. I remained on the bed, dazed and confused. It was the same feeling as when you are in a nightmare: you want to scream or say something and nothing comes out. I had so many thoughts, questions and feelings but was unable express them. Even when adults asked me directly what I was thinking, I always froze, my tongue rooted to the top of my mouth.
When I watched the adults having sex they seemed to enjoy it, so why didn’t I? These men were trying to instil in me the knowledge that a little girl like myself would provoke the same sexual attention and arousal from a man that a woman would. My self-perception was distorted, and I had no concept of my own vulnerability or that I was different from the adult women.
Though in many ways we were expected to act like adults, we were still