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While much of Gary's paraphernalia had to be kept hidden, I could tell he also had some fun in displaying a few tools of his trade.

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Instead, he left a series of nails and hooks attached to the ceiling beams, which could quickly and easily hold a harness, a rope or some other type of bondage device. Because he had to avoid my mother's prying eyes, though, he could not leave it permanently set up like other S/M enthusiasts. With Svengali-like skill, he quickly took over every aspect of my life, dictating what I wore, to whom I talked, even what toys I used. Gary treated me with a dizzying blend of over-involvement, neglect, overindulgence and cruelty. Gary believed he was superior, so it was imperative that the world see his daughter as superior too.Д«ehind closed doors it was a different story. Gary was a narcissist, and narcissists view their families as extensions of themselves, as trophies. Not because he actually thought I was gifted or talented. To the other parents, I suppose it seemed that Gary was harmlessly lauding his new daughter. After that, I was given the lead in all the school plays that he directed. Gary was among the judges who awarded me first prize. On the night of the show, various kids performed their acts, and the winner was chosen based on audience response. He signed me up for his drama club too and encouraged me to sing in the school talent contest. This was a real convenience, as he demanded I join his, and only his, after-school clubs. Then, based on his findings, he labeled certain kids - the kids he liked and wanted to spend more time with - as 'gifted.' Instead, he gave kids a short multiple-choice test, the Mickey Mouse kind sold in bookstores. Trouble was: Gary had no real training or authority to be administering IQ tests. The gifted and talented club was invitation only - Gary's invitation, that is. Some days Gary would oversee an after-school activity. Inevitably, a few of his favored 10-year-old students would still be hanging around - joking with him or sitting on his lap. Every day at 3 p.m., as soon as the bell rang, I was expected to climb those stairs and report to Gary's desk. My classroom was on the first floor of the elementary building - just a staircase away from Gary. Being polite means keeping one's mouth shut.ДЄnd so I, the newly minted Mooch Lundquist, became a third grader at Delaware Township School. But social norms dictate that we do not insert ourselves into other people's personal lives. No one seemed to care that my school records displayed a different name or that Gary was not my legal guardian. In 1976 no one seemed to question any of this. Now, with the flick of a pen, I was Mooch (a nickname) Lundquist, daughter of Gary, new student at his out-of-state school. Since birth, I had been Michelle Brechbill. In Michelle Stevens' powerful, just-published memoir, Scared Selfless, she shares how she overcame horrendous child sexual abuse and mental illness to lead a satisfying and happy life as a successful psychologist, wife and mother.