When I was a child, my parents watched a lot of horror movies. Granted, they watched them on network TV so they weren’t gory but the tension certainly still gave me nightmares. I hated all of them except for one movie that I loved so much, that I replayed it over and over again with my action figures. That movie was Agatha Christie’s Ten Little Indians.
As a kid I loved the battle of wits. Someone, a member of the group, was killing the others. They weren’t killing them bluntly, like with a gun over and over again. No, they had a special method to kill each one that tied in with a children’s song. It was morbid but man, it really proved the killer was smarter than them. He had made up rules for himself and the victims could escape if they could just figure everything out. It was a riddle with deadly consequences.
In the movies I saw, the final two victims somehow figure out who the killer is and defeat him. In the book though, the killer wins. Reading that book as a twelve year old really shocked me. The killer wins? What the-?
Why am I bringing all this up? Because this past weekend it dawned on me that ‘Ten Little Indians’ is a Dom fantasy. One man controlling nine others. It disturbs me to find yet another link between horror and domination but at the same time it reminds me how much being a dom soaks into every part of my life. Being a Dom is socially unacceptable unless you are a Church Leader, so it’s no suprise that the only places I can find Dom characters are in stories about unacceptable people like killers, dictators and super villains. Sad but true.
It makes me wish there was a sappy 60’s era sitcom based on the goofy adventures of a super nice dominat man. Canned laughter and predictable plots would help humanize Doms don’t you think?
“Dear, I notice you bought some new rope today at the grocery store.”
“Shucks, I was hoping to suprise you when I tied you to the fence outside and fucked your face.”
“Oh Bill, you are the best husband a gal like me could hope for.”