DR. GORDON’S DAUGHTER
A pretty lady is standing in a small clearing in the African
jungle. She is very pretty, in fact, perhaps in her mid-to-late twenties, tall, trim and athletic, with
long, dark hair. Her attire is not glamorous – a white blouse and red shorts – but one senses
that she would be quite glamorous and very much at home in high society if she were dressed elegantly. But
what is this lovely young lady doing in the heart of Darkest Africa? It seems her father, Dr. Gordon, is
some sort of scientist, engaged in an important mission. Perhaps he is working on a cure for some
dread disease. Or perhaps he is on the verge of discovering a new species of plant or a new chemical element
that will have immense value for mankind. We do not really need to know the details. What
we do know is that his work, which he pursues with single-mindedness and self-sacrifice, is important and noble.
Dr. Gordon’s pretty daughter appears to function as his assistant. No doubt such a man needs
assistance. His mind, constantly preoccupied with his noble work, cannot be distracted with such
mundane matters as protecting himself from lions, crocodiles, snakes and other deadly jungle predators, or from the criminals
who haunt the jungle.
Yes, indeed. Evidently there is a great deal of crime to be pursued in the jungle: stealing
the sacred golden idol from friendly natives, poaching ivory, purloining the secret map to a hidden uranium mine, or perhaps
even stealing Dr. Gordon’s valuable discoveries.
to the scene in the clearing, we see that Nyoka, for that is the young lady’s name, is now crouched outside a tent in
the clearing. She overhears two men in the tent. They are plotting some criminal scheme!
What must she do? But before she can act, a third man, a partner-in-crime of the two men in the
tent, sneaks up behind her and stuns her with a swift blow to the head. When Nyoka regains consciousness,
she discovers that she is bound and gagged, and trussed to a tree. Her wrists and ankles have been tied,
and for good measure, yards and yards of heavy rope have been wrapped around her body, pinning her arms and immobilizing her
almost completely. A white cloth, apparently a scarf or handkerchief, has been tied over her mouth as a
gag, preventing her from uttering any sound except “mmmmph.” The evil-doers walk off,
and one of them gloats, “That’ll be the last snooping she does!” And now . .
. oh no! She smells smoke! Can it be . . . gasp! The
villains have set fire to the dry underbrush! The flames are spreading! Nyoka will perish
in the conflagration! But her thoughts instantly dart to her father, the dedicated Dr. Gordon.
He also is in great danger! Along with his precious discoveries, all of which will be lost!
Desperately, she struggles with the ropes and gag, but to no avail. Doomed!
This is a scene, as the reader may have guessed, from a comic book.
I read that comic book at the birthday party of Butch Richards, one of my elementary school classmates, and I would
guess that I was eight or nine years old. My memory of that afternoon remains remarkably vivid.
The party was outdoors, in the Richards’s yard, about
two blocks away from my house. The neighborhood terrain enters into my imagery of this incident.
The lawns rolled gently, with tall pine trees spaced throughout all the yards in the neighborhood. On
each lawn was a constant blanket of pine needles, whose thickness depended on how recently the owners had raked the lawn.
I mention the image of the lawns and the trees and the pine needles because all this is somehow an integral part of
my memory of that whole afternoon; every once in a while, perhaps at intervals of two or three years, a brief glance at a
lawn like that, grass rolling gently, with tall pine trees, and suddenly the whole experience, including the erotic thrill,
comes flooding back.
I have no specific memory of the party
activities, but no doubt we had birthday cake and ice cream, and Butch blew out the birthday candles and opened presents.
Almost certainly we were encouraged to play such games as pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey; I don’t really remember.
What I do remember, with a burning vividness, were the comic books, a big stack of them, lying on a table.
Most of the kids, and I, browsed through them when there was a lull in the activity. Although I
was very well acquainted with the comic strips in the newspaper, I think that comic books were not very familiar
to me at that time. My parents frowned on them as being “worldly,” as indeed they were, and
their cost (a dime, as I remember, during all my growing-up years) would have weighed against my actually buying comic books
when I was very young. So the comic books in themselves might well have attracted my eye, might have seemed
exotic and enticing regardless of their subject matter.
them, however, were two, or maybe three, that not only enticed, but overwhelmed and nearly stupefied me. They
were about “Nyoka, the Jungle Girl,” and they depicted graphic bondage. Nyoka was a formidable
comic-book heroine, able to swing on vines Tarzan-style, and adept with guns or fists, she was more than a match for any of
the men in the stories in a “fair” fight. It seems the only way to beat her was to sneak up
from behind and knock her unconscious, and this happened in nearly every story. The villains would pretend
to be good guys, and when Nyoka, who was on the verge of discovering their vile schemes, was off guard, she would suddenly
be stunned by a stealthy blow. When she recovered consciousness, she would find herself bound and often
gagged, with an unsavory end quickly approaching: to sink in quicksand or be buried in an underground tomb
to suffocate, to be trampled by a herd of stampeding elephants or be burned as a human sacrifice by the natives, who had been
convinced that she was full of evil spirits by the criminals’ clever lies. She always managed to
save herself by quick thinking, but not before there was a lot of desperate struggling with the ropes and the gag.
Those Nyoka comic books at Butch Richards’s party were
almost certainly my first exposure to bondage, and my first remembered experience that I could properly label erotic.
I don’t recall ever having much to be excited about in my early years, except perhaps the approach of Christmas,
but here, I had picked up a comic book out of mere curiosity, and suddenly found that excitement such as I had never known,
never imagined, had seized me by the throat. I clearly remember being quite apprehensive, wondering if
my acute stupefaction were obvious to other people at the party, and very self-conscious over my inability to tear myself
away from these pictures of the lovely young lady, desperately struggling to free herself from the ropes and the gag.
Was I too young to have experienced an erection? – I think so. But I do know that I had an
enormous, indeed painful, urge, to do something . . . what? To masturbate, to relieve my overwhelming
sexual arousal. Children are said to begin masturbating when they are very young, so I suppose, though
I can’t really remember, that I had been masturbating for some time before my introduction to Nyoka and bondage.
But whether I had been or not, from that point on, masturbation became my favorite diversion, and pretty young ladies
in bondage my favorite fantasy. Although I was to own and pore over a number of Nyoka comic books in later
years, I still fancy that I can recall those particular comic books at that party, those particular pictures of Nyoka struggling
in her bonds.