Joe at Ringside at Skull Island got me obsessing about Kevin Von Erich again. It doesn’t take much to get me obsessing about Kevin. He’s starred in so many of my personal erotic wrestling fantasies. I remember watching him in a match, had to be late 80’s, where he was apparently fighting with one bad arm. As a result, the entire match was a series of drop kicks and body scissors in which Kevin proved that he could, indeed, beat his opponent with one hand tied behind his back.
This photo of Kevin in his youth, squeezing a sack of grain between his ripped thighs, takes my breath away. I’m not a wealthy man, but I’d put it all on the table to exchange places with that sack of grain for fifteen minutes. Kevin’s physical development was at least 10 years ahead of the rest of the pro-field, and even then, I’d take Kevin then over a room full of WWE roidheads today.
As far as I remember (someone will correct me, I’m sure), Kevin always played the the sincere farmboy white knight. He was always indignant at the presence of evil heels anywhere and everywhere. He battled to prove the superiority of skill and hard-earned muscle over the machinations of guile and underhandedness. He was always a little pissed off, never content, even with his arms raised and screaming fans pawing at him in desperately lustful adoration.
Kevin never had a classically handsome face, but who the hell would ever notice with a body like that? His legs, the eroticism of his bare feet, his ripped torso, massive pecs, thick shoulders and veiny, muscular arms… it was ostensibly all about the hard-honed warrior, but no one, not even the straightest Texas straightboy, could have missed that Kevin was an object of mindless, hormonal, sexual lust. His ass… my, oh my.. his ass… Every drop kick and scissor hold required him to flex and squeeze those muscled cheeks, and without fail I continue to be slack-jawed and 100% aroused at the sight of Kevin (particularly from behind).
I don’t think there’s ever been a pro-pro who’s done it for me quite like Kevin. These days, I simply have to turn to the pro-pornboys to capture the homoerotic text that Kevin dictated so commandingly 25 years ago. Like Joe, I long for the days when the pros actually battled, body to body, with long held, punishing holds squeezing the strength out of one another until one barefoot muscle adonis outlasted his opponent, leaving the poor loser helpless on his back, looking up at the fierce young musclegod having his arms raised to the shrieking approval of all of us desperate to touch, feel, and be captured by our hard hero.