Years upon years as a teenager I adjusted the antennae on my tiny Japanese TV in my bedroom to watch pro wrestling in my parents' small house in Miami. The pains I took to brace the shiny steel pointers just right and to strain my eyes to make out the figures colliding and knitting themselves together on the snowy screen led to my current infatuation with screen caps and their lo-def vision of pro wrestling action. The anxiety I felt, trying to gauge the sound so that I could hear the roar of the crowd and the smack of flesh on flesh, but my parents outside the bedroom door could not, and the seizing thrill I felt every time the too-loud startup bell sounded and threatened to give my guilty secrets away, I can still recall forty years later in exact sensuous detail. And the monumental effort it took my imagination to reconfigure the semi-naked figures of the combatants out of the flickering, tumbling TV images is part of the reason I can mentally enter into a match and feel sensations only hinted at in the actual pictures and sounds.
These shots are from a somewhat later televised match featuring a young Kevin Von Erich wrestling Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka--taken off a video in the YouTube collection of spanditto. The shots are proof of KVE's ability, from the beginning of his career, to sell every move with his face and his whole body--so that his expressive torso and limbs struck a new, devastatingly hot pose twenty times a second. I determined to limit myself to no more than eight shots here, abandoning dozens more, yet the whole process of elimination has left me with a boner that strains uncomfortably against my white boxers. The strain of keeping my pervy kinks quiet as a teen and now the strain of finding the right eight shots to suggest something of what I find so sexy about this match complement the strain of Von Erich and Snuka's fight, and the happy suspenseful strain of my tool pressed up to the elastic waistline.