Having a bit of a Michael Hutchence fixation of late. INXS plays constantly in the car and I spent hours last night watching videos and old interviews on Youtube.
He’s the sexiest man dead.
My ex-sister-in-law once told me Prince heralded the beginning of all things sexual for her. His music and erotic persona peaked just around the time she discovered that sliding-down-the-rope-straddling-a-balance-beam in gym class special tickle. Michael Hutchence was mine. Beware your possible spit take reaction, but I matured sexually very late. I had pretty boy vapors (Shawn Cassidy was my favorite), but teen idols then were bred to look like girls, soft and pretty. You wanted to hold a teen idols hand, not smell his balls. I was both fascinated and somewhat repulsed by Leif Garrett and the package that burst at the seams of pink satin pants in a poster of him I’d pulled from Tiger Beat. I had no use for or frame of reference about what lied beneath.
That was until circa 1982, MTV and “The One Thing." Soft and slippery, lean and sinewy, Michael Hutchence exuded sex to me. I wanted to hold his hand and everything else. He had a mop of angelic curls and a tiny lisp. He was barely 5’10 with a 28-inch waist at best and feminine featured. He loved women, you could see it, sense it, I bet smell it. He gave me a funny feeling in my tummy. Still does.
I saw INXS play live only once, at Red Rocks (an outdoor amphitheater) in the pouring rain. The vintage beaded estate gloves I wore were mostly ruined that night (we dressed pretty in the day, boys in eyeliner, girls in lace and not much else). Had my ass (and damn near vulva) groped by a complete stranger.
One of the best times ever.