We'll Always Have Perris
An online friend with whom I've coauthored numerous hardcore fight fantasies for our private enjoyment, who shares my tastes for old-school kink wrestlers, nudged me into writing this, my first post dedicated entirely to one object of our mutual lust: blue-eyed Paul Perris, 5'10", 180#.
Perris is the quadruple threat in kink wrestling--bodybuilder, black belt in karate, exotic dancer, and babyface who sells every move and hold in the ring with enthusiasm. And enthusiasm is key here. Watching Perris battle Can-Am stalwarts like Cliff Conlin, Beau Hopkins, Bart Tyler, and especially his cousin Roman Stone in the squared circle or in the oil pit, you get the distinct impression that the man is tapping into personal fantasies of ordeal and domination, not rotely following the off-camera cues of the director.
His chiseled physique and ruggedly handsome face are the stuff of wrestling greatness--a hero capable of withstanding excruciating punishment and, as he boasts again and again in his matches, actually thriving on being stretched beyond ordinary human limits. Full lips, a hint of a broken nose, and a slavic accent never hurt a kink-star either, in my humble opinion.
In 1992, in his early twenties, Perris immigrated to Canada from Poland. "Boss" Ron Sexton, no fool when it comes to business opportunities, hired him almost immediately at Can-Am Entertainment. Three years later, in Los Angeles, Perris bid Can-Am farewell to join the cast of the touring live stage version of Mortal Kombat, which debuted at the end of '95 at Radio City Music Hall in New York. What's become of the man in the past 15 years, I cannot say. Damn, I only wish I knew.