Liv Hayle

Extraordinary, mysterious! Just think of a secret agent in a film noir appearing in a flattering coat and with a swarm of Ravens or Jackdaws flying up… It is as if this gracious woman with shiny black hair herself has just parted from this swarm, in order to take on human shape. Who is this mysterious beauty? She may in fact be Vlad the Impaler’s royal bride. Or maybe the lascivious big sister of Wednesday from the Addams Family. Liv is both as wicked as a Parisian fille de joie from the Rue Pigalle and as graceful as Odile, the black swan queen. She is fragile and wild, depraved and exquisite. An aristocrat wallowing in morbid filth, with a skin like translucent porcelain. In her fragile beauty, the hetaera Liv Lugosi unites the strongest contrasts, like a broken crystal featuring prisms iridescent like rainbows after a storm.

Liv Hayle about herself.

Please, have the honour, my dear. What is it that you fear more: me or your longing for me? Take my pliable body! I know how much my childlike breasts, my vulnerable skin turns you on. I am tense, waiting to unload, to be enlivened with a blow. Please be the storm that tosses me around and that caresses my skin with a thousand fingers. I am addicted to the intensity of sex, the rawness that it exposes. Here is the rawness; in my head the music is: the climax in the moment in which the most profound sensual experience is reached, it develops through both cerebellum and spinal cord. Beats, a rush of blood, fluttering eyelids. And then, after the storm has passed through us, we are cleansed. Exhausted, and wet, and energised, we will lie snuggled up together.