Adele’s Black And Blue Bottom
Adele Haze has done another shoot for Lupus:
As usual, it was severe — and boy howdy does her bottom look sore!
That’s the third in a series of posts where she writes about her experience, firstly as it was happening and then a bit more of a retrospective look. Just like last time, it appears to have been an intense experience she greatly enjoyed:
This afternoon I texted my best friend to update her on the progress of my Lupus bruises. I described the lurid mass of purple covering my buttocks and the top of my thighs. And I added: “It didn’t hurt enough to cause that kind of damage!”
I sent the message, but then I remembered a single thought that had tolled in my head as first the cane, then the whip cut into my bottom: “I’m not made to stand this kind of pain; how can I take any more?”
Both feelings were genuine: at the time, I wondered if I could stand the agony; today, I remember mostly the joy at having pushed through. Human beings forget the pain; bodies and souls gloss over the hurt, until it’s only a breath of memory, of emotion. I know the pain was dreadful, but only because I remember thinking so. Three days later, my body is already forgetting.
What I remember is joy.
The joy first presented itself the night before the shoot, as periodic shallow cuts of fear. I packed up my stuff: a dress (I wouldn’t feel like wearing jeans), cheap disposable knickers (to soak up blood), tubes of arnica cream, moisturiser and disinfectant. These are not usually the things I bring along to shoots, other than moisturiser. Their presence signalled to me that, like an explorer packing up her compass and maps, I was officially off on an adventure.
There was the joy of acting, such as it was. The role wasn’t difficult: I was an ingenue in a white pinny, with just enough lines to pretend I spoke some Czech. I slid into character painlessly, and preserved enough of a grip on reality that following direction, hitting marks and staying aware of camera lines wasn’t as much of a wrench as it can be on more emotionally difficult films.
The fear returned in a numbing wave when I first saw the whip I would be asked to take. It was a tightly braided leather snake, all knots over its entire length. Producer Thomas told me later that it had been a gift from a fan, and was one of the most severe implements in the Lupus arsenal — a fact I’m glad I hadn’t been aware of before my scene. In the hands of Lars, who is an imposing man even when you’re aware of his sweet nature, it looked terrifying. But this fear, too, was joy.
Among other things, it sounds like they used the dreaded bull’s pizzle whip (the one I still can’t find a commercial source for) on her:
5:17pm Oh my dear fucking baby Jesus, I just saw the whip they’re using on me. Lars Moebius showed up on set nonchalantly waving it around. Mr Haze could have acted less amused.
…
9:50pm So, the monster whip turns out to have been a pizzle. Figures! Fighting endorphin low with chocolate.
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