One look at a nude Candice Swanepoel, and I’m instantly transported; it’s like she’s a York Peppermint Pattie1, only instead of whisking me away to a frozen, lonely mountaintop, I’m dropped into a humid, Amazonian fuckscape of sensual mystery and malaria nipples. Unfortunately, Russell James’ photography goes the delicately out-of-focus and grainy route, leaving me feeling less a manly, loincloth-shredding, Tarzanian sex beast, and more a lonely, pantsless guy hiding in a tree 100 yards away with a telephoto lens and a moist sock.
Which means he’s captured my essence, really. Way to go, Russell.
(via: Hot Celebs)
- Please note that –all comparisons of Candy to candy aside– the author recommends against actually biting Ms. Swanepoel without prior, written consent. With that said, I have reason to believe she tastes like happy. ↩