Thread: Novel transcribed on model Bar Rafaeli's body

For an Esquire magazine cover, graphic designer James Victore transcribed parts of Stephen King's short story "Morality" on the lovely Bar Refaeli.

From the article inside the magazine:

"As she speaks, there are certain words that charmingly betray her, words that remind you she's not from Connecticut or Orange County. Judging by the frequency with which they're invoked, these are some of her favorite words. And the way her slight Israeli accent affects them only highlights her California-girl face. Bar Refaeli — twenty-four, Sports Illustrated swimsuit-issue cover model, de facto Israeli ambassador to the world, a living canvas.

Having part of a Stephen King story written on her body for the Esquire cover: "I haven't seen anything like that ever. So I wanted to be the girl who did it."

She is wearing no makeup. She has lots of freckles. She smiles a lot. In this light, natural light, waiting to begin her work, Bar Refaeli is impossibly lovely.

She walks back inside, goes behind a screen, and she takes off her clothes, puts on a robe, and gets her face and hair done.

As she sits in the chair, she begins to look more tan than she did before. Shinier. Smoother. The freckles, the single most defining characteristic of her face, are gone. (Her childhood on the Israeli coast was literally sunny: "I walked along dirt roads and picked oranges and played with dogs and rabbits and chickens and horses.") She looks... perfect. She looks sad. A little lonely.

She's become hot.

She takes off the robe and walks over to a platform so she can have a passage from a Stephen King short story applied to her body by a short-story-body-application professional. She is wearing white bikini bottoms and a red bikini top, which is pulled up, revealing the bottom third of her breasts. The skin there is white. She reads a novel in Hebrew. She doesn't talk. She doesn't move. Without her clothes on, she looks 10 percent larger. She is thin, of course, and her stomach is impossibly taut. But she has grown somehow. Maybe it's the cleavage.

She's become inaccessibly exquisite.

She walks over to a corner of the room where the photographer is set up and lies down on the floor with inked-up torso and arms, one of them precisely positioned over — but not covering — her breasts, her hair fanned out behind her. There is a camera mounted on a rack above her. There are about fifteen people hovering around, and she scowls like a criminal. She looks like a live photograph. She looks like she wants to kill you.

She's become gorgeous.

Breaking character, she says, "I want to see," and she lifts her head up and glances over at a monitor to review the photos that were just taken. She becomes the southern-California girl from central Israel again. And she smiles. She's no longer covering her breasts in an artful way; she's holding them because she doesn't want fifteen people to see them.

She looks the way a warm girl looks.

She looks beautiful."

thats HOTT!!!

She's beautiful.

Damn......

Wow...

"short-story-body-application professional."

Looks like he made a mistake near her right knee. The word "him."

How do I sign up for the job?

Now that's a story that I wanna read over and over again.....