Greg wasn't sure how it happened. One minute he'd been sitting in his dad's study, idly surfing the net for porn and the next, he'd found her. It was one of those sites that showed old photographs - daguerreotypes and the like. It was weird, he couldn't really remember clicking on the link. Among the pictures of the Union soldiers from the Civil War, staring, glassy eyed, at the camera and the frozen pictures of Victorian families, he'd come across the girl. There was something about her that grabbed him instantly - it wasn't that she was nude - he'd seen thousands of pictures of nude girls, what red-blooded adolescent boy hadn't? No, the thing that leapt out at Greg, hitting him like a punch in the gut, was that she was, quite simply, the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen. Even the grainy quality of the image and the old-fashioned hairstyle couldn't disguise it. He sat back in his chair and stared, scarcely able to take in what he was seeing. It was so different from the modern pictures. She was posed neither to conceal nor reveal; she simply was; he'd never seen anybody look more naked, more exposed. He felt strange - light headed almost - it was as if she was looking back at him and for a moment, he felt guilty, like the time he'd been caught peeping at the girl next door when she was sunbathing in the back garden. A hot flash of shame came over him at the memory.

He couldn't understand it; the photograph had to be over a hundred years old but it looked really alive. Even though the image was in black and white, it was if he was there in the room. And the girl. Somehow he knew that she wasn't looking at the camera but rather the person behind it and it felt like that was him! It was kind of scary in a good sort of way; her eyes were wide and calm and there was a sort of light in them that made him think of the word 'joy'. He didn't feel like jerking off while he looked at her. Somehow, she was too good for that, and that was kind of weird, as well. Most nights he'd find a site with a few pussy pictures and he'd be rock hard, trying to imagine what it must feel like to slip your thing into that warm, wet mystery. Twenty seconds later he'd be doing the old five-knuckle-shuffle and reaching for the Kleenex. This girl wouldn't let him; it wasn't that he didn't find her sexy - she was really hot. No, it was the way she looked at him, weighing him up like she knew what he was thinking. She looked so real that it would have been no surprise if she'd moved, said something, scratched an itch or pushed back a stray strand of hair. Man, this was fucking insane!