I may not know too much about sport, but I know Jebel Karasti. Especially when I step into an elevator and find myself standing next to him. I couldn't believe it, elbow to elbow with the captain of the Racers, the hottest team in the NBA Pacific Division, and he was right there in my own apartment building.

I had no idea what had brought him there, it sure isn't any upmarket place, and he had a couple of other big Afro-American guys with him who were probably there to keep the fans at bay. But they hadn't stopped me from riding up with them. What was more, Jebel had turned his head and was smiling at me like we were old friends. Of course you know within about one second if a guy is seriously interested in you, and this was definitely one of those seconds.

"Good Lord, you're Jebel Karasti, aren't you?" I asked, fluttering my eyelashes at him like they were moths round a candle. What the hell, I'd never been near any kind of celebrity before and the girls in the office would die when they heard about this.

"That's right, honey, that's me." He had a voice that rumbled deep in his throat like a subway train approaching a station. "You live here?"

"Yes, yes, on the fifth floor. Oh dear, I've forgotten to press the button."

Jebel nodded to one of his companions: the big guy reached forward and pushed the button for my floor.

"Have you got anybody there waiting for you, honey?" Jebel asked me.

I was so taken surprised that I couldn't do anything but shake my head. The elevator stopped at my floor and the doors opened. Jebel took my elbow and walked me gently out into the corridor. What took me completely by surprise was that he was still holding me when the doors closed. The elevator went on up but the three guys had stayed behind with me. Then Jebel let go of my elbow.

"What's your name, honey?"

"Rosalie -- Rosalie Harrow."

"Nice name. Rosalie, have you ever fucked anybody famous?"

I gulped. The slightly bored expression on his face hadn't changed a muscle and neither of the other dudes were even smiling.

"No."

"Now's your chance. Interested?"

All I could do was to giggle.

"OK, guys, we're burning time here, let's go."

"No, wait!" I said quickly.

Wow, talk about a fast proposition. But how many times does an ordinary secretary get a chance to cross over into celebrity land, even if it's only for enough time for a guy to get his rocks off? But what the hell, the city was full of women who'd trample me to death to get the same offer from Jebel Karasti.

He turned and looked back at me: "Is that a 'yes', honey?"

"Yes, it's a 'yes'."

It was Mama's little girl saying this to a guy I'd met one minute ago?

"OK, show me where you live."

I was astonished when he put his arm around my waist as we went down the corridor. I'd have loved one of the neighbors to have seen me being cuddled by a millionaire sports hero -- so what happened was we met just one person, crazy old Mrs Epstein who's half bald and keeps walking around the block looking for her cat: the reason she can never find it is that it died eight years ago at another address. The chances of Mrs Epstein recognizing any celebrity younger than Bob Hope just didn't exist.

I still couldn't work out what Jebel was doing in this dump of a building but there was probably some woman a few floors up who was waiting on something which seemed set to make a detour in my direction. I began trembling again, and I knew Jebel could feel the tremors shooting up and down my spine.

"You seem nervous, honey," he said, then grinned. "Don't worry, I'll fit you on somehow."

If that All Star basket-shooting arm hadn't been supporting me I might have stumbled badly at hearing that promise. I'd never had sex with an Afro guy before but, naturally, I heard all the stories about their size and seen a lot of pictures which had really grabbed my attention. And now I was not only getting set for a ride in a different model auto, but one with a certified supercharged engine. Jebel was a guy who could travel from one end of a court to the other almost faster than you could watch him and able to leap over tall people in a single bound. If he had that much energy for his games, what must his lovemaking techniques be like?

So was I nervous? Believe it. And I felt even more nervous after I'd unlocked my place because the three hulks seemed to fill the tiny living room from wall to wall. One of the guards switched on my TV, another one helped himself to a couple of cans of coke. They didn't even look in my direction as Jebel patted my ass. From what I'd already found out about Jebel's character, I guessed sex breaks were something they were well used to.

"OK, Rosalie, where's the bedroom?"

As an approach I suppose it lacked a little something in romance, but at least nobody was wasting anybody's time. What bothered me more than anything else was the mess I'd left the place in when I went to work that morning. Jebel wasn't interested in my domestic arrangements though, only in my bed. He smacked it hard with the flat of his hand and I thought I was lucky when no clouds of dust flew up. Then he began pulling off his clothes.

"Strip off, honey child, and put on a pair of fuck me shoes. I like my gals with nothing on 'cept their shoes."

Of course it wasn't the first time I'd done a strip tease routine in front of a man in my bedroom, but it was the first time I'd done it cold sober and in full daylight. The other big difference was that every time I'd done it before I'd always enjoyed seeing the effect it had on the lucky guy. One glimpse of the effect I was having on Jebel and I felt like trying to run out into the corridor, clothes or no clothes. The guy didn't have any ordinary kind of male genitalia, he had a black torpedo ready to be loaded into a launch tube -- and I didn't think I was made to handle that caliber of weapon.

"You've got a nice body, honey. You get fucked regularly?"

It's hard to come up with a deep and meaningful answer to a question like that when you're having your underwear removed by a man who's probably already forgotten your name.

"Uh . . . Not too much lately. There was a guy but he's gone back to his wife."

"No problem. You are now going to get your system totally energized by an expert. You want some pictures?"

"Huh?"

Jebel sighed as if he had to waste half his life explaining the facts of life to half witted women. "You want one of my guys to take some pictures of you being fucked by an A-list celeb? Something to make your friends feel jealous? It's up to you, I don't give a fuck either way. Just say if you want them, that's all."

And after making that offer he pushed my legs apart and began kissing me behind my knees, which I didn't expect. No more than I expected him to lay a pattern of gentle kisses all over the inside of my wide open thighs, with everything I had laid out for him ready for the taking, yet ignored at first. Or maybe I should say Jebel laid siege to what he wanted and kept working his way closer and closer with his caressing lips, making occasional pincer movements with his fingers around my nipples as diversionary tactics.

Of course I hadn't expected anything like that, not from a guy like Jebel. It was a total and enjoyable shock to find myself getting the sort of foreplay a girl dreams about, and by the time his tongue was exploring the creases between the top of my legs and my outer lips, I was whimpering with pleasure. Which must have been about the time the other two guys came into the bedroom with a camera.

I swear I never asked them to come in, but if I was under oath in a courtroom and asked what I did next the answer wouldn't be easy.

"Well, Miss Harrow, will you tell the court if you objected to these men being present as Mr Karasti performed oral sex on you? What precisely did you say to them when they started taking pictures of you in this embarrassing situation?"

"Hmm . . . I don't think I said anything. I think I squealed at them."

"You squealed at them, Miss Harrow? Could that have been construed as a squeal of protest? Or would it have been more of a 'Oh, My God he's found my clitoris' kind of squeal?"

"Er, yes, probably it would have been that kind of squeal."

"So you never asked Mr Karasti's companions to leave your bedroom, Miss Harrow?"

"No . . . no, I never asked them to leave."

END OF PART ONE

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