Anna, A Perfect Match

As the parade of player-cars approached, the road was lined with a seething tapestry of bright bikini colors, and skin tones from the palest pink to the deepest black. An ear-deafening wave of cheers built up the closer they came, as collective hysteria took hold of the crowd. Girls seemed to lose their minds, some even (intentionally?) their bikini-tops as the first cars drove by, slowing down to better inspect the assorted meats. The sound and excitement were soon becoming almost unbearable, and started to pull more and more girls into downright delirium.

Anna stood out, as she remained calm and composed. She was tried and tested against several kinds of hysteria, mostly involving hordes of teenage boys. It all passed above her head, and she felt superior to the chaotic armada of bimbos and cheap amateur whores around her. She had everything to be a true beacon of class and natural beauty in a turbulent sea of future also-rans.

This was going to be easier than she could have hoped!

Although it may have looked like a formality, tennis had taught Anna to take no chances. Among chickens, a peacock doesn't need to unfold its tail, but nevertheless he does it anyway! Likewise, she released her long blonde tresses to reveal an awesome golden waterfall, dropped the sweater to better display her tight ass and fit upper legs, and put on her famous bright smile.

With all weapons on edge, nothing could go wrong.

Thus, Anna was only *slightly* worried when the lead car stopped the first time well ahead of her area. She knew it was her target's car. A big black modified van, the license plate started with "SHAQ". The windows were blinded, but she imagined him with his nose pressed against them on the inside, licking his lips while checking out the goods on display.

Surely he had good taste and an eye for quality? There was no reason to panic, Anna told herself.

Nevertheless, she became a little restless next, as a window was pulled down and a pair of ultra-sluttish, large-breasted black bimbos went totally crazy. Apparently, His Greatness was signaling THEM to join him inside!

Anna couldn't believe her eyes when the driver stepped out, with the engine still running, walked around the car and let the hysterical pair into the back. Their exciting screams filtered out of the cacophony as soon as the door closed behind them.

The van quickly picked up speed again and whizzed by... past a dumbfounded and speechless Anna!

Immediately, the Russian could feel the usual frustration build up inside. It looked like she wasn't going to get what she wanted, and this could mean only ONE thing: she was going to SCREAM it out!!

"YOU STUUUUUPID BASTARD!!!"

Anna's head looked like a red beet. It was an outbreak of helpless anger, devoid of any hope. She had traveled all that far, for NOTHING. What a nightmare this day was turning into! What a pitiful life she had! And those NBA stars were all just primitive cavemen!

But about 30 yards further, the van suddenly came to a halt in a cloud of burning rubber, the screeching of brakes ripping through the air. Still in a state of shock, Anna witnessed how the door on the other side was opened and the busty couple was thrown out, protesting loudly. A second later, the driver put the car in reverse and delivered it right in front of our girl.

Once more, the heavy door swung open. This time there was no hysteria and no confusion; as soon as the two babes had entered Shaq's van, the crowd had concentrated on the next in line, leaving Anna alone at her spot.

Had Shark Shaq bitten the bait after all?

As the door opened, the loud tones of a typical second-rate rap song joined the chugging exhaust and the roaring engine. Then everything got silent. For a second or two, Anna stared into the empty blackness. Then she cut the knot and jumped inside, engulfed in total darkness as the door closed behind her.

Chapter Three

Gradually, her eyes started adjusting to the lack of bright daylight. First, two shiny white rows of teeth, the symmetry broken by a single gold one, materialized. Then she picked up a variety of flashy gold plated necklaces and rings. Finally, the gaps were filled in by an enormous silhouette.

It spoke...

"Welcome to the Shaqmobile, young lady!"

The welcoming speech, short and to the point, was followed by a CLICK. Suddenly the interior bathed in atmospheric pinkish light, revealing the identity of the jewelry shop next to her. It was, indeed, the one and only Shaquille O'Neal himself, who saw his grin reflected in his young pickup's dark glasses.

Anna let her eyes wander around; the interior of the back of the van seemed completely adjusted to its owner's scale and decadence. On the backside was a luxury brown leather seat over the entire width. Then, facing it, there was another single seat on the driver's side. The leather was hemmed up with gaudy purple material, stitched to it with gold wire. Behind the passenger seat, a fridge and bar were installed while the gap in the middle contained a flat screen with apparently a computer connected to it (at least there was a mini-keyboard visible).

Shaq himself was sitting on the skin of some close-to-extinction feline. Apart from the jewelry, he was stripped to the waist, wearing only a reversed baseball cap and boxer shorts. Both were in the well-known Lakers colors. With his albatross-arms stretched out on top of the back seat, his torso seemed to fill the interior completely. That's what they call 'wall-to-wall'!

Anna tried to catch her breath, her mouth half-open. The strong impression Shaq made on her right now, from this close, surprised even her. She should have realized that something that looks so big, even from a distance, turns out to be intimidatingly giant when you get anywhere up close.

Startled, she was looking for words to break the silence.

"Well, aren't you going to introduce yourself to Shaq and his buddy Wilson? Sweetie, meet Wilson, my personal driver. Wilson, this is...?"

Only now that the basketball legend pointed at him, Anna noticed the driver peeking between the two front seats.

"Hello, miss!"

Somehow, the idea of having the company of a third person, seemed to comfort the otherwise so extrovert girl and loosen up her tongue.

"Anna, my name is Anna. Glad to meet you, Wilson."

She did her best effort to hide her disdain with a smile. The big guy who's warm and sticky hand she was shaking, reminded her of one of those cliché fat rappers. The type that hired lingerie models for their videos, in the hope to turn the shootings into filthy orgies.

Wilson was BIG indeed. For most, it was difficult to believe that he and Shaq once formed a reputable basket-duo as youngsters in the slums. Drafting them for the neighborhood championships was an assurance against defeat. Shaq had gone on to become an NBA legend, but Wilson had apparently lacked the talent and character. Or maybe it was that every time his mate got a vertical adolescent growth spurt, Wilson seemed to get a horizontal one.

It hadn't managed to drive them apart though. After all those years, they still got along with each other as if nothing had happened since their childhood. They were hand in glove. Shaq had no problem sharing some of his success with his buddy, who he had adopted as his driver/personal security guard. While Wilson only allowed the Chosen Chicks to approach Shaq, Shaq did him favors back. His $65 million-contract with Reebok, for example, contained a special clause. And so it happened that Wilson appeared in his very own donut commercial.

"Enough formality. What can Shaq do for this lovely lady?"

The silhouette turned towards Anna and landed a big warm paw on her left knee. Humming the tune of "Crazy in Love", he drummed along with his fingers and slowly crawled up Anna's thigh. His eyes lustfully focused on the area where her soft skin tunneled into the loose shorts.

"HOLD IT, BIG BOY!"

Shaq froze, clearly surprised.

"Are you afraid to look me in the eyes, or what?"

Anna pointed at the dark glasses she was still wearing. Shaq laughed, a bit relieved. For a second there, he thought it was again one of those annoyingly late "NO"-girls. There should be a federal law against that kind of cruel teasing! As a girl, you knew what to expect when you boarded the Shaqmobile.

"Of course not! You're right; it's no style to keep those enchanting eyes hidden. Let me help you."

His hand left Anna's thigh (already she longed after the return of his warm touch) and lifted the glasses from her face... only to drop them instantly on the floor!

"By the God Almighty Wilt Chamberlain!"

Wilson joined his boss in his surprise. The girl with the sheepish grin on her face was now finally recognized by both as the world-famous tennis babe.

"To be more precise: Kournikova, Anna Kournikova. But friends call me 'Murzik'."

She enjoyed the amazement she caused in the two men. Anna craved little ego-boosts like these. Even more so because Shaq was probably a lot harder to amaze than ordinary guys.

"Well, aren't you going to say something?" Now she also gave him a taste of his own medicine...

Surprisingly, it was Wilson who recovered first.

"Gee... Welcome, Miss Kournikova. Something in the back of my mind had already recognized you. I've heard a lot about you, and I am even a bit of a fan! Welcome aboard our little driving sanctuary."

"Euh, yeah! Pleased to meet you," Shaq now also contributed.

"Glad to hear that I'm welcome." (It would have been earth-shattering for Anna to find out that she was NOT welcome somewhere!)

"Certainly, certainly! Wow, you can say that it's a bit of a surprise. Why not just pay me and the mates a visit in the dressing rooms after a match? I mean, I've noticed you in the stands quite often lately. We don't BITE, you know. And just about everyone in the team is a fan."

"Ah, you know all too well how it would go in that case. The media would be all over it. We wouldn't be able to do the things we want to do, or talk about what we really want to talk about, would we? It's much better like this, incognito, in the privacy of your own van."

A strange atmosphere settled itself now. Shaq was acting rather reserved and stiff, not sure how to behave himself. Each word he spoke gave away a growing disinterest and apathy. Not only didn't he associate this place with normal conversations, he was also puzzled about the Russian's intentions. In any case, he didn't expect much exciting to happen, so his libido was put to sleep, at least temporarily.

As for Anna, she found out reality can be slightly more complex than the simple scenarios developing themselves in a horny girl's brain. Her numerous nightly fantasies, hands between legs, had never contained a Wilson. They DID contain a horny and "energetic" Shaq, not a lethargic bear in hibernation.

While chatting, she was trying to figure out how to elegantly bridge this gap between fantasy and reality. And how to write the Fat Pig out of the scenario, as he ruined her appetite!!

"So, doesn't it sometimes get too much, all this over-the-top behavior of your fans?" Anna nodded in the general direction of the hysterical mass.

"I know *I* sometimes feel like having a break."

"Oh, of course it can be annoying at times. But they are my fans, so I try my best to always treat them with respect. I'm sure you try too?"

"Yeah, I know the struggle. Especially the ball boys can be quite pushy at times. You wouldn't *believe* some of the silliness I've experienced with them. Sometimes they expect more than a signature, if you know what I mean."

She gave Shaq a naughty wink.

Whatever she was going to come up with, it was important to keep him at least lukewarm, so he would be easy to get up to working temperature. She had to keep the conversation going, and try to throw out some bait in the process.

"Oh yeah, fans can be really obtrusive at times, you don't have to tell me!

"Say, I was wondering what went wrong with the two ladies you let out?"

"Oh... they... didn't go in the same direction as we in the end."

"Were they trying something? Did they bother you?"

"How do you mean? No, no... They expected a lift to the city, but we were heading straight to Shaq's Palace, outside town."

"Ah good... You know, when I saw you sitting there without a T-shirt, the first idea I had was that they were hunting memorabilia with a bit too much enthusiasm," she grinned. "You know I once had a fan pull down my mini-skirt, while I was entering a practice-court through a thick row of spectators. That was a bit of a scare, I can tell you. And quite embarrassing how I was standing there in my panties."

"I'd kill if anyone did that to me!" Shaq chuckled. He looked like he was loosening up a bit already. Anna's female intuition told her Shaq had already effectively pulled down her panties in thoughts.

"He he, I guess it depends when it happens, and who does it."

"Hmmm??"

"With a bit of bad luck, I would have lost my panties as well! Since that day, I've doubled my bodyguard staff. A body like mine needs to be guarded well, it seems. I'm sure, with a Hercules-frame like yours, you can take care of yourself?"

Anna made sure to inject an unmistakable tone of desire into that last comment. At the same time, her eyes were practically eating "Hercules" alive. For the moment, she kept her hands to herself though.

"Hahaha! Thanks for the compliment. I guess you can say that. But when there are as many as on days like this, they could overpower even Shaq. No, the only time when I have trouble handling fans is when they ask for money."

"How's that?"

"Well, last week for example I had this kid asking me to pay the kidney-transplant of his brother. They just know I can't say 'NO'. Good that I signed that $65 million contract last year!"

"You WHAT???"

Shaq repeated, with an intonation as if he was talking about the weather: "Like I said, I signed a $65 million dollar contract with Reebok last year. Or was it 67? Can't remember."

Immediately, Anna fell out of her role; the careful teasing, the suggestion... it was wiped out of her brain by genuine shock and indignation.

She had always been proud about being one of the best-paid people in the sports world. In fact, sometimes she put more energy and determination into THAT than into her game. And now she was - seriously - overpowered in that area by some lousy basketball player.

"You're JOKING, right? Nobody can wrest THAT much money!"

"Shaq never jokes about money. And he's paid according to his value. His TRUE value."

"Ah, come on! I'm in the spotlights on AND off the court, ALL the time. AND Mister, in an INDIVIDUAL sport, where matches often take almost two hours!"

"YOUR matches also?" Shaq produced an evil grin.

Anna didn't pay attention and droned on: "... while you play a stupid team sport. And still you would make more than double of what I do? That's just not honest! What did I say? It's downright IMMORAL!"

"Hahaha! Don't make me laugh. It's perfectly normal for Shaq to have everything that other people have, but BIGGER. It seems you still have to get used to my scale, young lady!"

"So you think, because you're bigger, you're BETTER at everything, eh? Or maybe because you're a *man*, even?"

Anna, competitive as she was, couldn't just take that. She was going to show him!

"Well, let me ask you THIS: did anyone ever write a SONG about you, eh? I have my own SONG, buddy!"

Shaq didn't utter a word, but instead he turned on the stereo again and put the volume on 10. The same ordinary rap tune as before rang out of the speakers, torturing Anna's eardrums.

"Yeah, blaq supaman (blaq supaman) Everybody know yeah, yeah (Shaq supaman) Future above them all Barney Rubble (everybody know) (Shaq supaman) future flex T.W.IsM. the world is mine (everybody know) all mine (Shaq supaman) yeah, yeah Uh (Shaq diesel) yeah (everybody know) Yeah (Shaq supaman) "

Shaq shouted to get on top of the unbearable racket.

"DO YOU HEAR THIS? THIS IS MY SONG, I WROTE AND SANG IT MYSELF."

Then he opened up a small drawer in the middle console and took out three CD cases. He waved them right before Anna's eyes and turned down the music.

"... and these are the three CD's that I produced thus far. 750,000 sold presently. Not bad eh?"

Anna tried to say something, but at first the words remained stuck. She was growing beet-red again.

"BIG DEAL! That 'music' is always the same boring shit. Latino Rock, on the other hand... Anyway, I bet you don't have a decent website. MINE is one of the most-visited on the web. The computer guy told me last week that they had upgraded to a 69-bit machine because the old one couldn't keep track any longer!"

Shaq kept smiling. He couldn't help thinking by himself that he wouldn't mind a bit of 69 with this "girl of 69-bit"... Again, he remained silent. But now he fetched the wireless keyboard and put it on his knee.

He tapped a few keys, and the flatscreen lit up. A browser window appeared, and five seconds later Anna was staring at the front page of Shaq.net over a satellite connection. It was just as flashy, and had just as many useless features focused on selling stuff as her site.

The deep tan of Anna's face had acquired a distinctive red shine. For a stubborn and proud girl like her, all this humiliation almost equaled a declaration of war! She had meanwhile completely forgotten about what she was here for with Shaq.

Agitated, she snatched the keyboard from "that moron"'s hands, and typed the address of Octagon, her agency. As if it was her own homepage, she purposefully navigated through some pages until a list of "estimated revenues for 2003" appeared.

With a triumphant look in the eyes, she pointed to the top of the list;

"What does that read, Mr. Shaq?"

"KOURNIKOVA A.W TENNIS$150,000,00040%"

"I practically keep the whole business running on my own. I have RESPONSIBILITIES, Mister!"

Against her expectations, Shaq's smile still didn't fade for a single moment. Instead it only got wider! He calmly took the keyboard back on his lap and used the trackball to click through a few more links.

"Before you continue bragging, maybe better read this?"

THIS page also contained a list...

OCTAGON SHAREHOLDERS

====================

1. O'NEAL INDUSTRIES 51%

2. ..."

It took Anna a few seconds to realize what she had just read on the first line. But Shaq had no trouble identifying the exact moment that it got through to her, as her bottom lip started trembling.

It was clear that she could burst out (into tears?) any second now. Right under that lovely surface was a volcano of frustration waiting. It definitely gave her something sexy, Shaq noticed. Anna became twice as attractive when she developed a pout. Or, to be more precise, when her continuous pout got more pronounced.

Meanwhile she had arrived at a point where she would do ANYTHING to avoid defeat. Or to at least momentarily paint an expression of astonishment over the irritating smile on his mug.

With unconcealed amusement, Shaq watched how she finally snatched the keyboard back once more. He was curious also, about what would be her next move in this silly battle of egos.

Anna's pretty face was one big thundercloud as she rammed the keys with remarkable aggression. After a good number of visits to the backspace key, she had typed a URL:

http://ffleetwebspace.free.fr/tmfu/index.htm

"Money is one thing, but when it comes to honest and true devotion by fans, I wipe the floor with you, matey!"

"WHAT THE F... I mean, JEZUS CHRIST! Is that YOU???"

Slowly, the screen filled itself with Anna Kournikovas in varying degrees of nudity, ranging from rather tame men's magazine type of stuff, to the filthiest XXX-footage.