Date: Fri, 13 Dec 2019 22:58:22 +0000
From: writer guy <premiershiplads@outlook.com>
Subject: Premiership Lads part 4: Bulging Ben

`Bulging Ben'. What a fucking nickname. It was all the Leicester City lads
called him though, had been ongoing banter for a couple of seasons now,
really, and you couldn't blame them. No matter what underpants he wore, or
how he adjusted his footy shorts, Ben Chilwell bulged like mad, and the
blokes on the squad teased him relentlessly about it.

The stupid nickname passed through Chilwell's head as he glanced down at
the prominent bulge in his chinos, sat in the driving seat of his sports
car, bored at traffic lights on the way into Cheshire – it's not like
the 22-year old footy ace actually sat around thinking about his package
all day, but there had been a load of jokes about `Bulging Ben' yesterday
at their game against Norwich, as usual, and it was playing on his mind for
some reason, even today as he zipped up the motorway for a Sunday lunch
with his old chum.

When he'd been younger, Ben had been a bit self-conscious about it, a guy
of average height and much skinnier before hitting his 20s, the bulge had
been silly. Now, a confident Premiership and England star, he embraced it:
he got quite a cheeky thrill from how prominent his meat and veg might look
on the pitch, even if it led to a few naff jokes amongst his close
mates. Bulging Ben, that was him, and he couldn't help but snigger at the
reality of it. God, lads could be daft.

Green light, at last, and off he went, taking the junction off into the
sleepy villages of north Cheshire, the Manchester suburbs where his mate
was shacked up these days. Big Harry Maguire, Sheffield's finest, living in
some posh WAG-town on the edge of nowhere, what a laugh. The two had been
very good friends for a while at Leicester, and were trying to keep it up
now even though the league made them rivals. This was Ben's first proper
visit up to the Maguire residence though, and he was pretty chuffed –
nothing better than a Sunday roast and a catch up!

It was a nice house, assuming his terrible SatNav skills had got him to the
right one. With his usual cheeky attitude, Chilwell wacked the horn a few
times, knowing he'd piss off some snooty neighbour, and hopped out of the
flashy new motor to swagger up his pal's driveway. He pulled on a baseball
cap over his long slicked back chestnut hair and made his way up to the
door, which was already opening. Thank fuck, right house. There was big
Harry, the dodgy-nosed giant, and his fit bird, baby in arms. God, Ben
would do anything for a session with his mate's wife, but then that was
true of half his married pals.

`Chilly, great to see ya!'

`You two you ugly cunt... oops, oops, not in front of the baby...'

`Shut your mouth haha, come here...'

There were quick manly half hugs, kisses of the wife and forced affection
for the baby, and then they were all heading inside. The place was fucking
twee, Ben kept thinking, all `live laugh love' shite on every surface. All
very cheap WAG, which summed up Harry's fit-but-dull fiancιe, really. It
was funny to see Maguire as the boring family guy, though, he'd been such a
big drinker and lad when they first met, at least for a little while.

Soon they were sat in the house's comfy beige lounge catching up, and there
was plenty to talk about. It was strange, gossiping like old ladies about
mutual mates at both teams, but they both enjoyed it – a break from the
bubbles of their squads after a good few months apart since Harry's big
money transfer to United. Ben was pretty seasoned at Leicester, working his
way up their youth teams since about 13, so he felt much older than his 22
– but he'd still looked up to the sturdy, level headed Yorkshiremen when
they ended up defenders together a couple of years back.

Dinner was fine, but it was all very comfy and polite, and the lads'
catch-up was more than a little bit stunted by the family vibe. Chilwell
was incredibly relieved when it was announced she was taking the baby off
to visit a friend up the road and leaving the lads to watch the Sunday
afternoon game just the two of them. He feigned his disappointment like the
charmer he was, and helped Harry clear up the dishes whilst chattering
away.

`So yeh, it's all going really well,' he said, as they dried up. `Not the
fucking same without ya, of course!'

Harry, his big hairy arms dripping in soap suds, leered at him and
sniggered. `You soppy dickhead. But thanks. I do miss it sometimes.' Harry
shook off his wet hands and wiped them on the long-sleeved tshirt he was
wearing with his black jeans. He gave Ben a grateful grin and then flicked
soap bubbles at it. `Obviously, everything but YOU, you southern prick.'

Ben just rolled his eyes and dried his hands, wiping the fleck of soapy
bubbles off his designer hoody and running fingers through his floppy
hair. `Yeah, yeah, yeah. No lad at United has my chat, boring bunch I bet.'

`They can be!' Harry admitted, leading them back into the lounge. `Well,
most of them. Some right odd ones, though...'

`Like who?' Ben asked eagerly, hopping into one of the shiny new armchairs
and zapping on the telly to get Sky Sports and see two of their shared
rivals battle it out. `Who's the oddest?' He kicked his strong legs over
the arm of the chair in slim blue chinos, feet in the air, making himself
at home as always.

Harry made a strange laugh, sitting in the sofa on the other side of the
room, but didn't seem to want to answer. Ben eyed him curiously whilst
getting comfy and finding the right channel, and noted how quickly Maguire
went on to change the subject, bringing up a couple of guys they both knew
on the teams on-screen. Ben wanted to suggest cracking open beers, it felt
only right, but it wasn't to be: he had to drive back down into the
Midlands and they both had training first thing tomorrow.

`So,' he brought up, about half an hour later, after their chat had dried a
bit and their attention was half on the dull nil-nil game in front of them,
`tell me about these oddballs then, won't you?'

Ben swung himself off the armchair, peeled off his hoody to cool down, and
flopped into the sofa next to big Harry in tshirt and chinos, slapping his
mate on the back encouragingly.

Harry gave him some odd side-eye then resumed watching the game. `Oh, odd
isn't the right word, I've made it sound much more interesting than it
fucking is.' He sighed a bit wistfully. `I seriously do miss the banter
back down your way mate. It ain't the same.'

Ben thought for a minute or two. `Yeh, fair. I always thought that. Too
boring a team for you.'

Harry chuckled a bit, seeming to see something funny in this, and piquing
Ben's curiosity more. There was definitely something the big twat wasn't
telling him, and he hated being kept in the dark. He prodded him in the
ribs. `Oi, mate, go on, spit it out,' he insisted. `What skeletons is Old
Trafford hiding?'

`Pfft,' Harry said darkly, `it ain't what fucking goes on there mate, it's
the shit out on away games...' And then he clammed up, pink faced, and
looked very intently back to the screen, and Ben was incensed with
curiosity now.

`You can NOT just say a thing like that then clam up, Maguire,' he said
rapidly, leaning in and forward a bit, a conspiratorial grin on his lightly
freckled face. He pulled his floppy hair back a bit more and eyed Maguire
with intrigue, forcing him to abandon his forced interest in the game and
pick up the conversation properly.

Harry rolled his eyes and sat back a bit, then picked up the remote to mute
the telly. He glanced, a touch nervously, at the heavy silver watch on his
wrist – Fern would be gone another hour or so at this rate, he could
talk freely. Ben noted this with interest. Juicy gossip on the way?

`Stop yer teasing,' he laughed, and jabbed Harry again, or tried to –
the bigger, stronger 26-year old batted his hand away and jokingly pushed
him aside with ease, like the beast of a defender he really was. Ben just
chuckled and got comfortable, pulling a leg up over the other to settle in.

`I dunno how to put it lad,' Harry said, `but I think I got a fuckin'
admirer up here.'

`Oh yeah?'

`Chilly, mate, you'll laugh, but – a lad on the team seems to really
have a thing for me. I mean, like really. He's messaging me all the fucking
time, caught him like... sniffing my pants, or something. God it's so weird
and funny, haha.'

Ben hooted a laugh but pulled himself up with a touch more empathy. `Aw,
poor little thing, that sounds a right pickle!' he said with a bemused
grin. `How did this happen? Doesn't the fool know you're with your missus?'

`I'm sure he does,' Harry said firmly.

`Well, we can't help who we fall for, I suppose!' Chilwell pointed out. `I
thought you were gonna tell me something way funnier or darker. I mean,
what the hell did you mean, what goes on out on away games? Where were you
last week, was it Belgium? Holland?'

At that, Maguire went pinker, and Ben resolved to get more out of him; it
was like the big guy had legitimately forgotten he'd slipped that
detail. There was more to this than some loser with a crush. Ben narrowed
his eyes suspiciously.

`Who is it, then?' he demanded. `Whose the lovesick dude? Some physio or
management assistant, or... not one of the players?' He paused, a little
baffled at his own naivety or homophobia, as if every professional
footballer was automatically hetero. `It is, yeh? Who is it, pal?'

`I can't say,' Harry mumbled a bit weakly, waving his hands.

`And what the hell went on in Holland?' Ben followed up quickly.

Harry seemed eager to deflect the questions. `I was HOPING you might give
me some advice on how to get this problem sorted!' he said. `I mean, don't
tell me Bulging Ben hasn't had this fucking issue...'

`Well not that I know of,' Ben rallied, but his mind was afire now with
that possibility, `but yeah, I guess high chance some lad on some team has
been eyeing up my package, when you think about it... haha, what a strange
thought.'

`You smug prick,' muttered Harry teasingly. `Well, what would you do? Poor
stupid lad has got weird around me last couple of weeks, ever since I
caught him touching up my dirty keks in the changing room like some sorta
perv... I didn't get it at the time, thought he was taking the piss out of
my Primark pants, but –`

`So who is it?' insisted Ben.

`Chilly, I can't tell you that,' protested Harry.

`Sure you can! I'm... discreet.'

`You are anything BUT.'

Ben gave a silky grunt at this. `Something else happened, though, right?'
he prodded quietly. `Otherwise your big mug wouldn't be going salmon
coloured talking about it. What else did he do? Or – what did you let
him do, you daft beanpole?' The pink went redder, and Harry squirmed away
and up off the sofa. `Oh my days, are you serious? Am I right?' Ben hooted
again with laughter before stifling it: he loved the secrecy of it all and
the to-and-fro of getting the story out of his tacit mate. He shot up to
follow Harry to his feet.

`Look, it was just...'

`What happened?' Ben demanded, a bit more excitedly than he might have
expected himself to. `I mean, what the fuck went on, big man?'

`Calm down Bulge,' Harry said, still a it red-faced, fending him off and
going to the windows, as if checking for his wife and the pram. `It was
just – Fuck. I should NOT be telling you this.'

`Hey!' Chilwell said, opening his arms wide. `I am the one person you can
tell this shit to. Go on, Hazza. What you been up to you dirty bugger?'

Harry gave him a long, grumpy look. `I let the prick toss me off, ok? It
just fuckin' happened. And now I get a message every other hour, a meme
once a day, and puppy dog fucking eyes across the training ground. Don't
you dare laugh at...'

Ben couldn't hold it in, but he approached his mate apologetically,
grabbing him in another manly hug. `Aw, pal, this is too funny, I'm
sorry... Chill, chill. Who the hell would I pass this onto? Nobody would
believe me. Bloody hell – you fuckin' stud.'

`Shut up!'

`Fair's fair though, you must have a big one!' Chilwell said loudly, and he
grabbed his own taut package. `I dunno why the lads ever christened me the
Bulge, you seem to pack as much into your shorts, it's just you're like ten
foot tall so it doesn't stand out so much, eh?'

Harry's eyes bulged a bit at this, and Ben just sniggered.

`Yeah, it makes sense,' he carried on teasingly. `Big fucking Harry. You
lad. How did this happen? And who was it? Come on, you gotta tell me.'

`No,' Harry said, with a bit of force.

`Ok, ok, I get it. You're looking out for the poor lad. I respect that. But
mate, what a thing to let happen. How was it?' He flashed his eager young
eyes at his older friend and former teammate, feeling a weird surge of
admiration at the seemingly dull bloke's dirty activity.

`What sorta question is that, for fuck's sake?'

`A pretty obvious one!' Ben returned, shrugging. `I mean, I've never had a
handjob off a dude myself, so – Well, how was it?' He approached close
at the window with a dirty snigger, and reached a hand up to Harry's
clothed arm, `Did you, erm, blow your-?'

`Mate!' protested the blushing Yorkshireman furiously, pushing him away a
bit.

`Oh, relax, please,' Ben said, more soothingly, patting and rubbing his arm
and shoulder. `Sorry. I'll stop teasing you. I'm just fascinated by how
shit like that goes down. I did NOT expect this afternoon to go this way,
I'm telling you that.'

`Well, it wasn't exactly a story I ever expected to be telling you!' Harry
replied, letting out a long sigh of exasperation. `And... yeah. Yeah I did,
if you must know.'

`Fuuuck,' Ben said, suppressing a giggle. `Fair play, mate. Lucky prick
must have been right chuffed, getting his mitts on your piece.' He looked
down evaluatively. `What is it, like nine inches?'

Harry was surprised. `I've never measured, you daft twat...'

`What, for real?' Ben said. `What the hell kinda bloke are ya? I measure
mine like once a year. Haha. Shit, you got a ruler, let's do it now?' Harry
rolled his eyes but Ben was like a dog with a bone once he had an
idea. `Seriously, let's get a ruler.'

`You're mad.'

`Why the hell not? Come on, it'll be a laugh,' Ben whittered with a cheeky
grin. `To be honest, I always kinda wondered, you know... who had more down
there, you or me. Wouldn't it be mad if Bulging Ben could hardly compare to
the Maguire Meat.'

Harry just shook his head, fed up, but he seemed defeated. Without another
word, he left the room. Chilwell followed, still chatting. `I mean, you
don't have to tell me, but you should defo measure it, buddy,' he
said. `Don't you wanna know? Maybe you should have got your little gay mate
to measure it while he was...'

`Mate, please!'

`Ok, ok.' Ben followed him into the house's sparse garage, a largely unused
space, OCD organised with practical things and a couple of home gym
items. Harry was rifling in a drawer for a measuring tape, looking grumpy
and stressed, and Ben couldn't help but start laughing at it all
again. `Hell, I haven't measured mine yet this year – maybe we should
both do it?'

Harry pulled out a coiled up yellow tape measure and dumped it on the work
surface next to them and scratched his strong jawline for a few seconds. `I
feel like you're missing a vital factor, lad. We would both need to get
hard!'

`And?' With hands on hip, Ben squared up the to taller, broader
guy. `Easily done, right? Doesn't take me long, dunno bout an old fuck like
yourself though.'

Harry grimaced. `Are we seriously doing this, kid?'

Ben's response was to undo the top couple of buttons on his chinos and
reach in to give himself a good feel. He wiggled his eyebrows provocatively
and revelled in Maguire's slow, gurning defeat to join in. He watched as
the big man lifted his tshirt a bit to undo a belt and start unzipping his
jeans. Ben squeezed himself casually, and then started to get the chinos
off properly to make it easy, pulling them to his knees.

`There it is,' Harry remarked drily, `bulging Ben.'

`Oh, yes,' Chilwell returned with exaggerated smugness, and he firmly
grabbed the hanging package in his pale grey Armani pants, confident in its
weighty feel as he gave it a light massaging. He watched Harry meet the
challenge, his own dark jeans sliding down equally thick, haired thigh
muscles, and less comfortable hands feeling up a sizeable shape in his dark
green boxer briefs.

`This can't be too weird for you,' Ben quipped, `after your Dutch
experience, I suppose.'

`Fuck off.'

`Just saying, pal.' Ben gave him a wicked grin, and moved about the garage
a bit, whilst sliding a hand into the warm tightness of his underwear to
really start playing with his bits. He settled on the edge of the
workbench, propping his peachy arse to it and looking down at the outline
of his questing fingers within the fabric of his Armanis.

When he looked up, he got a shock at his mate's boldness. `Oh hello,' he
commented, seeing a glimpse of Harry's sausage in hand, out of his
pants. `I knew you were feeling confident, you big tease. Jesus, I don't
remember it looking THAT big in the showers.'

`Fuck off, you were too busy admiring your own,' Harry said with a mix of
sternness and slowly relaxing enjoyment, playing with his fat long semi.

Ben eagerly met the challenge, yanking his pants down and flopping his
uncut dick out for a play. He was quickly stiffening up, as usual, very
quick to excite and rise to the occasion. But Harry was going for it to by
the look of it! Ben had seen him nude plenty, in passing, but it was odd
now to get a proper look at another big dick getting hard. And weirdly fun
to see the look of surprise or admiration on Harry's face as he clocked
just how much a shorter slighter guy like Chilwell was actually matching
him inch for inch.

`I know,' Ben said, surly with pride, `I'm hashtag blessed.'

Harry gawped a bit. `Well well well.'

`Measuring time?'

Ben grinned again, and let his erection flop and twang at his waist as he
bobbed down the bench to pick up the tape. However, he didn't get to work
on his own measurements. `What are you doing?' Harry muttered quietly, as
Ben approached him, a glint in his eyes. `Buddy...'

`Ah, relax,' Ben said dismissively, and measured up Harry Maguire's thick
truncheon. He brushed the shaft with his thumb and finger as he took the
tape to it. `I was nearly right, that's... eight and a half
inches. Whopper.' And just for good measure, he gave the rod a little twang
with his fingers and let out a few giggling hoots. That was probably
pushing it, but this was fun... `Here, your turn!'

Harry grunted as he took the tape, looking down at their swinging
stiffies. `You're a fucking nutter, Chilly,' he said, but he wasn't going
to be shamed into losing this battle, and he reached down to measure,
unable to avoid touching flesh.

Ben just rested his hands on his hips and enjoyed the moment, especially as
Maguire had to stoop a bit – he looked down between them, at Harry's
reluctant fingers applying the tape to his veined beast, squinting at the
numbers. `What's the verdict then, Haribo?' he demanded confidently,
although it was too close to call from what he could see.

Harry let out a triumphant yelp, and tossed the tape aside. `You're about a
centimetre smaller, you prick,' he announced. `Yours just LOOKS bigger cos
you're a Milton Keynes midget, not a fine Yorkshire beef specimen like
myself. So eat shit, Chilwell.' He grabbed and stroked his dick in a
display of victory, and Ben just let out a whistle of congratulations.

`Fair, fair,' he said, accepting the inevitable. `I think I kinda knew
that, like I said. God, we are both fucking hung though, hey? Two massive
cocks!' He took hold of his cock just like Harry, squeezing and stroking
the shaft and still eyeing up the similarities and differences in girth,
colouring, foreskin. `I bet your queer mate would love a grab of mine too,'
he added, and he knew as he said it that there was some wishful thinking in
the comment. He just fucking loved attention, he always had. The hints of
envy or admiration in the Bulge banter had also been what really tickled
him, not the crass humour. He stroked his dick idly.

`I guess,' Harry said.

`Did it feel weird, a guy touching it?' Ben asked. `I mean – compared
to...?'

Harry sighed. `Not as weird as you'd think, I guess? I mean... we were
watching some porn, so...'

`I guess I'll have to try it too,' Ben announced, as casually as the
situation allowed. `Just to know.'

`Really?' Harry questioned in a low voice.

`Why the hell not?' Ben mused. `I'll try anything once, I think. And like I
said, any gay lad would be fucking glad to get his paws on this thing,
right? Would hate to deny the world that chance...'

`You really are up your arse, aren't you?' Harry asked, but he was laughing
softly, his smile was affectionate. Both lads were still stroking their
meats with an aimless but restless energy.

`Watch it,' Ben teased, `let's not go too far here.' He let go of his dick,
and reached out; to his surprise, there was no protest from Maguire as he
slipped his fingers around that piece. It was definitely a touch thicker
than even his own solid cock, but in the moment, Ben found himself more
excited than jealous. `Come on then, big lad. You do me.'

`What?' The United defender stood there awkwardly, seeming to accept
Chilwell's touch on his dick, but appalled at the suggestion of equalising
the field.

With one hand, Ben began to tug on Harry, and with the other, he pulled the
reluctant man's hand over and curled it around his own boner. Slowly but
surely, both men began to move in a stilted rhythm, eyes flitting from the
surreal sit between their bodies to their different facial expressions. Ben
could not help but grin, just revelling in the stupid novelty of it all,
but he could see the conflict on every part of Harry's face.

`Come on, buddy,' Ben urged. `You can do better than that.'

He tightened his grip on the other man's nob and felt Maguire compete –
both men let out half-laughing groans at the firm pull on their manhood.

`I know,' Ben said. `Why don't we make this another contest? You won the
first round, yeah, but I bet I can equalise...'

`What do you mean?' Harry grunted anxiously. There was a slight sheen of
sweat on his brow.

`First to make the other lad blow,' Ben whispered, really pulling back on
Harry's dick now, feeling that thick meat on his palm, the wet touch of the
head against his wrist. `If I win, we're even. If you win –`

`If I win,' snapped Harry, `you're sucking my dick.'

He looked as shocked to be saying it as Ben was to hear it: and the shock
was enough to thrill the dirty young man into nodding his confused
agreement. Harry looked poised to take back his rash, aggressive words, and
part of Ben wanted to yelp out some protest, but... Oh god Harry was really
going for it! A wave of pleasure ran through him at the strong, commanding
touch, so unlike any gentle slutty girl who'd been working on him like
this. Fuck... He did his best to compete, but it was so different trying to
wank off somebody else, he realised, so hard to judge the sensitivity and
really work it like when having a wank on your own... The two men leaned in
close to each other and ended up grabbing on for support as they tossed off
at a rapid rhythm, Ben snatching the side of Harry's tshirt and feeling one
of the big man's strong paws crushing his shoulder muscle in turn.

`Fuck,' Ben groaned, gripping tighter on the rock-hard side of Harry's abs,
really leaning into him as his body trembled in pleasure.

`God...' panted Harry. `God, this is so wr- Oh gooood...'

The garage door was ajar, and through it came the distant click and chink
of keys and door hinges, and both Ben and Harry tensed immediately: Ben
looked up into the white panic of his mate's face, but couldn't tug his
hand from his frantic motion on his cock. He felt Harry immediately limply
pull away from his own throbbing meat, in a frenzy, but Ben just couldn't
stop, even as the sound of a woman's voice and the rattle of pram wheels
echoed through the sliver of open door, and... Ben felt the veiny dick in
his hand tense and throb and climax, just as he knew he needed to let go;
he looked down and yelped.

`Oh SHIT,' he hissed, as he saw Maguire shoot his load, spewing spunk into
his palm, down his wrist, dribbling over his fingers.

Harry had shut his eyes and let out a long whining groan of ecstasy,
simultaneously dragging his big body away, and lumbering across the sparse
garage to shove the door firmly shut, blocking out the muffled voice of his
fiancιe. He hunched against it for an agonised moment, his big cock
jutting out and trailing semen from its tip. Ben just stood there, cum
trickling over his fingertips, and gawped at his pal.

The voice was clear and unmistakeable even three rooms away: `Harry,
darling! Where are you? Lads...?'

To Ben's shock, Harry moved sharply, and twisted a lock on the door before
backing silently away from it, half-erect penis swinging, and rushed at
him; for a second Ben thought Maguire was attacking in some post-orgasmic
rage at what had gone on. But the physical rush was different: Harry
reached down and grabbed his dick once more as if they had never been
interrupted, and with the other hand he swiftly covered Ben's groaning
mouth for silence. Ben just gasped into the warm flesh of his mate's palm,
taken aback and wracked with pleasure at the tense handjob. He stumbled
back a bit but Harry moved with him, pushing him a bit roughly into the
brickwork.

If there wasn't a rough hand to his face, he would have screamed his orgasm
for all to hear – the secrecy, the novelty, the aggressive masculine
thrill of it all. In moments, he was spurting his load, not onto Harry, but
onto the concrete floor beneath them. He shook with orgasm for a long
minute before Harry seemed to release him. He gasped for air.

`Harry, Ben? Where are you boys?' The creak of steps going up, and what
seemed like an opportunity. Ben leant back on the wall for support while
Harry took a few steps away from him, and clumsily pulled up his undies and
jeans, stuffing that big limp weapon away. Ben, still catching his breath,
tried to do the same, stumbled a bit, managed it. Leant on the wall again,
fastening his chinos. Wiping his cum-sticky hand on them and then looking
down at the stain in horror.

`The kitchen,' Harry instructed, `pretend to be doing dishes. Splash soapy
water on it or whatever. Mate.' He looked urgent.

Ben nodded, made for the door. But as he reached for the lock, Harry
grabbed his arm tightly. Ben looked at him, a bit dazed post-orgasm.

`Now we're even,' Harry hissed. `1-1, yeah?'

Ben just let out a quiet little laugh and nodded his head slowly. `Who's
keeping fucking score?' he breathed, eyes blazing with
excitement. `Fuck...' He reached for the lock but Harry held onto him for a
moment more, intimately close by the door.

`If I'd won,' he murmured, `would you really have...'

Ben stared at him, trying to read that earnest face. Trying, too, to read
his own blurred mind. He just responded with a laugh. `We'll never know
now, will we?' he whispered, and with his clean hand, gave a soft playful
slap to Harry's cheek. He unlocked the door and disappeared into the
hall. Harry lifted his tshirt to wipe his sweaty face, and followed.



Half an hour later, a recovered Ben climbed into his sports car and waved
at the Maguire family on the doorstep, an innocent goodbye smile plastered
over his handsome young face. He kicked the engine into gear and swung out
onto the quiet road, checking a last glance in the wing mirror: mother and
child headed inside and Maguire lingering on the doorstep, looking
satisfied but worried. Ben lifted his eyes back to the road, drummed his
fingers on the wheel, and let out a manic little cackle to himself in the
confines of the car.

`Bulging Ben and Big Harry,' he shouted at himself, `what the fuck?!'

He sped out onto the motorway, and back towards Leicester.


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