Part seventy-three: Maguires on Lockdown
The deft kick met its target in the corner of the goal, set up in the corner of the Yorkshire mansion's expansive rear garden, and Harry Maguire silently celebrated his solitary triumph. Dressed in a matching dark Adidas tracksuit, the 6'4 pillar of a defender turned his way across the well-kept lawn and towards where he had rested his phone camera against a flowerpot to record his little skills test to himself. Harry ducked down, hit stop, picked up the device and let out a satisfied sigh.
Maguire was a fairly reserved lad, not the keenest on the mire of social media, but he was also incredibly bored, and vaguely aware that his captaincy at Old Trafford demanded a slightly more high-profile footballing figure than in his laddish Leicester City days. Hence the little video updates on Instagram in this weird, off-season period of isolation and lockdown. If a few show-off skills video killed a bout of boredom and kept a few fans here and abroad happy, then they seemed a mild bit of exposure for the lofty United player to give in to.
He strolled the lawn, idly tapping the ball left and right while thumbing at his phone screen and uploading the little video of his shooting skills to his feed, taking a moment to revel in the `likes' and comments his last one had received. Even in this odd time, weeks from their last proper game, it was a rush and a high to feel so welcomed and beloved by the team he had loved even in childhood. Yes, the season had gone haywire and might be declared null and void, but he now fully felt like he'd made it at Manchester United.
He tossed the ball back into the net with one foot and sat on a low stone wall to the side as he idled through the labyrinth of social media, half-listening to some trilling birdsong above and muffled music playing from within the big house he'd bought his parents. He, his fiancée and their little one had travelled over here soon after the match cancellations begun, intent on spending the isolated weeks (months?) with family rather than cooped up in their Cheshire pad. So far, it had proved a good decision; all three of his siblings were in residence, with partners and the other kids, and the Maguire clan were able to rally together and make the most of the lockdown. So far at least, it had felt as much like a big family holiday as a national crisis!
Harry's attention, as it often did, strayed to one person in particular on his social network: Luke Shaw.
He clicked on his teammate's profile and stared mindlessly at a few of his most recent posts, which were infrequent and typically humble. Harry found himself staring wistfully at a few screencaps from recent games, seeing just how handsome and fresh-faced the Southern lad actually was. It had taken him a while to see Shaw in that light, even as their intimacy developed; was he actually ready to consider that he was `attracted' to guys, rather than just hooked on dominating them? He found his cheeks blushing, and not just at the late afternoon chill of the bright spring day. He quickly sought to district himself from the nagging sense of how much he was missing that daft lad, and slid his thumb over the screen to leave the profile. Clumsily, he went from the main feed of images to things Shaw had been tagged in instead, and up popped a video.
Oh, wasn't that the bird Luke had been shagging last year? He vaguely recognised her from some sort of team party or such, and... Yeh, that was definitely her, and oh, Luke with her, must have been from ages ago, except – well nah, that was Luke's shorter cropped haircut that he'd had quite recently, and – He squinted at the phone screen, dimmed in the bright sunshine, and blinked repeatedly at what he saw on-screen. The girlfriend was hoisting up an adorable little baby and pushing it into Luke's hands, and there was a look of awkward pride on that toothy face... Harry's frozen gaze slid down to the caption: `Shaw a father for first time at 24 with...'
What. The. Fuck?
Harry dropped the phone before he could recover himself enough and it thumped softly on the neatly trimmed grass. He shook himself, scooped it up in one big hand, and stared at the tiny video snippet playing over and over again. He hit a link with it and went to the little local Manchester news story, which detailed how `hunky' Shaw was in isolation with his girlfriend and young son, who he'd kept rather quietly but was now proudly showing off on social media, and... Maguire grimaced, felt a little jolt of nausea, and picked himself up from the wall where he sat.
`Wotcha bro, everything okay?'
He looked up, sharply, unsure which of his brothers it was for a second. Laurence was striding out of the back door from the kitchen in his own kit, another ball under his arm, and his attractive graduate girlfriend strolling after him. Loz was shooting him a warm but concerned smile, and Harry tried and failed to fix the sudden look afflicting his face. He felt sick with surprise.
Fine,' he grunted instantly, absolutely fine.'
You out here working on more skills without me?!' demanded the younger Maguire brother in faux annoyance, picking his way over the lawn. Come on big bro, let's see what you've got, and –`
Nah, not fuckin' now,' Harry responded moodily, catching himself as he said it and correcting his angry tone – though he could instantly see he'd offended both Laurence and his missus, who stared oddly at him as he pocketed his phone. Sorry – not now, bro, later on maybe, or tomorrow, just...'
Ah right,' teased Loz, too big for a kickabout with a lower-league lad like me now, right...?'
`Primadonna,' put in his girlfriend playfully, though with a slightly accusing edge to her voice. Harry was pretty sure she still disliked him for getting so drunk and leading her boyfriend astray at that last big party in Chesterfield. A little bit of Harry always wondered if she knew quite how much he'd led the dumb lad astray that night, though he mostly suspected not; probably she just resented that she was going out with the less famous option of the very similar big blokes.
Leave it,' he snapped at them both, unable to restrain his sudden mood, and brushing past them towards the house. I just need to get on with other things. Have fun.' He didn't look back at them but he could half-hear their murmured discussion of his funny behaviour as he stomped his way back onto the patio and into the house, his face hot with annoyance and the insult of being lied to.
Hours later, the bizarre discovery was still needling at him. He'd sent a flurry of confused text messages to Luke from various spots in the house, some of them mostly comprised of emoji and repeated question marks; eventually he had even hidden in one of the bathrooms and turned on the taps whilst leaving a breathy, confused voicemail for his fellow United defender, demanding to know what the fuck was going on and why he was finding out from weird online sources that the man who claimed to love him had become a father and mentioned NOTHING. But no response, to the text messages or the voicemail, and he had eventually become so fed up with checking his empty phone that he had switched it off and shoved it into a corner of their bedroom, needing to release himself from the need to check it every 90 seconds.
In those hours, Harry managed to spark an argument with everyone he spoke to.
Laurence tried again to ask him what was wrong, passing each other in the big galley kitchen, and Harry's rude dismissal had sparked intervention from the younger bloke's girlfriend, until it was Laurence and his partner who were actually arguing. Harry had ducked away from them rather than dare get involved, embarrassed by his own actions but hopeful it was just superficial bickering between the young lovers. Soon after, though, he managed to pick a row with his dad – over what to watch on TV, of all things – and quickly earned a new enemy of the day when he accidentally kept swearing in front of his nephew; his older brother Joe quickly lectured him on what an arrogant twat his big money move to Manchester had made him, and Harry was storming back outside to sulk alone. That had been bad enough, but he'd even managed to piss off his mum and fiancée when he snapped at his younger sister over dinner, and by the end of the night, he felt like a fucking burden on the whole crowded household. After a couple of weeks of familial bliss, suddenly the extended family suddenly felt fractious and oppressive.
He went to bed earlier than the others, alone, and turned on his mobile phone. A slew of messages from mates and other family members, and a procession of reactions to his latest little post of his footballing prowess... but no answer from Luke. Nothing. He aggressively pushed at the off button until the screen went black and then shoved it under the mattress in the hope he'd forget where he put it.
`What the hell has actually got into you, eh?' asked Fern when she came up to bed, staring sympathetically at him from the doorway and then beginning to shed item after item of clothing on her way across the room. She gave him a wry smile, rubbed at his hunched shoulders, and he mumbled his vague apologies.
Reluctant to invent some cover story for his confused annoyance, Harry changed the subject and entertained her with murmured bitching about his family members and all their quirks. But clearly she was feeling frisky tonight; as they chatted, she undressed in a weirdly casual striptease, then folded into his lap and kissed gently at his neck. After a period of cuddling and snogging, he got up to his feet, half-hoping to discourage the attention and just get ready for bed. Persistent, she clung to the front of his tracksuit, her knuckles tracing the outlines of muscles beneath, then one hand finding the outline of his low-hanging prick in the front of the black tracky bottoms. It responded, faintly, his sexual appetite dulled by today's sudden lovesick depression.
`Harry, baby,' she encouraged in a breathy moan, acting as surprised as she always did by his size downstairs, as if discovering it for the first time instead of for most of their adult lives. Normally, this quality lit him with passion and affection, but tonight he still felt queasy with betrayal.
I dunno,' he grunted, we don't wanna wake anyone up...'
I can be quiet,' she giggled, for once...'
Off came clothing. Hot panting kisses, his reluctance mistaken for tenderness. But once he had her naked in bed, he kept the focus on her pleasure: down he went, beneath the covers, tonguing her cunt until it dripped and he had to use one big hand to silence the orgasmic screams she wanted to release. This was becoming a more regular dynamic for them. He focused on giving her a few climaxes in a row to hide his own reluctance, often saving his load for a sneaky visit to Luke's flat later that night or the next day. Even in the midst of pleasuring his sweetheart, he felt a bitter swell at that idea: what a waste that was, the stupid lying prick. How could Luke have kept any of this from him? Seriously?
After he had brought her off a third time, he crawled up over the bed and flopped onto his front so that she wouldn't notice his huge raging boner and clock that he had yet to cum, utterly disinterested in her body tonight. She lay at his side, panting and giggling with pleasure, and then leant over to kiss his neck and bare, sweat-sheened shoulder muscles. She cooed various affections before sinking back into the pillows and finding a very satisfied sleep at his side. Harry turned his big head and watched her drift off, envying her innocent delight.
He lay awake a while longer, letting the sweat of passion cool on his big naked body and the boner at his crotch subside gently from its throbbing peak. He became increasingly conscious of the phone stuffed beneath the mattress, like a very large and expensive pea to his proverbial princess; but he did not pull it out from its crevice or turn it on. No. Why piss himself off more with the lack of reply?! No, he lay there willing sleep to come, tasting his wife's orgasm on his lips and feeling her body's gentle rise and fall beside him.
How long did he lie there stupidly craving rest? Perhaps an hour. When he dragged his big body off the bed, rippling muscle in the full-length mirror opposite the bed, the house felt utterly silent and asleep. How many of the Maguires had hit their beds tonight thinking what a cunt he'd been today? Certainly most, probably all. He scowled at his own reflection in the gloom of this bedroom, a guest room that already felt weirdly like home, and tugged a thin silky dressing gown from its hook on the back of the door. Wrapping its thin material around himself, he left the room, needing a cool drink or a bite of fresh air or some escape from the vague sex-smell of this love-nest and the infuriating peace of the women he still loved so deeply.
Wrapped in this robe, Harry trotted down a spiral of wooden steps down into the main sprawl of the house, taking care not to step too heavily or creak any boards. He was taken by surprise as he turned a corner into the big main lounge and found it eerily blue-lit by the big plasma screen on one wall, a silenced video game flashing through its mindless existence. He stopped and blinked, seeing this odd blue-lit vista as something disembodied and surreal, then realised he was not alone.
Laurence was sprawled on his side on one sofa, staring fixedly at the big screen and bashing at his remote, replacing Chesterfield FC life with FIFA. It took the 24-year-old Maguire lad a further minute to clock Harry's presence, and his eyes showed his surprise. Beyond that, he just gave a slight nod and twitched one shoulder in acknowledgment. Harry took the hint – he was still a cunt – and walked on around the back of the room and through into the kitchen alone. All of the people in this house were those he loved most, but it was perhaps young Loz he felt most guilty for snapping at; he'd only ever felt a protective pride for the youngest brother, and always treasured their closeness in spite of moving away in different directions.
In the kitchen, he poured himself a glass of iced wate and, on second thoughts, a gin and tonic. He was just staring into the dwindling contents of the massive fridge when he became aware of a presence, more quickly and intuitively this time. He half-shut the fridge door and looked down the room. Laurence was leaning in through the arched doorway, watching him in the faint glow of the fridge lamp.
`You havin' gin?' Loz Maguire asked in a sleepy grunt.
`Aye.'
`Make me one?'
`Alright.'
`Cheers, pal.'
They stared at each other then in a silent acknowledgement of today's tension; Harry's apology was silent and so was his brother's acceptance, but they both knew it all the same. The tall 26-year-old sighed and mixed the two tumblers of drink before drifting over to hand him one.
`You know you can talk to me about whatever,' Laurence offered quietly, clinking glasses.
`Aye. It's just... It ain't anything. Just cabin fever. That's all.'
The younger brother seemed to accept this. Well, only surprise there is it's taken this long for the rows to begin,' he pointed out. They both chuckled gently and sipped their gins. Come and play a few rounds of FIFA, eh? I can't seem to sleep tonight. Dunno why.' Harry nodded, pleased by the invite, and followed him through. A little conscious of his undress, compared to Laurence's baggy sweatshirt and long pyjama bottoms, he tightened the cord about the waste of his robe and silently wished it was just a tiny bit longer on his muscular legs.
To start with, they played in silence, a flashback to some brotherly routine of long-gone teenage years. Harry played his best, but knew his younger sibling was much fresher and more practised at a game he had recently outgrown. His hard-fought losses were punctuated by heavy slugs of the strong gin and fending off terse banter from the young victor.
Well, at least we know I beat you in ONE area,' concluded Laurence, putting his PS4 remote down on the arm of his sofa with an air of finality. He smirked a little as he looked over, stroking his stubbled chin and letting out a self-conscious little snort of laughter. Just the one area, maybe, but still!'
Harry looked over and, tired and moody as he was, took a moment to recognise the reference to the last time they had been alone together late in the night. He eyed the nervously smirking 24-year-old with a dose of caution, not so proud of that little endeavour after too much booze. He took too long to respond, and he felt his slowness foster a new awkwardness in the room, both of them lit faint blue by the menu screen of the video game. Loz,' he said finally, that was a daft business, eh, we were just so-`
`Harry.' He paused at this interruption, and then followed his brother's eyes, and shifted instantly in mortification as he saw what Laurence was seeing – had been seeing for a while maybe? – where he had relaxed too much on the couch and let his big legs spread, the robe falling open to expose his flaccid length where it lay. Fuck's sake! He pulled the silky fabric over his crotch and rolled his eyes.
God,' he groaned, you should have fuckin' said, lad...'
Another embarrassed little laugh from Loz, who shifted a bit on the other sofa, and downed the last of his gin from the tinkling shrunken ice cubes. Oh relax, you were so keen to show it off, way I remember,' he grumbled, and he got up to switch off the console and the telly. He glanced back at Harry, who was still trying to find a more comfortable and discrete sitting position. I know you, H, just trying to rub it in that you actually are so much bigger than me after all...' The 5'11 Chesterfield play just grinned with bashful defeat and shrugged dismissively.
Oh yeh, deliberately flashin' my cock at ya,' muttered Harry, shaking his head and tightening the robe again. Sorry about that, bro.'
Another shrug from Laurence, who drifted not back to his own long leather sofa, but to the smaller patterned couch where his brother had taken up residence. He perched his arse on one arm of it and they sat there in the fresh dark of the switched-off screen, looking inquisitively at one another and confronting a never-mentioned memory.
`We really were off our faces that night,' Loz confirmed quietly.
`Fucking trollied,' Harry agreed. He looked at his younger doppelganger with a fresh dose of guilt. Had he taken advantage of the lad's drunkenness, there? Of course he fucking had. Still... he seemed pretty fucking perky about it, didn't he? Still... his own BROTHER...
For a moment, Laurence looked like he was about to say something more, a certain tension in his posture on the arm of the sofa, but then he waved a hand, laughed to himself, and got up to his feet, stretching. Harry realised how intently he was watching him, and pulled his eyes away, getting up himself, trying to shake off the strange longing of midnight.
`Here,' Harry said, holding out fingers to collect the empty tumbler glass from his brother, and then disappearing into the kitchen with them, hoping to avoid any more bumbling reflection on their little dabbling earlier this year. He put them down heavily on the sideboard and then planted his large hands against the wooden top, squeezing his tension into the counter and gritting his teeth. Again, he sensed rather than saw Laurence's presence, and listened to his padding footsteps entering the kitchen and finding a place beside him. Moonlight came in through the kitchen windows and caught their profiles as they turned to look thoughtfully at each other.
`You really are a big bastard, you know,' said Loz in a low, ambiguous voice. It could have been a compliment or a criticism.
Harry patted one hand against the countertop. `But a shit FIFA player, huh?'
Laurence nodded. He looked again like he had on the arm of the sofa: indecisive, conflicted, curious. Harry let out a low, controlled sigh, and reached his patting hand down to the knotted cord at the front of his dressing gown, pushing his heavy thumb over it until it came undone. The silky robe fell gently open at his front, and he stood still in silent challenge and offering. Loz gulped, inched closer, and reached his hand down into this opening. Harry bit back the little sigh of relief as warm manly fingers closed about his limp shaft, but he felt the raging boner of an hour ago rapidly returning; it didn't take much fumbling from his brother's fingers for his cock to swell and twitch and rise up. He kept his eyes on Laurence's, saw the frightened admiration.
`A right big bastard,' the younger lad echoed, a little shake in his voice.
Aye,' Harry said with a slow nod. He tried to control his ragged breath of reaction as Laurence reached a bit deeper, sliding his palm down the stretching shaft, then back. Harry lifted a hand up and stroked that reaching arm reassuringly, then ran it up to pat his shoulder and then the side of his neck. You sure you wanna be touchin' me like this, our kid?'
`Fuck knows,' the Chesterfield defender muttered.
Harry laughed at this response and pulled him in a bit closer, sighing into his face. You mad bastard,' he mumbled back, kneading his fingers at the back of Laurence's neck and turning his body gently to ease access to his raging big cock at its full length. Ohh,' he let out as the hand gripped the base of it a bit more firmly then pulled down on it with aching slowness. `Fuck, kid,' he groaned.
It's just massive,' Loz said faintly, I thought I'd... well. I thought I was exaggeratin' in memory, you know.' He stared down at it as they stood close by. But it's... jesus – He burst out in nervy giggles, like what was happening here was just your standard naughty secret. Harry rubbed at the top of his spine and echoed his little laugh, soaking up the admiration for his endowment.
We can't do this here,' he said then, feeling how exposed they were in a full house, despite the cover of the sleepy night around them. Laurence withdrew, hand away, face wracked with shame and doubt; clearly he was interpreting here' as a much more general situation than Harry was thinking. To encourage him, he pushed his hips forward a little and let his cock brush his limp fingertips again. It's too risky in here,' he muttered quietly, come into the laundry room.'
He backed off, robe hanging open, and disappeared down the kitchen. At the far end, a low step led into an adjoining utility space; once Laurence was in with him, he reached for the rickety sliding door and pushed it across to trap them in a narrow space of darkness, where their bodies rattled against an unfolded ironing board and the flapping door of a washing machine. Instantly, Loz had his fingers back on Harry's prick, tugging gently at it and sniggering at his own daring. Harry allowed himself a long, low moan of pleasure. It was no safer in this glorified cupboard, really, but fucking hell was he suddenly horny. Frustrations redirected.
Harry pushed his own big hand into the front of his brother's baggy PJs and found his dick already stiff and damp at the tip. He could half make out the embarrassment or bashfulness of Laurence's face, at his own excitement or at Harry's taking control, and he grinned as he pulled lazily on the smaller Maguire meat, spurring little `ohs' of enjoyment. He licked his own lips and tasted his woman's pussy on them, fuelling his already burning hunger here. His desires were still so conflicted though: as his brother pulled clumsily on his whopper, part of him was imagining Luke's more steady hand in its place, or better yet his mouth; but much of him wanted to be upstairs, ploughing his fiancée with this full-blooded erection, or tonguing her fanny again.
He began to jerk Loz off more forcefully, feeling the slighter bloke leaning into him and grip one of his tensed biceps for balance as their mutual wanking powered on. It felt fucking good, but he knew he was doing more for his brother now than the other way round, his masterful strokes bringing the confused 24-year-old towards completion. An urge caught Harry that he initially suppressed: sucking dick was for bitches, wasn't it?
Unless it was for Luke, when it felt... what? Special? A kindness? An indulgence?
But who did he love more than his precious younger brother?
So down he went, and he could feel more than see Laurence's surprise, though nothing was said. Harry let his knees settled against the harsh stone of the floor, and pushed his face down towards the crotch of those PJ bottoms, where Laurence's sizable tool wavered. He pushed his lips onto its head and heard the little whimper of shock, ignored it, took several inches into his mouth, surprised as ever by its not-so-unpleasant taste. Actually, so much about Laurence reminded him of Luke: his height, his build, his dirty blond hair, the proportions of his nob... though somehow it tasted so different. He ducked his head and took more in and ran his tongue uncertainly underneath it.
`Oh bro... fuckin' hell, lad...'
Harry wanted him to shut up, so he pushed him back to show who was in charge, pressing Laurence by the waist back into a wall of messy shelving that they almost dislodged; he gripped him in place by the pelvis and hoovered his throbbing dick in his mouth until he suspected it was almost time, then pulled aside and finished it in his hand. Loz's load spilled down his hairy arm and against the loose shoulder of his robe, and the smell of the cum filled the laundry closet.
Harry rose to his feet, listening to the gasping breaths, and then pushed his hand and wrist up towards his brother's mouth. `Lick it off,' he grunted, and there was no hesitation this time as the younger footballer lapped his own seed from the dark hairs of Harry's forearm and then lapped up onto his thumb and knuckles and then pulled back, still panting.
Your turn,' Harry grunted. Laurence stared at him, disbelieving. You heard me. I noshed you. Come on.' He grabbed one shoulder and guided downwards, and Loz opened his mouth as if to protest, then stopped himself, and gripped the lapels of the robe as he made his way downwards. He rested there in a crouch and stared at the dick in his hands, and Harry groaned even at that touch, close to bursting. `Just give it a lick,' he suggested impatiently.
Loz did so. He stuck out his flat tongue and pushed it against the side, and then Harry felt his thick cock brush the tingling stubble and then – oh yes – run against smooth wet lips, which pulled back instantly in reluctance or confusion. This was too much for the lad, Harry realised with only mild disappointment, he should have fucking known he was rushing it. Still... he ran his fingers through the tufty dark blond hair and gripped his nob with the other, and wanked furiously on his cock whilst angling Laurence's head so their intense beady eyes met in the slivers of light. Neither said anything as Harry gasped and grunted his way to orgasm. His cum streaked the chiselled face in long silver stains, and he stood in that position for long breathless moments to recover.
Get up,' Harry muttered eventually, and his hand found some cloth. He picked up a folded tshirt, it could have been his or Loz's or anyone's really, and he dabbed it helpfully at the mess of his brother's face. The younger lad stood in trembling silence whilst his cheek and sharp jawline were dabbed dry. Harry ran it against his own shoulder then dried the back of his hand and, finally, towelled off his trembling prick with it. Done, he tossed it into a basket of dirties by their feet, then gave a sneering laugh. No harm done,' he said, and began to pull his robe shut.
Bro,' hissed Laurence. Bro, you can't ever tell anyone about that.'
Harry raised an eyebrow. `Who am I gonna tell, buddy?'
`I... I... I dunno, but... Fuck.'
Harry slid open the door and led the way out into the empty dark of the kitchen, tying the cord into a little knot at his waist. Laurence began to drift by him with a shellshocked expression, so he grabbed him and pulled him into a manly hug. I won't tell a fuckin' soul,' he promised gently. Thanks. It... helped a lot. Get yaself to bed, our kid.' He squeezed a shoulder and pushed the 24-year-old on his way, then went to pour himself some more cold water and ice.
He deliberately hung on five minutes, letting Laurence make his zombie-like way upstairs to sleep off his surprise. It had just been a casual bit of fun between close mates, okay brothers, it didn't need to be any drama; talking it over tonight would only blow it out of proportion. Once he was sure Loz had gone to bed, he made his way upstairs, and back into his shared bedroom. His fiancée was gently snoring (yes, she definitely snored, no matter how much she denied it) and he slipped off his robe at the door, hanging it up and climbing into bed bollock naked, and as satisfied as she had seemed earlier on. It was as he made this comparison that today's headache returned.
Lost in laddish lust downstairs, he'd quite forgotten his heartache. Now it came back, and with a bitter grunt, he reached forcibly beneath the mattress and retrieved his phone, rolling onto his back as it loaded up. Just a quick check before he drifted off, he told himself. He blinked sleepy eyes at the menu that loaded up, then – yep, new messages – and not just from...
Luke. 3 new messages.
`I can explain'
`am so sorry harry x'
`plz call me as soon as you see this. Plz'
He lay there on his back and stared up at them, a bit horrified by the stings that threatened at the corner of his eyes, and the slow churn at the base of his tummy, the lovesickness he had been trying to hide from himself for weeks. He glanced to the left, at the sleeping figure of his beloved, and then back at the phone screen. Back out of bed he swung, careful to be quiet in spite of his physique; robe back on; big feet padding back down the stairs; out onto the patio beyond the kitchen of illicit cock-grabbing and messy unloadings.
Out in the cold night, he pulled the phone up to his face, and hit the `call' button.
ENJOY! STAY HOME AND SAFE... AND LET ME ENTERTAIN YOU HA HA. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK...