Part 377: Chelsea Buns
He'd decided to walk rather than drive, seeing just how close their postcodes were - a potentially pleasant London stroll on a Tuesday afternoon, and one that allowed him to pick up coffees and pastries from a posh Kensington bakery on the way there. And then, predictably, the skies had opened and he'd got soaked in the final two minutes of his walk, breaking into an awkward run up what he hoped was the right street, and tucking the Gails bakery raid under the inside of his bomber jacket for protection. Fortuitously, his host for the afternoon was already at the door, holding it open and looking out for him, and the drenched young football star was ushered quickly into the porch of the sizeable London townhouse before he could be truly sodden, gasping a relieved `Cheers!' and allowing the older man to muscle him encouragingly into the busy entranceway of coats and shoes, all the signs of a bustling family home.
Ben Chilwell had hardly hesitated at the suggested interview, and not just because of the free time afforded by his fairly slow-paced rehab program. He was inching towards what he believed to be an end to his hamstring recovery, but the club physios were being incredibly vague and refusing to pin a date for his return to full training with the rest of the team. As in previous bouts of poor fitness, this brought its own toll on his mental health, and the cautious 26-year-old was investing carefully in how he spent his free time to keep himself upbeat and focused, productive and optimistic.
But aside from that, it was a great opportunity, and he was keen on the idea of being one of the first guests on a dedicated new Chelsea podcast, especially if it meant being interviewed by THIS legend in front of him, who was ushering him across the porch with gruff blokey laughter, snatching a towel from a shelf somewhere and throwing it about his shoulders and head - it was a gesture that should be a bit interfering and overbearing, but Ben was just so relieved to be back indoors and out of the rain, so he quickly relented to being helped out of his soaked bomber jacket and then swaddled in the pale cream towel, which was warm from a radiator. The coffee cup tray and bag of sweet treats were snatched from his damp grip and then he was further attacked with the towel, strong manly hands against his shoulder and neck and ruffling it in his hair - there was an almost paternal mix of kindness and brusqueness to it that caught the young man off-guard and made him laugh awkwardly, somewhat dazed when the towel was allowed to drape about his shoulders, and he was blinking into the smiling expression of the former Chelsea player.
God, that's got heavy, hey?' exclaimed the 42-year-old, grabbing him by his upper arm. You're alright though, are you? Not too soaked? Here - let me hang this for you - come in, come in, er - you don't mind taking those soggy trainers off, do you? Haha - it's the missus, you know how it is...'
And like that, the injured football player was hurried into the large family home of the Coles, with Joe himself scampering quite eagerly ahead of him, gesturing through a couple of doors into the big kitchen extension across the back. With a quick dancing gait, the player-turned-coach-turned-pundit put down the cups and bag and then clapped his hands roughly together, turning to inspect his visitor - `You're okay, are you? You don't need any dry clothes, or-?'
Still a little overwhelmed by the tornado of warm welcome, Chilwell blinked stupidly at the older guy, and then shook his head - actually, he wasn't as wet as he might have thought, his long-sleeved t-shirt largely untouched, and just a faint dampness down the outer sides of his baggy trousers. His socked feet stretched and flexed against the underfloor heating of the open kitchen, and he collected his senses. I'm good,' he assured Joe, grabbing at the towel on his shoulders and giving it another rub across his face and the glossy dark curls of his damp hair. I'm all good-'
Here,' insisted the podcast host. I'll go get you a warm jumper, kid. Have a seat, get comfortable - I thought we'd do the chat in here, if that's alright? It's the tidiest part of the house, hah.' And with the same high level of nervous energy, the short stocky ex-footballer disappeared away for a minute, and Ben drifted into the bright extension area to inspect the long garden through rain-soaked French windows. And then Cole was back, holding a big thick sweatshirt - it was branded with the Premiership legend's brief American team, Tampa Bay Rowdies, and fashionista Ben thought it was pretty cool in an ironic kinda way. He received it gladly and, more out of politeness than temperature, pulled it on before fiddling with his coiffed hair, ruined by the weather.
And then, the chaotic entrance over, the pair of them were settling into smart but comfortable chairs at a breakfast table nearby, and Joe was thanking him profusely for the coffee, and serving the sticky pastries on a platter between them. The 42-year-old former midfielder was laughing as he did so. Chelsea buns?' he demanded through his gruff giggles. That used to be my nickname, back in the day...!' The retired player laughed heartily at his own joke and Ben joined in, but with an edge of awkwardness, as he clocked what his interviewer meant, and he felt silly or conspicuous for being instantly aware of a certain notorious feature of the older guy's physique!
Until I was replaced by Eden Hazard,' Cole continued lightly, settling down into the other chair, and fixing him with his easy laddish grin, and stopped getting Rear of the Year from Heat Magazine, y'know...' A pause, a scratch of that greying stubble, and another heavy laugh. And replaced now by you, no doubt, Ben's Buns? Haha.' He was all wide beaming smile and glittering blue eyes, a handsome fella as he entered his 30s and left his sporting prime behind - and he had an easy relaxing charm to him that Ben instantly took to, abandoning the awkward self-consciousness in favour of nodding enthusiastically and welcoming the silly tone. Sure, sure,' he agreed, sipping his cappuccino, I'm pretty sure it's on my FIFA stats - Chelsea Buns legacy.' He sniggered and gestured vaguely at the sweet treats, Is that what you call these? I didn't know, I just thought they were pastries or whatever. Hah - I hope you like them, it seemed wrong turning up empty-handed.'
Another big grin from his host. You'd be surprised how rare those manners are,' Cole told him sagely, slightly exaggerating his position as the wise and experienced ex-footballer, and swiftly labelling him a true Chelsea gent'. They both drank from their coffees and chewed quietly on the sugary dough for a moment, before Joe asked gruffly, `Shall we get started on this interview then, fella?'
As he might have expected, Joe Cole was an easy guy to talk to, and they were already indulging in spiralling friendly chatter for the many minutes it took the host to set up his laptop and recording equipment, prompting them the only awkward pause as Joe told him to save his banter until the green light was on' - Ben asked vague friendly questions about the house and Joe's life at the moment, unsure if he still had any coaching commitments or just a media focus, and asking after his family. Hey,' Cole warned him warmly, finally getting the kit ready, `who's the one being interviewed here, a hot young left-back making his Chelsea legacy, or a boring old cunt who spends more time gardening?' The 42-year-old laughed self-deprecatingly and Ben just fumbled for words, unsure how seriously to take these words, but settling into a light laugh when he caught Joe's expression.
The kids are at school, of course,' he pointed out as he fiddled with the laptop, and Ben nodded along, unsure of their ages or even how many the guy had, and the missus is out shopping, of course. You know how it is,' he added presumptuously, before pausing to ask an obvious question - `Or are you single? I don't think I know anything about your love life, fella, which seems rare for a Premiership footballer, ha.'
Single, for sure,' Chilly told him a little quietly, for now.' Then, feeling the need to expand for some reason, he muttered, `Seeing a couple of people casually but... nothing major, nothing big... erm...'
But Joe's interest in this question seemed to be low, and he was rifling through a set of printed notes before doing a few more checks on the laptop. And then they were off, and Ben found himself chatting quite volubly to everything the older guy had to ask him. Joe was just so relaxed and forward, nothing media or PR about him, purely chatty and frequently bursting into that gruff London laugh, still the working-class kid from Paddington. And as much as he'd joked about the interview being for Ben not him, they did talk about Joe too - it was much more of a rambling chat between the two intergenerational players than a formal interview, and Ben found himself asking questions out of genuine curiosity. He asked about Cole's transition from West Ham to Chelsea, and on to his days at Liverpool and Villa, and of course America, inspecting the baggy thick sweater that enveloped his warm and dry body. He found himself openly asking for Joe's advice on coping with injury setbacks, and the two very different players discussed issues like men's mental health taboos and, with surprising honesty, the current state of politics at Chelsea FC.
It'll all get edited down,' Joe reminded him regularly, especially when Ben made a worryingly frank comment about management behaviour at the club, and his panic must have shown all over his handsome face. Cole just slapped him on the shoulder and assured him that he would be doing cuts himself before he sent it to the editor. Relax, kid, relax.'
When the coffees ran out, Joe made them some more from a noisy machine in the kitchen, clearly something of a caffeine snob too, and the two men began to chat idly about non-football subjects, almost forgetting the recording altogether. So much so that Ben was taken by surprise when Joe stopped his travel anecdote and started clicking at the laptop - Hang on,' the Chelsea legend told him, I best stop this before it gets any messier to edit, hold that thought.' Frowning in the concentration of someone less tech-savvy than he was trying to seem, Cole busied himself with the devices, and then turned back this way with genuine interest in his eyes - `What were you saying?' Ben paused only briefly, surprised that his interviewer actually wanted to hear about his latest holiday now that the recording was over, but very ready to enthuse about his fave Greek island boat trips.
Chilly found himself almost disappointed that they'd recorded enough material, sitting there with an empty coffee cup in front of him, and picking at some crumbs from the Chelsea buns on the platter. Cole had got up to go and check something in the kitchen, resting a large warm hand on Ben's shoulder for a moment, and leaving him to linger comfortably; there was something so inviting and comfortable about the Cole family home, he thought, that made him want to linger here, even though the rainfall on the windows was much lighter than the downpour that he'd ran through on the street. The 26-year-old felt a vague urge to while away his day off here, with only a few simple physio exercises to do before dinnertime, and so enamoured with the older man's patter and openness; but a well-mannered `Chelsea gent' as he was, feeling somewhat posh with his Milton Keynes RP against Cockney-tinged Cole, he knew it would be rude to impose and he should be making his move rather soon now that the interview was so clearly over.
But, to his surprise, the coffee machine was hissing and bubbling again, and Joe was asking him if he wanted oat milk again with this one, frothed or just chilled; and Ben answered distantly, as if knowing he ought to be refusing the extra hot drink and getting a wiggle on instead. But he sat there, comfortable, and received a fresh cup from his host, who patted his shoulder with the same avuncular affection, then sat back down to join him. Now at last they seemed to be out of things to say and both men just sipped their flat whites quietly, looking out at the wet autumnal garden.
I do hope to see you back on the pitch soon,' the ex-player told him quite earnestly, after a while. You're absolutely central to that squad, and they suffer when they don't have you or Reece out there, for sure. I won't ask for a date - if you knew, you'd be telling me.'
Chilwell smiled weakly in gratitude at this, rolling his eyes to signify the well-known vagueness of these matters, and nodding. I don't think any supporter or insider is as eager for my comeback as I am,' he assured his host. I mean, it isn't even just Chels, y'know - the lads are assembling today for England training, and I'm missing that too, AGAIN.' He sighed wistfully, surprised at the sudden downturn in his mood. `Sorry, ignore me being maudlin - this is nice coffee again, Joe, thanks.'
The older man gave him another fond smile that dimpled his grizzled stubble and lined his blue eyes. He licked coffee foam from his upper lip and nodded slowly. Hey,' he said with a little suddenness, you must like a swim, with that leg strain? We've just had the indoor pool re-done, if you want to give it a go.' And then with an expansive wave about the kitchen, `I'm assuming you'll stay on for dinner, yeah? I'm cooking my signature lamb, and the wife and kids would love to meet you properly - obviously they're all True Blues.'
Ben paused at the broad invitations, unsure what to say - he felt that it was rude to accept, and yet Joe seemed so keen and genuine. And it WAS still raining out there, he reminded himself, with little else to do with his day. And, he thought, a little dip in a pool would be just the amount of exercise he needed to tick off today's requirements - still, it felt a real imposition against the generous guy, who was beaming expectantly at him. `Er...'
Good,' Cole said swiftly, interpreting this as a definite yes'. `Come on, I'll show you downstairs - I think you'll be impressed, everyone is.' There was a laddish excitement to his speech that made it less boastful or boorish, and Ben just went with it, deciding to embrace the hospitality of this club legend.
It was, he had to admit, pretty slick - a certain hyper-modernism in the warm basement that clashed with the soft family edges of the home above, like it should belong to an unambitious Bond villain instead. But standing over the shimmering rectangle of lightly heated water, Ben felt that a short swim was EXACTLY what he needed, and he smiled keenly at his host. You're sure?' he prodded self-consciously. You're sure you don't mind me having a swim? I can just leave you to it, and-'
But dinner,' Cole insisted. Here - there's some spare swimming shorts here, if you want them.' He was opening neat built-in storage draws in a corner, whilst beginning to pull out of the zip-neck grey sweater he wore over his own t-shirt. Ben stood still, looking about for somewhere he would be able to change, and just deciding it might be less awkward to get his undies wet - `No, I'll be okay,' he insisted, quite used to pool dips in underpants during team recovery days.
Seeing that his host was going to make a more serious change of clothing, Ben shuffled sideways and averted his eyes. Off came the borrowed Tampa jumper, which he folded more carefully onto one of the modernist recliners, before tugging his own long-sleeved print top off more roughly, and then undoing the waist-cord of his baggy combat pants. Ben paused, unable to help glancing to the right - Joe was casually topless now and yanking off slippers and socks, back this way. His earlier quip about a supposed nickname came back to Chilly, who couldn't help but confirm that the man still had that ample backside mounding in his chinos, outsized even for his stocky frame - he was not so lean and well-kept as some media-focused ex-players, the smugly preserved Redknapps or Linekers of their world, but he still looked good for his age. (To Ben, the early 40s felt a distant and ancient era.)
And Ben's eyes lingered as a belt was undone and the pants were pulled down a bit - for a moment, with the chinos on their way down, that large heavy backside, that speedy midfielder's low centre of gravity, was framed in pale grey boxer briefs, big solid muscles at the base of a lightly muscled and faintly hairy back. But then politeness and self-consciousness took over and Ben looked sharply away, dropping his own trousers and pulling off his socks - he felt somewhat exposed in his tight black CK boxer briefs, but he didn't fancy removing them to slide into a pair of borrowed swimmers - even in his polite awkwardness, he could tell from the corner of his eye that Joe was stark naked with that big pale arse on show, pulling on some loudly coloured resort trunks.
To avoid looking that way, Chilly leapt straight into the water, pleased at the lukewarm temperature, and glad to lose himself in a little light physicality; with a series of splashes, Cole joined him, but said nothing. Isolated within the water, they did a series of short lengths up and down the rectangle, Ben continuing to do so even once he could sense that Joe had slowed and was floating about more idly. He felt almost like he was trying to show off his fitness progress to the Chelsea supporter, but he was really just trying to reach an acceptable count of short lengths that could make him feel okay about skipping his prescribed exercises if he stayed here for dinner.
When Ben stopped, clinging to one end of the pool and turning slowly, he found that Joe had actually left the water. His stocky 5ft9 body dripping wet, Cole was stomping about on the far side, at the end of the basement where high narrow windows let in light from the garden; rainfall seemed to have shifted for bright autumn sun, to his surprise, casting a warm glow on the stomping figure of the dripping ex-footballer. Ben swam that way with a few lazy strokes, whilst Joe disappeared briefly from sight, returning in the folds of a huge cosy-looking bathrobe to cover himself up. For a moment, Ben wondered if the older man might be insecure about his body, despite seemingly getting naked without a thought to change into his swimmers - Ben was hardly oblivious to the tightly toned muscle of his own taller frame, a young footballer in his theoretical prime, injuries aside, next to the daddy-ish softening of Joe Cole.
Chilly dismissed this question as his own vanity, climbing the sturdy ladder to leave the pool at that end and join Joe. The downside of swimming in undies rather than proper swimmers, he thought, was the way the pool water almost sucked them from his waist on the way out of the water, and the way they sagged and clung once he was shivering and dripping on the slip-proof flooring and looking about for a similarly cosy robe option.
But once again, taking him quite by surprise, Joe Cole was the tactile dad with the towel - he'd grabbed a spare one from wherever he'd taken his robe, and was behind Ben, throwing the towel around him in a quick helpful motion - `Cheers...' - but not stopping there. His hands, through the towel, were already on Chilly's shoulders, massaging warmth and soft dryness against the muscles, really wrapping and enclosing him in the towel in a movement that shifted more towards a hug, or even a cuddle.
Unsure of him, Ben just let out a faint strained chuckle, finding something jokey in the physicality of his host's attention, hugged from behind; it was nice, he had to admit, the warmth and firmness of it, just like at the doorway as he left the storm and was ushered warmly indoors. He liked the strength he felt in the older man's arms, and the air felt cool on his wet torso and legs, so it was good to be enveloped in such a large sheet of soft towelling - it made him forget himself and his chuckle turned to a contented sigh. The easy comfort was short-lived though, because he thought his sigh sounded a little TOO pleased, and he expected Cole to pull away. But no. Oddly, if pleasantly, the other man remained where he was, behind him, and Ben just stood there accepting it, feeling swaddled and protected in the towel hug. It had gone on too long now, he thought, and yet it felt quite right. Shorter and broader than him, the robed figure behind him rocked a little, but held on as he did, closing arms firmly about Ben, and rubbing those big hands - towelling his arms, his chest, his neck. Ben sighed acceptance and let the moment linger, mystified by how safe and comfortable he felt in this position, when he ought to be questioning what the married older dad was up to - he didn't immediately recognise anything remotely sexual in the position, just comforted and supported and grateful. But then, with a slow judder of awakening, he felt the towelled hands rub down his six-pack, stirring about his waist, and he heard the heaviness of the sigh behind his shoulder.
Saying nothing, Joe held him quite firmly, and brought one hand down further, through the thick towel, to close about the damp front of his black CKs, which clung to the weight of his prominent bulge. Chilly let out a long shaky breath but didn't flinch or pull away. He was still unsure how deliberate the touch was, and he wanted to know for sure. He relaxed back as best he could, pushing his 5ft11 strength into the hold of the older man's embrace; the hand went lower, firmer, the towel was no longer in the way. A large warm hand fondled his cock and balls through wet cotton, and Ben let out a weak moan that mixed with the breathy sigh over his shoulder.
Neither man said a word. They communicated simply through their warm damp bodies, between layers of robe or towel. Ben relaxed and rocked on his heels, feeling his dozy weight supported by the strength behind him. A little stubble scratched at his jaw and neck from behind, but nothing more there; the real contact was down his front, where those big knuckles were pushing into the front of his undies, and now his cock was being stroked and toyed with inside the wet underpants. His sigh was louder and more pleased, trying to indicate how he was more than good with this intimate touch - any question or weirdness about this happening with the 40-something married dad was gone, there was just the strength and safety of his touch, the hold of his arms, and... yep, the huge stiffness of Ben's oversized prick, released from his pants and stretching out to its full length. A slightly choked gasp over his shoulder suggested that the older guy was just appreciating how big the contents of these pool-soaked pants were, more alarmed than impressed; but Ben just sighed and shivered and closed his eyes, allowing the warm grip to slide up and down his inches.
After a few blissful moments of this he tried to turn; he wanted to return the touch, wanted to look sexy older Joe in the eye, wanted to reach for a dangerous kiss. But no: the strong arms held him in place and the only contact was the hand on his cock and the breath on his ear. He accepted it, just floating in Cole's grip, and moaning deeper and deeper as the pulls and tugs of his big white cock increased; it was a simple handjob, with no attention to his heavy balls or anywhere else, just a solid repetitive motion, a hand that moved with a kind of authority and control over him. But Ben shivered and gasped and knew that it would end with a mess, he couldn't help himself - as much as he'd felt something like a dad or uncle in Joe's affection, it now felt like something else entirely, and it excited him. This rough diamond older London geezer, this Chelsea legend, this big-arsed hunk... he gasped and sighed, totally bewildered, and let Joe's hand bring him slowly but rhythmically to completion, trying to signal it with his own yelping cries of pleasure. Cole didn't stop or slow. Chilly trembled and whined, and then heard the globs of his own jizz splatter down on the slip-proof floor while his cock trembled and throbbed in the older man's grip.
Oh fuck,' Ben moaned, breaking at last the wordless quiet of the warm basement, a few beads of pool water still trickling in places on his strong lean body, and the heat and strength of the other guy still holding onto him through the towels and robes; oh, fuuuuck,' he moaned on, feeling slow tight pulls on his spent cock, squeezing the last glimmering drops of his seed out to fall against that floor. He thought he could feel a hardness pressing at him low down from the man behind, but there was such a thick bundle of towel and robe there that he couldn't actually be sure it wasn't just his own imagination. And then, just as the hand slowed and stopped around the base of his big erection, a sudden noise intercepted the chlorine-scented peace: a jarring mechanical sound that made him flench and wobble, and open his hooded eyes properly, starting to pull away from daddy Joe.
That'll be the missus,' Cole announced, and his voice was quite expressionless. When Ben turned around, his cock swinging awkwardly loose, Joe was turned away from him and wrapping up his robe, picking his way down the narrow path to one side of the pool; alarmed, Ben stared intensely up at the skylights in the garden, but becoming sure that the noisy garage doors were coming from the ot her side of the house. Back from Westfield!' trilled Joe, almost disinterestedly, strutting away in his robe without a look over his shoulder - this left Ben tottering about at the edge of the pool, snatching up the dropped towel to hide his sagging hard-on, his whole body trembling and goose-pimpled.
His skin still a little damp under his clothes, Chilwell joined them back upstairs, clutching the towel under one arm and the Tampa jumper under the other; in the central hallway of the house, both Mr and Mrs Cole breezed past, his host helping his wife to bring several large designer shopping bags in from the porch. They were going into the same kitchen extension area in which the interview had taken place, and Ben followed them in a slow dazed walk, glad of how baggy his trousers were - he'd had to jettison his wet boxer briefs and so was going commando in them, his cock still swollen and a little stiff. His face must be bright red, he thought, drifting after the married couple and their light chatter.
The kids will be back soon,' Joe was reminding is wife, before sweeping into introductions, Here his, then, young Benjamin - fine young thing, isn't he? The future of Chelsea! He's going to stay for dinner, and-'
Ben found he just had to interrupt their speech, he burst out with it before he could overthink the decision. Actually, I really have to go,' he said stiffly, then broke into more apology and fawning compliments, sure that their cooking would be amazing and expressing his admiration for their home - but it was the rehab schedule and everything, he really did have to get back to his own place now, thank you very much, etc etc. There were various protests from both robed Joe and his glamorous wife, but Chilwell politely deflected them one by one, allowing the wet towel to be taken from him and thrust into a laundry room to one side; but when he tried to hand the Tampa Bay sweater back to the retired pro, Joe shook his head firmly and grabbed him in a manly hug. Keep that,' Cole insisted, and because he didn't know how to refuse it, he pulled it back on over the wrinkled cling of his own thin tee. Mrs C was about to make more earnest protests at how much they would enjoy having him stay for the evening, but Ben made his move quickly - more thank you, more apology, more earnestness, but also haste and nervous energy.
Before long, he was staggering down the garden path and waving pleasantly back at them in the porch, remembering how good it had felt to be overwhelmed by affection and comfort there as Joe Cole steered him in from the storm. If only it had stopped at that, he thought treacherously, suddenly queasy about the unexpected and illicit handjob that had taken place in the Coles' basement - how the fuck had he allowed that to happen? He stared with private horror at the innocent smile on Joe's wife's face and then turned away, out onto their posh quiet street, zipping up his bomber jacket, and breaking into as quick a walk as his weary hamstring allowed him.
He'd just come for an interview and a Chelsea bun, and got a lot more than he bargained for.
'Writer guy' - Premiership Lads on Nifty https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/celebrity/premiership-lads/
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