The ringing phone jolted me from my thoughts. Since the Crown's finest had taken my phone and computer back to the station, my mind had been on overdrive. I knew I was innocent of any crime, and I was unaware of Brad's shady activities but the shock and embarrassment of the whole affair had taken its toll. That was four days ago, and since then I'd been walking around in a daze. Work had been a disaster, after a catalogue of errors and mistakes and an out of character blow up at Kirsty, the secretary at the office where I work out of as journalist for my local paper, I was sent home, sick. My apology to Kirsty and explanation that a virus I was suffering from was affecting my work was accepted and I had spent the next few days existing, and waiting for the police to call so I could get my life back on track. The prospect of the paper I work for reporting the finer details of my private life with Brad did nothing to help my mood. I snatched up the handset on the landline.
"Hello?" I said catching a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror. Jesus I looked rough. My eyes looked tired, rings under them betrayed the lack of sleep. I turned my back on my reflection.
"Hello, this is PC Dan Kane from Kidford police station"
Suddenly the tiredness vanished, and I felt my heart leap and pulse quicken. I knew I'd done nothing wrong, but the voice on the phone belonged to Plod one. The one who had seen my videos.
He spent the next few minutes providing an update. Brad had been arrested, almost as an accident, picked up in a sting involving the police and drugs gangs. The hadn't expected to catch him, he wasn't really on the radar for this operation but they were pleased it was a freebie. I could tell in his voice that Dan Kane was a good copper. He seemed calm, concise but pleased as he explained that my phone and laptop could be returned. The tech guys had run through all the files and deleted files, found nothing related to Brad so it was in a position to be returned. His voice seemed like his eyes, a dark brown, almost husky voice. There was an accent, sounding North London. Somewhere around Tottenham area I thought, as I twiddled the cord of the phone through my fingers.
"So, you can come to the station and collect your items," he said, and then in a lower voice, almost as if he didn't want to be overheard he said, "or I can drop them off at yours on my way home"
It seemed almost a statement, rather than a question, and in my mind, I saw him, turning his back to anyone else in his office as he spoke. I pictured him cupping his hand over the mouthpiece. He probably wasn't but it was just the impression I was getting. Weird, just as my life had gone this passed week. The silence hung between, awkward and oppressive.

He caved first, and filled the void "If that's ok?"

"Yeah, well...um, sure. If it's not going out your way" I said. This was odd, my google searches seemed to suggest that items confiscated by police needed to be signed for at the station. A personal drop off was unusual. My mind was making connections that were most likely not there. He has seen my porn, my interest in gunge, witnessed the videos and now wanted to drop off my stuff personally, presumably on his own.

"Tomorrow evening?"

"Tomorrow evening", I confirmed. I placed the receiver back into its cradle and faced back to the mirror. I was surprised to see a smile on my face. My eyes didn't seem so tired. I dug my hands into my jeans pocket, and leant against the hallway wall, deep in thought.

The next morning I was up early, quick breakfast, a couple of strong coffees and had taken a long hot shower, a shave and was feeling much better. As I scraped the last of the stubble I looked at my reflection. The rings under my eyes had softened thanks to a much better sleep, and I looked way better than yesterday. I suppose I was doing ok, early fifties, balding but now fashionably shaven headed. The years of sport had left me in good shape. Sure I was a little softer round the belly than my prime but I was far from having a dad bod. Most of my contemporaries were now comfortably padded around the waist, but thus far I was doing ok. I could still fit in jeans from ten years ago. I turned sideways to appraise the flattish stomach. I resisted doing an arm curl bicep pop. God, I must be feeling better to even think that. As I brushed my teeth my thoughts returned to Plod one, or Dan now I've come to think of him. His strange almost insistence of coming to my house personally was still intriguing me. I started to wonder, he couldn't, could he?

Back downstairs, I made my decision. If I kit the kitchen ready for a splosh, if he just comes, drops off the stuff, at least I'll have my phone back, and I could record a gunge session for use on UMD at some point. I wasn't sure I'd be ready to jump straight back into the community but I had been lacking uploading content recently. Within half an hour I was in the supermarket filling my trolley. Flan cases, jelly, trifles, custard, LOTS of custard, a few cans of squirty cream. For good measure I threw in a few cakes and headed for the checkout.

"Children's party?", Tracy, according to her name badge, said as I loaded the belt up with my items. She whizzed them passed the barcode reader and I fetched my wallet from my back pocket.

"Yeah," I said, smiling, "should make for a great party"

"Awww, that's nice" she said, successfully completing her company instruction of interacting with each customer. With that check box successfully ticked the rest of transaction other than the final thank you was done in silence. That was fine by me, I just wanted to get home.
After a quick detour to get plastic sheeting I was home and ready to set up. As is the normal way, at least for me, I set the kitchen up nursing an erection. Finally I stepped back and reviewed my work. The table supported the weight of at least 20 pies. Beneath the table stood a line of buckets, mostly custard, but a couple of buckets of natrosol I thought I had used but had been surprised to find them chucked into the tower of buckets I kept in the garage for my 'hobby'. I'd keep the cakes chilled until closer to Dan's arrival.
Dan's arrival? Who was I kidding. He was just a policeman doing a nice thing. He felt sorry for me, an innocent guy forced to have his private videos shown due to his partners actions. Yeah, it must be just that. Mustn't it?
Anyhow, if it is just a guy doing a nice thing at least I've set the room up for a good session, and the vast majority of my sessions were solo anyway.

I ate a small meal, I didn't have too much of an appetite as my stomach felt full of butterflies. I took another shower and unsuccessfully tried to get into films on Netflix. The scenes were passing me by, my mind kept going back to Dan. The clock seemed to slow from a crawl to a stop. Coffees went cold, and I kept going back to the kitchen to make sure everything was set. I knew it was, but kept checking the sheeting was covering the floor and walls to protect the paint from any splashes. The new message light was off on the phone. I picked it up to test the dial tone. Yes it was working. I found myself stood in the living room looking out onto the street, a more sensible measure of whisky cradled in my hand. I swirled the liquid in the tumbler. Movement outside the house caught my eye and I looked up, expectations high. My neighbour hurried past oblivious to my tenure as guardian of the front room window.

My stomach growled from hunger but I couldn't eat. I willed myself to pull myself together, here I was a fifty something fawning over a policeman, who around thirty, may or may not be gay. Should he be, would he be interested in an older guy? If so, what would he make of my fetish for gunge? I finished my drink, shaking my head at my stupidly and went to the decanter for a fill up

Just as I reached out, my fingers gripping the glass, the doorbell rang