The female copper averted her eyes. Martin's skimpy shorts revealed more than was appropriate, and my T-shirt with an "I love cock" logo emblazoned across the front was equally risque.
Scott was naked, but with his effortless charm and cheeky grin, he seemed to lack any inhibitions. He nursed his bloodied arm with a damp cloth and looked at the blushing police officers. "Aye, I reckon you'll be wanting a statement." He spoke in his broadest Geordie accent and flashed his all-embracing smile.
"We'll be round later to collect a witness statement. When you all have dressed." She replied without smiling and turned to face her colleague, who had man-handled the trucker into the back seat of the squadron car.
The events of the previous five minutes were dramatic.
As Scott, Martin and I had burst into the house, the angry man stood in the middle of the large, expansive lounge, brandishing a large hammer. Martin's religious neighbour lay bloodied on the luxurious carpet, silent. Derek, Virginia's husband, roared angrily and swung the weapon with his bulging right arm. "Where's Virginia?" He yelled at the prostrate homeowner.
"Put that down," Martin shouted. "She's not here."
"Fuck off, or I'll fuck you up too."
"I've got Virginia," the nippy winger yelled from behind me. "She's with me."
I gulped as the murderous brute took two steps towards us, holding the weapon in his right arm.
Martin backed away, speaking calmly to pacify him to no avail as Virginia's ex launched himself towards Scott.
Scott was fast. His footballing game is about a swiftness of thought and a lightness of feet. His nimbleness provided him with chances on the pitch, and it was key to slipping away from the door frame and into the room.
"We've been banging for two years, mate. Every week. Does she make you scream? Oh God, the complaints we've had." He taunted the lorry driver. Scott wanted to taunt him, rile him, and anger him and smirked as he gestured to Derek.
He wanted to make this dangerous thug mad.
And he succeeded.
With a table between them, Scott continued. He pointed to his "big balls" and "pleasure stick" and grinned. The man pulled his hand back to launch his weapon, when I felt Martin's body brush past me. Instinctively, I followed, and we grabbed hold of the hammer, yanking it from his grasp.
He turned, threw his arm out and caught Martin in his midriff with a powerful smack of his right hand. Derek never saw Scott's motion as we grappled with him. The solid Oak table smashed over the attacker's head and the Geordie's fist jammed into the side of the brute's face as he staggered towards the ground.
Scott and I had to hold him down, as Martin tied his hands using the telephone cord.
Upon which, two coppers barged into the house to see two men on the floor covered in blood, with two half-naked guys wrestling with one of them and a bare-ass Geordie cry, "Hi, it's not what it looks like. Please arrest him." The situation took a little explaining.
Unsurprisingly, the actions of Virginia's ex dulled the lustre of sex in the house, and I slept cuddled up to Clare that night. Victoria even granted Martin rare bedroom privileges for his heroism. The following morning, he even had access to Victoria's pussy for some rarer vanilla sex.
Our hosts, who had never got on with their neighbour, had a sense of guilt about the incident, so Clare and Martin went to see the man in hospital. "He's moving," Clare said over tea. "He is going to live in his second home in New York state for a while. Says it's safer. It's a gated community."
"New York safer than Cheshire. Now that is funny!" I joked, and Martin shook his head.
"You know we took those pictures of his office. There were a couple of rows of interesting books. Lolita and more. Turns out he never allowed his wife to go in there, and he wasn't keen on me discussing his tastes in erotic fiction with her present. So we had a nice quiet discussion man-to-man while Clare and his missus talked in the canteen," Martin explained. "I also told him with his Wi-Fi codes, I could see every website he visited."
"You haven't done that. You need to set up a DNS server, and... it just doesn't work like that," I argued.
"Of course I haven't. But he went very white when he thought I had seen what he had been visiting and I said that unless that he moves away and doesn't come back, I would ascertain that it was my civic duty to share what I know with the local coppers. And the parish community. And the village newsletter."
"Oh..."
"And the parish vicar, but I don't think he'll care. That sleazy twat will probably want the dodgy books. So our horrid neighbour isn't just moving out, his is selling up," Martin added.
"His wife didn't say that to me," Clare snapped.
"His wife didn't know. He hadn't told her." Victoria scowled at her husband as he spoke her best friend. "Apparently, there are some marriages where the woman isn't in complete control. I know, it's absolute madness." I knew Martin would suffer for his cheap shot at my fiancée, and later that evening Victoria unleashed hell on the unbroken flesh of her husband for daring to show "disrespect" to her friend.
The status quo, restored.
Martin's neighbour returned home, but he said nothing to Martin and myself when we were in the driveway cleaning cars in just our thongs. Clare had three dates that week; I helped her prepare for every single one. I spent an evening with Scott and Virginia in the summerhouse, sharing a couple of bottles of wine and two large takeaway pizzas.
The Police charged Virginia's husband, and the courts remanded him in custody, but she was still anxious about how her ex had traced her. "I suspect your phone is reporting your location to Google. If he had access to your account, then he would see your location history. Either that or it's a tracking app," I idly replied. "You left your device in the summerhouse one night, didn't you and you were in the hot-tub when he attacked the neighbour. Change your password and reset your device. I'll help you if you want."
"You're not seeing my phone. There are too many incriminating photographs," she said firmly and sipped her wine.
"There can't be anything too bad. And if Scott's on there, I've seen him and had him lots. Although he's demanded a lot less sex from me since you moved in!"
"When he is with me, he's mine," she said firmly. "I don't care about what he does outside of our house, and you can have the pleasure of his cock when he's at the summerhouse."
"Well if ever you need a night off, please outsource your sluttery!" I suggested and she giggled.
