When you meet a guy named ‘Fox’ three thoughts enter your head:

1. He was named by hippies
2. He’s of Native American descent
3. He works in porn.

If his surname could also be a Christian name – something like….. ‘Tucker’ it’s more than likely he works in porn. Don’t be swept up in the uniqueness or impressiveness of such a name as it will more or less be covering for a flaw in the man’s character. And when you’re on a throbbing dance floor and are dazzled with a good looking, charming man buying you free drinks it’s easy to think ‘Wow I’m gonna marry a man called Fox Tucker and people will be like – shall we have S and Fox round for dinner?’. It’ll sound so cool in your head you won’t bother to question the man’s motives and 24 hours later you’ll really wish you spent more time being cynical and less time fantasizing merrily in a drunken horny state.

It turns out this particular evening would be the beginning of the end of a beautiful relationship…of L&B’s great partnership in Great Yarmouth. I was telephonic-ally, textually and cybernetic-ally on the verge of meeting my soul mate in the flesh, L was about to meet her future husband.

My mind is slightly vague in relation to earlier events in the evening – perhaps because later events became so prominent they overshadowed anything that happened previous. I know for a fact L and I used to limit ourselves to the Pier Tavern (a cheesy more mature ‘nightclub’ at the start of Yarmouth’s main pier. However on the night in question L and the general punter was considered old if they were over 21….so being 30 didn’t have every man in the venue turning their heads, revealing come-to-bed eyes and rushing us on the dance-floor for a little bump and grind.

In fact because we smacked of having a ‘3’ in our age we were relegated to swaying slowly whilst sipping our snakebite and blacks on the outskirts of the dance floor and dangerously close to the exist.

And then they appeared.

Two nice looking guys who were definitely mid-30s and veering dangerously close to being observed as in their early 40s…..undeniable prime beef to a woman of any age. Turns out they were best friends. L and I gave each other a sidelong excited glance at what might potentially result from this seemingly random interaction bestowed on us by the gods. The first ripple that fate had thrown us a positive lifeline was that both seemed actively interested in us. L’s guy wasn’t the tallest guy, but being with L he didn’t have to be. He was built like a brick shit house, broad and solid but had the face of something you’d expect to see on a boy-bander. She’d like that. He’d make her feel small and safe. And he had the chat and charm to go with it. His razor sharp wit would please her and engage her. Looks alone wouldn’t sit well but the fact that he had a good job, and good banter would see him in good stead. The pretty people…..

Which I used to think I belonged to until the man introduced as ‘Fox’ had cordoned himself off with me said ‘Don’t you ever get sick of playing Wingman for your friend?’ The words had the effect of a 1inch blade on a Swiss army knife catching me in the side. I had enough flesh to ensure the blade did no damage but it was a shock and it stung like fu*k. Especially as I knew L was not into One Night Stands and spent the majority of the time playing wingman for her slutty friend – ME. I also suddenly felt horribly unattractive and had an insight into a male’s perspective thinking of the two of us I was clearly unfavourable and seem as a chore. I mustered what courage I could to say I didn’t really see myself that way and it wasn’t how L and I operated.

He stumbled, embarrassed over his words, explaining what he meant were that people like L and his best mate M were all about the ‘game’, whereas folks like us (god did that immediately put us into the unattractive or worse just plain ordinary category….this face of mine has graced the pages of Cosmo magazine!) weren’t all about notching up conquests. It eased the pain a little and my ruffled feathers felt smoother. We talked some more and he looked at the two to them flirting outrageously together. Their body language textbook to that for any psychology or social science class. He nodded at them and turned to me. ‘They won’t last. They aren’t the type to. They’re both the same – players’. All I was trying to say was I really like you and if things don’t work with them, I’d hate for it to impact on any relationship we might have. Your lovely and a very cool girl. I’d like to think we might be able to go the distance but if they fall out or whatever PLEASE don’t allow it to prevent us from being together.’

Words I’d spent years longing to hear. And then his friend was coming over with vodka jellies, an alco-pops. The guys treated us – not like princesses, but like queens. It had been a very long time since I had someone mount up a bill of over £200 in a couple of hours being hospitable with us.

By the time Land I had conflabbed in the toilets I knew the night could only be going good places.

And it did.

It took us back to the generous Fox’s pad that he shared with his friend M. The house was magnificent. Tucked in the countryside, a hidden large cosy country house, where we found ourselves having a few nightcap in a large and well designed, thought very masculine in taste, living room. As would be inevitable eventually the talk would dissipate and L and I would allow ourselves to be invited upstairs to our respective beau’s bedrooms.

What L did…well she spent the night verbally bonding with M and he respected that, enjoyed a kiss and a cuddle and cunningly L left him fully aware that we was going to need a suitable investment (both emotional, financially and time wise) if he wanted the full goods.

I on the other hand was high on life and very merry and exceedingly flattered with the man. L was right – that new blue shirt cum dress that snugly fitted did look awesome on me. Almost as awesome as Fox Tucker would look when he pushed my dress up and began fucking me. Even though he had a porn star name (and over pillow talked it transpired he DID work in porn…he did the IT and maintenance of some websites for porn companies based in Canada) there was no mirrored walls or ceiling, or cannily installed web-cams I felt sure we looked pretty hot fucking – it a little bit old skool.

We certainly weren’t love’s young dream. There had been many moments on my lips of late that had cunningly migrated south to take up permanent residence on my hips. He was trim, but late 30s, early 40s. Manly. A proper man. Dark hair, nice, eyes, strong jaw, defined symmetrical features on his face, taller than me, broad, big hairy chest, fine fat cocked springing out from a voluminous bush of untamed pubic hair. He could only have looked hot fucking me. I mean the transition from charming and courteous to ‘get on all fours and spread your cheeks so I can fu*k that arse properly’ was rather winsome. After a rigorous pumping, missionary, me on top, standing bent over the bed and doggy style I felt obliged to comply with his final request. It had been a while since my bottom had been exposed to a beastly boner determined to bash my back doors in, but the force and enthusiasm it was delivered with had me gasping for pleasure rather than wincing and whining say ‘stop it hurts’ or crying and screaming ‘put some lube on that monster’.

No he was dripping with sweat and flushed when he pulled , asked for em to suck him until came all over my tits – I couldn’t have wanted a better introduction to sex with my future husband Fox Tucker – Ahhhh if only.

But wait. The morning after he didn’t throw us out, he woke up with his arms wrapped round me, reinforcing how great my performance had been (twas like music to my ears…worth risking that painful first poo after such action). He even gave me his mobile number telling me he’d meant everything he’d said last night. In fact I remember when L appeared, he departed laughingly, leaving the two of us giggling and discussing our antics. Mine gave L severe hysteria and hers were of a far more romantic nature which made my heart sing. Could it actually go somewhere?

Yes it could. Tired of the mirth and suspected lesbian antics that may be occurring the boys invited us to go for a carvery to recover from the previous night. The two of them and the two of us. L and I gave a look of ‘can this really be happening’.

We’d finally found them after years of searching like loons. They drove us to our caravan and patiently waited in the car while we showered, selected suitable casual but sexy Sunday afternoon attire and (taking less care with my image and more keen with eating) I sat on the sofa texting Fox in the car with him replying with all sorts of lovely and promising sentiments as L glammed up.

The meals itself was a delight. The boys were happy to join us for ‘hair of the dog’ – a little prohibited being in possession of  a car but by no means restrictive of judgemental on L and I’s alcoholic intake. Gentlemanly as ever they collected the tab and there was tiniest hope that there was a hint of suggestion that this would be the first of many.

Things got awkward when it was time to leave. Both guys had children from previous marriages and had agreed when kids were at the house girlfriends weren’t allowed. Both had their children coming over that day. It was L and mine’s last night in Yarmouth. L’s man M said he thought he’d be able to change things with his kid and see us in the evening. Suddenly Fox became non-committal saying he’d keep in touch via text but was seeing his kid so couldn’t make any promises. When they got out I got a kiss goodbye but I could already feel a chasm of despondency growing. While M was eagerly asking L where we’d be drinking that night and what time, Fox made no interest and avoided the suggestion. I felt silly asking to text. I respected the kid thing, but the coolness emanating from his attitude began to deflate my heart and my dreams. I said good bye and tried to remain bright for L’s sake. After all perhaps he took parenting seriously – that was a good quality not one to knock or begrudge.

We sat in a pub discussing our plans, our marriage to the two, the double wedding, how we couldn’t believe this was happy. But as the afternoon dragged on, whilst L stayed in contact with M, my texts to Fox went unanswered. Gradually rather than continue texting to try an initiate conversation, I took the hint and stopped. L did her best to get M to bring him or convince him to join us but by late evening when M turned up having spent time with his kid there was no sign of Fox Tucker. He’d either disappeared into a fox hole, was obsessed with internet porn and getting his fix or somewhere in the Sunday sun had thought me Coyote Ugly and scampered away while he still could. M was lovely, L was moving on ever so gently from a relationship recently gone soured and I sat there forever a third wheel. Both of them trying to include me and me fully aware they had no idea that I just wanted to disappear into a place where rejection wasn’t staring me in the face. That empty fourth chair at the table was mocking me, but as a good wingman I couldn’t leave L no matter how hurt I was. I played a good friend, I was a good friend. She’d done the same for me and that’s what makes best friends. Even the alcohol couldn’t strip the pain from me.

It was kinda ironic when I heard L & M were getting married. Don’t feel bad for me, I was engaged and with the man of my dreams – it just that my soul mate wasn’t Fox Tucker. What was ironic was I was immediately back at the pier where Fox nodded over at them and pointed saying ‘see those two, there that type, there players, they aren’t in it for the long haul, not after a relationship, not like you and me.’ How on earth did I buy into that bullshit. Did a vodka jelly and flash name render me so emotionally vulnerable?

He fucked like an animal: masculine, hard, fast, demanding, brutish, methodically, physically, without warmth. He fucked like a porn-star: scripted, unfeeling, wordless but for grunts and instructions, hands not caressing but manipulating the various porn style positions he wanted, moving me not out of lust for me but to ensure maximum satisfaction for himself. At the time it felt sexy. It was hot sex. I was satisfied. It was nice for a night but that’s what his heart was like. The words were just a trap and I walked in there wondrous and left broken.

Still I had the laugh last, quite literally when giving my best ‘bridemaids’ speech at L and M’s wedding. As I recounted the harsh, unfeeling judgement passed by porn expert Fox Tucker on how unlikely the relationship was and the fact he’d stamped them with an expiry date when he they were declaring there eternal love for one another I was forced to admit my best friend L had got it right that fateful night which is probably why it wasn’t  a double wedding – no one wants to buy the cow if you’re giving the milk away for free.

Lesson learned.