I Love You Teri Fox

Somewhere in-between Christian radio stations and 24-hour quiz channels, there lies a fascinating Sky-endorsed wasteland, populated by surgically enhanced girls, glued to cordless phones, writhing around on urine-stained camp beds.

It's become my latest obsession, following Petits Filous and pretending I'm Holden Caufield by using the term 'crumby bastard' to describe everyone. I simply can't get enough of it.

It manages to be both depressing and hilarious. Like listening to Jordan being interviewed.

There's an impressively wide selection of channels to choose from so if one girl doesn't do it for you, another can replace her instantly. There is a definite skill to the job and some are simply more adept than others at maintaining my attention.

It's a tough job. Your main task is to look interesting enough to get a call. A call that will probably cost the same as a blowjob from a whore, but without the satisfying climax or possibility of contracting herpes.

You have to look both sexy and capable of possessing an expensive phone manner simultaneously. So, when you come across a girl who can genuinely hold your attention, you develop a great deal of respect for her.

Which brings me to Teri Fox, Babestation's answer to Lauren Bacall, except without the liver spots.

I first discovered Teri on Babestation MILF, a channel which implies a hostess of maturity and class. But Teri, despite possessing both, was of an age much younger than that of a typical MILF. Although in Babestation terms, motherhood may come at a younger age than the norm...

Teri was a vivacious young lady with what I later found out to be 32J assets. She wasn't your typical call-girl. For one, she didn't appear to be Eastern European. She was also refreshingly curvaceous and not dangerously malnourished. She was also incredibly uncomfortable and slightly bored which only served to make her even more compelling.

Shaking the phone up and down in her right hand while attempting a pout, Teri was quite simply transfixing. Her face, with its frequent, fleeting glances of desperation, hinted at a back story that I craved to uncover.

If I wasn't a tightwad, I would have called her up and asked her all of the questions I was yearning to know. How did you get here? Were you bullied as a child? Do you work on commission? Can we please, please be friends?

I wanted to save her. To extract her from Babestation MILF and plant her in secretarial school. Of course it would take time to adjust. The leather corsets would have to go, or at least be kept until the weekends, and there would have to be less phone spinning. In time though Teri would settle into it. She'd stop dying streaks of her blond hair black and resist the urge to pull her breasts out on demand.

But this is way in the future. For now, I'm taking baby steps. I've joined her Facebook group, I've taken pictures of her on my phone and, take a deep breath, emailed her.

I've shared my obsession with a friend who recently had a birthday and I emailed Teri to ask for a special message for him. I didn't expect a reply but then stranger things have happened. I once emailed the producer of crazy monkey film Shakma to ask for a birthday surprise for a friend and I ended up with the final copy of a 15-year-old press kit for the movie. Embarrassingly he mistook my feigned fandom for the film as genuine. Little did he know of the hours of ridicule we had launched at his movie (tag-line: Softly, softly, catchee, monkey).

Anyway, walking home on Friday, I checked my emails on my phone (check me out) and discovered that 'Teri Flux' as she now referred to herself had got back to me. My heart skipped a beat. This is the feeling Lionel Richie had told me all about.

Teri was willing to send signed birthday prints to my friend. SIGNED BIRTHDAY PRINTS. SIGNED. BIRTHDAY. PRINTS.

I'm still to get back to her. I need to take things slowly for once. To play it cool and not confess undying, unwavering love for her just yet (I've made that mistake before).

But now, the world is alive with possibility. Teri Fox. Teri Fox. Teri Lee. No, stop it.