John Abernathy

Apartment Manager

Excelsior Apartments

5896 North Madison Street

Everheart, ND 

Dear Mr. Abernathy:

I am writing to you as our apartment manager to complain about my next door neighbor, Fred Wilkins. Mr. Wilkins lives in Apartment 202, the one right next to mine, and his behavior of late has become irresponsible and reprehensible. It is time for management to take some action.

The patios of my apartment and that of Mr. Wilkins adjoin. There is a wall between them, but Mr. Wilkins is a tall man and can easily peer over the wall. I am a large-breasted woman. At certain times it is necessary for a woman endowed as I am to let her breasts experience the proven health benefits of sunshine and fresh air. On several occasions when I have been sunbathing with my breasts exposed, Mr. Fred Wilkins has peeked over the wall between our patios and said things like, "Hey, Betty, nice tits." This is highly offensive to me.

Mr. Wilkins often has his brother, Evan Wilkins, over to visit. Last month Fred Wilkins and his brother both looked over the wall between our patios. I was not sunbathing, but instead, watering my plants and Fred said to me, "Hey Betty, show Evan your tits." 

My nerves are not good. When I receive a sudden shock or experience a traumatic event, I freeze up and act in unpredictable ways. I was very shocked and flustered by Fred's rude request, and, in my confusion, I guess I did what he asked and showed Fred and Evan my breasts. 

Next thing you know, the brothers are looking over the fence every day, having me hop up and down topless so they can see my breasts bounce and jiggle. But it didn't stop there. One day Fred said, "Hey Betty, pull down your pants," but that is where I drew the line and no matter what they may tell you, I only pulled down my pants for them a couple of times -- or maybe three -- but no more than five times.

You may consider these events as playful hijinks between friendly neighbors, but one day it turned bad -- really, really bad. I asked Mr. Fred Wilkins to come to my apartment to help me hang some pictures. While he was doing the work, I decided to take a shower. As I came out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, to go to my bedroom and get dressed, Mr. Wilkins was waiting for me. He snatched the towel away, leaving me stark naked in my living room, completely defenseless against his lascivious stares. He could see my breasts, my buttocks, and my vagina. When I tried to cover my nakedness with my hands, he touched me wherever I was uncovered and said that it wasn't nothing he hadn't already seen a hundred times, which was not true at all. It wasn't anywhere close to a hundred.

I ran into the bedroom and leaped on the bed to escape him, but I forgot to close the door behind me. He followed me into my bedroom, and I realized that he intended to have his way with me. To prevent that, I clamped both of my hands firmly over my vagina. It did not deter him. He sat down on the bed next to me and began fondling my breasts. When I took my hands off my vagina to stop him from touching my breasts, he touched me down there. 

Then he said, "So Betty, you wanna fuck?" I was so panicked and flustered that although I said 'no, no no' in my mind, it came out of my mouth as "yes, please." Fred misconstrued my panicked utterance as permission to climb between my legs and do the dirty. I won't go into the disgusting details, but to make a long story short, he had his way with me in four different positions over a period of forty-five minutes.  

When he had done nearly every nasty thing a man can do to a woman he rolled off me. I was terrified that he would rest up and do it again, so I devised an escape plan. He had my vaginal fluid on his penis and some semen on his testicles. I asked if he would like me to clean all that off and make him a grilled cheese sandwich. He said yes and, and after licking him clean, I escaped to the kitchen to make the sandwich and wash my own privates. I stayed with him while he ate the sandwich, and I kept my hand on his penis so I could run from the room if it started to get hard again, but it didn't. He put on his clothes, left the bedroom, and my ordeal was over..

Since that day Fred has not been back. No phone calls, no apologies, no flowers. He used me like a hunk of warm meat to satisfy his manly urges, and left me with nothing but soreness between my legs and disturbing dreams. I believe this sort of behavior is beyond unacceptable. Unless he is willing to come over to my apartment and apologize, on a recurring basis, Fred should receive a firm reprimand from the apartment managers.

Your prompt attention to this matter is greatly appreciated.

Yours Truly

Betty Tootittie