In print | Published March 31, 2005

Dear Editor:

To the person or persons who successfully abstracted with my female undergarments while I was Sager dancing. Thank you for ruining my weekend. They were the only two pair of sexy delicates that I own and now there is nothing with which I can use to replace that matches my silky purple negligee.

I am a muscular well-fleshed man of great stature and bulk. It is awkward for me to search for off the rack lingerie in a conventional woman’s store, wherein if I pause to sample the garemnts’ preferable texture and fragrance I am often mislabeled as a perverted panty-sniffer and summarily arrested. To overcome the prejudice I am forced to shop by Internet purchase and betrust the sellers on eBay in their testimonials of the garments’ sexy silky feel and rich organic odors. Now I need rebegin my searching for hot hot clothing and it is all your fault.

I do not remember exactly who or what you look like as you were behind me in the giant moshing but simply because in the celebrating spirit I choose to rub up against your genital area freakingly gives not you license to clandestinly make off with my very clothings. It is the luck for you that my making out with the other in front of me was so energetically enthusiastic I did not notice your grasping gropings were also disrobings.

I do not know how you peeled off my underwears from my sweaty sticky skin without my noticement, but clever-fingered you left me in a lurch indeed when I rose upon a table to give the crowd a “flash” and revealed more of my shame than had I assumed. It was not until the kind officers of our Public Safety unstuck me from the Olde Club floor that I realized the high spirits had not merely encouraged me to joyously fling my garments upon my head or raucously grip them in my mouth and growl pupply-like as I had at Sagers passed.

Some mental detective work revealed the thief you must have been, whoever you may be. But the Public Safety gentleman was unhelpful in the most at my requests, so to the Pheonix I must turn.

I cannot be overly angry with you, for I suppose you most likely did save me the expensive dry cleaning of the beer and vomit stains my underwears would of likely received as the night wound downward. And though your fingers were larsinous I recall them as also tingly and magical. My only asking is their punctual return.

I understand if you wish them as a memento of my virile frame, but my needing is more than yours, for other fish to fry with my saucy come-hither looks. I am doubtful that, be you male or female, my special-sized lingerie can be of use to you, for I recall your chest being thin and wiry and your crotch region being shall we say petiter than mine own.

Please hear my humble pleading and give back my bra and panties. If you heed me not are a perverted sicko and puritanical spirit of ruining fun Sager sex playing.

Brad Peterman ’05

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