The World According to Fuckity Fuck.

Richard Albrecht was a lone wolf. The few friends he had who did not understand him called him Rich, but those he was most fond of always referred to him as Richard, never Dick; though he could often be one without even trying. Richard was a man who would sit at his desk and watch the world go by through his bedroom window. What he did while sitting at his desk was a mystery to most, a fantasy to others. Only Richard himself really knew what went on - but from what I know of him, and I do know him well, this is what I can conclude from the bits of evidence that this elusive, solitary, and sometimes psychotic creature left for me to piece together. This is the story of Richard Albrecht.

With the air conditioner humming in the window, Richard would sit on the dingy carpeted floor of his one-room apartment, chain-smoking, and reading anything to help ease his mind from the constant flow of thoughts that rushed through his brain like a tsunami-inspired tidal wave crashing upon some brittle island shore. Currently, he was re-reading his favorite novel, which he had not touched since he first laid claim that it was his favorite five years earlier. So much had happened in his life then that half-way through the book he began to weep because of how much his own experiences in life, since his initial reading, related to what was happening in the story. He began to wonder if this novel shaped his life more than he previously thought or if the reason he loved the book so much was because the themes of lust, gender roles, art, and death were wholly related on such a basic human level and now that he'd had more time to live, these experiences which he had once only read about had now happened to him. Richard Albrecht did not have many friends. He imagined that those who did, did not sit on the floor of their apartments three nights a week sobbing into a ripped-up, old paperback. He put the book down on the floor next to the ashtray and went to his chair where the gentle hum of his computer started up at the push of a button. While he waited for things to load, he'd strain to hear the voices cat-calling down the street outside of his apartment and imagine the woman who was the object of their insult or compliment. He started to masturbate.

This was something he did almost nightly. While it was not uncommon for men his age to engage in such an act, most did not do so with the lurid fantasies that Richard played out in his mind. This is not a story about ejaculation though. It just needs to be said that Richard rarely had any sexual encounters of his own, so what he had to base his fantasies on was just how he thought other men behaved in the world outside his window.




To be continued.