Autumn Bleeds Into Winter

by Jeff Strand

Many of these “And that’s when I became a horndog!” origin stories begin with finding a magazine in the woods. I’m not sure how they get out there. Perhaps there’s a pornography fairy who hides them for pre-pubescent boys to discover. You never hear, for example, about middle-aged women finding an issue of Hustler in the woods while going for a hike.

Tina didn’t look like somebody who was into boxing movies. Maybe the movies weren’t the best choice right now. “Or we could go to the library,” I said. Or we could go to the library. That is what came out of my mouth. Or we could go to the library. I might as well have invited her to the Geek Festival of Nerdy Dorks. Or we could go to the library. Jesus Christ. I could now see the merit of taking notes on your hand.

I found it disturbing that she thought being berated by a mean old lady all day would make me so horny that I couldn’t control myself.

I hadn’t realized that being home-schooled involved being yelled at all the time.

Yet I had to believe that if you murdered a boy and buried him in the woods, you’d remember where you did it.