"You're more than cute," I blurted out. "You're hot!" And then realizingwhat I'd just said, I blushed a bright red and continued, "Uh, well, in abroth...rly sort of way, of course."Trying to change the subject of the conversation I continued, "So, youwant to see if there's anything good to watch on TV - other than DickClark, of course?" We found a couple of movies that seemed halfway decentso we turned down the lights and Christine snuggled up against me on thecouch and we talked and watched TV. The youth rammed the pistol painfully into my forehead as he shouted that he'd kill me if I didn't get going immediately. Looking back on it now, I have to saw that it's rather odd that in most stories like this, the narrator now tells his readers in cool, measured tones just what sort of gun it was, which country it was made in, what calibre the barrel was and other information of that ilk... yet all I can recall was it was big, black, dangerous and pressed against my forehead. Terrified, I. More

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