Art_Deco said I came out, he went in, and I quickly threw on my clothes, raced out the front door, jumped on my motorcycle and rode off. Never saw him again.
I can just picture you fleeing on the motorcycle like your hair's on fire.
Yeah, not fun at the time, but now one of my sillier stories. He actually saw me crossing his living room toward the front door, and ran after me. But I beat him to the door and got out it, with him unlikely to pursue me further, still being stark naked.
He was calling after me through the screen door, while I was hustling down the sidewalk putting on my helmet (I always ride with one). I turned and said I had just remembered a dinner engagement I had (it was about 5:30 PM) and I had a long ride back to Seattle and had to hurry. Of course that didn't explain my not having at least said a proper good-bye.
I jumped onto my motorcycle at the curb like it was a horse in a Western movie, and quickly rode off, literally into the sunset. I never contacted nor heard from him again. That was probably my worst experience with a bar pickup, usually being a better judge than that. But then he was the bartender, and I had briefly chatted him a few times, and it was he who hit on me, when his shift ended at 4, his house just around the corner. I never went back to that bar again, either. My wild & lustful days, from my youthful 40s...