In the 1980s I was having an affair with a single lady near San Diego. I was going to college and she was a nurse. She was living on a ranch and I was living near San Bernardino and I would drive down and spend the weekend or the occasional three day weekend with her.

She was a knockout and men were always hitting on her in the doctors office where she worked. A retired deputy sheriff was particularly aggressive but she kept putting him off although she would occasionally have a few drinks with him in the kitchen. She had told me about him and mentioned that he normally carried a gun or two.

The first time he came to her house and surprised me Joan told me "Take off and go back home. I'll get rid of him and you can spend next weekend with me." So I took off on my motorcycle and drove back home to Walnut. As I thought about it I decided that if this guy comes around again he might pull a gun on me and I didn't want to go down without a fight. So I put my little .25 caliber Llama in a holster in the small of my back where it would be inconspicuous.

The next weekend I and motorcycle and hardware went down to San Diego for the weekend. We talked in the kitchen and before too long retired to the bedroom. The bedroom was a beauty with a fireplace, private shower and French doors that led to a stone patio.

You'll never guess what happened. Right. He comes to the front door and knocks and Joan says to me "wait here I'll get rid of him". She dresses hurriedly and goes to the kitchen where he has let himself in and is sitting at the kitchen table with a liquor bottle. I can hear their conversation and he is saying like: "I love you and I want you to be mine forever." I'm lying naked in bed and listening to this and he begins asking ""Who is in the bedroom ?"

This is not a good turn of events. Joan says in a loud voice "There's no one in the bedroom". He gets up and starts walking toward the bedroom. I quietly jump out of bed, grab all my clothes and go through the French doors onto the patio. So I'm standing out there nude, holding my clothes when they come in. It was pretty embarassing and I was thinking "I feel like an actor in a B movie". I was not only cold but I felt rediculous. I want to be quiet and not arouse suspicion so I don't dress.

My thinking went along the lines of "If he finds me he'll shoot me and there my lifeless nude corpse will be found". Although this is in San Diego it was cold outside and I'm gradually changing from nice warm bed to frozen feet. I hear "See, I told you there was no one in the bedroom."

He finally leaves and by that time I am frozen. Joan comes back and tells me "He's gone" and we resumed what we were doing before his arrival.

There is a postscript. I went down one weekend on my motorcycle and there was his car parked out front with him in it. He had just arrived. Joan came out and started talking to him through the car window when he opened the door and stepped out. He opened the cars back door and started rummaging around on the floor. I figured "This is it. I'm going to shoot it out and he's probably a better shot than I am." I put down the kickstand because I didn't want the bike to fall over and scratch it after I was dead. I put my hands on my hips and started sliding my hand back under my leather jacket toward the small of my back. Joan grabbed his shoulder and talked animatedly for a minute or two and then he got back in his car and roared off. Awfully close to me.

After several months he admitted he was too old for Joan and that I was the right man for her. He and I became wary friends and..... There are a few more stories along this line but that's another story.