No, this isn't about the seminal DiMeola-McLaughlin-DeLucia performance. This is the true story of how I was simply destroyed last night by a perfectly amazing woman.

Unlike most of my longer stories, this one is almost just a bit of an aside. It's nothing more than an e-mail I sent to a friend of mine here at SOS who calls himself Eldridge. He's the author of "Conflicted," one of this site's most popular series.

I simply had to write down my thoughts on what happened last night, though I really wasn't intending on submitting something this short as a story. The thing is, after I also sent this same e-mail to another friend - a perpetually wet and fiery vixen from Canada named Anna - I was given a stern warning that she would hunt me down and slap me silly if I didn't post it here.

Because I would prefer my hot-blooded redheaded friend to keep reading my stories and adding her comments, including helping with editing on all my other stories, I decided not to tempt her into roughing me up.

So while I continue with the break I'm taking from "Everyone Loves My Ass," along with any attempt to follow up "Summer Voodoo," I give you this unexpected little bonus piece.

Okay, so I spent the whole day and night yesterday doing guitar-related things in San Francisco. I also saw that 2012 movie.

"Disaster porn" is right. Jesus, what a ridiculous movie. It was marginally passable, as long as you left your brain in the car before entering the theater. I guess John Cusack just wanted a big payday. Definitely, the movie will sate anyone's lust for 'HUGE STUFF!!' and stupid chase scenes, only with Disaster being the bad guy doing all the chasing in this one.

None of that matters, though. What matters is what I witnessed at the end of the night, when I went to my blues club. I'm still obsessing over what I saw there. Jesus, I'm nearly suicidal again over it.

I went to see this guy...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9BLsUxic4qY

... at my favorite blues club on the wharf, Lou's Pier 47. (The video is from another club in San Francisco called The Saloon.) The place was packed. Standing room only. It's a small place, though, with not even a hundred-person capacity.

I sort of know that guy, Daniel Castro. We always shoot the shit about guitar gear, and his bass player, Glade Rasmussen, used to be my guitar tech. Anyway, as Daniel was setting everything up, he saw me in the crowd and came over to say hello, then we spent a few minutes talking about the latest additions to his stage rig.

The Chicago Bears were in town, having played the Niners the night before, so the wharf area was just crawling last night with Bears fans who flew out to watch their team. The bar had about twenty of 'em, all decked out in Bears gear.

As we were talking, here came a couple of Bears fans, a man and a woman, who apparently knew Daniel. They said hello, and he introduced me to them. The woman's name was Danielle, which was a long-running joke between them, the Daniel-Danielle thing. She was covered head to toe in cold-weather Bears gear. Danielle was stunningly beautiful, and at least fifteen to twenty years younger than the guy she was with, who looked to be in his mid-forties. She was probably in her mid-twenties. No more than thirty. All I could see was her face, but it was obvious that she was slim. She looked just like Kate Beckinsale, with maybe a little Alyssa Milano mixed in, mainly in the fullness of her mouth.

She was just gorgeous. I mean heartbreakingly beautiful. I could barely take my eyes off her, especially once she slipped off her cold-weather gear.

Yep, I was a goner. Hidden beneath her knee-length Bears coat was sheer perfection. She was wearing heels and jeans; old, beat up, threadbare jeans. They fit her well, but they were sort of loosely hanging on her. You know how a slim girl's jeans will gap over her stomach and around her hips? As she moves from side to side, you just want to slide your hands inside those gaps? She had that. In her heels she was tall, about 5'10". Her top had a large rectangle cutaway over her chest and shoulders. It was basically just a no-big-deal, long-sleeved gray shirt which exposed her shoulders and upper chest. She was obviously wearing a black bra, and she had perfectly proportioned B-cup tits. Maybe they were big enough to be small C's. They weren't overly large, and with every inch of her being so slender and graceful - christ, her sharp cheeks and full mouth were so captivating - her medium-small breasts were just a perfect fit for her.

Like a ballerina, she was tight, slim and elegant, with a classically beautiful face. She had incredibly shiny chestnut brown hair, which had an unnerving way of dancing on her shoulders.

She was truly the most beautiful woman I've seen in the last few years. You should have seen her smile. It hurt to see it. Seriously, it literally hurt.

Once the show started, she and her guy took a seat in the center of the crowd. They were smack-dab in the middle. The place has their main floor where the stage and small dance area are located, along with seating for about thirty. Behind that section is a slightly raised area with additional seating, which is separated from the first section by a brass railing.

Danielle's guy took a seat towards the back of the main floor area, against the brass railing. All around him were a bunch of his Bears buddies. Rather than take one of the seats, Danielle let one of her friends - a cute but slightly chunky blonde - have the only available seat. With a smoky little grin Danielle simply slid up into the lap of her guy.

They settled in for the first song, and I turned to watch the set, checking on Danielle every so often. I was standing to her right, about ten feet away.

After the first song, she began doing that gorgeous thing women do when listening to music they really like. You know what I'm talking about, when a woman sits up in her seat, hands on her knees, arms straight, shoulders pulled back, and begins dancing her shoulders. It's such a beguiling sight, the way her perfect posture and playful movements make her breasts stand out so proudly.

Danielle began doing that, and what really piqued my interest was the way she kept stealing glances down at her chest. She was subtly moving her shoulders and checking out her own breasts.

It was like she was just warming up.

Her guy was leaning back in his chair, seemingly trying not to touch her. I turned to watch the show, though it was only a few moments later when she again caught my attention. She was pulling her blonde friend to the dance floor, and they brushed right in front of me. As they moved by me, Danielle pressed her ass against the front of my pants. Looking over her shoulder, she gave me the sexiest little smirk.