Friday Night In San Francisco

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 Lit who calls himself EldridgeinOO. 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, although 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 entire 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 absolutely gorgeous. I mean heartbreakingly beautiful. I could barely take my eyes off of 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 five-foot-teen. 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 a perfect fit for her.

Like a ballerina, she was tight, slender, 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 toward 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.

Her hair smelled like chocolate.

She began dancing with her friend, and it wasn't but maybe thirty seconds before she was dancing really provocatively. Bending at the waist, she slithered down to take hold of her ankles, then she slowly trailed her hands up her legs while rotating her ass as she slithered back up again. She started dirty dancing with her friend, and if you can imagine a seductively smiling ballerina who looked like Kate Beckinsale with her arms raised high, her head thrown back in sexy laughter as she pressed her pussy up and down her friend's thigh, that was Danielle.

She was just outstanding.

When the song ended, she and her friend returned to their seats. The place was really packed, so people had to move aside to let them wedge on by.

Sitting back down in her guy's lap, she did some of the sexiest things I've ever seen a woman pull off in public, at least since Angelina. When Castro went into that slinky guitar riff intro to that song I linked you to, "Got My Mojo Working," she performed a wicked lap dance for her guy. Leaning back and stretching out in his lap, she was doing that little shoulder-dance thing while grinding her ass against him.

With the way she was moving on him, her guy eventually had to put his hands on her. He simply had nowhere else to put them. When she leaned back into him, nuzzling her face to his ear, he gently grasped her supple hips, which inspired her to dance even more hotly in his lap.

Once the song kicked into gear following the guitar intro, which you can hear in the video, with the drummer joining in, that's when she really went for it. Right in the middle of all her friends, in a crowded bar, she began writhing in his lap. I mean seriously writhing. She was running her hands all over her body, and fuck almighty but it was so hot when she started pulling up her shirt to run them onto her bare stomach, which was truly a work of art. She turned to straddle him, then she gave him a full-on lap dance. She was pooching her ass out, making her loose jeans gap beautifully over her slender waist. Taking the guy's hands, she placed one on her hip and the other on her ass as she moved in his lap. She was doing it so slowly, so sensually...it was just fucking amazing.

She turned to face away from him, standing between his legs. She moved her ass in circles against his chest, and again she reached down to slide her hands beneath her top, pulling it up nearly to her breasts while running her fingertips all over her waist, sides, and stomach.

Everything was done sloooooowly...such a polished tease. She was giving the sexiest performance I've ever seen--she was also the only stick-a-fork-in-your-thigh gorgeous woman there--so it seemed totally crazy to me that hardly anyone was paying attention to her! A few guys standing near me were occasionally glancing her way, but that was about it. Besides sporting a bemused little smile, even the guy whose lap she was in was barely paying her any attention, and he seemed reluctant to touch her.

Standing sideways to him, she began writhing between his legs until finally his hands went to her upper thighs, tentatively sliding onto her ass. Grinning, she arched her back, sexily wriggling her hips when he slipped his hand between her legs to cup her pussy.

After he'd caressed between her legs for a few moments, she twisted down into his lap, never ceasing in her slow, sexy writhing. Again, the guys sitting on the other side of the brass railing directly behind them barely paid her any attention. She leaned back, and one of the girls above the railing reached down to clasp hands with her as she continued doing those maddening undulations all over her guy.

Once the song was over, she got up and went to the restroom. When she returned a few moments later, it was obvious that she'd removed her bra. Her nipples were wildly erect in her thin gray top, and her breasts were dancing hypnotically as she strutted in her heels.

Upon her return to the guy's lap, she became noticeably more aggressive with all her movements. Raising her arms above her head as she arched her flawless back, she literally climbed up the guy's body and pressed her sculpted stomach to his face. She reached down and slid her hands up her waist, raising her silky top all the way to where her bra strap would have been, while smothering the guy's face with her breasts.

Turning again to lay on him facing up, she stretched out lengthwise down his body. Writhing more intensely, she lifted her shirt to the bottom of her breasts, offering a peek at the beginning curves, but no more. She kept her hands there, trailing them all over her stomach and onto her thin top where she teased her breasts with her fingertips before firmly taking them in her hands. Squeezing her gorgeous mounds together and gently pinching her nipples, she let out a small moan. Her cherry mouth parted, then she bit her lip as she slid a hand over her bare stomach, down her thighs, and between her legs. Arching her back, she rubbed her pussy with one hand while caressing her breast with the other, and she never stopped grinding her ass in her guy's lap.

The entire time, she wore an enigmatic yet incredibly sexy little grin. It was like a Mona Lisa smile, and it never left her face.

After a solid half-hour of constant writhing and touching herself, she suddenly stopped. Without a word being spoken, her guy draped her coat over her shoulders, then their group all got up and left.

It was the most remarkable thing I've ever seen.

Walking back to my car, all I could think about was Danielle--her hair, her skin, her smile, her voice, her scent--and her amazing performance in that bar. When I reached the sand, I sat down and stared out at the moonlit ocean.

I wanted to fucking die. She was perfect...a

perfect

woman.

I was obsessed with her.

During the long ride home, well after midnight, I barely paid attention to my driving. I wasn't even there. I was replaying every single thing she did; every mouthwatering movement of her insanely sexy body, every lusting look on her impossibly gorgeous face...everything. She had me completely spellbound. The only thing I remember about the trip home was my constant thought of driving my car into the ocean. I don't recall the lefts and rights I made to get from the wharf onto the Bay Bridge, nor do I recall stopping at the tollbooth on I-80 near Vallejo. I must have been on autopilot, like a zombie.

All I knew was longing and despair. It was Angelina all over again. I couldn't have her, and I wanted to die. I don't even recall climbing into bed, I was so numb from the aching.

I can't stop thinking about her.

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