Batgirl-mobile

I drew the final drop of smoky whiskey from my glass and put it on the bar. “Another, please,” I said to the bartender, who wore Daisy Duke, cutoff denim shorts that failed to hold all her ass under the cloth. Her cowgirl shirt was tied in a knot just below her heavy breasts. A vine tattoo that ran down her cleavage to the shirt but reappeared down her ribs and hip. She smiled while handing me my next round. Nothing in her crooked smile told me that she minded me staring at her tattoo or her ample cleavage. So, it goes with Halloween, I suppose. The one time a year you can dress sexy and not be criticized for it. In fact, the bar was full of scantily clad Daisy Dukes, Tinkerbells, pirates, and scarecrows. Slutty scarecrows? That was new.

I had dressed like a middle-aged man visiting a new city by himself, which was 100% true, as I had traveled on Halloween day to attend a conference the next morning. Nothing special to my costume. It was what I wore on the plane. By the time the second glass of whiskey cleared my throat, I no longer cared that I didn’t fit in. And neither did the revelers. As I started my third glass of whiskey, I felt a nudge, a presence beside me. I looked in the bar mirror to find Batgirl staring back at me.

Batgirl leaned to my ear and yelled, “Whatcha drinking?!” She didn’t need to yell quite so loud, although the band had certainly upped the volume since I had arrived. No, she yelled because she was feeling the effects of her Redbull and vodka, which she ordered from Bartender Daisy Duke when I turned to face her.

“So, whatcha drinking?!” Batgirl again said, this time in a lower volume and softer tone. She had an obvious lisp that made her sweet voice sound innocent. Her green eyes, veiled with her Bat-mask, showed a clever knowing that overruled the innocence in her voice.

“Whiskey,” I said with a shoulder shrug.

“What kind, handsome?!” Now, this was an unexpected left turn. She was probably half my age, in her late twenties, I presumed. Her delicate skin showed of youth and her amazingly bright green eyes foretold experience that only a mature woman could know. I turned toward her, studying her. There were equal parts brilliance and danger in those eyes.

“Knob’s Creek, neat, ” I said. She leaned her shoulder into my chest and giggled.

“I fucking hate whiskey!” I smelled a hint of a sweet perfume on her skin, or maybe her hair. She placed her hand on my shoulder and tilted her head back with a laugh. Though I was disappointed that an intelligent conversation about whiskey was not about to happen, I had to give her credit for knowing how to draw a whiskey-drinker into a conversation. When she stopped laughing, she smiled at me with long-lasting blinks, like her eyelids were a little too heavy from drinking too long. With midnight quickly approaching, I couldn’t tell if she was tired or just completely wasted.

Her boyfriend, dressed as a “Workshop Explosion Victim.” He had a bolt glued to his face and a saw made of cardboard was taped to his stomach. “We’ve been partying for a while, man, but she’s just tired,” he said putting a hand on my other shoulder. He too looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He too had difficulty keeping his eyes open at times. We’ve been in town since late last night,” he continued before guzzling the rest of his beer. He shook the empty bottle at Bartender Daisy Duke. The bartender smiled at me and shook her head at how friendly these two had become with me. She slid the man a fresh beer.

I returned my gaze to Batgirl and let my eyes wander down the front of her low-cut suit. Her small, perky tits flashed naked skin as she bent down to sip from her glass. I followed the line of her petite side and waist to her muscular, fishnet covered legs. Her costume agreed with the curves of her body, and her hidden identity gave her a sense of mystery. Young? Yes. Too young for me? Probably. But I could not help but be attracted to her. Although her inhibitions were probably tossed away with her day-drinking, it was difficult not to notice her breasts rubbing against me, her hands on my shoulders and arms, and her eyes constantly looking deeply into mine. I was completely taken in. I imagined her young body against mine and her stockings rubbing against my hips while I fucked her. I turned to my whiskey and took a long draw from the glass. I quietly sighed, lamenting my age and how others think you somehow die sexually when time creeps in.

Mr. Explosion Victim carried on quite a lengthy conversation with me, however. He talked about his job, his motorcycle, and the time he and Batgirl nearly drove off the side of a mountain. “That was scary!” Batgirl chimed in before absently returning to her drink, which Bartender Daisey Duke had assured me was all water. I felt Batgirl’s knee hit mine as she placed her foot on my bar stool’s footrest. She adjusted her bar stool so that her thighs spread into a “V” shape allowing my knee to rest between her legs, pointing towards paradise. Her stockings stopped high on her thighs, which I now allowed me to see the exposed, soft skin at the top her legs. The Batgirl skirt barely covered her crotch. I shook the image of her lean, fishnet covered legs from my head, but my eyes kept gravitating to the bottom of her skirt. How desperately I wanted to slide my hand up her leg and explore what she hid under the skirt.

Batgirl slapped my thigh, making me return my gaze from her skirt to her green eyes. “Hey, eyes up here buddy,” she said with a growing grin and a smolder in her eyes. She jutted two fingers from her hand and pointed them toward her eyes. I felt a rush of embarrassment and then concern that Mr. Explosion Victim would be upset at me for my exploring eyes. Batgirl glanced at him and smiled. There was some unspoken communication between them taking place. Like telepathic messages being exchanged through smiles, eye glances, and tilted heads, Batgirl and Mr. Explosion Victim had a discussion uninterpretable to me. Their conversation apparently completed, I tensed when I felt Mr. Explosion Victim squeeze my shoulder and lean in closer.

“I put a mattress in the back of my Jeep,” Batgirl said leaning forward so that her face was inches from mine.

“Huh?!” I muttered with complete confidence in my confusion.

“She did, man,” said her boyfriend, who now was leaning uncomfortably close to me. His mouth only a few inches from my ear. “She put down all her back seats of our Jeep and threw a mattress in it. We don’t plan on returning to our home tonight and we didn’t want a hotel room, so that’s our bedroom for the night.’

“That’s clever…I guess.” I glanced between the two of them, thick in my lack of understanding. I had never been particularly good at hints related to sexual opportunities. I was clearly not picking up the message. Batgirl saved me from my ignorance.

Batgirl slid off her barstool and straddled my thigh. She leaned in closer, her soft lips near my ear. I smelled the alcohol on her breath. Her hands wrapped around my waist. Her hot, alcohol-laced breath teased my ears as she spoke. “You really should see the mattress…in my Jeep,” she said. She pulled back so that her green eyes could stare directly into mine. She cocked her head a little to the side and smiled, waiting. My heart raced as I finally understood….