This story is the seventh in an ongoing series of Batgirl adventures, mainly based on characters in the early Batman comics and that wonderful '60s TV series but with the timeline brought up to the present.
Warning! This fictional story contains strictly ADULT content and is ONLY intended for mature readers and for personal consumption. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter 4: A Date With Phil
Barbara gently tugged the lacy black top of her hold-up stocking to within a couple of inches of the baby smooth junction of her thighs, ensuring it matched up with the other half of her sexy sheer hose, before leaning forward to slip on her red high-heeled platform soled shoes. She then tugged down the hem of her matching short skirt, to cover her snugly fitting panties, before rising to her feet.
After checking the time on her wristwatch, she walked over to the dresser and picked up her purse. She paused, half turning away, to check out her reflection in the mirror, ensuring that her skirt adequately covered her bottom. It did, but with not a lot of material to spare, despite an extra tug or two.
"Phil should be here any minute now," she mused, leaning forward in the daringly low-cut dress, to check out her painstakingly applied makeup in the dresser mirror, for one last time. Her minimally restrained bra-less breasts, almost made a break for freedom, as she did so and she giggled, nervously, as she imagined such an embarrassing event occurring in a crowded restaurant.
As if on cue, the buzzer sounded, indicating that someone had arrived at the main entrance to the apartment block and pressed the button for her apartment. Non-residents couldn't gain access to the building, unless the external high security door, was opened with a key or electronically unlocked by one of the residents.
Barbara jumped to her feet and hurried over to the intercom that was attached to the inside of the apartment door. A small monitor screen gave her a view of the front entrance, where a tall but familiar, smartly dressed guy with close-cropped blond hair, in his early thirties, stood waiting.
She smiled and pressed the reply button alongside the monitor screen. "Hi, Phil. Don't bother to come on up, I'm on my way down. Be with you in just a minute!"
Pausing only long enough to close and lock the heavy metal door behind her, Barbara clicked her way along the short hallway to the elevator, as quickly as her tight skirt and heels would permit. She was really looking forward to her evening out with Phil.
-oOo-
They dined at the 'Moulin Rouge', a high class French restaurant that was one of Barbara's personal favorites. She had been introduced to it a few months earlier, while she was dating Harvey Dent Jr., the former Gotham City Assistant D.A. It was very expensive but the food was magnificent. Barbara liked to dine out there as often as her modest salary would permit.
"Good evening, Ms. Gordon," the maitre d'hotel greeted, as they entered, giving Barbara a warm welcoming smile. "So nice to see you again. A table for two?"
Barbara returned the handsome head-waiter's welcoming smile. "Yes please, Henri, preferably in a secluded corner."
"Certainly! Please follow me." Henri led them over to a secluded alcove table on the far side of the restaurant. "I hope this is suitable?"
"Thank you, Henri, it is perfect," Barbara murmured, squeezing the Frenchman's hand, while Phil pulled out a chair, prior to her sitting down at the table.
"Merci, Mademoiselle! I will return shortly, with the menu."
-oOo-
During the main course, a delicious coq au vin, Barbara subtly introduced the topic of the late Dr. Zarkhov into their conversation. Normally a little reticent to discuss police matters with a civilian, Phil was willing to make an exception in this case, since Barbara was the Commissioner's daughter and obviously already knew a fair amount about the doctor's demise.
"According to daddy, his body had been drained of blood, possibly by a vampire," Barbara continued, clutching at her impressive chest, dramatically. "I'm sure I won't be able to sleep soundly tonight, all ALONE in my bed."
Phil grinned at her typically 'over-the-top' feminine reaction. "True, the old guy had a couple of puncture wounds in his neck and was a little short of the sticky red stuff," he grudgingly admitted, "but Zarkhov died of a heart attack, after an over-enthusiastic bout of love-making." He failed to notice the sudden reddening of Barbara's cheeks.
His brow suddenly furrowed. "Funny you should bring the subject up though, Barbara. We had another similar death occur sometime last night."
"Oh, yes?" Barbara breathed, trying not to appear over anxious for the details.
"Yes, some old hobo. This guy was completely drained of blood though."
"Goodness gracious," Barbara gasped, eyes widening with unfeigned surprise.
"Yeah! This old tramp also had two puncture wounds in his neck, but it wasn't no vampire that caused it, such creatures don't exist.
"OH, NO?" Barbara retorted, a little more forcefully than she'd meant to.
"Of course NOT! There has to be a more rational explanation."
"Yeah, yeah, sure, if you say so, Phil."
The police officer looked across at his dinner guest, suspiciously. "Now don't you go gossiping about this, Barbara Gordon or, before we know it, half the residents of Gotham City will be milling around in a blind panic," he ordered, sternly, reaching over and gripping her left wrist.
"As if I would," the lovely redhead gushed, perhaps a little too eagerly.
Phil rolled his eyes up to the ceiling in exasperation. "Women!" he muttered, under his breath.
