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Montmartre Cemetery stood tall, like a deathly skyline. The vast necropolis of towering tombstones, labyrinthine mausoleums, and imposing statues sat in a beautiful area of Paris, with Sacré-Cœur Basilica its distant crown jewel. As tourists explored the cemetery’s grounds during the day, only its permanent residents roamed at night. Very few liked to be about in daylight, and those that did rarely find themselves witnessed by the living.

I, one Philip Petit Martin, happened to be a rare exception of a wayward soul.

Like any typical black cat, I had been sunbathing languidly atop the roof of a marble tomb. This one belonged to one Alexandre Dumas fils. The lion did not mind my presence so long as I did not disturb his daylight slumbers within his grave, nor did he care about my masculine nudity so long as I napped on the roof. Out of sight and out of mind, as he’d say.

So, I did such acts on a semi-daily basis, basking in how the rays would feel against my midnight fur. Or at least, how I imagined they would feel should I have possessed a corporeal form. All I could do was imagine; on my limber legs, slender arms, sensual black tail, long and wavy hair, handsome chest, and especially on my whiskered nose and pointed ears.

Oh, how I longed to feel the sunlight kiss my closed eyelids. I longed to feel my fingers touch the warm marble. I yearned to shiver at a cool summer wind brushing over my nakedness. Or in the present day’s moment, a cold autumn breeze, if the fallen leaves and tourists speaking of All Hallow’s Eve being upon us were any indication.

Later that day, I’d sat up from my sunbathing spot atop Dumas’ tomb when I felt a rare sensation: someone watched me. Initially excited, I gazed around the narrow alleys of the necropolis when I discovered my mysterious watcher—a white-tailed deer no older than I, holding a curious device in his paws—quietly standing several meters behind a loud group.

Our vision met as I felt his eyes on me. The watcher had to be an American or Canadian, dressed in a tacky shirt and blue trousers made of denim. Yet what drew me in were the wide mahogany of his irises, how he stared like a star-struck schoolboy, and his lustful smile at seeing me naked. I expected him to shamefully hide an erection at any moment, and to my amusement, he did the moment somebody called for him.

“S-Sorry! I’m, uh…Hang on!” he spoke in a strange American accent. Midwestern? The Americans had too many accents to count. Whatever the case, the cute deer jogged over to the other tourists while holding his device in front of his crotch.

I giggled. Standing up and stretching my arms in full view of the ignorant living, I climbed down with an effortless jump. My tail swished at how the deer continued to stare at me, blushing with folded ears at my actions. I could tell from faraway that my chest, flaccid member, the sultry curves of my hips and swaying posterior were a delectable sight for the American buck. He inspected me like a man surveying the finest cuisine on a restaurant menu, his jaw slackened and brown eyes unable to look away.

Everyone ignored my naked waltz, except for him. He slowly kept up at a hypnotized pace, fully transfixed and awed by the sight of me, and the lack of acknowledgment from those around us of my presence.

I began following the buck for a minute or two. A part of me wanted to listen to the tour guide. But I was more curious about the small camera-like device in his shaking palm. It wasn’t like the flat pieces of glass that the other tourists loved to spend their time staring down at, rather than the world around them. Then, suddenly feeling myself begin to fade, I stepped in front of the wide-eyed American once again. He gulped.

Without warning, I leaned forward to plant a chaste kiss on his muzzle. Anyone watching would think he was imitating a frozen fish while staring straight ahead with the most intense blush imaginable.

I winked, snickering. In my best accented English, I whispered, “Midnight tonight, if you wish to see me again. Do not disappoint, mon ami.”

I then vanished from sight for hours like torturous clockwork. I was neither unconscious nor awake, present or gone, just a fragment of a soul trying to reassemble consciousness. By the time I returned to the exact spot I’d been in, my voyeur deer was long gone, and sunset had already begun.

“Oh well,” I mused, sighing to myself as I stretched both sets of bare toes in the dirt. “Hopefully, he’ll be back.”

***

I sat atop the same tomb later that night, waiting and relaxing in the exact same mood, though my tail would shake every so often with anticipation. The glowing crescent moon told me midnight was approaching. A part of me worried that my flirtatious presence had scared the American deer away. Low and behold, however…my chariot had arrived on time.

“Um…hello?” his voice pierced the silence. “Is that you?”

“Tis who, exactly?” I trilled, turning to see the deer standing several tombs away.

“Y-You’re the…the black cat from earlier today.” He stepped forward from underneath the obscuring tree, the moonlight bathing him in an azure glow. “R-R-Right?”

“Hmm?” I chirped in amusement, then stepped gracefully onto the ground. “Do you think your eyes deceive you tonight, my dear handsome deer? Hehehe.”

The white-tailed cervine chuckled shortly from my obvious pun. “To be fair,” he argued, “wouldn’t you think you’re going insane after spotting a naked black cat only you can see? I was tempted to ask everyone if they could see you walking around, but didn’t want my friends thinking I’d sprung a leak or something…”

“Well, rest assured.” I approached him with luscious strides. “You are not mad. I am real. And I might no longer be in this world, but I still enjoy its wonders.” As much as I enjoyed toying with him, honesty was still an excellent virtue. “It would seem so. My name is Philip. All I know is that I used to be a groundskeeper’s apprentice. And what of you, mon ami?”

“J-John,” he answered nervously. “M-My name’s John Amos. I’m…uh…A-American.”

“Figured as much,” I chirped, beginning to circle him as his eyes followed my voluptuous tail and posterior. “What brings such a handsome buck like you across the Atlantic Ocean and all the way to Montemartre, if I may ask?”

“I must have some serious issues if what I’m seeing is actually happening,” John chuckled to himself. “So, you’re an…actual ghost?”

I nodded. “Oui.”

He swallowed air as it finally began to settle in for the deer. “You’re the ghost…of a nudist black cat…from somewhere in French history?”

I nodded again. “Oui oui.”

John exhaled an exasperated chuckle. “This is crazy.”

“And yet you showed up at the correct time, John,” I pointed out, and he scoffed, then hung his head down when I gave him another full display of my cock and balls. “Don’t be shy. I don’t mind you looking. You clearly enjoy it as much as I do, hehe.”

John covered his crotch while letting his camera dangle from the strap around his neck. “And on top of that, the ghost is super hot and heavily flirting with me…I really have to be insane if I’m not screaming for the hills right now…”

I paused my steps and faced him. The timid buck continued to stare half-ashamedly at me but did lock eyes with mine. I gazed directly into his kind soul before gently offering him a paw. I let out a purring hum to let John know that I was friendly, if my behavior had not been as obvious to him yet.

“There is no need to be afraid,” I whispered. “I am no poltergeist or specter looking to frighten you. I am just a restless spirit who happens to have died and lived around Montemartre Cemetery.”

I carefully grabbed his wrists to shake both paws, smiling back at the shy young man. He made a sound after realizing just how close my maleness was to his leg, and his antlers trembled.

“I am genuinely happy that you decided to come tonight, mon ami,” I said. “If you wish, I may bring you to a beautiful spot where you can see the Eiffel Tower.” A look of hesitancy crossed his expression when he lifted his head up, both heated ears pointed high. He appeared confused by my suggestion. I giggled softly at how adorable it made him look. “If this is part of your mad imagination, then why not simply enjoy it while you can? Come on.”

Uncertainty and a twinge of fear crossed through John’s eyes. Yet when they surveyed me and I offered him an alluring grin, the buck slowly began to nod. He quietly told me, “Okay,” and followed behind me as I guided him through the maze of graves towards another portion of the cemetery. One that allowed us a perfect view of Paris’ iconic eye sore. At least, an eye sore according to one of the many ghosts throughout Montemartre.

“Oh my God…” John gasped at the view.

The Eiffel Tower glimmered like a steel tannenbaum. The industrial lighthouse shone as a beacon that caught the attention of not only myself, but John, who couldn’t help himself from taking pictures with his camera from where we stood. His anxiety seemed to melt away, and he didn’t blush so much as beam each time he clicked his curious device at the tower.

I stood there for some time but didn’t mind the mutual silence. It allowed me to see John relaxed as he reviewed his photographs, occasionally glancing up between his toy and our view. I wagged my tail at seeing each smile, every confident nod, and every moment I saw those beautiful mahogany colors light up upon remembering me. He then repeatedly tried to speak, only to stop himself before uttering a single word.

“Are you about to ask why I am naked, mon ami?” I coyly surmised.

John offered a meek nod, then sighed. “Um…why are you naked?”

I snorted, whiskers twitching behind my grin.

“As a groundskeeper’s apprentice, I had access to the gate keys and often found myself wandering these tombs and graves on sleepless nights,” I explained. Memories of long ago surged and receded. “On some of those nights, I loved to shed my clothes and wander.”

“Did you get a…thrill out of it?” he asked a little hesitantly. “Like, a sexual thrill, or something?”

“Hmm? If you’re asking if I do it for the sake of perversion, you’re mistaken,” I said, giving my confused and curious deer a sly smile. “Though I do enjoy the German vice, even when I lived and such desires were frowned upon, I do not walk like this because I’m sacrilegious. No, no. Dearest John, let me tell you: nothing feels greater than walking under a starry night sky such as this,” I motioned to the sea of diamonds sparkling above our ears, “feeling the wind tickle your fur, uncaring about anything else in the world. I feel free.”

“Wow,” he said amazedly, “and the ghosts here don’t mind it?”

“Most of them like to be kept alone,” I brushed his worries away. “Most of them are actors, poets, artists—the solitary and socialite types, and if they’re not stewing in their own tombs, they’re wandering around the city at this time of night. In fact,” I glimpsed left and right, “we’re all alone in this part of Montemartre. No other spirits are around here.”

“They’re not?” he asked, a little surprised.

“They are not,” I confirmed.

John set his camera aside on a nearby tombstone, drinking in the sight of me once again.

“So,” he murmured.

I licked my lower lip, almost teasingly, in his direction. “So?”

We shared an unspoken smirk between us, in the dark.

“So,” he wondered aloud, “what’s ‘the German vice’?”

A gust of wind called for us to become closer. Thus, I stepped over to my mortal companion of the night. He trembled at my approach but calmed down once he felt my solid form and held me by my elbows. He marveled at the softness of my fur. His curious touches made me purr, and I decided to finally answer.

“This,” I whispered back, “is the German vice, mon ami.”

He nervously replied, “Is it…only German? N-Not French or…or American?”

I snickered softly.

“I prefer to call it an international sin.”

My lips felt warm for the first time in a long time when they connected with John. His cold nose felt shivering against mine as we slowly embraced, our fingers exploring across clothing and fur. His paws were quick to begin copping feels the moment our kissing intensified. His knuckles caressed my ribs, hips, and eventually, my ass. My tail brushed against his same knuckles as we started pressing close together. John greatly enjoyed it when my claws ran through his fur and eventually reached the back of his scalp to circle his antlers. In return, I loved how his palms felt against my posterior and the way he started grinding himself against my form. He squeezed one ass cheek, lovingly kneaded it as our lapping tongues danced. I started purring so hard. John’s body practically vibrated with mine as I helped him undress.

I helped unzip his shirt. My kisses turned into short licks as I trailed from the corner of his lips and down his cheek all the way south to his nap. I tasted it and felt it shiver against the cold midnight air. It felt so warm against my whiskers. No—he felt so warm. I could feel and hear his heartbeat quicken, while I caressed his side and groomed my way to his pecs, nosing and then testing my tongue on a hard nipple. I giggled at the way John breathed harder from my sensitive laps. John could only articulate in vowels and cervine bleats of approval. Each noise grew louder and louder until finally, I knelt on the soft grass to begin nuzzling his tented crotch in full view of all the necropolis to see. The embarrassed buck shut his eyes and could barely open them again. He squirmed but didn’t stop me as I unzipped his fly and peeled his trousers down enough to reveal his snugly erect secret to the world. It throbbed heavenly in the cold air and produced a drooling dollop. I eagerly licked it up. Smiling up at the fiercely blushing American, I locked eyes yet again while descending my lips over his tool. It pulsed to full hardness instantaneously, almost comically.

I could not sense any spirits nearby, but if they were watching our intimate exploration, and if I were a betting cat, I’d hear a muffled moan that coincided with John’s the instant I effortlessly swallowed his manhood. I did greedily slurp and salivate around his cock, whiskered nose, touching his pubic fur, and inhaling his living scent as if I were a drowning man. I even found myself grasping his ass cheeks for dear (heh) life. I felt them flex with each forward hip motion he made.

John leaned back against the tombstone. One paw held it for support as the other held my head as he moved his hips. Once again, he could only articulate in vowels and moans. However, I could make out a word or phrase every so often, particularly when I curled my tongue around his length in a technique that I once learned from a cross-dressing bordello dancer from the Moulin Rouge. The white-tailed deer found himself heaving so many praises on God’s name. I hoped only the dead would hear his organismic cries and not the entirety of northern Paris. A part of me also feared he would pass out from a sheer euphoric reaction.

And the best part for my American companion that night? Being an incorporeal phantom meant I did not need to breathe. Certainly not while giving oral service. John could not get enough of my velvet throat as I sucked around his entire dick. His entire being trembled, delighted in the warmest and wettest of embraces that no mortal flesh could comprehend.

All good things came to an end, both literally and figuratively. The arousal in my maw ended up erupting much sooner than I anticipated, but I effortlessly swallowed his seed. I enjoyed it so much that I didn’t even blink at the loud bleating John made as he came, no doubt awakening more than just a few ghosts.

“Oh my God…” he panted. “Oh my…f-fuck…that was—”

“Indeed, mon ami,” I lightly laughed. Giving him a whiskered smile, I stood right back up to my feet and wrapped my long tail around his hip. “Did you enjoy it?”

John nodded feverishly while gathering his breath. The buck’s antlers whooshed through the autumn wind as he did so, and he shivered. “Felt like you pulled my soul out of my body, I came so hard! John said and then chuckled. “Look at me. Can barely form a sentence…Whoo!”

John yawned and I felt complied to ask, “Do you need to rest?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But I have so many more questions.” The buck started to pull his trousers back up and fasten the button. “Like, why me? W-Why can I only see y-you, and why did you decide to s-suddenly have…have…”

I held a finger to his lips. They brushed against my claw as our eyes connected. I winked, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Sadly, I do not have the answers,” I replied. “I do not know why you can only see me, but for your second question. It is simple. I find you cute.”

John gulped. “M-Me too,” he admitted. “I mean, you’re cute too!”

“Good,” I pecked his lips with another whiskered smile. My white-tailed companion next lit up at my following comment and eagerly followed me to the cemetery entrance. “Is your hotel not too far? Because for what I have next, we will require a bed. And the night is still ever so young, and we have until sunrise until I return.”

“Oui oui,” he answered in my native tongue, and we laughed out the gate.