Courtesy of the new moon, I’m swallowed up by the night save for the flickering copper gas lanterns offering short reprieves from the blackness. I continue toward my destination, thinking about what lies ahead. As if on cue, a cool October breeze blows up my cape and sensually whips my naked flesh. I become anxious, and my pace quickens as I weave in and out the costumed posers littering the streets of New Orleans. I ignore the catcalls and leers from those wanting to fuck. The living doesn’t excite me. Not since… them. 

After several more blocks, I reach the rusted, ornamental iron gate that had been there for centuries, protecting those inside and keeping troublemakers out after dark. His time-chiselled face stares at me from his cottage window inside the gate. He’s been expecting me.

I offer him a smile as he lumbers toward me, slow and unsteady on his feet. It looks like he’s attempted to comb his powder-white hair. Upon reaching the gate, he bids me welcome with a feeble voice, and my heart clenches, noticing he’s lost the sparkle in his eyes. I’ve been coming here many years on All Hallow’s Eve, but he’s aged more this past year than ever before. He unlocks the gate and allows me passage inside. I follow him back to the door of his quaint cottage. 

I slip off my shoes, and his gnarled fingers fumble, trying to untie my black cape; then he lowers it from my shoulders and neatly folds it over his arm. 

“I’ll come for you.” He speaks softly, always a gentleman looking me in the eyes instead of my naked body parts. 

I know he’ll be watching from his window though, which brings me joy. He’s a lonely widower who, like me, probably looks forward to this night all year long. 

The moment’s finally arrived.

I meander around the gravesites, counting the newly departed marked by freshly-turned topsoil. A few are adorned with an upright granite headstone, and I bend over to sweep dead leaves off a simple flat grave marker. 

The wind picks up and my erotic dance begins. I twirl around the tombstones, pausing to run my fingertips across their names etched in stone, calling to each, encouraging them to come to me, pleading even. I know my living scent permeates the thin veil, triggering their memories of the flesh and awakening their sexual desires. My fingernails trace the curves of my body as my generous hips sway and I pinch my nipples to stiff peaks. 

“Come to me!” I cry out again. 

Uncontrollable excitement bubbles up from between my legs as puffs of fog materialize around me, hovering and seemingly tentative. Starving for their attention, I burst into the fog, encouraging the vapors to swirl around me. Soon, the nippy mist surrounds my heated body, and with my heart pitter-pattering, I spin in a circle, watching as male forms take shape. 

They’re here. 

The Spirits ' gentle touches on my hands and soft brushes on my cheeks are their ways of testing my limits. 

I give verbal consent, “I want you — all of you.” And I did!

Touches everywhere… all at once follow. I spread my arms and legs, allowing them to explore all my fleshy bits — flesh they hadn’t experienced in so long. This is my favorite part, well, second to us fucking. They’re flooded with unequivocal, uncontrollable hunger — and all for me.

Their souls are left with primal instincts, feral almost, and unburdened by worldly things. There’s nothing else like it. Living men can’t duplicate their raw passion. Some have tried, yet all left me unfulfilled.

I’m tethered to them, an indescribable tug-of-war between planes of existence. 

Now, they want inside me. Only then are they alive once more. I fall to the ground on my backside. Thinking myself ready, but never quite. 

Then, the first manifested cock penetrates my pussy and melts a bit inside my molten flesh. Hot and cold exquisitely collide, erupting as one. Spirited needs become frenzied. Rampant. Translucent bodies press me into the ground. A cock muffles my squeals. 

I lose count of how many fuck me. My orgasms run together as each rigid yet shape-shifting cock adjusts to fill every centimeter inside me, once again stroking me everywhere at once. I erupt in spasms again and again and again.

When they come, their ghostly essence floods my pussy. Like cool puffs of air blowing on my most sensitive parts. 

I love swallowing their cocks. They give me room to breathe, and it tickles my throat when they come. 

Undecipherable whispers in my ear comfort me. I know that’s strange, but true. It adds to our connections. I believe they are telling me I’m beautiful. 

Forces roll me over in the dirt, and I raise my bottom for them. One exquisitely stretches me before lengthening and thickening once inside. My clit buzzes, electrified by fluttering touches. Time and time again, burrowing cocks bring me to more toe-curling orgasms. My screams of ecstasy literally wake the dead. 

By the eleventh hour, each fuck’s become more urgent. Each wrestles for his turn. I’ve never felt more desired. My bottom’s burning, but I don’t care. I grasp for blades of grass, weeds, anything to brace myself, and let them have their fill of my flesh. 

When midnight strikes, I’m no longer able to move. Wrenching my heart, my lovers fade back into mist and pepper my exhausted, drenched body with cool touches that I can only assume are goodbye kisses. Then, they slowly drift away from me. I lie still, watching, until nothing but darkness surrounds me once again. 

I blissfully ache, but a few tears trickle down my cheeks when the Spirits dissipate, leaving my body vacant once again. I look around and the sun-blanched stone angels look upon me with pity. This is my least favorite part. The part that leaves me questioning my choices. It’s not a choice, though. Not anymore. My cravings — for them — control me. 

The trusted gatekeeper appears by my side, bends with a grunt, and helps me off the ground. He drapes the cape over me and walks me back to the cottage. I can’t help but lean against his frail body for support. Like all the years past, he settles me in a cozy chair and brings me a cup of regenerative hot tea. Despite my disheveled state, I see his tired eyes drinking in my beauty and my otherworldly glow from my Spirited fucks. The coming winter will be his last, but he no longer fears Death, knowing I will call to him too on each Hallow’s Eve.