Demons Prefer Blondes

My Filipina nanny used to make me shit my pants with her stories about pontianaks—terrifying ghosts of women who died during childbirth, only to come back and tear the dicks off of horny men. I guess every culture has its own version of the seductive demon myth. White people have the succubus, which is what the heroine of this latest romance novel happens to be.

A succubus is a female demon who loves getting pounded as much as she loves terrorizing men. As with most creepily erotic fantasies, this figure has been imbibed by idiotic anime fanboys who froth over the pictorial possibilities they find on the internet. In Demons Prefer Blondes, Lucy (short for Lucifer, gettit?) is a feisty beauty salon owner who loves gays, “hot, sweaty, monkey sex,” and probably looks something like this:

Or, if you prefer your anal sex to be more Second Life than hentai, maybe she’s more like this:

The story centers around a mysterious box that shows up at the salon—a hellish mechanism that makes Lucy tingle all over when she touches it. Besides being an awkward metonymy for Lucy’s snatch, this box also has the power to summon all demons back to earth if opened.

But don’t be fooled into thinking this book is a morality tale. Lucy’s nymphomania is out of control. When Rafe Deleon, senior demon of the Infernati, swoops down to Earth to recover the box, Lucy begins crawling on all fours and “batting her eyelashes like a little puppy begging for food.” With a move that’s totally unprecedented in the other novels I’ve reviewed, Lucy actually makes the first move, their kiss a “delicious tango of tongues.” Pretty soon she’s “horny to the infinite power” and cajoling him to stick it in, but their lovemaking is interrupted in medias res by Lucy’s BFF, who walks in on them, turning Rafe’s package from “his big friend to his little friend in a flash.”

Rafe can’t deny her for long, however, because Lucy has the power to make any man who touches her insanely lustful, sort of like that slutty black chick from Misfits. Pretty soon he’s enraptured, calling her kewt things like “a little of Diana’s strength mixed with the passion of Venus.” When they finally do it, he acquiesces control and lets her ride him from on top, which she does gleefully, “with the gracefulness of a cat slamming to the hilt” (what? Now I’m thinking of a kitten having sex with a sword).

From this point on, the rest of the plot is sort of a blur. From what I could glean, Lucy walks in on her mother loudly fucking her dead father, except it turns out he’s not dead—he’s actually the King Incubus! Even better, both Lucy’s father and Rafe were once in love with a lamia, the infant-eating monster that Keats wrote a poem about. This lamia, named Larissa, is disguised as a human and currently engaged to Lucy’s ex-boyfriend.

Anyway, you probably already know how this ends. Lucy opens her box and a bunch of demons fly out to kill her, but end up getting their asses kicked by her and Rafe. Then they exchange vows that beautifully “verge on a Shakespearean sonnet” and love each other forever, etc.

Rating: Four dildos. I loved this book. Lucy is my idol, for obvious reasons, and you can tell she’s a really cool chick from her Justin Timberlake ringtone, expert manicure skills, and ability to give “Titanic-like kisses.” Like me, she’s addicted to “coffee, sex and coke,” and has phrases like Oh Boy! and Holy Hotcakes! running through her head during sex. Read this book.

MICHELLE LHOOQ

Previously: The Name Game