Chapter 2

Previously, on I Dream of Demie:

Hi, my name's Tom. I killed a man to summon a sex demon from Hell. She loves to smoke my pot, so she spared my life, stays with me, and occasionally we have incredible sex.

Tonight she brought this hot chick home and we totally had a threesome ... then she killed her.

I sat there, shocked, my lap covered in feces, urine, and what was left of the semen from my orgasm a few seconds ago, staring at the dead body of the previously hot redhead lying beside me. Only seconds before we had been fucking and then ... then...

I closed my eyes. I will never forget how the poor girl felt on my cock as Demie kissed her, Jessi's body going into orgasmic shock as her soul was sucked out of her mouth. Her pussy had gripped my penis like a vise, making my orgasm almost painful. Truth to tell, it had felt incredible.

Then Jessi had gone slack and my cock was embedded in dead meat. Unlike in the movies, dead bodies give up their waste because their internal muscles are no longer holding that crap in, hence the mess I was in now, figuratively and literally.

I looked at Demie over my shoulder. She was still naked but she had reverted to her demonic form, horns protruding from her forehead above a face that was still a combination of Janis Joplin, Demi Moore and my ex-girlfriend Laura. Despite how sexy the succubus looked, my cock was done for the night ... possibly forever.

"How could you do that do her?" I asked. "She trusted you!"

Demie cocked one eyebrow, another mannerism the telepathic demon must have picked up from the image of Laura in my head. "Hello?! Demon! I need to eat, dummy. Speaking of which..."

She came around the couch and approached Jessi's body. "This might take some time," she said, and as I watched Demie's jaw unhinged, allowing her mouth to open wide, wider than any human's could. The sexy demon with the now grotesque face pulled Jessi's head into that gaping maw. Demie's neck bulged as the dead girl's red hair vanished down her gullet and her shoulders reached Demie's mouth. Again her jaw extended to accommodate, and the shoulders went in.

I rushed to the bathroom and barfed into the toilet. I could hear the cracking of bones from the living room. I stumbled into the shower.

An hour later I emerged from the bathroom, scrubbed raw. I doubted I'd ever get Jessi's shit smell off of me, though there was no chance any was actually still on me.

Demie was gone, as were Jessi's clothes and body. My sofa was a lost cause. I wrapped the cushions in cellophane and managed to get the couch down the elevator by myself to drop the whole mess off by the garbage downstairs. If anyone asked I would tell them I was incontinent from the flu. I had barfed, after all.

I couldn't sleep that night. Would I ever sleep again?

The next morning I went out shopping for a new sofa. I found a nice one at a second hand store and they said they would deliver it in the afternoon. As I exited the store into the cold wintery air I noticed the church across the street.

I never really believed in God, but I had a freaking demon from Hell staying with me! If there's a Hell, doesn't that mean there has to be a Heaven? And God is always stronger than the devil, right?

I crossed the street and went up to the steps of the church. When I tried to put my foot on the first step ... I couldn't. I just didn't want to. I mean, I wanted to, but then I didn't want to just I was about to move my foot. I could get no closer to the church.

Demie had said my soul was hers. I was damned ... I couldn't enter holy ground!

I wanted to call out to anyone in the church who could hear me ... then, again, I didn't want to. Argh!

Finally, I walked away. I would find no succor there.

I found a seedy bar that opened early and drank myself silly. By the time I got home it was early afternoon. I flopped onto my bed and napped.

The buzzing of the intercom woke me up. Oh shit, the new couch! I rushed out and let the delivery guys in. The new couch fit nicely where the old one had been.

I sat on it, feeling the unfamiliar fabric of the sidearm. It was different enough from the old one that it wouldn't bring back the memory of Jessi when I was sitting on it, but a couch is a couch, y'know? I was sad.

Fuck it, I said to myself, time for more drinking. I downed a bottle of water and a multi-vitamin, and then headed back to that crappy bar.

I was working on leveling up my drinking skill from Sloshed to Pickled when the girl came up and sat next to me at the bar. I looked over and ... holy shit! Jessica fucking Alba! She smiled that gorgeous Jessica Alba smile at me.

"Hey," she said, "what ya drinkin'?"

I looked at my glass. I had stopped choosing my own drinks at some point, telling the bartender to indulge himself and get creative. "Uh ... I think it's bitters and antifreeze."

"Ha!" she laughed, and signaled the bartender for the same.

The barkeep gave a double take as he realized who he was serving. "On the house," he said, nodding.

She gave him a gorgeous smile as well, sipping her drink. She returned her gaze to me.

I looked her up and down. She was wearing tight jeans, cowboy boots and a tight white t-shirt. I was recalling that she had worn something similar in one of her movies, though I couldn't recall which one. She was a knockout.

If I hadn't been drunk I would have realized what was going on, but I was rapidly approaching Pickled.

She was still looking at me. I was about to ask Ms. Alba what a nice girl like her was doing in a place like this, all Bogey style, but then a large wall in the shape of a man was suddenly between us, his ass in my face.

"Hey baby," the large biker dude said to Jessica, leaning against the bar. "Buy you a drink?"

"No thanks," I heard her say. "I'm having a conversation here."

"Sure you are, baby ... with me. Hey, I loved you in that Sin City movie."

That was the movie I was trying to recall! Thanks man-mountain! I downed the rest of my drink. LEVEL UP! I had achieved Pickled.

I stood up, putting my hand waaay up on the guy's shoulder. "Hey buddy, the girl was talking to me."

You know those cartoons when Bugs Bunny or whoever encounters somebody so big that they have to crane their neck and there's this fisheye lens effect so the guy looks 20 feet tall? It may have been the liquor, but I swear that was what happened as the dude turned toward me. The guy's bald head, way up in the rafters of the bar, looked down on me with sunglasses and a big, bushy red handlebar mustache.

From out of the moustache came the words, "Fuck off, pissant." The last word rained spittle down on my face. Then he turned back away from me.