Girl: Body Heat | Through the Shattered Lens

Girl by Kevin J. Taylor: Taboo Erotica That’s Pure ’90s Id

As a collector of comics of all kinds during the ’90s and early aughts, Girl was one of those titles relegated to the adult section of the comic book store—I can attest that many teens eyed that area with reverence and anticipation for the guilty pleasures awaiting them. Most would be disappointed with the stuff on those shelves, but Taylor’s comic series was not one of them; for good or ill, it drew people in like a magnet. The comic gained a wider audience when released by NBM Publishing in 1999, but comic fans knew of this series much earlier when it had been self-published by Taylor during the early ’90s.

It stars “Girl,” this busty dancer-turned-witch who kicks off the fun at the Cloven Hoof occult shop and her gig at the Kat Kat club, where her moves accidentally unleash horny hellspawn. Across its run, the project is made up of two volumes of the mainline Girl title and several spin-offs and related books, including Rule of Darkness, Co-Ed Diaries, Body Heat, Kama Sutra, and others, which together expanded the series into a larger adult-comics universe. Across these volumes, it’s all lust-fueled peril, and yeah, this review’s diving into why some see it as liberating pulp heaven while others call it a hot mess of outdated tropes.

Girl’s deal is simple but addictive: she’s slinging spells and poles, calling up demons for kinky romps that go sideways fast. Early books like the debut hit hard with quick chaos, then you get Body Heat packing erection-themed shorts, Rule of Darkness going full occult gloom, and the Second Coming trilogy ramping up to orgy-apocalypses. It’s got that Tales from the Crypt meets Penthouse vibe—grimy city nights bleeding into fiery underworld hookups—keeping things pulpy without pretending to be deep lore.

On the “artistic freedom” side, Taylor just lets it rip, with Prince emerging as a huge influence on the character designs—the artist himself channels a deep fascination with the musician, using his sleek likeness and glam swagger as the base for many male characters, while Girl struts as an avid Prince fan herself. Girl’s no victim; she starts the pacts, outsmarts devils, and owns her body like a boss, which felt super rebellious back when comics were getting all sanitized. The black-and-white art? Killer—curvy shadows, dynamic spreads of tentacle tangles and mid-air ecstasy that scream Frazetta pin-ups with a naughty twist. The series was mostly in black-and-white art in the first 10-15 years but soon transitioned to full color in the 2000s. Fans ate it up as a no-holds-barred fantasy zone, where exaggerated boobs and bad puns (“demonically delicious!”) were just part of the campy fun, echoing Heavy Metal‘s glory days.

But flip the coin, and it’s not just leaning into what critics see as perpetuating racial and sexual stereotypes—it’s also pushing the sort of extreme pornography that had American suburbia up in arms, with the series causing further controversy due to its treatment of organized religion which only fed the outrage from that crowd. The sexual stuff cranks stripper tropes to eleven, with Girl and sidekicks like Jill (Part-Time Lover) as walking wet dreams, consent blurring in demon romps that mix peril with nonstop explicit action.

Demons often play the exotic, hulking “other” with dark skins and primal urges chasing pale flesh, hitting cringey colonial fetish notes alongside graphic tentacle play and orgies that made PTA moms freak—think full-frontal infernal excess way beyond tame T&A, all while mocking holy symbols, clergy, and sacred rituals in ways that had church groups seeing red. Not outright hateful, but that combo of lazy shorthand, boundary-smashing smut, and anti-religious jabs made it feel regressive instead of edgy, sparking real backlash in the buttoned-up ’90s heartland.

Taylor’s visuals carry the load, no doubt. Rule of Darkness nails shadowy ritual vibes with flames licking curves, Body Heat‘s shorts flex his anatomy game without going full cartoon, and Second Coming ties it into bigger stakes. Monochrome keeps it intimate and gritty, though the hyper-proportions can tip into caricature, and repetition sets in by later volumes like Body Heat 2.

Girl stands as a vivid ’90s time capsule, capturing an era of unrestrained excess before cultural sensitivities tightened. Advocates for artistic freedom argue that its stereotypes and provocative content serve as exaggerated satire, offering an unfiltered outlet for taboo fantasies; critics counter that it reinforces harmful tropes while thrusting shocking imagery into the face of mainstream discomfort. Taylor’s independent spirit is evident throughout, influencing contemporary erotic webcomics, though the series ultimately compels readers to weigh its bold expression against its problematic elements.

The series itself, which began as a backroom, self-published adult comic and then gained a wider audience during the late ’90s and early aughts, has returned to its early roots as Taylor has resumed self-publishing via online crowdfunding. Pros: raw, unfiltered energy and drool-worthy art. Cons: shallow plots, iffy ethics, and those dated vibes. Girl is guilty-pleasure nitro—dive in if you’re game, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya about the demons.

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