I wanted to make her happy, to please her, but her orgasms set fire to my cock. It was a difficult relationship at best.

She was a pyrokinetic from the year 5089; she’d come back to my era to escape the (very logical) persecution her kind faced in her own time. It was a one-way trip, so we were stuck together, or rather, she was stuck with me, and I got a cool sci-fi girlfriend out of the deal.

It was romantic. She could light my cigarette by giggling, and when some jerk was mean to me, he could wind up facially deformed for the rest of his life. We were cruel, but there was a logic to our actions. Well, we tried to have a logic for our actions, but let me tell you something: fire is a chaotic bitch of a thing. 

The first time we kissed, the clouds caught fire and rained down warm water in the middle of December. The first time I went down on her, she left a scorched outline of her body in my mattress. We threw out the smoke-alarm; it had no place in our relationship. 

I can’t wear  a condom, for the logical reason that it’d just wind up melted into me, which is hardly an optimal situation, but it doesn’t really matter. Her heat turns my seed to steam before it can do any real damage. 

Yeah, my girlfriend is a pyrokinetic from the future, and she’s totally sexy, and totally dangerous. 
Whatever. My last girlfriend was totally normal, and she fucked my life right up.