Superman's My Kryptonite.

It's harder than you think to be the secret gay lover of a man with a secret identity, but I couldn't have known that when I first met Dion.

I probably wouldn't have known of his mutation, or as he likes to say, superpowers, if I hadn't crept into his house that night 3 years ago.

We had been dating about two months and I wanted to surprise him by having a nice dinner waiting for him when he came home. Not a good idea.

I came in through an open window and found him not at his day job, but in his room shedding his skin. He saw me when I puked in the doorway.

Once you get past the nausea-inducing process of the change it can be really fun dating a guy with the ability to look like anyone on earth.

It's not all good though. I never get to meet his friends The Hero Herd, and I get jealous. He's always with guys in spandex and hot bodies.

And just once I'd like a shout out in a press release after he catches a crook. You know, like, this one's for Patrick, the love of my life.

There is one person who knows, his arch-nemesis The Gargoyle. He kidnapped me once. He was actually very civil, wine and cheese in the cell.

Dion rescued me of course, but I had to pretend not to know him after the news showed up. And now The Gargoyle is in some supervillian jail.

I'm mostly happy. I may never meet his mother or have his name, but I'm working on a 3-way with The Javelin who I hear is very well endowed.

Suicide is Painless.

"Pull the trigger," she whined. I looked at the gun in my hand and noticed it's weight for the first time. "You promised." She had me there.

Trust me when I say that her proposal of a suicide pact was not the first time I realized she was crazed. I noticed that on the fourth date.

We were at my corner bar and all was well, maybe she had had a little too much to drink. Or more probably she was trying to make me jealous.

Either way, that poor chap's head never needed to meet a wine bottle on those terms. If only I wasn't hooked on her hope diamond of vaginas.

I wasn't the kind of guy who would stick around for that kind of thing, but this type of anatomical perfection comes by once in a lifetime.

I always knew there was a reason I didn't introduce her to my mother. I thought the suicide pact was a joke. Then, slut broke out the guns.

Two guns, to be exact. I reluctantly took one from her, my laughter dying quickly. This was unexpected. I'm a prick for not escaping sooner.

And now, must I die for the sin of loving her pussy? Seems cruel. But perhaps she's given me an out. Maybe not. Her plan: I shoot her first.

I get to live, but she's dead and I murdered her so I live the rest of my days in prison. Or I shoot myself and- the end. Oh wait, new plan.

Now we'll both shoot on the count of three. Despite everything, she really is just a romantic at heart. Here goes. One..two- whoops. My bad.