Ladies, how many times has this happened to you:

You’re sitting on the couch, pretending to be reading a magazine and in reality trying to ride the waves of pain of a truly killer headache. You’ve just about resigned yourself to an evening of utter misery when your guy bounds into the living room with a happy grin and a pup tent in his pajamas. You know what’s about to happen. It always happens. Somewhere, up in the fluffy clouds of white man’s heaven, God Almighty is looking down on you and getting you back for that damn apple thing all those years ago because you know that when you try to explain your incredibly excruciating pain, your guy, the man who loves you and puts your welfare above all else, is going to advise the same medical procedure he always does.

“Well,” he says, as your headache finds a nerve and starts jumping on it, “maybe you just need my famous beef injection!”

Stop! Don’t kill him! He’s not just being an inconsiderate ass. He’s speaking from the sure knowledge culled from thousands of years of passed-on male medical knowledge. An oral tradition, if you will.

Medical studies, real ones that I could link to if I wanted to bother, have shown ripping off an orgasm does wonders for a headache. A good screamer can help relieve stress and increase blood flow, which aids in the easing of cranial pressure. In fact, if you wanted to head it off completely, next time you even suspect that you might be getting a headache, knock your man to the ground and fuck him silly. Even if he’s at the office. Especially if he’s at the office.

Guys, this is our fault. If we treat it like we’re joking, of course they’re not going to take us seriously. It’s about time we let them in on all the centuries of painstaking research and let them know about the true health benefits of choking down on your willy. Ladies, these things are actually true, as far as you know:

Semen really does have magical properties.
You’ve heard us tell you, but you didn’t listen. It really *is* a first class skin emollient. Spunk is great for your complexion, conditions your hands, adds body and lustre to your hair, and makes a healthy mouthwash. I can personally vouch for one interesting by-product of this miracle liquid; when I was dating my girlfriend, her chest measurement was 34C. Some twenty years later she’s a proud 36D, and I modestly accept the credit. Other men report success in using their sticky elixir to treat stuttering, any number of mental disorders, hysteria, and hemmorhoids, although the last one is still unproven.
Also it has something to do with babies, I think.

A man is the ultimate exercise machine.
I know, I know. You thought that when he was twisting and tossing you all over the bed, flipping you over at a whim and begging you to imitate those boneless people in sick foreign sex books, he was doing it just to please himself. Oh, if you only knew the selfless sacrifices he makes for you! Better than any Nautilus, a man can exercise every part of you in a whole body workout, low and high impact. He can stretch your thigh muscles, adjust your lower back, improve your jaw muscles, and get that cardio-vascular system pumping. He can help you build up those upper-body muscles with repetitive arm and neck motions. You bitch about him leaving in the middle of the night, but that’s because you don’t know he’s rushing home to write down the number of reps.
He’s really just thinking about you. He’s too embarrassed to tell you, but I will.

Finally, he’s improving your self-esteem.
You don’t really think we lose all higher brain functions just because we’re packing wood, do you? Please. We know from long, painful experience that just telling you how beautiful you are won’t convince you. But if you see us losing all control and acting like a crazed wombat because we caught a glimpse down your blouse, you might believe. Please, on behalf of guys everywhere, can we get past this? Can you accept our sincere compliments so we can stop making fools of ourselves on first dates, at the prom, in front of your parents and roommates, and in bad sitcoms?

Next time, listen to him. He’s looking out for you. Really.