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us·er pool [yü-zer pül] 

In the world of technology, a User is someone who uses a computer. More specifically, it's someone who asks stupid questions about the use of that computer.

In the context of this blog, a Pool refers to an available supply, the use of which is shared by a group.

At one of the largest entertainment companies in Los Angeles, my job is to provide technical direction and support to these users, many of whom are female. That's where things get a little messy...

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Entries in tree sex (5)


How to Violate the Office Temp

A woman with big tits is always amazed that I don't look at her tits when I talk to her.

I don't look at her tits when I talk to her because she expects me to look at her tits when I talk to her. She expects this because everyone always looks at her tits when they talk to her because her tits are so fucking big.

A woman with big tits loves when you look at her tits when you talk to her because it makes her feel both attractive and violated. Feeling attractive feeds self-esteem; feeling violated feeds outrage. She wants both so that she can love herself but hate you. 

The more I don't look at her big tits, the less violated she feels. And the less violated she feels, the less she hates me and the more she hates herself. The more she hates herself, the more she wants me to violate her.

I met Aimee the Temp on Thursday nights for drinks. And I did not look at her tits.

When I meet a woman for drinks, we don't start out with beer or a cocktail. We start with tequila shots. Not one each, but two or three. That way, within 20 minutes we're already fondling each other.

And instead of talking about where we're from and what music we like, we're talking about sex.

"Where's the craziest place you've had sex?" she asked me.

When women ask me that question, they have no idea what they're getting into. Because I can name 101 places I've had sex that they've never even considered. It's a miracle I haven't been either fired from my job or arrested.

But I only name one because it seems to get the most attention.

"Tree sex," I said.

You could tell by her eyes that she didn't understand how that would work, but was now dying to try it. 

More shots. 

Out in the parking lot we started making out and groping each other. And although I hadn't looked at her tits in the bar, I was openly violating them now. 

The parking lot was dimly lit, so she started to go down on me. I had another idea. 

Since Jason Y and I had to share my office, they dragged another desk in and shoved it against the opposite wall. 

Both Aimee the Temp and Jason Y's desk got violated together that night.

Aimee the Temp is a screamer. Not just a woman who makes noise when she climaxes; this was a blood-curdling scream as if she were being murdered. 

I would have covered her mouth but I was in awe. In awe of both her huge natural tits and her ear-piercing, screaming orgasm. 

After that we had to wrap things up quickly because no doubt Security was on its way, possibly the police. Drunk as she was, I made sure she skipped her panties. I snagged them and dropped them into Jason Y's top drawer. 

We got coffee, sobered up and parted ways. An early night. But mission accomplished.

Friday morning, Jason Y came in and looked at his desk which was in total disarray. I ignored his repeated gasping. He asked me what happened and I shrugged. 

Sitting at his desk, he opened the top draw to get something and found Aimee the Temp's panties. 

I looked over and said, "You dog..."

He shook his head but didn't know what to say.

"Hey, aren't you going out with Aimee the Temp tonight?" 

He nodded.

"Good luck with that."


Good Jason, Evil Jason

Apparently Jason Y has already asked Aimee the Temp out for dinner.

He is evil Jason.

That's okay, because he's the kind of guy that wines and dines a girl for several dates before he gets her in the sack. I'm the kind of guy who takes a girl out for drinks, gets her drunk and horny and then she says Oops, I fucked up in the morning. Then she fucks me again. Once the seal has been broken, what the hell, right? Then it's only about sex and more sex.  

I am good Jason.

Once Jason Y gets a girl in the sack he wonders why he's suddenly in a relationship when all he really wanted was a little sex. Then he's got to keep up the wining and dining to get more sex. His actions have stated that he respects her as a woman and views her as someone he could have a long term relationship with.

He is evil Jason.

I make sure a woman knows that she can fuck me in a tree during lunch and there's no judgement; she is not a slut. My actions state that I respect her as a sexual woman and I view her as someone I could have a long term sexual relationship with. Anyone who will fuck me in a tree during lunch, I must see again. And again and again. Trust me, I value that woman and she knows it. See me a couple of times and your sexual inhibitions go out the window. 

I am good Jason.

Jason Y is having dinner with Aimee the Temp on Friday night. Which means I have to have drinks with Aimee the Temp on Thursday night. I want her defiled before he pays his first dime for what he hopes to be sex. But the more I defile her, the less she'll allow herself to be defiled by him. The more I touch, grope and gag, the less he'll get and the more he'll pay. More food, less sex. More cost, less value. More respect, more clean, less bases and then home plate just gets further and further from sight. 

He is evil Jason. 

As Aimee the Temp bounced her way down the hallway today, I intercepted. 

"Patron or Don Julio?" I asked out of the blue.

"Uhhhh," she sort of said. "I drink Jose Cuervo. Is Don Julio tequila?"

"You've never had Don Julio?"

She shook her head.

"You need to brand up," I said. "A couple of people are getting together for drinks tomorrow night. You in?"

She nodded enthusiastically with both head and tits. 

Oddly, she will be the only person besides me who shows up tomorrow. The rest are a bunch of flakes. 

I am good Jason. 


Tree Sex in Miami

While Blair is keeping Smithee at bay until Gladstone's return from his boondoggle in New Orleans, I'll tell you a quick story about my trip to Miami.

First day, I fell out of a tree trying to fuck a local Cuban girl I met at a bar.

Her name was Dominga. After a couple of tequila shots at the bar, we started talking about the differences between Miami and LA.

I brought up the fact that people in Miami for some reason don't indulge in the popular LA practice of tree sex. This immediately caught her attention and she actually believed this was a common activity among Angelenos.

"Why?" she asked. "Why would you have sex in a tree?"

"Have you ever done it?" I asked.

She had to think about it for a minute. "No."

I told her there was almost nothing better than fucking in a tree. And of course, it's not something that can be explained; it's something that must be experienced.

I told her:

  • It was one of the Kama Sutra positions.
  • It's what started the sexual revolution in the 60's.
  • It's how Demi snagged Ashton.

A couple more shots, some fondling at the bar, and Dominga was ready to climb a tree.

We found a tree on the other side of the parking lot, which was not very well lit. It was a good tree for climbing; a good tree for sex.

While Dominga seemed good at climbing trees, she was not very good at staying in a tree.

Maybe it was the tequila.

We started making out on a nice sturdy limb, then I snaked my hand up her skirt and just when the real wood was about to come out, she decided to steady herself on a limb that wasn't there.

She fell forward, I tried to catch her, but she swung to my back and I slid down the side of the trunk of the tree scraping my side to shreds; then I fell to the ground with Dominga on top.

Luckily, it was my ass that broke the fall, not my wood. Dominga jumped clear before I hit, otherwise she would have broken my fall.

Dominga laughed at first, then she got up and steadied herself. She looked relatively unscathed, though shaken up. Definitely, shaken up.

Which is probably why Dominga then puked on the tree.

I looked up at her and smiled.

"Well," I said. "I guess this is why people in Miami do not have sex in trees."


Smithee in the Sky with Diamonds


After my imaginary boss sent me that kind email threatening to remove my left testicle if I didn't pay his ho, I decided a little tree therapy was in order. I tried to explain to Fred the Therapist:

"My imaginary boss sent me an email," I said.

"The imaginary boss you made up that everyone else believes is real?"

"That's the one."

"Was it an imaginary email or a real one?"


"Did you send it to yourself?"

"Not that I recall."

"Then I see your dilemma. I don't think the tree is going to help."

At that moment, I saw Una in her office on the second floor. She still had that sweet, sexy, insane look in her eye as she watched me standing in the tree. Since Fred the Therapist couldn't help me with my dilemma, I decided to go see what Una could do.

A blowjob and sex on her desk.

Well, Una didn't solve my dilemma, but visiting her was a good diversion.


I decided I wasn't insane. So if not insane, who could have sent me the email? Only someone who had access to the mailbox. There are only three:

I interrogated each, including Nick via phone who was on location in Brazil. They all swore it wasn't them and that they hadn't given out the email password. I interrogated Gladstone a little more closely.

"You sure you didn't say anything to Fiona?" I asked.

"Of course not," he said.

"What do you mean, 'Of course not'? You fuckin' told her all my shit, why wouldn't you tell her this?"

"I said nothing about Smithee. I swear."

I didn't know what to do. So I fucked Lucia in the Comm Closet.


I confronted Tawny the Temp in the kitchen.

"Who the fuck do you work for?" I blurted out once I had her pinned up against the counter and microwave.

"You know who I work for."


"That's right."

"Have you ever seen him?"

"No," she said. "I got a request through my agency for a temp job. It's a great gig. Everyone around here is so fucking sexually pent-up. The money is great--when people pay... 30% goes to Smithee." 

I immediately thought: How come I only get 20% from Chelsea

Then I got suspicious. Is Tawny the Temp just playing dumb? Or...

"Are you Smithee?"


"Do you have a pimp that doesn't really exist?"

"Make up my own boss? That would be insane," she said. "Smithee is real. You should know, he's your boss."

I was beginning to think insanity was again the answer.

I went and found Chelsea. I complained about the 20%, so she fucked me in my office and reminded me that I get that shit as a bonus. 


I had lunch with Blair. I asked her if she had seen Smithee lately. She said yes, just this morning. I knew immediately Blair was as insane as ever and that she had nothing to do with this.

I had sex with Blair that night on a swing set in the park. 


I got another email from Smithee, but this time from a private gmail account ( It said:

Pay Monday or lose your nut.

I should probably just pay. I don't like my testicles being threatened. This whole thing is really stressing me out. So I let Maricruz sooth my nuts last night in the bleachers at the high school. 

But the question remains: Who is Smithee?


Cleaning the Pipes

I've been cleaning the pipes today in preparation for Friday's out-patient surgery

That means, lunch with Lucia at the park and tree sex. That was interesting right in the middle of the day. She was wearing a skirt and the bark scratched up her ass. Good luck explaining to Alan, the love of her life.

Blendi the Unvirgin had to give my balls a good-bye kiss in the car in the garage this morning. Even though she's not a virgin anymore, she's still sweet and gives the best blow jobs ever.

Zenda the Persian, a.k.a. the Office Slut, actually had sex with me on my desk this afternoon. That's what Office Sluts do; they have sex with multiple people in the office and in multiple offices. Hmmm. That sounds familiar. Oh, wait. I'm a guy. Never mind...

Tonight I have Athena the Lesbian. She wants to give my balls a going away party. I assured her that they weren't going anywhere. She said, sure they're not and gave me that you poor man in denial look. This is not castration. It's a simple out-patient procedure. Everything remains intact.


Well, in case it doesn't, I'm sure getting in as much as I can while I can. I hope I have enough "stamina" for Athena the Lesbian after a full day of exertion.

Blair is set for tomorrow night. She thinks I'm doing this for her--so that she doesn't have to worry about these false alarms. But I'm actually doing it for myself so I don't have to worry about her making shit up just to freak me out. She knows she's not pregnant when she announces the possibility, that little fucking bitch.

We'll have a beautiful night together.

Since she believes I'm cutting into my balls for her, she'll act like I'm all sweet and shit--and fuck me like a banshee.

So overall, I'd have to say this is better than sympathy sex. Or is it sympathy sex?

Since I lost the sling, sympathy has dwindled. Sex hasn't, but the sympathy has.

Well, I guess it's about time for Athena the Lesbian.

Here's to you, balls.