I wake up in the middle of my California king bed with a splitting headache and an aching groin. There are two women lying next to me, both dead asleep. They don’t look as gorgeous as they did last night at the club, but I’m used to women’s trickery and mystique when it comes to makeup. All those contouring tutorials on Youtube may confuse most men, but I’ve got three sisters. I know when a nose is made to look a little smaller, lips fuller, eyes larger. And that’s okay. Why not look more beautiful if you can? It’s pleasing to the eyes, even if it’s a little deceitful. But women aren’t the only liars. We all are. Men constantly lie about how much is really in their bank accounts by leasing cars that they have no business driving based on their paychecks. And why? To impress women, of course.

I’m lucky this way. I recently sold a small start-up that I founded after college to Google, and the sale officially made me a billionaire. The app allows people to make personal loans to their friends, family, and strangers just like banks and credit cards do and charge interest. It’s called BankMe, and whenever I mention the name people generally pretend to have heard of it, even though most of them haven’t. I don’t mind. It doesn’t really matter.

Threesomes are fun. I try to have a couple once or twice a month at least, because they keep me on my toes. Most men want to have two women at once, but I don’t want to be just a user. I want the women to have a good time and to enjoy themselves. So, it’s important for me to make sure that they do. Last night, however, I made a mistake. I make it a point to always fall asleep on one of the sides of the bed so that I can sneak out without waking anyone up. But last night, for some reason, I fell asleep in the middle. Now, I have to carefully climb out from beneath the blankets without waking either of them up.

I decide to go left, toward the ocean. The girl on the left is turned away from me. I carefully lift the sheet and slide out. Then I climb over her, making sure that I don’t pull the sheet too tight so I don’t risk waking her up. Just when I’m almost scot-free, she snores and turns around. I hold my breath and freeze. I’m draped over her on all fours, holding myself up by fingertips and tiptoes. Luckily, she doesn’t wake up. A moment later, I throw my legs over her and land silently on the floor.

All of this maneuvering is an absolute requirement. I hate morning conversations and make it a point to never talk to the women who sleep over. I’m not so rude as to make them leave in the middle of the night, but I also don’t hang around to make them breakfast. Instead, I go outside, grab my board and surf until Marilyn comes by at 8 a.m. to clean, make me breakfast and kick the girls out.

Marilyn is the longest relationship I’ve ever had with a woman who isn’t related to me. Marilyn is from El Salvador, and she has been with me since I lived in a one-bedroom apartment in West Hollywood. Even back then, when I made only $2000 a month and paid about $1300 in rent, I wasn’t much of a housekeeper and chose to spend $50 a week on her rather than getting out the vacuum cleaner and doing it myself. My oldest sister likes to say that even back then I was thinking rich. Maybe she’s right.

I stumble a little down the stairs on the side of my porch. I live in a 5,000 square foot, four-bedroom house on the beach in Malibu. After the deal with Google, I can afford to upgrade, of course, but this place is enough for me right now. I love it here. The beach is only a few steps away, and it’s in the quieter part of Malibu, away from the tourists and the paparazzi. The paparazzi usually don’t bother me (who cares about rich techies, right?), but I have been out with more than a few models and celebs and now they’re starting to get a little nosy.

I grab the pair of swimming trunks that I keep under my porch along with my board and change into them right there. This has become somewhat of a habit of mine – there’s no one out here this early, and I don’t think anyone can see me under my porch. Mainly, I change out here because I don’t really give a shit. I doubt that anyone will really complain about seeing my 6’1’’ tan body, my six-pack, which looks like it has been chiseled out of stone, or my large dick.

I grab my board and head toward the water. My head still feels like someone’s hitting it with an ax. I definitely had a little bit too much to drink last night. I think it was all because of Allison. Allison was the one sleeping on my right. The thing about threesomes is that usually one of the girls just isn’t as hot as the other one, and a part of you has to settle because two are frankly better than one. So that’s pretty much what I was expecting when Allison asked if I was interested in partying with her and her friend Samantha last night. But then I saw Samantha. Both of them are equally stunningly beautiful with light green eyes and full, soft lips. They both have infectious laughs, bubbly personalities without being bimbos, and high sex drives. The only thing that’s different about them is their hair color – one is light blonde and the other is a dark brunette. As soon as I saw them, I was in heaven, and that was even before they came over and did all those ungodly things to me and each other.

Still, no matter how hot the girls, I have rules for myself for a reason. I follow them religiously for a reason. Let them sleep over, but go surfing before they wake up. Let Marilyn wake them up and put them out. Marilyn is great at delivering early morning excuses and explanations about why I’m not there. He’s surfing now, and then he has an early meeting with clients, is her usual one. Today, she’ll have to be more creative. Allison knows that I’ve sold my company and don’t officially have a job or any clients to meet with anymore. I’m sure she’ll think of something.

I enter the freezing water. There are a few surfers out, and they’re wearing wetsuits, but I like the feel of the cold water on my bare skin. It’s refreshing and exhilarating. Mornings in Malibu tend to be overcast and a little dark, and the water is colder here than in the rest of Southern California. But I’ve been living here for close to two years now, and I’m pretty used to it.

When I dip my long yellow board into the first wave, my headache vanishes immediately. I ride the first wave all the way to the edge of the sand and then paddle back out into the blue. I ride another one and another one and another one, and each one makes me feel more alive than the one before.

I stay in the water for close to an hour. Then I shake my hair out before grabbing the board and walking back upstairs. This is one of the perks of having a house on the beach. Back when I lived in West Hollywood, I used to get up at the crack of dawn to beat the traffic, drive forty minutes, park and surf for forty-five minutes before heading back into the traffic and the grind of my life. The irony is that back then I had a job that I needed to get to and had to squeeze my surfing in before it. Now that I don’t have a job and actually have time to waste my life in LA traffic, I live right on the beach and don’t have to.