Prologue

-- SEPTEMBER --

“Bro, are you fucking ALL of them?”

The ruggedly handsome Cal Berkeley senior with soap-opera-star hair and a perfectly manicured five o’clock shadow folded his arms across his chest, giving me an expectant look. Arching an eyebrow, he regarded me with an icy coolness in his brilliant blue eyes and didn’t say anything further, seemingly content to wait me out and see what additional information I’d spill beneath the pressure of his baleful gaze.

But I shrugged noncommittally, feeling no particular obligation to continue the discussion any further beyond that initial response, and took a healthy swig of the beer in my red Solo cup. Dozens of hot coeds and college guys on the prowl swirled around us, meandering about the room forming pockets of conversation that lasted anywhere from a few seconds to several minutes before dissipating and then reforming elsewhere with new and fresh compositions of young adults.

Case in point: the gaggle of girls around me had meandered off in search of fresh beverages while I intended to go relieve myself. But in the corner of my eye I’d noticed Mr. Handsome College Alpha Male and the admiring way he stared after the shapely figures of the girls, and I subconsciously prepared myself to intervene if he followed after them. So it was much to my surprise when I found him approaching me instead to ask his rather uncouth question, only to be met with my noncommittal shrug.

He still stared at me expectantly, and to break the stalemate I ultimately rolled my eyes and gave him a dismissive shake of my head. “Gotta pee, man.” Beer in hand, I headed off towards the bathroom, but he followed after.

“Is one of them your girlfriend? Are the rest of them available? If you’re not gonna answer me, I’m gonna go up and ask them myself.”

It was only after this final statement that I stopped and shot a glance down the hallway back towards the kitchen in the direction of the departing ladies. I knew they could take care of themselves, but if I had the opportunity to deflect some unwanted attention away from them, I knew that I should.

“My girlfriends are among them, yes,” I confirmed.

“‘Girlfriends’ as in ... plural?”

I shrugged like it was no big deal.

“But are you fucking ALL of them?”

“I fail to see how that’s any of your business.”

“This is my house, man. Everything under this roof is my business, including this bathroom.” The guy stepped in between me and the open doorway.

I leaned back and raised both hands. “So you’re Lincoln, right? Thanks for letting us be guests in your house. But if there’s a problem, I can collect the girls and we can go.”

“Nah, man. We’re cool,” our host replied with a friendly smile. “It’s just that there are a finite number of Perfect Tens in this world and you’ve had FIVE of them hanging onto your arms from the moment you walked in. The rest of us guys can’t help but notice, you feel me? Now I’m not into poaching another man’s girl; that shit’s just wrong. But in order to make sure nobody crosses that line, a guy’s gotta know who’s taken and who’s not, you feel me? And after spending the last hour in discreet... observation ... it’s hard to tell when--”

“-- when all five of them have stuck their tongues down my throat at one point or another,” I finished for him, chuckling as I gave Lincoln a lopsided grin.

“You feel my dilemma.”

I pursed my lips and sighed, glancing down the hallway again before conceding, “I feel your dilemma.”

“So I’ll ask again: Are you fucking ALL of them?”

I sighed again and shook my head. “It’s not like that.”

“Why not? Are you gay or something?”

“Why do people always ask me that? You just said you saw me kiss five of them in the past hour!”

Lincoln shrugged like the answer would be obvious.

I sighed - again - and stated flatly. “I’m not gay.”

“And what’s this about a ‘Big Tits Club’? I overheard the girls say that name.”

I groaned and momentarily rubbed my forehead. “I’ve never really liked that name and wish it had gotten left behind in high school. It’s immature. It’s objectifying. It’s--”

“Accurate?” Lincoln finished, flashing his pearly white teeth.

I sighed. “Well ... I can’t deny that.”

Lincoln grinned. “Crazy name for a group of girls to name themselves.”

“They didn’t name themselves that,” I replied defensively. “High school football team started calling them that and the name just kinda stuck.”

“With good reason. Good lord: amazing racks on each and every one of them. So is there like a cup-size requirement for a girl to be admitted into the club?”

“No, no, nothing like that. The girls were all best friends before the name fit. Things just ... kinda worked out that way.”

“Kinda worked out that every girl in their group had big tits?”

I flipped both hands palms-up helplessly.

“Lucky you,” Lincoln laughed. “And now you’re fucking all of them?”

“I’m not fucking ALL of them.”

“A-HA!” He clapped his hands and pointed. “Finally got you to answer the fuckin’ question. So seriously: just tell me which ones are your girlfriends and me and the boys will play nice and leave ‘em alone, alright? Let’s start with the little one.”

My eyes flared, my spine straightened, and I couldn’t help but take a half-step forward as I growled venomously, “You stay the fuck away from ‘the little one’.”