Krysta could tell by both the judgmental glares and the extended leering that some considered a knee-length skirt, flip-flops, and a loose midriff-baring tank top too risqué for the supermarket. She also knew that if she were twelve pounds lighter on her chest, few would give her a second look. Regardless, she intended to fully enjoy what would be one of the last warm stretches of the year without having to deal with patches of underboob sweat. While Krysta held onto her long-ingrained practice of downplaying her assets in public (unless she had good reason not to), she'd also decided that comfortable would always trump sexy. On this particular day, the two just happened to intersect.
Approaching the entryway, Krysta crossed paths with a tall, thin, teenaged boy pushing several shopping carts. This kid—'Aron' by his nametag—was easily in the first half of eighteen, but not much older. Making eye contact with him, she smiled and offered a polite wave before escaping into the cool, air-conditioned refuge of the grocery store.
Aron, meanwhile, had stopped dead in his tracks to savor the enrapturing sight of her body in motion—he had never seen a woman like her in his life. Even among the upperclassmen at his high school, "hot" girls were still growing into both themselves and their bodies. While they could certainly be tantalizing, they never measured up to the fantasies delivered to him by popular culture: leggy, busty knockouts that adorned magazine covers, packed stadiums, and headlined movies. The mind-bogglingly busty Asian beauty who had just crossed his path had outclassed anything he'd ever dreamed of. With little more than a wave and a half-smile, she'd ensnared him, and he had to see her again.
Krysta's first stop was the bakery immediately to the left of the entrance, where she would purchase four loaves of bread: one for herself and Alicia (who was going light on carbs) and three for Whitley, who devoured sandwiches at the rate most people ate potato chips. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the young clerk she'd passed outside walk down a nearby aisle, where he would emerge at the far end of the produce department to her right. He drifted through the produce bins and edged into the bakery, where he would straighten a few items on the shelf before nonchalantly turning in her direction. Krysta made eye contact again, and he gazed down at her, her figure a veritable feast for his eyes.
“Hello again, Aron,” Krysta said, conspicuously reading his nametag.
Her voice, low and rich like melted chocolate, caught him off guard. "Are...are you finding everything okay?"
"I am sorry, Aron. What did you say?" Krysta asked, finding his wild grasps for professionalism adorable. She had already caught him peer into her cleavage three (now four) distinct times in their short conversation, five if she counted his initial assessment in the entryway.
Aron took a quick breath that caught in his throat, nearly choking as he repeated himself. “Can I help you find anything?” (six)
“Well…” Krysta said, sighing deeply as she looked around the store (seven). "This store is laid out differently than the one I am used to, so I am a little turned around. Do you keep lunch meat in the deli by the meat department or in the dairy coolers with the cheese?” (still seven).
Krysta tapped her fingers on her shopping cart and waited as Aron quietly panicked, having not heard a single word she’d said.
“Um…I might need to...uh—”
“I believe I saw pastrami near the meat department.” She popped up on her toes (eight) and pointed to a dairy cooler on the opposite wall of the store. “Over there, yes?”
Aron fought through his hormone-induced brain fog. “It's actually at the other end, near the meat department. Can I show you where that is?“ Aron expected her to decline, but he noticed an oddly thoughtful expression on her face.
“Please do," she said, with an unexpected smile. "I would try to find it myself, but my head is in the clouds today. Next thing I know, I will be asking again.”
“Sure!” He started to walk ahead, stopped, and turned back towards her (nine). “It's this way,” he said, moving next to her. He walked stiffly, making a deliberate effort to focus on his objective at hand. Krysta noticed him deliberately reach down under his apron, cheating slightly away from her as he did so.
“So, Aron. Have you worked here long?”
Surprised by the question, Aron took a quick breath. “A...a few months. (ten) It’s my first job.”
“Good for you!” Krysta said with genuine enthusiasm. “It must be nice to get some money in your pockets over the summer.”
“Y—yeah,” he said, attempting to wet his dry mouth. “It’s good.” Is she walking this slow on purpose?
“Good? Are you kidding? It is a blessing!. My first job was at Baskin Robbins. I hated it, but it was worth the paycheck.” Krysta touched his arm, and he jolted as if he'd been tased before looking back down at her (eleven). “It is a privilege to put your own money in your own pockets.”
“Yup,” Aron replied, struggling again to remember where he was supposed to be leading her (twelve).
"So, Aron with only one 'A.' Hebrew origins, yes?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"Um, yeah. Wow, good call." (thirteen)
"It can be a pain having an alternate spelling. My name is Krysta, but with a 'Y' instead of an 'I.'"
"Sure," Aron said while burning this new information into his memory. Krysta-with-a-Y-Krysta-with-a-Y-Krysta-with-a-Y-Krysta-with-a-Y-Krysta-with-a-Y-Krysta-with-a-Y-Krysta-with-a-Y-Krysta-with-a-
“There!” Krysta exclaimed, reaching across his body and pointing at a cooler display. "There it is." Aron felt a sublime plushness press against his arm, sending a pleasant chill down his spine to the backs of his knees. She did not need to look at his face to read his expression, as his body language said plenty.
"Thank you so much, Aron.”
“You’re welcome!” He said, too loudly. She gave him an amused look that appeared to convey a message he wasn’t picking up on (fourteen). In response, Aron nodded his head with as much professional courtesy as he could muster (fifteen), before walking away and immediately excusing himself for a 10-minute break.
For the remainder of his four-hour shift, the entire walk home, and dinner, Aron had not been able to shake Krysta-with-a-Y from his memory. Now holed up in the dim light of his room, he stared blankly at the glowing computer screen in front of him. He would give nearly anything to see Krysta again, and a crazy idea suddenly struck him. Opening his web browser, he clicked the search bar.
He pressed enter and, to his surprise, the first result read:
He clicked the link and was immediately prompted to indicate he was over eighteen. He eagerly (and honestly) clicked the affirmative and was greeted by a banner image of Krysta-with-a-Y wearing a fitted white blouse with her glasses low on her nose. Rather than her being half-naked and artificially posed as he would have expected (and hoped), with the exception of modest makeup and hair styling, Krysta appeared almost exactly as he remembered her. Her unassuming demeanor almost reminded him of an impossibly stacked clothing catalog model.
He clicked the welcome video, which opened with Krysta reading at her desk. Setting her book down, Krysta looked up at the camera, adjusted her glasses, and cheated outward, highlighting the remarkable discrepancy between her petite frame and voluminous breasts.
"Hello, I am Krysta, or, as many know me, K-Cup Krysta. Thank you for dropping by! Before we go on, do take a second and follow me on Instagram."
Control-click. Click. Done.
"If you like what you see and would like to see more, I invite you to come hang out with me. I have plenty to share and I would love to share with you.
While the implication was clear, her tone made Aron feel as if he'd been invited over to watch movies or study for a history test. He never imagined someone could speak so casually about topless video streaming. He barely even noticed how over the course of the introduction she gradually unbuttoned her blouse, uncovering inch by glorious inch of cleavage.
My subscribers get a weekly live stream, weekly live chats, and access to my huge and ever-expanding photo and video archives.
"For a $14.99 a month?" Aron read aloud, below the video in large, yellow blocky letters.
"...and yes, I will be topless. See you soon!"
By the end of the video, Krysta had fully unbuttoned her blouse displaying the inner curves of her breasts. Just when it seemed she would remove her shirt, she offered a coy grin, before blowing a kiss to the camera and waving as the video faded to black. A series of captions reiterated the monthly subscription details, as well as her social media links and site information. Aron shut his gaping mouth that had been hanging open for the past minute.
Is seeing live videos of K-cup Krysta topless worth one-and-a-half hours of work per month? Aron thought, already reaching for his wallet.
Easily.
In the quiet of her room, Krysta finished her glass of Spanish rosé as she scanned her subscriber database for the most recent addition to her mailing list.
"Really, kid? At least open a dedicated email account for your porn."
Krysta shut her laptop and refilled her wine glass as she shot a text to Whitley and Alicia, letting them know she was going live in two minutes. Standing up, she re-assessed her ensemble in the mirror on the back of the door. She had swapped her knee-length black skirt for a shorter one that stopped mid-thigh and ditched her flip flops for two-inch glossy Maryjane pumps. If he is watching, he will probably recognize the shirt.
Wine in hand, Krysta left her room and headed down the stairs. Reaching the living room, she paused to dial down the lights and start her video stream using her smartphone, before silencing her ringer and quietly setting the device down on the mantle. She took a deep breath and exhaled, before sauntering over to the sofa, where she would sit on the left side and place her wine on the end table. She typically refrained from looking directly at the camera until well into her show, if at all. Today, however, she took a moment to offer a brief, knowing smile to the camera.