#4: Breaking the Ice

Whitley exhaled a massive puff of smoke that billowed upwards, joining the mist hanging heavy above the living room. She'd passed the sweet spot in her high where her cheeks tingled, and now reached the point where her upper lip twitched intermittently. She hadn't gotten this high in a while, but knowing Krysta was lightweight, she evened the playing field by allowing herself more and bigger hits than usual. Despite her high tolerance from smoking regularly over the last seven years, these same predictable quirks hit her like clockwork.

Migrating to the couch, Whitley sprawled out, her long arms draping across the back of the three-seat sofa. Alicia laid on the floor with her cat-ear headphones on and the bottom half of her body underneath the table as she watched anime on her laptop. On the screen, some kind of energy phantom exited the body of a purple-haired schoolgirl, who fainted onto her back, exposing her panties. Krysta had all but melted into the chair in the corner. Her fingers idly stroked the bare skin of one of her breasts, which was well on the verge of escaping the loose confines of her bathrobe.

"You want any more?" Whitley asked, holding the bong up to Krysta.

"No, thank you. I have not smoked pot since, God, was it college?" She reached over and grabbed another wonton from the platter Alicia had brought out and was surprised to find the dish more than half empty. She looked over to Whitley, who held a dozen of them in one hand. Tilting her head back, she dumped a third of them into her mouth.

"You have quite the appetite," Krysta said, impressed.

"Comes with the territory. I'm also high as balls."

Krysta chuckled. "If my mom knew I was smoking pot, she would have an aneurysm."

"You pose topless on the internet! Wouldn't your mom be more concerned about that?"

"Oh, she knows. Both mom and dad know. They also know it brings in money. Not as much as most would think, but it brings in money."

"So, your parents would more be okay with you selling weed than smoking it?" Whitley wanted to tell Krysta one of her breasts had fallen out of her robe but was too fascinated by its magnificence to say anything.

"Probably, but fortunately, between toplessness and math tutoring, I get by okay."

"You're a math tutor?"

"Surprised? I mean, yes, I am a topless model, but I am also the only child of Vietnamese immigrants. Underachieving was not an option." Krysta smiled and hoisted her liberated breast back into her robe, tugging the collar shut. Alicia suddenly erupted in a loud, hooting laughter, startling Whitley. Krysta frowned in annoyance.

"She is going to keep doing that. Care to join me on the front porch?"

"Sure," Whitley said, standing up and taking her bong in one hand and the wontons in the other.

The two headed out onto the porch, where they sat on the iron bench, looking out towards the street. Whitley took another big hit of the bong before offering it to Krysta, who politely declined, but took a few of the remaining wontons. Whitley scooped up the rest and laid back, setting her feet onto the porch railing several feet away, just to see if she could. The maneuver fascinated Krysta, who quietly wondered how she would get used to living with someone so large.

"You'll get used to it," Whitley said. Krysta, concerned the marijuana had impaired her inner-monologue, looked horrified, but Whitley gave her a reassuring smile. "No, you didn't say anything, but I've seen that look before."

"I should know better."

"Then you should know I've barely been able to look away from your big-ass titties since I got here. And that's saying something, particularly with the little hulk you got in there. You said she's a costumer?"

"Not costumer, cosplayer. Do not mess that up. She will throw a fit."

Whitley logged that away, along with the image of a cutesy-pie blonde bodybuilder throwing a hissy-fit. "Sure. Don't want to piss off the cook." She dropped the last two wontons into her mouth. "These are amazing."

"If you want to judge Alicia or particularly me for what we do, you are free to do so."

Whitley's first impressions were plenty, but her second impressions had addressed them nearly as quickly. If anything, she wondered if Krysta ever used contractions.

"No judgment, but I'm curious, how long you been doing this?"

"Modeling? About five years. My college roommate did webcam shows and was one of the first to hop on the Instagram model trend. She was a dancer and liked to dance for the camera, which was not and will never be my thing. A selfie she took with me at a club was an instant hit with her followers, and they started asking about me. It started with me showing up for one of her more informal chats. She eventually convinced me to start my own Instagram, and a bunch of her fans hopped over and followed me. My early social media posts were tame, with a little teasing. Towards the end of college I did my first topless cam show and the rest is history."

"What do you do on camera?"

"Honestly, not much. Mostly just wear a lot of makeup, play with my breasts, and do my best impression of flirting." Krysta chuckled. "It is strange. Growing up, I had always known that side of the internet was there. Now I'm a part of it."

Whitley had already seen it. She remembered the comments on a spotlight video the college athletic department had put on YouTube. It showed her on the court with her volleyball teammates, all of them riding under chest level to her. It was a casual moment, and she had thought nothing of it until comments about "climbing up that black goddess" and "making love to her sexy feet" started trickling in. Not long after, they disabled comments.

She wasn't quite ready to talk about that.

Alicia squeed gleefully from the living room, drumming her hands on the table.

"She's something else," Whitley said.

"Tell me about it," Krysta said, looking through the window. "She lives and breathes anime and manga. During con season she will stay in the basement doing live video chats of herself making costumes for hours and until all hours. Her work is amazing, though. It's incredible what she can do."

Whitley picked up on an air of sadness with Krysta's last remark. "Do you envy her?"

"I do. I mean, I tutor for extra cash and drink a lot of wine, but I am not truly passionate about anything. Playing into people's obsession with my body is my hobby and my job. It is fun, and I do not see myself getting sick of it anytime soon, but I have little to show for it. Making a living off my tits. Wow, big accomplishment."

Krysta's utterance of 'tits' caught Whitley off guard, and she snickered before she could catch herself. "You're not a porn star...not that there'd be anything wrong with that."

"Are you saying that because you believe it, or because you think that's what I want to hear?"

Whitley was not going to lie, but she did not know the answer herself. "I guess a little of both. I dunno, you've found a balance, and you aren't ashamed of what you're doing."

"Yeah."

"You're making decent enough money to buy a house and pay a mortgage. That's got to feel good."

"Yeah."

"So, good on you. I'm sure as heck not there yet."

Both Krysta and Whitley paused for a moment to watch a drunk bar-goer stumble past. He was nearly out of sight when Krysta broke the silence. "Would you ever try it?"

"Buying a house?"

"No..."

Whitley thought for a moment, opened her mouth to reply, but said nothing. Before she could ponder it any further, Alicia howled again, disrupting her train of thought. Seconds later, Whitley had forgotten what Krysta had even asked her. It was late, and she was seriously baked.

"Sorry, what did you—"

"Never mind. You want more wine?"