X-Ray Vision Ch. 02: Revealed

Inside it was pretty busy this time of night. Brisk traffic of folks getting takeout, plenty of tables free. We ordered at the counter - chicken for Khang, smoked brisket for me, they sold it by the half-pound! Slaw and pickles to share.

I paid with new bills, fresh from the bank bundle. Nicer than the usual nasty crumpled stuff. Khang noticed, but said nothing. I guess she'd seen a lot of Greg's trash-find money over the years.

Sauce on the table, Khang slathered her chicken liberally, picked it up with her hands, took a big sloppy bite. Eyes closed, made yummy sounds.

I used a plastic fork to spear chunks of brisket from the tub they served in. Squirted some sauce on, popped it in.

My god! Khang was right, their barbeque is to die for. Sweet and savory, chewy but not dry or rubbery. Juicy, had to be careful not to dribble.

Then the pickles! I quickly figured out, alternate pickle and brisket, each one was a fresh burst of flavor again, never got old.

I noticed some sauce on Khang's cheek, backsplash from the chicken. Held out my napkin for her, but she just smiled, turned her face so I could do it.

Dabbing delicately, her eyes fastened on mine, I felt my face flush. This was fun! She was so sexy and soft, so hot and willing. Really starting to see the attraction.

She then took her napkin, reached to dab my chin. Again, her eyes locked on mine, dabbing primly, promising more fun later. It was getting hot in here!

Time to make conversation. "I checked out that musical you mentioned. Got two tickets, front right! Could be good, local musical theatre group, mostly college women..."

I trailed off, suddenly flashing on why she'd suggested it. All those college girls, in tight costumes, on stage, singing. This had to be a lesbian fantasy! Interesting.

Khang smiled her gratitude. "I've never seen Music Man. I know! Everybody says they did it in High School. I went to a Vietnamese High School. We did traditional music, folk tales.

Fun, but I feel left out whenever somebody mentions Alice in Wonderland or Willy Wonka."

"Well, I'd be happy to be your cultural interpreter!"

Khang stuck out her tongue at that. Jesus, she could even do that sexy.

Checked the time; we had plenty to finish and get there but no dithering.

Mopping up the last of the dripping from the tub, we dumped out disposables in the recycle bins, washed in the ladies room, and hit the street.

The venue was on the strip, not far. Arriving, the crowd was largely women, largely couples. We wouldn't be out of place!

The poster noted it was an all-girl cast. From the stills it seemed, all nubile college girls, lots of cute teens. Khang was in her element, greeting other couples she knew, introducing me, admiring the posters.

The lights dimmed then brightened, and Khang took my hand, led me to our seats. Some heads turned, admiring us as a couple. It felt exciting, made me feel special! This crowd was full of energy, and I was here with the prettiest girl of all.

The play opened, went through all the obligatory scenes, just links between musical numbers really. The lead character was a woman with no boobs, or maybe wearing a compression band. She wore a suit and a very fake mustache but was otherwise quite believable as a con man.

The Marion character was beautiful. Supposed to be a High School girl but very developed, round in all the right places.

And her voice! Well above the standard for college productions. Add to that her amazing grace, even when playing awkward-high-schooler she did it in a studied, graceful way. The auditorium was pretty rowdy, lots of hushed comments passing between couples but when Marion came on stage all was dead silent.

Looking around, having gotten pretty much my fill of nubile college girl, other couples were still entranced, bent over to be close to their partners but not talking.

Ah! They had their hands in one another's laps, doing something. Not sharing jujubees, that was for sure. Lots of sexing-up was going on, everywhere.

This was faintly scandalous, but also hot. I mean, it was sex, right? I can be forgiven for being affected by adults getting off on a beautiful person with a gorgeous voice.

I got into it, finally working up the nerve to put a sweaty hand on Khang's thigh. Am I doing it right? Will she be repulsed?

She leaned into me, still focused on the stage, put her hand over mine, squeezed gently, pulled our joined hands further up, toward the edge of her skirt.

The heat from under her skirt was startling. I decided stroking her thigh would be a good next move, made small circles on her skin with my fingertips. She followed along with her hand, then inched me further toward her crotch, grunching up her tiny skirt.

I expected to encounter her panties, but it was fur I felt first. Either her panties were tiny, or she wasn't wearing any.

Damp fur! The further I inched, suddenly anxious to get to it, the wetter she was. I cut to the chase; lifting my hand, I moved gently to where I figured her clitoris must be.

I missed, but not by much, touching the soft fur just above her slit. Pretending that was what I was aiming for I massaged gently, my fingertips moving the flesh above her clit in tiny firm circles, likely causing her clit some stimulation.

She gasped, let go of my hand. All on my own now!

What to do? Well, I'm an expert at sexing myself, so just do what I usually did but over there! Seems simple.

It was. Moving down I finally found those panties, a tiny scrap of fabric, not a thong but a silken flicker of fabric barely covering her cunt. I dived right in, figuring she was ready for the final number.

Her clit was tiny but hard, a little nub of flesh, like a hazelnut. Rubbing around it, I got Khang to squirm in her seat. I felt like squirming too; this was hot.

Not the only ones! There was squirming going on all over, the lead singer belting out her big chorus, her charms heaving and swelling in her satin costume. The singer's face was flushed, likely aware of the sexual release she was provoking throughout the audience.

I slipped my middle finger down, down, over her slit, to where I figured her vulva to be. Splip! it inside her cunt lips, wet and ready, I easily entered her.

She bent over, her head on her chest, her hands gripping the arms of her seat, no longer attending the singer on stage, tense as a stretched bowstring. My cue to bring her over the edge.

Thumb on her clit-nub, finger sliding in and out, silk stretched to the breaking point, thumb slipping this way and that, I felt her vagina clench, get suddenly wetter.

People gasping, crying all over the theatre. Not because of the pathos in the plot, I'm pretty certain. Khang joined them, her little kitten-cry of release audible only to me.

It was delicious, adorable, tender. I wanted it to last forever, Khang cumming, my hand slipping and sliding over her sex, her body convulsing. Maybe I am a lesbian? It was so, so sweet.

But the song ended. Khang put one hand over mine, stilled it, raised it off her sex, pulling out of her panties, relaxing in her seat. I withdrew, she tugged her brief skirt back over her cunt, and that was it. My first lesbian encounter!

Leaning hard over on me, her arm twined with mine on my lap, we listened to the quiet end of the play. They skipped ahead quite a bit, probably aware the show was really over at this point, the audience's attention having peaked.

When the curtain fell the audience erupted, folks climbing unsteadily to their feet, demanding a curtain call. For a local musical theatre!

The curtain rose on the cast, lined up, arms linked, bowing as one. A good number of actress' faces flushed. What had they been up to offstage? Not hard to guess.

Lights up, we got to our feet, waited our turn to file out. Looking back at the now-vacated row of seats I saw that many of them were slick, wet. Spilled soda pop? Not likely.

Ushers stood ready with spray bottles, mopping-up cloths. As rows were vacated they got to it, sanitizing and wiping down seats with practiced precision. One girl had a mop, for the hard cases I guess.

Outside it was cooler. Khang pulled a scrap of silk from a handbag far too small to contain it, wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Lets walk down to the pier. I'm not ready for this evening to be over."

Khang agreed. Others had the same idea, we were part of a straggling line of pier-walkers, couples.

As we progressed out over the water, I chattered aimlessly. What do lesbians talk about, post-public-frigging? I didn't know.

"Greg says dolphins play out there, past where the surf starts rolling. Chasing stuff around, mating.

Under the sand, near his condo, there's an old buoy buried deep. Blown ashore in some long-ago storm, buried until the next storm takes the beach away I guess.

There are millions of shells in the sand, all through it, all colors. He says it's an amazing display, so much color, dazzling."

Khang smiled, her eyes liquid in the dusk, just letting me talk. When we got as far as we were going to go, where we could still see the sea, before the fishing shacks and moored boats, she tugged on my hand.

Turning, I saw she was shivering. I enfolded her in my arms, spread my jacket around both of us, holding her, warming her. She was so small!

We both looked at the water, wondered about the dolphins.

She quit shivering, moved, struggling in my jacket. I loosened my grip. Turning to face me, Khang put her arms around me, under my jacket, intimate and warm. I enfolded her again, snug.

"Grampa knows about Greg. So do I."

I smiled, gave her a little squeeze, accepting that. "He's pretty talented. What do you think about it?"

"Phuong says he is a Spirit Medium, able to talk to the unsettled dead, find out about things hidden."

I nodded. That made as much sense as anything. "What do you think?"

"I'm a modern girl; I don't believe in that old spirit stuff. But if I did, I'd think it more likely a Hungry Ghost inhabited him."

"What is that? A hungry ghost."

"It's a spirit not properly settled in it's home village, the ghost of someone buried in the wrong place. Not appeased by a family altar, always wanting something, never satisfied. Like Greg."

I nodded again. "And if it isn't spirits? As a modern American girl?"

She shivered, but not from the cold this time.

"Probably not those things. But Something. He is a good guy, that's what matters. He can be anybody he wants, it's none of my business. I like him. Phuong likes him too."

"Are you interested in him? As a husband?"

Khang smiled. "No I'm not interested in Greg. I don't need a husband, I only need me. And I like girls; I like you, Jillian."

She tilted her head up, looked at me with those liquid eyes, closed them. My cue! Time to kiss the girl.

I did my best, touching her face, pressing my lips to hers, tender and considerate. Accepting her tongue in my mouth, enjoying her taste.

It was good. I like kissing! Kissing a girl was good, different but good.

When she pulled away, she looked sad.

"What's wrong?" I was touched, wanted her to be happy.

"You're not đồng tính nữ, a girly girl, a girl that likes other girls."

I didn't want to disappoint her, but I had to be truthful, I wouldn't lie to Khang.

I shook my head. "How can you tell?"

"I can tell. The way you kiss; the way you hold me. Even the way you... stroked me. It was nice!" She was alarmed that I looked distressed.

"It was more than nice; it was very good. But for me; not for you. Because I am excited by you, but you are not excited by a girl. Not in the same way."

I hugged her, held her for a time, not saying anything.

"I really like you, Khang. I want you in my life. More than you can know! I've never had a sister. If I had one, I'd want her to be like you."

"We all have to live with the family we are born into." Khang was pragmatic at her core.

I sighed. "I wish I could. I have nobody."

Her eyes snapped wide, and she looked alarmed. "Where did they go? Were they lost? In some war?"

I shook my head. "Nothing so exciting. My mother was in prison when she had me. I was put in foster care. When I was six they told me mother was killed in prison, in a fight. I never even met her."

Shocked to her core, Khang loosened her grip, looked closely at me, not sure I could possibly be telling the truth.

"Who raised you? Your father? You have a father!"

Again I shook my head. "I never knew; my mother never told. I was raised by different people, people paid to raise children. People who didn't care, they just wanted money."

Khang was crying. She held me tight, so tight! Buried her head in my chest, held me like she didn't want me to leave.

"Hey! It wasn't so bad. It wasn't awful. It was just lonely. Every other kid had somebody, in school, even in the foster home. They all talked of somebody who would come and take them home. Nobody ever did, but they had a story anyway. I had nothing."

Khang looked up at me, fierce now. "You have me! I am your sister! I never had one either, never knew until now. Now I know, I do have a sister, and she is you."

I was touched. And a little excited. This was not how tonight was supposed to end. Maybe a lot excited.

"You can't be serious. We're both adults; we have our own lives. It doesn't matter, not now."

She put her hand to her face, rubbed her eyes with the back of it. "Don't say nonsense. It always matters, all our lives. Sisters are forever."

I digested that. I honestly didn't know that was how it was supposed to work. Families fell apart, every one I ever knew, people grew up and moved away.

"I've always known I was supposed to have a sister. When Phuong brought me to America, to keep me safe, my parents were supposed to come too. But the war ruined that, like it ruined so much. They were killed by a bomb, waiting for the boat.

It's been Phuong and me, for so long. I dream I had a sister, maybe born in Vietnam, maybe after I left. But Phuong says No, no Vietnamese sister. Just him and me.

But I dreamed true! I do have one, I've always had one, but neither of us knew it. Because you were here, all the time."

She clung to me, trembling, holding me like she would never let go.

What did I think of this? I didn't know. I did know that Khang was precious to me, a wonderful surprise in a long life of disappointment.

I held her, kissed her on the top of the head, petted her until she stopped trembling.

"How do you know it is me? And not some other poor foster kid somewhere."

"You are silly. Greg found you, brought you to me, right away. That's what Greg does. He finds what you lost, what you need.

It's obvious. That's ok, little sisters are supposed to be silly. What big sisters are for, to tell them."

That was charming, and probably true. I didn't know.

"Ok, so we're sisters. What does that mean? What do I have to do?"

She nodded. This was right up her alley. She'd been practicing all her life for this!

"It is good of you to ask about duties. That is right for a little sister. Duties are the backbone of life, they give us structure. They provide satisfaction, a duty correctly done."

That sounded a lot like what Phuong might say.

Khang continued. "The duties of sisters are many. We go together to drink on Girls' night. We drink too much, and tell secrets we wouldn't tell otherwise.

We tell of conquests, every time, every one. No detail is kept!

We share clothes, or buy clothes together. Very important!

We share advice. Mostly older sister to younger, but you may pull my chain if I'm too far off. "

I considered. This made sense. To me anyway.

"I would like that. I am learning so much from you, from Greg. Even from Phuong, about the importance of grandfathers."

Khang nodded, continued. "We share duties of Grandparent. Care for them, so they lack nothing. One day we will add Grandparent to the family altar, make offerings on holy days. Keep their spirits content."

"I can do that! I respect Mr. Nguyen, and I would like to help him. I know I could never forget him!

But clothes! I can not do what you do with clothes."

We thought on that. We both knew I was hopeless choosing my own clothes. Forget about sewing.

"Hey! I can cook! I can learn to cook barbeque. Would that be good?"

Khang put her hands up, joy on her face, pulled my face down, kissed me. Not quite sisterly, not quite a lover. Something wonderful in between. I would have to get used to a lesbian for a sister, that was clear.

"What about sex? I like sex, and I like you. It was nice what we did at the theatre. Is that something sisters can do? Sisters like us?"

Khang considered.

"Sisters can pleasure one another, when describing conquests it is good to share delights. Sharing the conquest of one woman with another, that is the sexiest thing I can imagine!"

I bit my lip, thinking this could be pretty wonderful.

"But what can I share, that you would be interested in? Sex with Greg? That would bore you."

"Oh! You will tell me what he makes you feel. That is exciting too!"

It was a lot to think about, feel about. We went silent for a time, just holding each other on the pier.

The night got colder, the pier began to seem an unfriendly place for two sisters. The other couples had long abandoned us.

We walked back to the shore, hand in hand, sisters enjoying the evening.

Back at her shop, in her room above, we sat at a low table and shot sticky rice wine and talked. Girl talk! I'd never had that, not with anybody I cared about.

Music - she was into Bao Vo and something called Ming and Ping. Never heard of it; gonna be an acquired taste. I am a country and western girl, which amused Khang no end.

Loves of our youth - she had been sweet on a girl called Amy, at school. Big, strong, Vietnamese-American, daughter of a serviceman and a Saigon shopkeepers daughter. Light skin, dark hair, almond eyes, deep voice. Khang pretended to swoon when she talked about that voice!

I admitted to a skinny boy named Bruno, in math club in High School. He wore his hair in a Flock-of-Seagulls swoop, and for some reason that made me wet. Khang ridiculed me, but in a sisterly way.

Media personalities? I liked a guy on Saturday Night Live; he was funny, kind of handsome, stocky and sweet. Kind of like Greg, now I think of it.

Khang perved on somebody called Zendaya, who played a nerdy spy/karate expert/math whiz. Whatever. Some Asian kid crush.

Downing her third shot, she hopped up, dug in a cabinet, got out a DVD.

"I recorded Bachelorette, every episode!" Shyly, "To watch with my sister. We have to watch this one!"

She put it on. It started slow, so she hurried it up to the date part where some guy called Lars was putting the moves on Babette, a round-faced dark-eyed beauty.

It got to where they were in bed, a black-and-white fuzzy night shot, the blankets were thrashing around and she was calling out "Lars! Lars!" and he was groaning and calling "Babette! Babette!" in a Swedish accent.

Khang stripped her panties off and started frigging herself. "Babette! Babette!", really getting into it. Perving on the cute chick.

What the hell, I was half-drunk and this was suddenly red hot. I stuck my hand down my shorts, having lost my pants early on when we started sweating from drinking rice wine, wearing something cute Khang found for me.

"Lars! Lars!"

"Babette! Babette!"

"Lars!!"

"Babette!!"

We came together just as they did on screen, leaning helplessly on each other, laughing until we almost threw up.

Khang hiccupped, made a little urp-face, swallowed hard.

"Can Greg see us?"

I don't know where that came from, out of the blue.

I shook my head, causing the room to spin.

"Nope! Too far. He can see, hic, where he is. He's respectful; controls it. People need privacy."