I figured this out about the same time she did and we both stopped cold."What are you doing?" she hissed. "Get your hands out of my panties you perver...!"I jerked them out. "I'm sorry, you were jumping around. I didn't do it on purpose."She harrumphed and we started dancing again. It was soon obvious that having my hands on her hips wasn't going to work, because they invariably slid inside the waistband of her panties, or drug them down around her hips. All I touched was the sides of her hips,. "What exactly did you say to her?" she asked.I immediately felt profoundly embarrassed. I sensed that Denise was relishing, at least a little bit, the effort to make me enunciate the earlier highly sexualized (at least, to me) conversation I'd had with her daughter.And, having no idea what Lissa had already told her, I knew I couldn't cut corners or leave anything out. After a pregnant moment, I bought myself another minute, asking, "The whole story? From the top? How much did she tell you?". More

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