I dated a stripper. It’s a slippery slope; easy to go from 0 to 100 in about a season.
My concern would not be for your current or future boyfriends, it would be for you – your fortitude, in dealing with the larger things in life – like free cocaine – like unquenchable power. I think Xxxxxxx’s reserved word was “striking”. She wanted to be that more than anything in this world, and she was. And she sold her soul to become something ...supplemental, with all the trimmings.
(I swear to God I have the perfect picture to illustrate this (Barney’s Beanery, Halloween) but I don’t want to post it.)
It’s a dark path. She paid her way through college (UCLA, English major) by stripping and excelled in every category, but.., she had a metamorphosis from a cute Iowa girl to… I don’t know what.
She married a brutal young prince from Bulgaria, with broken ham-fisted English, and they live in the Valley. So I suppose it more or less worked out for her.
I have another ex-girlfriend who is currently doing “dance class”, but it’s a bunch of professional women learning pole dancing (all the rage right now in LA.) That’s a good thing. Living in strip clubs is not.
It’s not about future boyfriends, it’s about you.
I have to admit, I was as addicted to her self confidence as much as she was to giving it, but there comes a point of no return – and that point is unknown.
I say don’t do it.