My Journey from Literal to Figurative ‘Stripper’ and Stops Along the Way
<p>I started stripping long before I became an official sex and love addict.</p>
<p>My dad was a semi-professional photographer, constantly taking pictures of my sister and I. So I got used to being gawked at.</p>
<p>One night, after Mom was in bed, he told me he wanted to photograph us girls naked on a bearskin rug. With me posing on my back, and my younger sister posing on her tummy. So my breasts and her bum. Like the Playboy Magazines he encouraged us to read. “Don’t sneak them,” he told us once. “Help yourself.” We were maybe ten and twelve or eleven and thirteen.</p>
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