When I was a kid, I bet my parents thought I was going to grow up and have a conveniently pretty wife, 2.5 kids, a practical hatchback and a well-payed 9-5 job. I bet they never even considered the fact that I might run away from home at age 17, tell one of the brothel owners downtown that I was 21, and start giving out lapdances and sexual favors to middle-aged, rich men - And they had to be rich, because as the only boy in that place, I was way more expensive than my female co-workers. I liked that job. It wasn't my dream, it's nobody's dream, but I earned enough money to make it on my own, without having to ever face my deeply religious parents and siblings again. I didn't have any dreams at that point; All I had wanted was to get out, get away, escape the suburbs and the religion and the prejudices. I managed that. In downtown Las Vegas, where everything is flashy and fast and a noisy kind of hush-hush, it's easy to blend in as just another "worker" that'll do next to anything for money.
