Read Online Money’s on the Dresser: Escorting, Porn and Promiscuity in Las Vegas by Christopher Daniels - Free Book Online Page A

one fan and treated me like gold. I first met him when he came to Las Vegas the previous year three days after the funeral of his partner of eighteen years passed away. Our first meeting was a little odd, seeing as we were meeting a few days after his partner’s funeral and I could tell he was obviously going through a lot. I sensed that he was doing whatever he could to not break down under the pressure of the death of a loved one, and what perfect way to do that than to schedule a few hours with a male escort. Sex really is a great stress reliever. Our meetings were low-maintenance, and I didn’t feel like it was anything out of the ordinary or life-changing, but for some reason, he had taken a liking to me. As time went on, he became special to me and I was special to him. During one of our meetings after seeing each other for almost a year, he became very emotional and told me how much I meant to him. He knew we had a client/escort relationship, and it wasn’t as if he had fallen in love with me, but for some reason, our times together had helped him through one of the darkest periods of his life after his partner died. I had no idea what I had ever done or said to make him feel that way, because I felt like all we ever did was make small talk and then engage in very innocent sexual activity. For some reason, though, that was enough for him and it helped him gain confidence in himself as a newly single man in his sixties.

    After saying good-bye to Gary I walked into the parking lot and I got into my car. I had thirty minutes to get to the Imperial Palace Theater to go over the choreography for the show that night; I was cast in the show Divas, where I worked as a fill-in dancer when the regular full-time dancers were sick or took a vacation day. I was usually scheduled in the show once or twice a week, so this worked great with escorting, film shoots, and traveling, but it was awful for my brain. If I don’t do a show full-time or consistently drill choreography from a show into my memory, I forget everything. This had caused some problems for me in the show, but I was still hanging in there based on my looks, height, body, and the fact that they desperately needed a male dancer that would work for the ridiculously low salary they were offering. I was definitely not doing the show for the money; it was a way for me to continue dancing in a show and not just work as a Rentboy or porn star. I still equated a lot of my self-worth with what I did for a living, and at that point in my life I was not ready to stop being a dancer. It was all I knew and it was such a big part of my identity, I couldn’t give it up yet.

    As I got into my car, the phone rang from a 646 area code. I didn’t recognize the number and I had no idea who it was. He told me his name was Tim and he wanted to set up an appointment. He was coming to Las Vegas in a few weeks and wanted to set something up for the afternoon of May 2, at the Aria Casino and Resort.

    On the day of our meeting, I showed up to the Aria at four in the afternoon, as scheduled. I knocked on the door and a man talking on the phone answers. Right away, my focus went directly to the nose area. I noticed one problem: He didn’t have a nose! The area was covered by a patch of what looked like snakeskin. Immediately I thought, What the fuck is going on? Run, Christopher, run! Don’t look back, just run! Why is this man missing his nose? How does this even happen? Where did it go? What’s under the patch? Oh, my God, I think I’m going to be physically ill if that patch falls off.

    Tim sounded like he was dealing with some kind of emergency and something bad had happened. He motioned for me to sit down while he is dealing with an obviously serious phone call, so I hesitantly sat down, but refused to make myself comfortable. I thought to myself, “ This is it, Christopher. For the first time, I am going to scream and BOLT out of a meeting with a client. I will throw up, cry,