I'm just an average, slightly paunchy 40-something guy. And you might be surprised at how I make a living

Rusty McMann is the stage name of a real male escort living in Las Vegas.

Dig if you will the picture: A middle-aged man stands in an elevator on the 26th floor of the Palazzo, one of the most luxurious (well, expensive) casino/resorts on the Las Vegas strip. At 6-foot-3 and 245 pounds, he's a pretty big guy, though he "carries it well." His red hair is cut in a flattop, and he has a closely cropped beard, but he doesn't look particularly imposing. He's dressed in a faded sea foam green Banana Republic polo shirt, khaki shorts from Target, and Birkenstock sandals. Over one shoulder is a small messenger bag. He stands in the corner and tries to look like everyone else; he may or may not be checking messages on his PDA, but he's pushing buttons on it and appears busy.

The doors open and three women step on: a blonde, a brunette and one whose hair has been bleached and blown dry so many times it's not a discernible color. All of the women could stand to have a good 3 inches cut off their hair. They wear slight variations on the Little Black Slut Dress. They wear too much makeup, a pair of shoes that doesn't quite match the dress, towering heels.

The man in the corner rolls his eyes and thinks to himself, "And I'm the hooker."