Rebecca always strutted after our little visits, walking like a proud cat sashaying and swaying. Pushing her hair behind her ear, I gave one last kiss good bye. It smelled just like the lilac in her bed sheets and coconut. Her skin was warm from the sun and made the whites of her eyes pop. She was incredible for her age.

“That tan is doing wonders for you.” I told her, unlocking my Porsche as we stepped out of the French doors and down the slate stairs to the driveway.

“Let’s hope that it takes more years off than it puts on later,” she joked, showing her barely visible crow’s feet as she smiled. “I can’t turn 29 for a 15^th year in a row.” Rebecca combed the other side of her thick black hair behind her ears. She led me down the steps by her elbow and then slapped me playfully on the butt as I left, almost as if to say “good game”. Her spirit was so young and playful, it made me sad that she was only a client sometimes. Then I would remember how insane she went during her divorce. It’s better this way.

“Looks like you’ll have to be 30 then. Lots of gorgeous women hit their stride in their thirties.” I slid into the front seat of my car and began driving over the long stretch of driveway that separated her mansion from the road. I made a mental note to pick up a few flowers for her birthday next time I saw her. I’m sure that I would either make it to the guest list for her party or I would be the after party she had planned for herself.

My phone dinged that it received the funds from Rebecca, my favorite client. Her husband didn’t know the great thing that he gave up. She was always a little more fun in bed than the others and she was more than willing to give me high praise. If I had a dollar for every time she told me I was better in bed than her ex I could probably buy a second car, maybe even buy a vacation home in the Virgin Islands.

The 30-minute drive from her house in Henderson to mine in Vegas was nice for reflecting. The sun setting in the sky didn’t compare to the one that we saw over the weekend. I would have to travel back again.

I often think about how I’ll avoid my parent’s watchful eye, thinking up excuses for missing calls or texts. I always had to play just out of reach while still talking to them every so often. It’s not that I don’t like them, I just don’t care for the way they yak in my ear, always nagging about me changing the way I work, having to listen to the “why can’t you be more like your brothers” and other blah blah blahs. They cry that I should become a day trader again and put my degree to use, but I have enough experience in that to make money off the other day traders in my hedge fund. I always tell them that they shouldn’t have raised me in Vegas if they wanted a respectable son. They don’t think it’s funny, and maybe it isn’t meant to be. Maybe they should just appreciate the irony. They saw more problems with my life than there was. I was just happy to be happy.

Unluckily for me, they got three other sons that can put me to shame. I am always being measured up to them, and if I have to hear one more time about their accomplishments I will flip my lid. You think that they would have given up nagging me after high school, and then after that wasn’t good enough maybe after college. I considered going to grad school to see if that was the finish line of the complaints. Finally I have decided that parents never stop parenting and they will always be somewhat disappointed in who I am, or rather who I am not: a business tycoon.

I don’t do what I do for money, anyway. I do it for me. I was never really one to stick with interests in high school and college. I dabbled in almost everything and made a lot of friends on the way in each club, but I never really got hooked on anything in particular. You do things, practice, get good at them, and then what? Nothing. Well, there is one thing that it is nice to be good at. That’s why I like being an escort. Each woman is different. Some like it rougher, and then there are some that need to be treated like tissue paper. Each client is different and I am very proud with how successful I am.

I can see my tan in the mirror from our getaway weekend to Mexico. Spending two days there put 20 grand in my bank account. Not half bad if you ask me. I keep my prices high to sort the pearls from the clams in this business. If I charged anything less than what I currently charge I could get mange or Black Death or cooties or something. It costs a pretty penny to be with me for a very good reason. It assured both skill and quality to my clients and reassured me that I was getting the very same back.

Pulling past the gate, I know there is only 5 minutes until I am officially home. They put so many speed bumps in a gated community to discourage people from driving around. It works pretty well, most of my neighbors have switched to bikes so their cars don’t have to learn Braille in order to commute to work. There are certain things that you have to deal with when living in a ritzy part of the town of sin.

Really the longest part of getting home is the ride in the elevator up to my room. The penthouse is a billion floors up and there are several stops on the way between floors. People always forget this part in the movies, the downside with the glam. I have met a few clients in the past by hanging around the casino in the bottom. Since it’s my dad’s, all I have to do is get them a couple drinks on the house, slide my card over, and saying my line: “Your first win was getting this card, the next will be in that casino, and your third will be using my card with your new funds.” It’s cheesy and dumb, but that’s Vegas. This is the light and the life that people come for.

Most of the people that work in this building feel one of two ways about me, they hate me or they love me. Some of that comes with me being the boss of them, the other part of their feelings has to do with me being the boss of me. No one likes playing by the rules, not even me. Fortunately for me, I’m not the one that has to worry about a pay check here.

The life of the bachelor was very different from what TV shows had made me believe. The day time can be fun, especially with my job, but the nights were very lonely. I could come home with women from bars, but I hadn’t had a meaningful female companion in a long long time. Even just a friend would be nice, but I was surrounded by males. I think that since girls see that I’m sort of a smooth talker they think they can’t trust me. They see this pretty boy exterior, but I really have more going on than just looks. I want to know someone. I want to feel like a kid again. Being an adult could be very boring. I’ll save up all my escort money for a time machine.