With sweaty palms, a heavy step and a stutter, Marc McAndrews entered a brothel in Elko, Nev., without much of a pitch or a plan. Facing the line of half-naked sex workers, he had to choose one and pose a question that made him blush.

Could he take some pictures?

He had never before set foot in a strip club, much less a brothel, and his first try at gaining access was unsuccessful. He told one of the young women that he was merely interested in taking photos for his work, that he wasn’t in pursuit of pleasure — this was his job, after all — and he was booted out.

This was a place with rules. Just because it was a brothel, didn’t mean that anything could happen.

Nevertheless, Mr. McAndrews visited the legal brothels in 11 Nevada counties over a period of five years. He was working on a project that became the book “Nevada Rose,” which documents these brothels and their workers, owners and customers.

What he uncovered was a view of prostitution that didn’t adhere to culturally appointed preconceptions: of sex work as a living as humdrum as any other.

Mr. McAndrews, who grew up in Reading, Pa., had been drawn to stories of a strictly American stripe. The project that became “Nevada Rose” emerged from a series of cross-country van trips, on which he sought to photograph different aspects of American life and culture — mechanics, motel workers, truck stops, bikers, lots and landscapes.

Though the book, published last year by Umbrage, contains plenty of saucy photos, the themes are more prosaic than one might expect from a book about sex as industry, and they’re profoundly American. With “Nevada Rose,” Mr. McAndrews presents a story about work, commerce, capitalism and community. Mr. McAndrews was as interested in the landscape, the spaces, the mundane, the untouchables and staff members — as he was in the kinky and the taboo.

Marc McAndrews

And, in seeking a straightforward approach to a subject that skirts the taboo, Mr. McAndrews found himself confronting misconceptions. “I think it is hard for people to imagine a woman owning her own sexuality and being O.K. with something like this,” said Mr. McAndrews, 36. “We’re taught and socialized to believe certain things about sexuality and women’s sexuality and prostitution in general.”

The problem, Mr. McAndrews explained, is that, broadly speaking, people tend to equate prostitution with illegal prostitution — a grim world of exploitation, crime and desperation. His experience photographing these brothels presented a contrast — the legal brothels of Nevada have relationships with community lawmakers, with health care professionals, and there are rules, values and protections in place. (For instance, Mr. McAndrews noted that there is a panic button in every room, and that in the accumulated years he spent in Nevada on the project, he said he only witnessed the alarm go off once — when he nudged it with his gear.)

Though there were obstacles to his access at first, eventually word got around about his activities and intentions — he would furnish Polaroids of his work to show what he was up to — and they let him in, even assisting Mr. McAndrews with calls on his behalf to other brothels. He observed a close-knit community, a vibe that more resembled a chummy neighborhood bar than a fetid den of sin. He lived at these brothels, had breakfast with the workers and owners, and his work at times felt like a collaboration — he would invite input from his subjects, asking the women to choose their outfits, working together to help them present themselves.

But, of course, these brothels mean business. They cater to markets, work to appeal to certain tastes, Mr. McAndrews said. There are “country houses,” homey, simple and intended to make customers feel comfortable, and “city houses,” with sleeker designs sporting more of a strip club aesthetic. When a brothel entertained the notion of a male prostitute in 2010, to broaden its customer base, the market spoke and said “no.” (The first legal male prostitute, brought in to cater to the female demographic, quit the Shady Lady Ranch in Beatty, Nev., after five months and only 10 customers. And, apparently, there is no outspoken demand for gay prostitutes in Nevada.)

But it’s not a perfect system and concerns — ethical, political, cultural, commercial — abound. Last year, Harry Reid of Nevada, the United States Senate majority leader, called for a ban, and though legalized, with a degree of regulation (the law requires weekly cervical exams and monthly blood work, for example), these brothels — from a commerce point of view — present some contradictions. Coercive, shameful or liberating? Libertarian yet regulated?

For Mr. McAndrews, the topic was a historical aspect of American culture that had not yet been surveyed straightforwardly, without hand-wringing and finger-pointing. His task, as he understood it, was simple: present what’s there.

“At a certain point a lot of women wanted to be a part of it because they weren’t ashamed and they’re proud of the light being shown on what they are doing,” he said. “I wasn’t glorifying. I wasn’t demonizing. I was just showing as it was. That was my intent, anyway.”

That project ended, and moving on, Mr. McAndrews has been photographing youth groups in uniforms as part of his effort to better understand how America socializes its children. He is interested in what signifies one as belonging to a particular group.

His next topic? Religion.

Marc McAndrews