Beyond the Pink Box Donut: A Sweeter, Longer-Lasting Investment for Your Vegas Nights.

For the 50+ women of Las Vegas who already know what they want and don’t have time for games.

The Helpful Hunk & Under-the-Table Jobs

Take your phone to the restroom—nobody needs to know what happens next.

We’re alone now: just you, me, and the screen in your hand.

No accident you landed here.

Question is: Are you ready to collect what you came for?

I’m shopping for 5 acres in central Oregon—$450 k, apple trees, mountain view, no neighbors close enough to hear you scream my name.

My online side-hustle should clear $2 500 a month once it’s live, but I need $500 yesterday for tech support and App-store privileges.

Day job won’t cough it up fast enough, so I’m moonlighting as the best-kept secret on the Strip.

Here’s the deal:

You sponsor the start-up—any amount you won’t miss.

I become your discreet, on-call instrument of pleasure: no strings, no drama, no walk of shame—just a man who shows up hungry and leaves well fed.

Use me selfishly; I like it that way.

Let me worship the curves you’ve earned, taste the secret dressing only you know how to make, and turn that “junk in your trunk” into the main course.

We’ll whip up the creamiest macaroni salad you’ve ever screamed over—then lick the spoon clean.

Las Vegas is temporary; the Oregon house is forever.

Help me plant roots and I’ll help you plant yours—right against the headboard.

Ready to adopt a 304 who can fix the Wi-Fi and fix your itch in the same visit?

Text me before the buffet closes, darling.