Dale, the deadbeat druggie dropout.

You freeze in your tracks like a deer in headlights. Like the deer, you should have run when you had the chance. You look behind you and Dale has already closed the distance and brings his meaty mitt down on your shoulder, a stoned smile plastered on his face as he guffaws, "Haaaaaaaa haaaaaa. Man, you should see your face. Hey, brah, anyone ever tell that your eyes are beautiful when you are shitting your panties?"

Dale's trademark humor shines through his weed fog slow speech. No one is exactly sure how old Dale is, but late twenties at the youngest. He is got the Matthew McConaughey in Dazed and Confused vibe only somehow creepier. He has the whole dirtbag sexy vibe that seems to work with the chicks, but even though he could bag women his own age, he cleary prefers to hunt younger game. He always plays his creepy come ons as a joke, but he also sent you a birthday card with some lube on your 18th birthday, and you don't even know how he knew when it was.

"Yo, no need to be all scared, kitten. I won't tell anyone you are skipping school. Not your bullies that buy weed off of me and could be here in minutes. Not your crazy dad who's just looking for a reason to wreck you. Not even my less than law abiding acquaintances that seem to have an unhealthy interest in your hindquarters." You have never been less reassured by a promise 'not' to hand you over to the wolves, so when Dale asks, "Hey, why don't you hang with me until school's out and we can keep this our little secret?" you simply nod and follow him back to his house.

You almost feel like you get a contact high the moment you walk into his house. The weed stank is so palpable, it makes your eyes water. Not having many friends, you haven't experimented with weed much before. The few times you did, you found yourself to be a massive lightweight, so when Dale pulls out a joint as big and fat as a cigar, you can only imagine how fucked up that would get you. As it happens, you don't have to imagine for long. Dale plops on the couch and says, "I think it would be a real tite idea if you sat down and smoked this joint with me." His voice has a casual tone but with the hint of a mafia protection racket 'or else'.

Seeing no alternative, you plop down on the couch and take the proffered puff. A tiny, tentative hit, it still burns your lungs and you are racked by cutting coughs. Dale smiles knowingly and you feel the knot in your stomach start to loosen a little as you feel an immediate sense of cool calm and warm wellness. Dale takes a huge hit and lets out a powerful plume of smoke. Determined not to look like the lightweight you are, you try to take a comparably considerable hit, but are hacking halfway through. You feel like the bottom has dropped out from under you and you sink into the couch, feeling like you weigh a ton and are floating at the same time.

Well baked, you barely notice that Dale has turned the tv on, or that it is cued to his porno playlist. You are shaken out of your stupor when Dale pulls out a cock bigger and thicker than his blunt and begins slowly stroking it. Your puny prick also grows rock hard and you suddenly remember what else weed does to you...it makes you incredibly horny. The practiced, practiced pants and manufactured moans of the blonde bimbo bouncing on a boner fill your head and you feel like you could reach out and touch her...taste her...tongue her...

"No need to be shy, brah. It's just us dudes here. Pull it out and we can stroke and smoke all day. It's the best offer you're gonna get." Dale's tone carries the offer you can't refuse implication, but you wonder if you should try to leave now, before you get to wrecked to run away.