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He lifts his head from its bowed stance and looks into the eyes of his father wanting some acknowledgement. Garrett nods his head as he wraps the jock over his head, and takes a hearty breathe of the pouch placed over his nose.

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Daddy gave me a look implying his shoes are needed to be removed. “Can I take off your loafers, daddy ?” I asked so quietly. He looked at me and nodded. I took off both his loafers and put them away neatly in front of me. Daddy then raised his right leg and stepped on my forehead, pushing me down into his loafers. It is a mixed smell with sweat, testosterone, and leather. I couldn’t help but take a big whiff every time I breathed. “Hands-on the floor” he commanded. He moved his feet from my head to my hands. “Kiss them and make the stink goes away using only your fag tongue.” “Yes sir.” He does not say anything in response to his father as his cock continues pulsing and jumping as the blood engorges his youthful cock more. And more.

“I ain’t a-talking ‘bout how big ya cock is, boy. I am talking ‘bout ya, weight. Your height.” His dad says. “I kinda figured on how big you are down there. That’s obvious. It makes me proud of you. My son. Of what I created, along with ya mother.” “But you didn’t though, did you, son?”

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The sound of the shower echoes throughout the empty house. The bathroom door is open. He knows he has privacy. He is alone. No older brother. No father. Or mother. It is just him. Garrett can see what his father is doing, unconsciously his hands moves to his cock. He strokes the length of his tool with his left hand while he teases the blistering red crown with the fingertips of his right hand. The lightning of his cool fingertips sends sparks through every nerve in his body.

“I don’t wanna jack-off, dad.” He says flabbergasted to his dad as he turns off the tap to the hot and chilly water in the shower. He looks down. And then smiles at his dad.

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“Pick it up and smell the crotch.” His dad says. “I knew ya couldn’t keep your hands off it.” His dad says. “Men can’t do it, we are drawn to our cocks, like a moth to a flame, and usually that burning sensation that a man feels is the cum boiling up in our balls. You know that feelin’ doncha son?”

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His father’s words are what he hears when he erupts. His cum streaming like liquid threads from the pee-hole of his rigid cock. “That you, son?” A voice chimes in from the hallway.

“I figured you did.” His father says. “You play on a team, so you know the purpose of teamwork.” “You have not fucked, have you, my son? Have you?” His father asks, as he readjusts the cock covered and swelling in his khaki pants. “I thought as much.”

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“Thinkin’ ‘bout it.” He answers. “I want to show the world that I am a man, like you. Father.” The one shower after his workout and practice had been a good start. But the walk home had tired him. But the massaging jets of water caressing across his muscular frame takes the weariness from his bones from this stressful day.

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