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“That you, son?” A voice chimes in from the hallway.
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His bare ass melts to the lid of the toilet bowl. He sweats from the steam and the exertions from his continued pounding of the fierceness of his cock. He wiggles as his ass opens, squeaking on the plastic surface of the thrown lid, as he takes whiffs from the cum soaked pouch of the jock that covers his face.

He gulps once as his dad mounts more pressure on his balls. Squeezing them.
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“I bet you got some stares from the other boys in the locker room.” His dad adds. “You couldn’t miss it.”

“What are ya now, by the way?”
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“Yep. I’ve had one since I put on my gear at practice today.” He tells his dad.

Garrett sits on the commode, where his father had sat.
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“It was intense. Really intense. We ran so many drills. I am exhausted.” He explains.

His father unbuttons his shirt and throws it to the bathroom floor. Where his son is like the mythical David, cast in stone with blonde locks and cherubic face. The father is dark and with a day’s growth of stubble on his face.
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“Do it!” His dad orders.

“I look forward to the day when you are a fully grown man, my son.” His father says. “I am anxious to see the fruit of my loins reach his fully-adorned manhood. Adulthood.”
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“What did Coach have to say when he saw all those hard-young cocks in the locker room?” His dad asks.

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I used my teeth to strip off daddy’s black sheer socks. I placed them in my mouth and washed them with my saliva. I swallowed every single sweat and stink from these socks. It takes so well. I rolled them into a ball and stuck them into my jockstrap where my small dick and balls were.
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“You know what you have to do. Doncha. Son.” His dad says.

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“And you did it with that. Your boner?” His dad asks. “I guess.”
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He runs the towel through his curl-filled hair, and down over his chest, where the early signs of his manhood sprout like an uneven crop of hairs across his chest that run down to his furry-pillowed crotch. Where the throbbing from his hard-on springs back as the damp towel whips his erection back and forth with each swipe of the now dampened towel.

“FUCK! FUCK!” He says, as he loosens the tightened grip on his fleshy-red-tool, while it throbs with its life-giving blood coursing through its many vein-filled region.
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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.

“It was intense. Really intense. We ran so many drills. I am exhausted.” He explains.
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“Stoke it, boy! Stroke it! Stroke that beautiful cock!” His father demands as his own cock draws on the wet interior of the glass enclosure shower. “Pound it harder, boy! Pound it harder!”

“It was intense. Really intense. We ran so many drills. I am exhausted.” He explains.
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“Maybe his dad is right.” He thinks to himself as he continues with his intense fondling of his fiery red cock.

“I bet you got some stares from the other boys in the locker room.” His dad adds. “You couldn’t miss it.”
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“Then, what is this, father.” He says as he wrestles his cock in a fierce grip and squeezes it like he is fighting against a serpent unleashed from its coil.

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He does not hear the slamming of the front door. Neither does he hear the footsteps on the wood floor in the hallway. The shower drowns away all this noise.
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“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.”

He runs the towel through his curl-filled hair, and down over his chest, where the early signs of his manhood sprout like an uneven crop of hairs across his chest that run down to his furry-pillowed crotch. Where the throbbing from his hard-on springs back as the damp towel whips his erection back and forth with each swipe of the now dampened towel.
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“Was it because of that?” His dad asks as he points a finger towards him. And his midsection.

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“I am fully grown now, Father.” He says in a heated rebuttal to his father’s words.
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His dad’s cock does not curve like that of his son, it angles like a fishing rod looking for fish under rushing river waters, from the deep furry patch between the father’s legs.

Garrett sits on the commode, where his father had sat.
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“Yes, sir.” He says as he straightens up, standing erect as his member pulses to life between his legs, and in his father’s right hand, which are firmly locked on his balls. “Yes, sir, I do.”