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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. “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!”

“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. “What?’ He balks at the suggestion from his dad.

“Dad! Dad!” His son says in a straining voice. “Release me?” “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?”

“Was it because of that?” His dad asks as he points a finger towards him. And his midsection. “You know what you have to do. Doncha. Son.” His dad says.

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. The now lukewarm water streams through the curls of his hair rinsing away the last vestiges of the soapy lather. It all goes down the drain in a swirl of bubbles.

“Coach told us. To go beat off. Seeing all those tents in our shorts; he said we should have all been working out naked. Our shorts weren’t covering up, anything, as our cock’s periscoped out and over the elastic waistbands of our shorts.” He says to his dad as he steps from the shower. He lifts his head from its bowed stance and looks into the eyes of his father wanting some acknowledgement.

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. “What ya lifting now?” His dad asks as he fidgets on the commode seat. He can feel his hard-on growing in his pants.

“Do it!” His dad orders. “That’s it! That’s it! That’s it!” His father bellows.

“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?” He does not answer but tilts his head down in an almost subservient nature to his father.

“But you didn’t though, did you, son?” “Yep. I’ve had one since I put on my gear at practice today.” He tells his dad.

“Once you plant that cock of yours in some squirmy hole and empty those warm balls of yours into a moist wet hole. Then you are on your way to becoming a man, and only then will you, come-of-age. But it is only a step onto the winding pathway towards manhood. It is my job to teach you what it means to be a man.” His father stands as he finishes his sentence. Loosening his belt and pulling his shirt out from the tucked confines of his pants. His father steps into the shower, turning on the water. As he soaks and lathers himself up under the lukewarm stream of water, he fondles his cock and balls. His cock soon mimics that of his son.

“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. “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.”

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. His son bucks on the lid as he turns beet red from his carnal machinations.

“That you, son?” A voice chimes in from the hallway. He lifts his head from its bowed stance and looks into the eyes of his father wanting some acknowledgement.

“Yep. I’ve had one since I put on my gear at practice today.” He tells his dad. “You are grown. Yes. Physically. Yes, my son. But a full man. No! No!” His father, says, sharply. “You have much more to grow, to mature, before you are a man, before you can call yourself. A man.”

“What are ya now, by the way?” “Let me get in there, Garrett.” His father says, as his son steps aside so he can get into the shower enclosure.

His father rakes the clear juice of his son’s leaking manhood over the boy’s tensed cockhead. “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.

“I bet you got some stares from the other boys in the locker room.” His dad adds. “You couldn’t miss it.” “Do it!” His dad orders.

Garrett nods to his father. His father rakes the clear juice of his son’s leaking manhood over the boy’s tensed cockhead.

Garrett resumes the fondling of his cock while he takes long drawn-out whiffs from his sweat, piss and cum stained jockstrap. “You know what you have to do. Doncha. Son.” His dad says.