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コメント > Garrett nods his head as he wraps the jock over his head, and takes a hearty breathe of the pouch placed over his nose. “Maybe his dad is right.” He thinks to himself as he continues with his intense fondling of his fiery red cock.
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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. “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.”

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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.” Garrett picks up the pee-stained and cum-leaked jock from the tile floor.

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. “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!”

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“I think all of us were sprouting wood, today, dad.” He says. “Coach even noticed how hard we all were.” “Thinkin’ ‘bout it.” He answers. “I want to show the world that I am a man, like you. Father.”

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“What…huh…what, dad?” He asks, puzzled by the question from his dad. As his cock is mere inches from his dad’s face. Garrett nods his head as he wraps the jock over his head, and takes a hearty breathe of the pouch placed over his nose.

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. Garrett resumes the fondling of his cock while he takes long drawn-out whiffs from his sweat, piss and cum stained jockstrap.

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. “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.” “This is what a man looks like, son.” His father says as his pants fall to the floor. From his waist out pops his representation of a 40-year-old-man. And father of two teenage boys. His cock.

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. “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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“I thought you usually showered after practice. In the locker room.” His dad asks as he walks into the open door of the bathroom. “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.

His father loosens his grip on the full balls of his son as he stands. He can see the spurts of hair that dot the chest of his son. And he can see the heaving and gentle rise and fall of his son’s chest, as he breathes, as his excitement builds. Garrett thinks to himself; he did not wear a jock home from practice. He was ‘going commando.” Is it his older brother’s jock? “Oh, well. “He mumbles to himself as he takes another whiff of the musky scented pouch of the jock.

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He lifts his head from its bowed stance and looks into the eyes of his father wanting some acknowledgement. “Nope.” He says. Flatly. As he runs his hand over his still steely-hard length of his curved cock.

The helmet of the man’s cock weaves a picture of no recognition as the father’s cum streaks itself through the watery haze. “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.