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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.” He gulps once as his dad mounts more pressure on his balls. Squeezing them.

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. “Yes! Yes! I know you understand.” His father proudly exclaims.

He reaches for and cups the wiggling low hangers of his teenage son. “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.

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“Was it because of that?” His dad asks as he points a finger towards him. And his midsection. “What are ya now, by the way?”

“Thinkin’ ‘bout it.” He answers. “I want to show the world that I am a man, like you. Father.” “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.

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

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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. His dad takes a seat upon the closed commode lid.

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“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. 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.

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“That is your cock, son.” His father, says. “…but it does not make you a man. It only makes you a boy with a hard cock in his hand.” “It was intense. Really intense. We ran so many drills. I am exhausted.” He explains.

“What?’ He balks at the suggestion from his dad. His father rakes the clear juice of his son’s leaking manhood over the boy’s tensed cockhead.