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コメント > “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.
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“I figured you did.” His father says. “You play on a team, so you know the purpose of teamwork.” 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.

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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. “What…huh…what, dad?” He asks, puzzled by the question from his dad. As his cock is mere inches from his dad’s face.

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“I am fully grown now, Father.” He says in a heated rebuttal to his father’s words. “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.”

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. “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.”

Garrett picks up the pee-stained and cum-leaked jock from the tile floor. “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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“I thought you usually showered after practice. In the locker room.” His dad asks as he walks into the open door of the bathroom. “My hard-on. Somewhat. But I have them all the time. You know that. You’ve made enough comments about me sportin’ boners in the morning when you see them at breakfast.”

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“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?” 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.

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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. “Yeah.” He answers his dad. “…and I was ‘going commando’ too.”

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“It was intense. Really intense. We ran so many drills. I am exhausted.” He explains. He lifts his head from its bowed stance and looks into the eyes of his father wanting some acknowledgement.

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