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コメント > He does not answer but tilts his head down in an almost subservient nature to his father. “Yes! Yes! I know you understand.” His father proudly exclaims.
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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. 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.

“Then show me, father. Show me what it means, TO BE A MAN?” He says with an excitement building in his voice. “Was it because of that?” His dad asks as he points a finger towards him. And his midsection.

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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. “Stoke your cock while you sniff that jock.”

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

“You lettin’ the beard grow on your face, I see, son?” His father asks him, as his head bumps up under the chin of his towering son. 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.

“Nope.” He says. Flatly. As he runs his hand over his still steely-hard length of his curved cock. “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?”

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

He lifts his head from its bowed stance and looks into the eyes of his father wanting some acknowledgement. “What did Coach have to say when he saw all those hard-young cocks in the locker room?” His dad asks.

“I am fully grown now, Father.” He says in a heated rebuttal to his father’s words. He gulps once as his dad mounts more pressure on his balls. Squeezing them.

“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.” “Yeah, dad, it’s me.” He shouts over the blistering rush of the shower spray as it pelts him hotly with force. “It was a rough practice.”

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. “Lookin’ good, son. Lookin’ good.” His dad says over the stream of the warm cleansing water as it caresses his mature man body.

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“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.” He looks down. And then smiles at his dad.