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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. “That you are, son. You are busting at the seams with your youth and muscles. Rippled from those vigorous physical workouts and stroking sessions. I bet.” His dad says. “You are gonna hafta to take care of that or you are gonna be miserable. You know that son, doncha. You know, I am right.”

“Was it because of that?” His dad asks as he points a finger towards him. And his midsection. 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.

“Maybe his dad is right.” He thinks to himself as he continues with his intense fondling of his fiery red cock. “Nope.” He says. Flatly. As he runs his hand over his still steely-hard length of his curved cock.

“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.

“Do it!” His dad orders. “And you did it with that. Your boner?” His dad asks. “I guess.”

“Then show me, father. Show me what it means, TO BE A MAN?” He says with an excitement building in his voice. “And you did it with that. Your boner?” His dad asks. “I guess.”

“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.” “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.”

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. 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.

“What happened at today’s practice today that was so different from any other day, son?” His dad asks. “Thinkin’ ‘bout it.” He answers. “I want to show the world that I am a man, like you. Father.”

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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.

The helmet of the man’s cock weaves a picture of no recognition as the father’s cum streaks itself through the watery haze. All the blood rushes from his brain to his throbbing erection plus the heat of the shower, making the young lad, light-headed.

“What?’ He balks at the suggestion from his dad. “Was it because of that?” His dad asks as he points a finger towards him. And his midsection.

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

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

Garrett nods to his father. He dries himself but his throbbing cock continues to pulse as it grows harder because of his youth. The sensation intensifies. The feeling is wonderful. He can hear his cock throbbing in his ears.

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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. “What did Coach have to say when he saw all those hard-young cocks in the locker room?” His dad asks.

After I serve daddy’s left one, I was about to move to the right foot. While He stopped me, stood up, and walked towards the couch, he said “Crawling right after me.” I followed daddy. My nose was where daddy’s ass was. I was staring at that crotch while I was crawling, and I didn’t realize daddy stopped one of a sudden in front of the bathroom. My nose is slightly right into that dreaming ass crack. The pre-cum leaks, like a babbling brook, from the boy’s erect and pulsing cock, depositing its tiny droplets of juice onto the arm-hairs of his proud father. His father squeezes the nuts of his son, tighter and tighter, releasing more of the youthful essence.

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