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He is unfazed by the presence of his dad despite his nakedness inside the hot spray of the shower. His father kicks the shoes from his feet and slides his khaki pants off, while still holding, the resistant nut-sac of his virile son in his right hand. He is now as naked as his 17-year-old son.

“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.” “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.”

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Garrett resumes the fondling of his cock while he takes long drawn-out whiffs from his sweat, piss and cum stained jockstrap. “Back in the day, back before we turned into a modern society, a man would grab another man’s balls and swear an oath on them in his hand and state his words to be true. To be a friend” His father says. “Do you know what I mean, son?”

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“Damn it, son! Damn it! Damn it, you hit the mirror above the sink!” His father shouts as the bullets of cum shoot forth from his son’s cock and hits the adjacent mirror directly in front of the porcelain bathroom thrown. “What?’ He balks at the suggestion from his dad.

Garrett sits on the commode, where his father had sat. “Back in the day, back before we turned into a modern society, a man would grab another man’s balls and swear an oath on them in his hand and state his words to be true. To be a friend” His father says. “Do you know what I mean, son?”

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“That your jockstrap on the floor next to you, son?” His dad asks. He lifts his head from its bowed stance and looks into the eyes of his father wanting some acknowledgement.

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“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.” “Then show me, father. Show me what it means, TO BE A MAN?” He says with an excitement building in his voice.

“You know what you have to do. Doncha. Son.” His dad says. 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.

Garrett does not go hog-wild on his tool. He caresses and adores it like one would an idol. Garrett nods to his father.

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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. 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.

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