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“You know what you have to do. Doncha. Son.” His dad says. “I’m am nearly 6 foot 2 inches tall, dad. I weigh 210 lbs. I think, dad. At least I was the last time we were weighed at football practice.” The son says. “Much bigger than you, I should say.”

He reaches for and cups the wiggling low hangers of his teenage son. “I ain’t a-talking ‘bout how big ya cock is, boy. I am talking ‘bout ya, weight. Your height.” His dad says. “I kinda figured on how big you are down there. That’s obvious. It makes me proud of you. My son. Of what I created, along with ya mother.”

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“You guys jerk off together, these days?” His dad asks, “Back when I was in high school me and several of my friends would jerk-off in our trucks in the parking lot. We were so horny we could barely sit in our seats. You ever do that Garrett?” “Then show me, father. Show me what it means, TO BE A MAN?” He says with an excitement building in his voice.

All the blood rushes from his brain to his throbbing erection plus the heat of the shower, making the young lad, light-headed. “Pick it up and smell the crotch.” His dad says.

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

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“Then, what is this, father.” He says as he wrestles his cock in a fierce grip and squeezes it like he is fighting against a serpent unleashed from its coil. “FUCK! FUCK!” He says, as he loosens the tightened grip on his fleshy-red-tool, while it throbs with its life-giving blood coursing through its many vein-filled region.

“Coach told us. To go beat off. Seeing all those tents in our shorts; he said we should have all been working out naked. Our shorts weren’t covering up, anything, as our cock’s periscoped out and over the elastic waistbands of our shorts.” He says to his dad as he steps from the shower. “I’m am nearly 6 foot 2 inches tall, dad. I weigh 210 lbs. I think, dad. At least I was the last time we were weighed at football practice.” The son says. “Much bigger than you, I should say.”

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“What happened at today’s practice today that was so different from any other day, son?” His dad asks. 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.

“That you, son?” A voice chimes in from the hallway. “Yeah. Yessir. Dad.” Garrett mutters.

Exactly a week after, daddy texted me with a different tone saying, “ get your ass ready tonight cause daddy is coming to your place tonight.” He was usually really sweet and nice, I was shot when I got the message. But automatically I said, “ yes daddy!” I guess I am a slutty whore for him right at the beginning as I knew my place where is always going to be inferior. “Nope.” He says. Flatly. As he runs his hand over his still steely-hard length of his curved cock.

“That your jockstrap on the floor next to you, son?” His dad asks. He reaches for and cups the wiggling low hangers of his teenage son.

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

“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 can see what his father is doing, unconsciously his hands moves to his cock. He strokes the length of his tool with his left hand while he teases the blistering red crown with the fingertips of his right hand. The lightning of his cool fingertips sends sparks through every nerve in his body.

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. “I thought you usually showered after practice. In the locker room.” His dad asks as he walks into the open door of the bathroom.

Garrett does not go hog-wild on his tool. He caresses and adores it like one would an idol. His dad takes a seat upon the closed commode lid.

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