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コメント > 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.
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“Do it!” His dad orders. His father strokes his own cock in the shower, the dew from his cock mixes with the drops condensing on the glass.

“What did Coach have to say when he saw all those hard-young cocks in the locker room?” His dad asks. “What…huh…what, dad?” He asks, puzzled by the question from his dad. As his cock is mere inches from his dad’s face.

“But you didn’t though, did you, son?” “Do it!” His dad orders.

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. Garrett nods to his father.

“Last I measured, I was nearly eight inches, dad. Maybe more. I may be even bigger, who knows.” He answers nonchalantly. 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.

“Nope.” He says. Flatly. As he runs his hand over his still steely-hard length of his curved cock. “That’s it! That’s it! That’s it!” His father bellows.

“What?’ He balks at the suggestion from his dad. “See this; see this. “His father says. “This is where power comes from.”

He reaches for and cups the wiggling low hangers of his teenage son. Garrett resumes the fondling of his cock while he takes long drawn-out whiffs from his sweat, piss and cum stained jockstrap.

“Pick it up and smell the crotch.” His dad says. “What?’ He balks at the suggestion from his dad.

“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.” 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.

Garrett does not go hog-wild on his tool. He caresses and adores it like one would an idol. “That your jockstrap on the floor next to you, son?” His dad asks.

His father rakes the clear juice of his son’s leaking manhood over the boy’s tensed cockhead. “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?”

“This is what a man looks like, son.” His father says as his pants fall to the floor. From his waist out pops his representation of a 40-year-old-man. And father of two teenage boys. His cock. “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.

Garrett nods to his father. “Last I measured, I was nearly eight inches, dad. Maybe more. I may be even bigger, who knows.” He answers nonchalantly.

“Do it!” His dad orders. He gulps once as his dad mounts more pressure on his balls. Squeezing them.

“I figured you did.” His father says. “You play on a team, so you know the purpose of teamwork.” “What did Coach have to say when he saw all those hard-young cocks in the locker room?” His dad asks.

“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?” 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.

“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. Garrett nods his head as he wraps the jock over his head, and takes a hearty breathe of the pouch placed over his nose.

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

All the blood rushes from his brain to his throbbing erection plus the heat of the shower, making the young lad, light-headed. He does not answer but tilts his head down in an almost subservient nature to his father.