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His father strokes his own cock in the shower, the dew from his cock mixes with the drops condensing on the glass. “See this; see this. “His father says. “This is where power comes from.”

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

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. His son bucks on the lid as he turns beet red from his carnal machinations.

He looks down. And then smiles at his dad. Garrett does not go hog-wild on his tool. He caresses and adores it like one would an idol.

His father steps into the shower, turning on the water. As he soaks and lathers himself up under the lukewarm stream of water, he fondles his cock and balls. His cock soon mimics that of his son. Garrett sits on the commode, where his father had sat.

He reaches and lets his hand glide over his swelled cock. Tickling the head of his bulbous cock with his rough fingertips which sends electric sparks through him and down to his toes. 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.

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. “Nope.” He says. Flatly. As he runs his hand over his still steely-hard length of his curved 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. “See this; see this. “His father says. “This is where power comes from.”

“That you, son?” A voice chimes in from the hallway. “What happened at today’s practice today that was so different from any other day, son?” His dad asks.

He does not hear the slamming of the front door. Neither does he hear the footsteps on the wood floor in the hallway. The shower drowns away all this noise. “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.”

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

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He lifts his head from its bowed stance and looks into the eyes of his father wanting some acknowledgement. He does not answer but tilts his head down in an almost subservient nature to his father.

“I bet you got some stares from the other boys in the locker room.” His dad adds. “You couldn’t miss it.” He is unfazed by the presence of his dad despite his nakedness inside the hot spray of the shower.

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. “Let me get in there, Garrett.” His father says, as his son steps aside so he can get into the shower enclosure.

“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 sits on the commode, where his father had sat.

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