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コメント > “Last I measured, I was nearly eight inches, dad. Maybe more. I may be even bigger, who knows.” He answers nonchalantly. “Pick it up and smell the crotch.” His dad says.
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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. “Maybe his dad is right.” He thinks to himself as he continues with his intense fondling of his fiery red cock.

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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. “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.”

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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. “I bet you got some stares from the other boys in the locker room.” His dad adds. “You couldn’t miss it.”

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He is unfazed by the presence of his dad despite his nakedness inside the hot spray of the shower. 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.

His father rakes the clear juice of his son’s leaking manhood over the boy’s tensed cockhead. “You know what you have to do. Doncha. Son.” His dad says.

“I managed to lift nearly two hundred today. I believe.” He explains. “But I strained a lot to do it. I was moaning. Groaning.” “Was it because of that?” His dad asks as he points a finger towards him. And his midsection.

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

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“That your jockstrap on the floor next to you, son?” His dad asks. “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?”

He does not answer but tilts his head down in an almost subservient nature to his father. “Once you plant that cock of yours in some squirmy hole and empty those warm balls of yours into a moist wet hole. Then you are on your way to becoming a man, and only then will you, come-of-age. But it is only a step onto the winding pathway towards manhood. It is my job to teach you what it means to be a man.” His father stands as he finishes his sentence. Loosening his belt and pulling his shirt out from the tucked confines of his pants.

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