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コメント > 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. “What are ya now, by the way?”
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“Last I measured, I was nearly eight inches, dad. Maybe more. I may be even bigger, who knows.” He answers nonchalantly. “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?”

“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.” “What?’ He balks at the suggestion from his dad.

“Nope.” He says. Flatly. As he runs his hand over his still steely-hard length of his curved cock. “Let me get in there, Garrett.” His father says, as his son steps aside so he can get into the shower enclosure.

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

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 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.

I used my teeth to strip off daddy’s black sheer socks. I placed them in my mouth and washed them with my saliva. I swallowed every single sweat and stink from these socks. It takes so well. I rolled them into a ball and stuck them into my jockstrap where my small dick and balls were. “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.

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The helmet of the man’s cock weaves a picture of no recognition as the father’s cum streaks itself through the watery haze. “I thought you usually showered after practice. In the locker room.” His dad asks as he walks into the open door of the bathroom.

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“It was intense. Really intense. We ran so many drills. I am exhausted.” He explains. “I bet you got some stares from the other boys in the locker room.” His dad adds. “You couldn’t miss it.”

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

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“Yeah. Yessir. Dad.” Garrett mutters. “You know what you have to do. Doncha. Son.” His dad says.

His father rakes the clear juice of his son’s leaking manhood over the boy’s tensed cockhead. “Yep. I’ve had one since I put on my gear at practice today.” He tells his dad.

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