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His father rakes the clear juice of his son’s leaking manhood over the boy’s tensed cockhead. He dries himself but his throbbing cock continues to pulse as it grows harder because of his youth. The sensation intensifies. The feeling is wonderful. He can hear his cock throbbing in his ears.

“I think all of us were sprouting wood, today, dad.” He says. “Coach even noticed how hard we all were.” 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.

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.

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“What are you now, son?” “Nope.” He says. Flatly. As he runs his hand over his still steely-hard length of his curved cock.

“I bet you got some stares from the other boys in the locker room.” His dad adds. “You couldn’t miss it.” “Last I measured, I was nearly eight inches, dad. Maybe more. I may be even bigger, who knows.” He answers nonchalantly.

“I thought you usually showered after practice. In the locker room.” His dad asks as he walks into the open door of the bathroom. “Thinkin’ ‘bout it.” He answers. “I want to show the world that I am a man, like you. Father.”

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He is unfazed by the presence of his dad despite his nakedness inside the hot spray of the shower. “You know what you have to do. Doncha. Son.” His dad says.

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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. “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.”

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

He gulps once as his dad mounts more pressure on his balls. Squeezing them. 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.

“Stoke your cock while you sniff that jock.” “That you, son?” A voice chimes in from the hallway.

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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 look forward to the day when you are a fully grown man, my son.” His father says. “I am anxious to see the fruit of my loins reach his fully-adorned manhood. Adulthood.”

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“That you, son?” A voice chimes in from the hallway. “That you, son?” A voice chimes in from the hallway.