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コメント > “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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“You are grown. Yes. Physically. Yes, my son. But a full man. No! No!” His father, says, sharply. “You have much more to grow, to mature, before you are a man, before you can call yourself. A man.”

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“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.”

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“But you didn’t though, did you, son?”

“Lookin’ good, son. Lookin’ good.” His dad says over the stream of the warm cleansing water as it caresses his mature man body.

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

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

“That’s it! That’s it! That’s it!” His father bellows.

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

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.

“What are you now, son?”

“Then show me, father. Show me what it means, TO BE A MAN?” He says with an excitement building in his voice.

“Maybe his dad is right.” He thinks to himself as he continues with his intense fondling of his fiery red cock.

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.

The helmet of the man’s cock weaves a picture of no recognition as the father’s cum streaks itself through the watery haze.

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“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.”

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