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“What ya lifting now?” His dad asks as he fidgets on the commode seat. He can feel his hard-on growing in his pants.

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“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?”

“You lettin’ the beard grow on your face, I see, son?” His father asks him, as his head bumps up under the chin of his towering son.

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

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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.

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“What happened at today’s practice today that was so different from any other day, son?” His dad asks.

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

“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.

He does not say anything in response to his father as his cock continues pulsing and jumping as the blood engorges his youthful cock more. And more.

“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?”

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“I figured you did.” His father says. “You play on a team, so you know the purpose of teamwork.”

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