A Coming-Of-Age Story

by TallyMans

26 Jun 2019 6456 readers Score 8.3 (43 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt


The sound of running water carries down the long hallway in the modest home. The door to the bathroom is open, as he knew he could bath in privacy, for once, without intrusion. He is showering. Practice was rough today, the one shower after the practice and workout was a start, but the walk home tired him even more and the massaging water caresses him as he lathers the soap over his taunt muscular frame.

He does not hear the opening and slamming of the front door or as the entrant resets, the slow and steady beeping of the house alarm upon the crossing over of the threshold of the middle-class home. He does not hear the rhythmic footsteps on the polished wood floor that lead down the hallway, to the bathroom and the bedrooms.

The person leans in to the bathroom, as the door is partially ajar.

“That you, son?” a voice rings out from the hallway.

“Yeah, dad, it’s me,” he shouts, over the sound of the blistering rush of the warm shower, “It was a rough practice.”

“I thought you usually showered at the bunkhouse?” his dad asks, as he swings the door open, more.

His dad opens the door and walks in, steam hangs heavy in the closed-in place. His dad takes a seat on the commode lid, closing the enamel thrown-lid, cutting off the passage to the underground abyss that lurks there.

The son is not bothered by the presence of his father, as father and son continue their conversation, despite the nakedness of the showering son.

“So what happened at practice today, that was so different from any other?” his dad asks.

“It was intense, we ran so many drills,” he says.

The lukewarm water streams through the curls of his wet hair as he rinses away the last vestiges of the soapy lather from his body.

“Was it because of that?”

He looks down, lifts his head back up and looks in the eyes of his father, and smiles.

“My hard-on, huh, dad? Somewhat, but I have one all the time. You know that. You’ve made enough comments about me sportin’ boners before.”

He reaches and lets his hand glide on his swelled cock and tickling the head of this bulbous flesh with his delicate fingertips.

“Yep, I’ve had one since I put on my gear,” he explains to his father.

“You know what you have to do, doncha, son?”

“I don’t wanna jack-off, dad,” he says in a flabbergasted manner as he turns the spigot to the hot and cold water from open to close.

“What ya lifting now?”

“I managed to lift nearly two hundred today,” he explains, “I strained and moaned.”

“You did it with that boner?”

“Yeah,” he says, “…and freeballing, too.”

“I bet that got some stares from the other guys, in the locker room, I bet.”

“I think all of us were sprouting wood, today, dad,” he says, “Coach even noticed.”

“So, what did Fred hafta say about all this hard young man-meat at practice and in the locker room?”

“Coach told us all, to go beat off, seeing all those tents in our shorts, he said we should have all been working out naked, what with our shorts weren’t covering up, and our cock’s periscoping out over the elastic bands of the shorts,” he says, as he steps from the shower.

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

“Nope,” he says, flatly, as he runs his hand over his still hard-steel-like curved cock.

He dries himself but his throbbing cock continues to pulse as it grows harder because of his youth, the more intense the sensation. The more wonderful is the feeling.

“What are you now, son?’

“What, huh, what, dad?” he asks, puzzled by the question to him.

All the blood rushes from his brain to his throbbing erection plus the heat of the shower, making the young lad, somewhat light-headed.

“What are ya now, by the way?”

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

“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 ya were down there, that’s quite obvious. It makes me proud of you, my son, I created, along with ya mother.”

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 and to his fur-pillowed crotch, where the throbbing from his hard-on springs back as the damp towel whips his erection back and forth with the swipe of the towel.

“I’m nearly 6’2” dad and weigh 210, I think, dad, last time we were weighed at practice,” he says, “Much bigger than you, I should say.”

“That you are, son. You are busting 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, doncha, I know I am right.”

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.

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

“I am fully grown now, Father,” he says in heated rebuttal.

“You are grown, yes, physically, yes, son, but a full man, no. 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.”

“Then, what is this, father,” he says as he wrestles his cock in his fierce grip, and squeezes it like a fighting serpent unleashed from its coil.

“That is your cock, son,” his father, says, “…but it does not make you a man. It only makes you a boy with his cock in his hand.”

“FUCK! FUCK!” he says, as he loosens the tightened grip on his fleshy-red-tool, while it throbs with the life-giving blood coursing through its vein-filled region.

“Have you fucked, son? Have you fucked? Have you dumped your seed in some welcoming moist hole?” his father asks as he leans forward on the commode-chair, his hand squeezing the bulge in his tan khakis.

He does not answer but tilts his head down, almost subservient in nature.

“You have not fucked, have you, my son? Have you?” his father asks, as he readjusts the cock buried and swelled in his khaki pants, “I thought as much.”

He lifts his head from its bowed stance and looks into the eyes of his father wanting some acknowledgement.

“Once you plant that magnificent cock of yours in some squirmy hole and empty those warm balls of yours into that hole, you are then on your way to becoming a man, only then will you, come-of-age, but it is only a step on the winding pathway to 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.

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

“This is what a man looks like, son,” his father says as his pants fall to the floor, from his waist out pops the 40 year-old-man, and father of two teenage boys, cock.

His father unbuttons his shirt and throws to the bathroom floor. Where his son is like mythical David, cast in stone with blonde locks and cherubic face, the father is dark and a day’s growth of stubble on his face.

“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.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout it,” he answers, “I want to show the world that I am a man, like you.”

His dad’s cock does not curve like that of his son, it angles like a cast fishing rod looking for some fish under the rushing river waters, from the deep furry patch between the father’s legs.

“See this; see this, “his father says, “This is where power comes from.”

He reaches down and cups the wiggling low-hangers of his son.

“Back in the day, back before we turned into a modern society, a man would grab another man’s balls and swear an oath with them in his hand and state his word to be true, to be a friend,” his father says, “Do you know what I mean, son?”

“Yes, sir,” he says as he straightens up, standing erect as the member that pulses to life between his legs, his father’s right hand, firmly locked on the young man’s balls, “Yes, sir, I do.”

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

The pre-cum leaks, like a babbling brook, from the boy’s erect pulsing cock, depositing its tiny droplets of juice onto the arm-hair of his proud father, his father squeezes the nuts of son, tighter and tighter, releasing more of the youthful essence.

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

His father rakes the clear juice of his sons leaking manhood over the boy’s cock.

His father kicks the shoes from his feet and slides his khaki pants off, while still holding, the resistant nut-sac of his virile son in his right hand. He is now as naked as his 17 year-old son.

“Dad! Dad!” his son says, straining, “Can you release me?”

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

His father loosens his grip on the full balls of his son and 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, in his building excited state.

“Let me get in there, Garrett,” his father says, as his son steps aside so he can get into the shower enclosure.

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

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, roughly. His cock soon mimics that of his son.

Garrett can see what his father is doing, unconsciously his hands moves to his cock. He strokes the length of his tool with his left hand while he teases the blistering red crown with the fingertips of his right hand. The lightning of his cool fingertips sends sparks through every nerve ending of his body.

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

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

“Yeah, dad,” Garrett mutters.

“Pick it up and smell the crotch,” his dad says.

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

“Do it!” his dad orders.

Garrett picks up the pee-stained jock on the tile floor.

“Stoke your cock while you sniff that jock of yours.”

Garrett resumes the fondling of his cock while he takes long drawn out whiffs from his sweat and piss stained jockstrap.

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 and he takes another whiff of the musky scented pouch of the jock.

“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 some 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 nods to his father.

Garrett does not go hog-wild on his tool. He caresses and adores it like some idol.

“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 at our trucks in the parking lot. We were so horny we could barely sit in our seats. You ever do that Garrett?”

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

“Lookin’ good there son, lookin’ good,” his dad says over the stream of the warm cleansing water caresses the mature man’s body.

His bare ass melts to the lid of the toilet bowl. He sweats from the steam and the exertions from his continued pounding of fierceness on his cock. He wiggles as his ass opens, squeaking on the plastic surface of the thrown lid, as he takes the many whiffs from the cum soaked pouch of the jock that covers his face.

“Stoke it, boy! Stroke it! Stroke that cock!” his father demands as his own cock draws on the wet interior of the glass enclosure shower, “Pound harder, boy! Pound it harder!”

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

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

His father strokes his own cock in the shower, the dew from his cock mixes with the drops condensing on the glass.

“That’s it! That is it! That’s it!”

His father’s words are what he hears when he erupts.

“Damn it, son! Damn it! Damn it, you hit the mirror above the sink!” his father shouts as the bullets of cum shoot forth from his son’s cock and hits the adjacent mirror directly in front of the bathroom thrown.

***

“So where is my money?” the ‘son’ asks, “You know our agreement.”

“Where it usually is, the check is in the gold dish by the door,” the ‘dad’ says, “Thanks for cumming. I’ll call again when I want you to be my ‘son’ again.”

The young man, masquerading as the man’s son, smiles.

Ian is always good for a quick buck and he is always willing to mete out whatever fantasy the older man can dream up, being a ‘son’ to his ‘father’ is one that they have not done before but it was fun. It reminded him of those days back in high school and what when on as his manhood sparked.