“That you are, son. You are busting at 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 son, doncha. You know, I am right.” The now lukewarm water streams through the curls of his hair rinsing away the last vestiges of the soapy lather. It all goes down the drain in a swirl of bubbles.