Dad always finds the time to put aside whatever plans he'd had prior when it comes to anything relating to his son, especially whatever games he has coming up. Not that he'd ever admit it, but his boy looks good- especially when running down the field, tight uniform highlighting curves he doesn't have time to glance over plentifully at home.

It's a different story though when he gets to sit on the bleachers, high up in the corners. Usually he has to come minutes later due to work and chores at home, but today he'd been able to secure a spot up top before the small crowd was forming too fast.

With a lounging sigh, the older man leans back, setting a cooler filled with iced refreshments down between his feet, eyes carefully looking over the rowdy cluster of players prepping for the game.

It's easy enough to spot his son, the damn cutie, getting slapped on his back playfully by another few teammates. Any lower and they'd be spanking handfuls of solid dough. The sight of tight billowing fabric against honed glutes brings about a familiar throb accompanied by a natural resting of the larger mans arms over his thick thighs.

This kinda thing comes naturally enough at least, so with no pre-amble, dad casually pops opens the lid of the cooler to coincidentally block any stray gazes to his sizeable bulge. The game starts, and his eyes are glued to his boy’s backside, legs working to carry him across the field. With each turn and subtle gyration, dad finds himself groping at his crotch, a small dark patch appearing over the lighter fabric.

“Fuck, son…go get em.” He mutters gruffly in a whisper with each subtle nudge to his own manhood, his elbow’s odd movement the only indication he’s doing anything lewd.