"Your mother packed you some clothes; she also included the cash you had hidden in your underwear drawer. We assumed it was money you earned from cutting yards, or whatever else you did." Richard spat at him, every word an insult now as he reached down and unlocked the doors.
"Don't call me that ever again you...you are no son of mine!" Richard exploded,
grabbing Brandon by the collar of his Oklahoma Sooners t-shirt. Feeling his fury about to burst, Richard let go of the abomination's shirt collar and quickly reached down and pushed open the passenger door. Leaning back from him,
Richard warned, "We never want to hear from you again. You are eighteen and are on your own!"
With that Brandon felt his father shoving him out of the truck,
causing Brandon to literally fall into the gutter. Brandon landed on his butt in front of a small group of passengers standing outside the bus terminal smoking. The group stood by and watched what was happening silently. Jumping up quickly; Brandon wiped his eyes with his hands just as his backpack landed at his feet. Looking back at the man sitting in the red truck, Brandon felt totally lost.
|Product dimensions:||6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.88(d)|
About the Author
The Preacher's Son, his successful first novel. Having grown up in Louisiana, this novel came about as he watched in horror the devastation Hurricane Katrina caused in New Orleans. Kevin lives in North Texas with his lifelong partner and their pets.
Read an Excerpt
NO SON OF MINE
By KEVIN L. BACKER
iUniverse, Inc.Copyright © 2010 Kevin L. Backer
All right reserved.
Chapter OneWalking home from Putnam High School, the young man hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder while pulling his polo shirt out of his pants. He looked much like any of the other students leaving school under the blazing August sun that day, most wearing baggy jeans. Brandon Scotts found he was constantly pulling his pants up his hips through the day, but Brandon was so anxious to appear just like the other seniors at his school so he wore them nonetheless. In the Oklahoma humidity, sweat glued his white polo shirt to his body as he walked home alone. His eyes kept doing what they wanted, sneaking glances at other young men as they hurried past under the protective canopy of oaks that shaded the street. He only looked, as he had no idea how he might actually make friends with these classmates.
Brandon's stare lingered on a classmate across the street. That blond young man had sat next to Brandon in two classes last year, but Brandon knew that the guy wouldn't remember his name. Brandon remembered his name, though-Steve. Steve caught Brandon staring at him, grinned, and raised his hand as if to wave. Instead, though, he held up a fist and then extended his middle finger toward Brandon. Brandon looked hard at the sidewalk but still he heard Steve's laughter. To Brandon's relief, Steve and his group turned down the next street. Looking after them, Brandon waited for a school bus to pass. Then, holding his breath through its exhaust, he crossed the street and tried to forget Steve flipping him off. After all, Brandon thought, school had gone pretty smoothly the first week back after the summer break. At least he had not found himself stuck with a bunch of Neanderthals in gym class, as he had last year. It had taken half of this past summer for Brandon to get over the torture he'd endured during his junior year. Name-calling, taunts, and teenage pranks had made last year pretty close to a living hell. Sweating profusely now from the heat, Brandon turned another corner and onto his street. Hurrying up to his house, Brandon started across the once-green grass of his front yard. Making his way around to the back of the house, Brandon saw that the grass would have to be cut tomorrow. Most of it was brown from lack of water; Brandon's father steadfastly refused to pay for watering grass!
Located in one of the older subdivisions of Oklahoma City, Brandon's home looked just like the thousands of other homes built there in the early eighties. The small ranch-style home was single-story, with red bricks covering the front and cheaper clapboard siding around the back. Opening the simple chain-link fence across the driveway, Brandon made his way to the covered back porch. The air conditioning felt sweet. And, with any luck, the rest of the afternoon would be too.
He got some bottled water from the fridge and hurried between two rows of family photos on the hallway wall, all the way to his bedroom. He didn't care that he'd left the door wide open; he had the house to himself all afternoon. Brandon's father would not be home until after six, and his mother would be with his little sister at her Thursday afternoon ballet class until after five, so Thursdays always made Brandon happy. Brandon kicked off his sneakers, pulled off his damp shirt, and tossed it into the overflowing laundry basket at the bottom of the closet. Pleased at the way the summer sun had cleared up his skin, he admired himself in the mirror. Then he unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down his thin hips and finally kicked them into the basket with his shirt. Brandon stood up straight and stepped closer to the mirror to appraise his reflected self.
Standing five feet eleven inches tall, Brandon had sandy brown hair just long enough to fall in front of his eyes, which were green and vivid. Even though his long hair worked his father's last nerve, Brandon thought his hair looked better long so he endured his father's scorn on this issue. Now he was tanned from a summer spent mowing lawns, his face clear of the pimples and blackheads that had plagued his junior year. Muscles had begun defining themselves in his upper arms and chest, but his biceps failed to bulge as he posed with his arms over his head. Brandon worried about the way his butt seemed to fill out his underwear just a little too tightly. Maybe it was time to size up to a thirty-two this year.
It was just after three in the afternoon. For the next two hours, Brandon had plans involving his father's computer and some Vaseline he'd bought with his lawn-mowing money. Grinning, he reached behind the stack of board games on the top shelf, found the Vaseline, and took a clean white T-shirt from the shelf as he headed out of his room. Sliding happily down the hallway linoleum in his white socks, Brandon made his way through the living room and into his father's small office on the far side of the house.
Brandon carefully spread the T-shirt over the seat of his father's desk chair before he sat down. Scooting up under the desk as he turned on his father's computer, Brandon looked down at the tent beginning to form in his underwear. Almost as if his penis knew his plans for it this afternoon! "Hey, buddy, it's Thursday again!" Brandon said, smiling down at his now-straining erection. He turned one slat of the window blind so he could see their driveway in case someone returned home early.
First he waited impatiently for the old computer to boot up, then went to retrieve his mother's tape measure. As it finally started, Brandon hurried back to the office with the tape in his hand.
Settling down and getting comfortable on his T-shirt, Brandon went online and started typing in sites that he knew by heart. As his face reflected in the old monitor's screen load of thumbnails, Brandon felt his cock quickly reaching full length, then sticking straight up, as if begging. Brandon settled on the image of a handsome man in his twenties; Brandon slid back from the desk and slipped his underwear down and off. Placing the underwear on the desk next to the keyboard, Brandon sat back down on the chair. Feeling the familiar soft cotton of his T-shirt under his bare butt, Brandon measured carefully-still just a little less than six inches long, just like last Thursday. He wondered when it was finally going to get bigger.
Thrilled with the Thursday solitude, the coolness, and his nakedness, his erection swinging with each step he took, Brandon put the tape back exactly where he had gotten it. When back at the screen, he used his left hand to apply Vaseline and masturbate, his right hand on the mouse button. He leaned forward, as if he could go into the pictures with these men.
Brandon surfed from one website to another. In some pictures, men posed alone; in others, they took part in sexual acts that Brandon had only imagined. Brandon was a virgin and felt like a sinner during his Thursday porn interludes. Hell, even using his father's computer was forbidden in their house. Not because his father was afraid of what Brandon would be doing, but that he might discover some of the sites his father frequented himself. As far back as Brandon could remember, he had known he was different from the other guys at school. No, that was not the whole truth. He was not just different from other guys at school; he was attracted to other guys at school, sneaking looks at them while they undressed in the locker room and told lies about girls.
Being a loner, Brandon had never had any gay friends with whom he could speak about his feelings-much less try anything with! And as for telling his mother or father ...
Following the screen keenly, he drew the pleasure out, as he had learned to do. Very soon his testicles began to tighten up against his body and a drop of pre-cum had formed on the head of his cock. Letting go of the mouse button, Brandon reached down with his right forefinger and caught the droplet and tasted it-what would it be like to taste someone else's? Or to do what he was seeing on this screen?
After an hour, he checked the clock-over an hour remained before his mother and sister would return home, more than enough time for him to jerk off, clean up the mess, and take a quick shower. Reluctantly Brandon pushed himself back from the desk and padded quickly down to the hallway bathroom, since the bottled water he had drunk so quickly was having its effect. He made his way to the bathroom and waited, playing with his belly button as his penis finally relaxed and a sprinkle of piss began splashing into the toilet bowl, quickly building to a steady yellow stream in the water.
It was then that Brandon heard the unmistakable sound of a car pulling into the driveway and a car door slamming!
"Oh, shit!" His heart dropped; he stopped midstream and dashed out of the bathroom and down the hall.
Sliding around the corner of the kitchen in his socks, Brandon could hear conversation and another car door closing outside. Panicked, he ran into his father's office to push the power button on the computer and held the button down with one hand as he snatched up his clothes with the other. With his bare leg, he pushed the chair back just as it had been. As the computer finally began shutting down, Brandon grabbed the bottle of Vaseline from the floor. Petrified, he stood there naked, not daring to breathe as he waited for the monitor's screen to go dark. Eventually the computer shut down. Satisfied, Brandon dashed back out of the office and took off as fast as he could for the safety of the hallway bathroom. Running through the living room, Brandon could see his mother's form through the kitchen curtains. He made for the bathroom and dove into the shower tub and turned on the water at the same time.
"Brandon, are you in the bathroom?" she called down the hallway.
"Yes!" Brandon answered his mother as he stepped into the tub and pulled the curtain closed in case his mother or sister opened the unlocked door. He'd forgotten to take off his socks.
"How was school today, dear?" his mother asked from outside the bathroom door.
"Fine, Mom, I'm just taking a quick shower!" Brandon called back, dropping his T-shirt and underwear into the water as he pulled one wet sock off and then the other. "You two are home early."
"Yes, your sister wasn't feeling well. So we went for ice cream and came straight home," she replied.
"I'll be out in just a second, Mom," Brandon whined, afraid that she might come in the bathroom.
"I'm going to be starting dinner soon, did you take out the trash?" Mom was obviously not intent on leaving him in peace.
"I will after my shower, Mom," Brandon replied. Sarcasm crept into his voice even though he knew she would chastise him if she heard that tone in his voice.
"All right, but hurry up. Your sister would like some hot water too!" His mother called back not noticing his tone.
Brandon heard his sister's familiar whining as his mother finally began retreating down the hall, and his mother urging her to use the master bedroom's bath. Relieved, Brandon gathered up the clothes swirling around his feet and turned his face up to the spray. Damning his little sister's whining for bringing his mother home early, Brandon stared down through the water at his shrunken penis. Now, with his earlier excitement gone but not forgotten, his aching balls would just have to wait!
Finishing, he dried off, wrung out his wet clothes, wrapped them and his Vaseline up, and dashed for his bedroom. There he re-hid the Vaseline and buried the wet clothes in his clothes basket. He'd barely gotten dressed before his sister opened the door.
"What're you doing?" Judy asked, peering into his room from the safety of the hallway.
"Didn't we agree you were supposed to knock before you open the door?" Brandon silently cursed his father's rule: no closed or locked doors in his house.
"I did, you just didn't hear me!" Judy lied, tossing her ponytails as she dared him to argue the point.
If he argued with her, she'd go and bawl to their mother, who'd take her side. Brandon gave his sister a blank stare, sat down on the bed, and pulled on a clean pair of socks. Finally the twelve-year-old gave up and stomped back down to the kitchen, deliberately leaving his door open.
"Brandon, the trash," his mother bellowed from the kitchen.
Dinner had become an endless exercise in self-control: the same endless prayer before the meal, the same chatter from Judy. She also swung her feet under the table and usually bruised Brandon's knee at least once per meal. Tonight was as usual. Brandon noted that his mother had been back to the beauty parlor today and gotten her hair bleached blonde; she had on far too much makeup. Brandon dearly loved his mother, and he felt closer to her than his father. After all, he had inherited his looks from her, and even as she approached her late forties, she remained a pretty woman, very slender, with a thin, angelic face. She hung on every word his sister said. Yes, dinner was definitely beginning to get on Brandon's last nerve. But somehow he always managed to control himself. His father's belt probably had a lot to do with that!
Meanwhile, the man anchored the other end of the table, shoveled food noisily into his mouth, and pretty much ignored everything but his plate. Richard Scotts was a huge man. He weighed least two hundred and sixty pounds the last time he dared step on a scale; with every year, his weight rose, his hair receded, and his fuse got shorter and hotter. Brandon was growing up to be Richard's opposite. Richard had been one of those people, alien to Brandon, who actually enjoyed high school. His father, being a high school football star, a game that Brandon couldn't stand-a fact that disappointed his father to no end. Which he told Brandon unfailingly every Sunday during the season.
Being so self-conscious about his growing body, Brandon couldn't bear the thought of having to undress or, heaven forbid, shower with his teammates! Gym class was one of the day's events that he feared most. Luckily for Brandon, he had yet to be forced to shower after gym class. Showering with others was the main reason didn't want to play sports.
Brandon feared his father more than he loved him. Richard's quick temper made the boy flinch when his father turned his way too quickly. And Richard Scotts was a firm believer in the old saying about sparing the rod and spoiling the child. At least he believed in it where Brandon was concerned; Brandon could not remember his father ever raising his voice, much less his hand, to his sister. Brandon still bore a small scar across over his left eyebrow from one of his father's beatings several years ago. He had tried to run away, and that had infuriated his father even more.
None too soon, the evening meal drew to a close, but only after Richard Scotts had inhaled most of the fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Only then did Richard signal the end of their meal by unceremoniously shoving his plate toward the center of the table. The big man slowly rose and lumbered into the living room. Usually his father was intent on reading the morning paper and watching television a few hours before bed. Only then did Brandon and the rest of the family get up and start clearing the table after him. Once that chore was done, Brandon kissed his mother good night and headed for the sanctuary of his bedroom.
Leaving the door open a crack, Brandon flopped down on his bed and slipped on the secondhand headphones he had gotten at a garage sale. Plugging them into his small bedside radio, Brandon tuned the dial to his favorite station and started listening to the music as he flipped through today's notes from school. Brandon only looked up when his sister stuck her head in his room.
"What?" Brandon asked, pulling a phone off one ear so he could hear her.
"Dad said you better have the lawn mowed before he gets home tomorrow," Judy told him, grinning, waiting for his reaction.
He didn't give her one. "I plan on it." He slipped his headphones back on and smiled, not the response she wanted.
Finally she gave up and headed back toward the kitchen. Brandon turned off the radio and started preparing for bed. As he started for the bathroom to change into pajamas, Judy dashed from her room and into the bathroom just ahead of him.
Excerpted from NO SON OF MINE by KEVIN L. BACKER Copyright © 2010 by Kevin L. Backer. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
great but sad
Eighteen year old Brandon was surprised to see his father, who normally would be at work all day, waiting when he got out of school to give him a ride. But he soon learned the reason why: his father had discovered that Brandon was visiting gay websites on his computer. In tears, Brandon admitted he thought he might be gay, and was shocked when his father abruptly dropped him off at the local Greyhound bus station with a suitcase that had been packed for him, and told him he never wanted to see him again. After being robbed and beaten on a layover in Houston, Brandon eventually made it to New Orleans, where he spent two nights sleeping in pubic, bathing in a fountain, chickening out at the idea of turning tricks for money to survive, and considering suicide. He was surprised to hear a voice he had heard once before, when he had been rebuffed for staring at a good-looking young guy at a sidewalk cafe. Preston, 20 and a premed student at Tulane, had been getting over a bad breakup, and later felt guilty at having responding that way to Brandon, and followed him when he saw him days later. Finding out Brandon has no place to stay, Preston offered to let him stay, no strings attached, at the apartment over his parents' garage, while they were out of town. As the two boys got to know each other, true love bloomed, and they were looking forward to a perfect future together. Unfortunately, at that time, a storm to be called Katrina was heading for New Orleans, and it would offer them significant challenges. I *really* wanted to like this book, since it had - what I consider to be - an important message: the plight of "throwaway" gay teens from homophobic parents. And I had read, and enjoyed, Backer's previous novel, "The Preacher's Son." Unfortunately, this book doesn't measure up to that. Despite having some relatable characters, the dialogue between the boys (which makes up most of the book) is unrealistically stilted,trite and clichéd. Overall, the novel drags on way too long (over 400 pages) and seemed even longer. Last, but not least, in a novel likely to be of interest to gay teens, I find his characters obvious preference for sex without condoms to be very irresponsible. Sorry, but two stars out of five is best I can do on this one. - Bob Lind, Echo Magazine