The march is in full swing with Charles Parker in the middle, surrounded by a crowd of overjoyed people. Some just walking, some dancing to the jolly music that comes blasting from several mobile boom-boxes, some chanting along. While it's not his type of music, he sees how the pulsating beats and the merry tunes create an atmosphere of overall joy free of all trouble and care; an atmosphere of liberation and freedom.

He keeps looking at the rainbow flags as a big grin creeps over his face and he feels his heart getting overwhelmed by a happiness he has not perceived since the birth of his son who is now, nineteen years later, walking alongside his father, beaming with glee.

Charles proudly throws his son a glance which gets returned with an approving nod. He holds his fingers in front of his face to take a look at the dot of his wife's plum nail polish on his pinky. For a healthy spirit on the big day, she always says when she does this for all of his speeches. It's only this morning that his son explained to him that the color comes from a greater picture, a symbolism beyond a simple, loving gesture from his wife.

As he keeps on going with the flow, his mind wanders back to a few days prior to the march when fundamentally different convictions were still making his world bleak without him realizing his narrow-mindedness was only tainting his own happiness.

***

“Will you just look at this,” Charles, tapping the newspaper in disbelief, complained to his wife Carla as they were nearing the end of their Sunday breakfast. “Pride march. Another riot? Just what this country needs! What's up next on this immoral godforsaken libtard agenda? Total anarchy?”

“Why does it bother you so much, honey?” Carla replied. “No one forces you to go.”

Charles muttered something unintelligible under his breath. This month, the press seemed filled with just that pride filth: homosexuals, gay people, dirty, filthy, fag—

“Look, Dad,” intervened his son William smearing a spoonful of jam on his bread. “They didn't do you anything, did they? Why are you so worked up about them? Are you scared or anything?”

“Me? Scared? Pha! What they did?” came Charles' irritated, cornered answer. “They asked me to give a speech and say something nice about these godless heretics. As long as I am the mayor, I will not have any of this blasphemous pride thing in my town. End of story.”

Carla began clearing the table to avoid the discussion which she obviously feared was bound to end up in a full-blown fight.

“Good point, Dad, well-thought-through, really deep,” William provoked. “You know, it's not like they're gonna do anything. It's just a gathering of people happy to live, show and stand by their sexuality openly without having to be afraid of getting spat on by bigots like you, Dad.”

Charles snapped at the direct accusation, “And now what? Are you gonna tell me you will march with them too? Fine! Go there! March along! Or what is it? Are you gonna tell me you just decided to become gay?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, Dad,” William retorted, earning himself a both hostile and inquisitive glance. “Yes, I will march.” He paused, hardly able to keep his nervously trembling jaw from making his teeth chatter. “And yes, I am gay. There! You happy now?”

“You are what?” yelled Charles in response, not believing what he had just heard. He slammed the newspaper on the table.

The pause that followed was filled by the awkward clattering of dishes in the kitchen. The tension was thick and palpable.

“Dad,” William began, with a clinical coldness. “It's not something I spontaneously decided to become. Had I been able to decide, I would have chosen to be bisexual. Twice the fun, you know.”

“Get out of this house,” Charles drearily ordered.

William crossed his arms and coldly looked into his father's eyes. “No, Dad. I'm certainly not gonna go anywhere. You can't treat your son like that.”

“Get out, I said!” Charles insisted, his voice louder this time as he picked up his still half-full coffee mug threateningly. How could his treacherous son's emerald eyes still be so vibrant, so serene, after stabbing his own father in the back?

William let a frustrated breath through his nose and stood up.

“You got serious issues, Dad,” he said as he gently pushed the chair back to the table. “What does it do to you? I'm gay, so what? It doesn't change the fact that I'm your son and that I respect and love you, Dad. And you will meet my boyfriend who's pegging my ass and jizzing his cum in it on a regular basis whether you like it or not. And don't tell me you haven't tried to talk Mom into anal. There's absolutely no difference.”

Judging from the expression of fuming rage in his father's eyes, William saw it fit to leave the dining room. Barely able to suppress his own anger, he managed to close the door in an orderly manner before he heard Charles scream, “I have no son!” accompanied by the sound of a mug crashing and breaking against the very same door.

***

The cheers are deafening as Charles slowly steps up to the stage. He halts with every step to drink in the vivacious atmosphere. He can't believe the audience is cheering for him despite his reputation with the community. Nervously, he looks around, hesitant to keep stepping forward.

In a try to soothe his nervousness, he unbuttons the wristbands of his mustard shirt to roll them up. No need to be overdressed for the big speech, he reminds himself. It's a casual event, yet of utmost importance. He's always liked this shirt, has always felt the color would fill him with energy. Also, he was one of the few people who could actually wear it without looking ridiculous.

His son William, beaming with pride is leaning over the handrail of the short set of stairs. “Go, Dad. You can do this,” he encourages his father, barely managing to predominate the noise level “Mom, Thomas and I are so proud of you.”

Charles stops, looks at his son. His eyes wander to the pair of hands with entwined fingers belonging to William and his boyfriend of two years—the lad Charles has only met a few days ago. The smile that fills the father's face is genuine; a smile of joy over his son's happiness. Until just those few days ago he was, he reminds himself, regarding not using one's seed to be fruitful and multiply as a cardinal sin against divine creation but that part of him was left behind to gather dust with all his other overaged beliefs.

***

As Carla came back to the dining room to see about her hubby, she found him with his head hanging low, face buried in his hands. She thought she'd heard him sniffle as she stepped closer. The moment she gently placed her hand on his shoulder, he winced and looked at her through stern eyes.

“Honey, I don't know what to say,” she said, tears in her eyes.

“How can he do this to me?” Charles hissed, voice trembling. “Where did I go wrong? After all we've done for him!” He looked at his wife. “You were too soft with him, Carla. How often did I tell you not to spoil the boy like that? Now, look where it's gotten us. I should have known. I should have fucking known!”

Tears rolled down Carla's face as she heard the accusation. “Charles, I... I—“ she tried, struggling for words.

“The fuck are you looking for excuses, woman? You knew, didn't you? Lying bitch!”

Despite how hurtful his words were, Carla heard an undertone of fear in his voice, the defensive fear of being cornered. She could tell the anger was just a mask hiding a dark secret; a mask so worn-out that he had long forgotten he'd put it on and was since long convinced it naturally belonged to his persona.

“Honey, please,” she began, waiting until his erratic gaze zeroed on her eyes but his lips remained silent. “I know you don't want to hear this,” she continued, voice heavy with tears, “but he's our son and he'll always be, no matter what. He's still the same person you raised and loved and he loves you too and you know that.”

Charles pressed his lips together. His wife had always had this subtle way of making him take a step back and reflect on what has happened, and most importantly, about himself.

“I used to know a man who was joyful, full of life and open-minded. I fell in love with this man. I still love you, Charles, like the first day but you've become bitter and cranky lately. Since you started your political career, actually. I know you don't want to hear this but if you make me choose between you and our son, I'll side with William because I'm proud of him and you should be too.”

For the first time in years, Charles felt hurt in his most intimate feelings. Not because he'd been attacked but because it appealed to emotions he had long forgotten, long ago buried under a thick layer of fake bigotry until he believed in it himself, long hidden behind a mask of effervescent obnoxious self-confidence.

“Talk to him, Charles. Please tell him and show him that you will always love him,” Carla resumed after letting her words sink in. “It doesn't have to be today or tomorrow but please talk to him. And if you can't get yourself to talk to him, please do it for me.”

She hugged her husband as tightly as his sitting position in his chair allowed. It felt awkward, yet the tension slowly faded and through the intimacy, a glimmer of his true self tried to break free from its tight, conservative mask through a minute, newly formed crack.

Carla was happy to see an ever so faint smile on his lips as they parted. She took the bottle of orange juice and poured his husband another glass. “Granny used to say there's nothing better to heal a broken heart than a glass of orange juice and I'm starting to believe her. You cannot unlearn to love your son but you can accept him for who he is and it's up to you to mend your relationship.”

With that, a tiny seed had been planted in this crack of his mask; a seed that would very soon strike root and tear open the thick shell and free his true self.

***

He turns his back to the colorful audience, taking a look at the worn-out backdrop with his corny election slogan. “This needs a makeover. Quickly,” he sighs, adding a mental note. “It does really look too strict and dowdy. Too black and white. Something more... colorful would be great. Azure or navy tones maybe? Yeah, that would look way more harmonious.”

He turns around to take one last look at the audience before his grand speech—the first of its kind. “...and many more to follow,” he mouths with a hope-filled heart as he scopes out the crowd, the waving rainbow flags. A whole order of magnitude more listeners than for the election rallies, he realizes. Not just white men with cowboy hats for a change. All ages, all complexions, men and women alike. “...and everything in between,” he muses. “You got this, old man,” as he takes a deep breath.

Finally, he adjusts the microphone and leans over the lectern.

“Usually, I'd start my speeches with gentlemen,” he begins, “which is highly inappropriate this time because for once, I wish to speak to everyone. A far more important message has to be divulged than a stinking old candidature for mayor of this town we call our home and it has to be addressed to all of us. We are here to celebrate our colorfulness and our pride in it.”

***

Carla was worried. Her husband was nowhere to be found. She had looked virtually everywhere in and around the house, had gone to his go-to Cracker Barrel and even to that shady friend of his she'd always had an unspoken presentiment he was secretly posting hate speeches on the safe anonymity of internet platforms.

When she pulled up the driveway, she was a bit relieved to see his car still parked there, yet felt still agitated. Another car pulled up and out stepped William with his boyfriend Thomas. She had called her son over while driving from the bar home.

“Mom, are you alright? What's happened?” William asked.

“I can't find your dad. I'm worried he might do something stupid. He was very upset this morning,” she replied in a nervous stream seemingly bereft of any punctuation.

William tugged her close in a tight hug. “He'll be fine, don't worry. His car's still here. He can't have gone too far. Let's just give the house one more sweep, okay?”

“Thank you, William,” Carla said with a much calmer voice. “He said such horrible things to you. You know he can be short-tempered sometimes. I'm so sorry. He's not a bad man, you know.”

A clement smile came over William's lips. “Yes, I know. He's still my dad. We'll work things out just fine, don't worry. Now let's go find him, yeah?”

The three entered the house. The dusk of mid-June was slowly falling, leaving the house in a somber twilight. After just over five-minutes, Carla, standing in the master bedroom, noticed a faint flickering of light through the crack of the door to her walk-in closet. She slowly opened it and stepped in to find her husband cowering between her coats, erect cock in his hand, sobbing, tear-stained face, eyes glued to his cellphone screen on which five men were taking turns at ejaculating into the butthole of a sixth man sitting on a barstool.

“Oh my god, Charles,” she exclaimed.

He didn't move. “Don't look at me,” he sobbed, his cheeks crimson with shame.

“Oh, Baby,” she said as she squatted next to him and pulled him into a soothing embrace and kissed his forehead.

“No, don't,” came his voice in a staccato as he cracked from the affection his wife was showing him despite finding him in such an unflattering position. “I'm a horrible person,” he howled into her shoulder as he burst in tears.

Finding the moans still coming from Charles' phone annoying and misplaced, she paused the video and locked the screen the exact moment the camera was focusing on the stream of cum that came oozing from the receiver's backdoor.

“I'm a horrible person,” repeated Charles, his voice laden with agony and guilt. “A horrible husband. A horrible father.”

“No, Baby, you're not,” Carla whispered, gently tousling his hair. “You've just not been yourself lately.”

“It's not that, Carla. How can you still love me after what I did and said to our son? And now you're finding me watching this filth and wanking to it.”

“Baby,” Carla hushed him, “why would I think you're a bad person because you watch porn?”

“Because it's gay porn,” he sniveled. “Carla, I love you but I'm... I'm... I'm—“

“I know,” she cut him short, her voice consoling and understanding. “I've always known.”

“You did?” Charles said before he snorted his nose. Renewed tears swelled in his eyes as he looked into his wife's joyous face. “All these years and you didn't mind?”

“Of course not, I married the whole package, the whole Charles.” She smiled happily. “Why would it bother me? It doesn't make you a different person. And you are the one I fell in love with, not some silly ideal you've been desperately pursuing.”

What followed was Charles who, for the first time in his life, opened up and showed the emotions he had all his life, as the eldest son and future male heir of his own parents, adamantly been indoctrinated to suppress.

Carla and he were sitting on the floor of the walk-in closet, entwined in a sobbing heap of clothes and hair, exchanging vows of love as William entered the bedroom. “Mom, Dad?” they heard him call. They parted, both blushed with tears of joy running over their cheeks.

“My son,” Charles approached William with open arms to take him into a loving fatherly hug. “I love you, my son. Please forgive your old man for being such a fool.”

“Oh, Dad,” William barely managed, him as well close to his tears. “I knew you'd come around, Dad, because you're a good man.”

His son's forgiveness finally took the last bit of guilt off Charles' heart. Hearing these words of love and pride from his own flesh and blood washed away all the shame and the remaining crumbs of his formerly firmly glued mask. He was free.

“Dad,” William began as he motioned someone to enter the room. “Meet Thomas, my boyfriend.”

Thomas tentatively, yet hesitantly offered his hand. “Good day, Mr. Parker, Sir. It's a pleasure to meet you,” he meekly tried, obviously afraid of the mayor's notorious hatred for rainbow sissies.

The seasoned man looked at him through tear-reddened eyes now radiating with newfound joy of life. “Drop it, silly. Please, call me Charles or Dad and drop the mayor act. You're the man that makes my one and only son happy and I'm very pleased to meet you. Welcome to the family, son.”

“Oh, Dad, I'm so proud of you,” William beamed at him.

Charles took a deep breath, licked his lips and said, “Thank you, son, but there's more. In fact, there's something very important I need to tell you and it's only because of you and your mother that I can finally muster the courage to stand by it.”

***

“I am aware that I have, in the past, not been known for sharing warm feelings for the non-heterosexual community,” Charles approaches the end of his speech. “And I am fully aware that this is a blatant understatement. I am very grateful for the warm welcome you have given me despite my previous statements. This virtuous gesture of yours is yet another sign that the LGBTQ community has to be met with just the same respect, tolerance and love as they share with everyone. It is yet a long, bumpy road but if we work together, if everyone is willing to play their part, we will get there. It is high time that we realize the treasure is not found at either end of the rainbow but within the rainbow itself.”

Thunderous applause.

Charles is breathing heavily as he is letting himself get overwhelmed by the sheer loudness of the cheering reverberating in his ears and takes a step back, his former beliefs now fully shed, his liberation complete.

As the noise appears to abate, he steps to the lectern once more and takes yet another deep breath. He throws an insecure glance at the local news reporters, then a hesitant look at the camera before he decides to take the leap of faith which would, under any other circumstances, equal a career suicide.

“I want everyone here to understand that my speech means way more than blank phrase-mongering or mere vote-catching. There is one more thing I need to add. Hadn't it been for my son's encouragement or for my wife's support, I would not have dared to hold this speech today. I only understand now that it was not out of hatred but out of fear. In these past few days, my family has led me to understand that embracing your sexual preferences is perfectly natural. I am proud of my son for who he is and for giving his old man the strength to tear off his mask of ignorance and fake homophobia and step up here and publicly confess in front of all you colorful people: I am bisexual, I have always been and I am proud of it.”