Tyler gruffly watched the parade’s festivities, but he sure as hell wasn’t enjoying it. All of these fucking faggots with their disgusting rituals–it was no fucking wonder they were all going to go to hell for it. He was at one end of a small group of protesters, and for the most part, people were just ignoring them, or hadn’t even noticed them. But hell, how could they, when there were men in dresses, and chicks riding on Harleys with their breasts flapping everywhere, and men in disgusting leather straps and plugs in their butts, it was–

“Goodness, doesn’t it just make you proud?”

Tyler hadn’t noticed the man step up next to him, and he snarled back, “No, it doesn’t make me proud, it’s fucking disgusting!”

“No, you aren’t listening,” the man said, and now that he had Tyler’s attention, he locked eyes with him. The man looked perfectly normal, but…his eyes, the iris were black, but the pupils were…white. Tyler couldn’t look away, “Now, doesn’t it make you proud?”

Something felt like the world was rippling around Tyler, and as it passed, he said, “well, sure, I suppose so. I’m not gay though, I’m just an ally.” Something about that seemed like it should surprise him, but he’d come here as part of a counter-protest–wearing a short shirt with a rainbow on to show his support, but he wasn’t gay himself.

“Well, that’s better, but shouldn’t it make you prouder?” the stranger said, and another wave flew over Tyler, and he gave his head a shake. Looking down, he saw he was wearing his favorite tanktop he’d bought at one of the bear runs he’d been to, and some cut off jean shorts. “Well of course it makes me proud, but…I guess not proud enough to actually be out there, eh?” He chuckled at the man.

“Well, then shouldn’t you try and feel the proudest you can feel?”

Another wave, and then Tyler felt something in the music playing from a passing float, and he just wanted to fucking dance. He started grinding his ass into the church fuck next to him, watching the man recoil in horror that “a faggot” might have touched him, and then with a deep laugh, he pushed his way out into the street and started dancing along with the float. Sure, he was in his fifties, but he’d never in his life imagined that in his lifetime the movement could have come this far. Truly, he didn’t think that at that moment he could have been any more proud.

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