A Rainbow Coloured Comeuppance ( Pride Month Special)
A Story by Funky Monster
It was early June, and the air was already thick with pride flags and the buzz of end-of-school freedom. But for 18-year-old Eli Torres, life didn’t feel free at all.
Eli was small for his age—about 5’6”, wiry, with brown hair, tan skin, and warm, dark eyes always edged with anxiety. Being openly gay in a high school like Ridgefield wasn’t easy. He had come out a year ago and had paid the price ever since in whispers, mocking nicknames, and one boy who made his life especially hard: Chase Danner.
Chase was everything Eli wasn’t. Tall, muscular, with short-cropped brown hair and striking blue eyes, Chase played varsity football and ruled the hallways with his arrogance. His square jaw and smug grin made him the kind of guy people either worshiped—or feared. He was the son of Tom Danner, a single dad in his 40s who worked construction and raised his boy with old-school values. But even Tom had limits—and what he learned one day would shake his household and test everything he believed about manhood and justice.
The incident happened on a humid Wednesday. Eli had just presented his Pride Month poetry in English class. It was personal, raw, and vulnerable. The applause was short-lived.
As Eli walked down the hallway, Chase had intercepted him near the lockers, loudly mocking the poem in front of a small crowd.
“Nice love letter to your imaginary boyfriend, Eli. Bet he’s as fake as your masculinity.”
Eli had stood frozen, heart racing. Chase wasn’t alone—he rarely was—but this time, he pushed it further. He held up a crumpled rainbow pin Eli had dropped.
“You dropped your flag, princess. Or do you want me to pin it where your kind likes it?”
The hallway erupted with laughter.
But it didn’t end there. Someone filmed it. The video was online before Eli got home. It went viral in local circles within hours.
Tom Danner was just getting off a long shift. His hands were still dusty with drywall, his steel-toed boots clunking on the kitchen tile when he heard the ping of a new message from a coworker.
He tapped the video open.
By the time it ended, his jaw was clenched, and his ears burned. His son. His only boy. Humiliating another kid—in public—for something as personal as being gay.
“Hell. No.”
He didn’t shout. He didn’t call. He didn’t storm into Chase’s room right then. Tom was a man who believed in controlled responses—especially when anger was involved.
Instead, he made a call. To Eli.
Eli hadn’t expected the voice on the phone.
“Eli? This is Tom Danner… Chase’s dad.”
A beat of silence.
“I saw the video. And I want you to come over. Tonight. 6 PM.”
“Wh… why?”
“Because Chase is gonna learn what it means to make a real apology. I want you there to witness it. That alright with you?”
Eli, stunned, whispered:
“Yes, sir.”
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______________________
The doorbell rang exactly at 6:00 PM.
Tom Danner didn’t move right away. He gave it a beat—just long enough for tension to build in the room—before he stepped forward and opened the door.
There stood Eli Torres.
He looked smaller than Chase remembered. More fragile. But also more brave. His pink shirt was crisply tucked in, his fingers clutched tightly around a fabric backpack strap. For a moment, all Chase could see was that tiny rainbow pin catching the hallway light.
“Evening, Eli,” Tom said gently. His voice was low but calm.
“Hi, Mr. Danner…” Eli’s voice cracked a little. “Thank you… for inviting me.”
Tom nodded once, stepping aside.
“Come on in. We’re gonna get right to it.”
Eli entered the house like it was enemy territory—heels just barely making noise on the floor. He spotted Chase immediately. The blonde jock was leaning stiffly against the armrest of the couch, arms crossed tight over his chest, face like stone.
“Eli,” Chase muttered. Not “sorry.” Not even a proper greeting. Just the name. No eye contact.
Tom closed the door and clicked the lock.
“Chase, get up. Over here.”
Chase hesitated a second too long.
“Now.”
The single word cracked the air like a thunderclap.
Chase flinched, then obeyed, stepping forward into the middle of the room where the heavy wooden chair now sat in full view. Tom stood behind it.
“Stand there. Don’t speak unless I say.”
Eli lingered near the edge of the rug, hands clasped in front of him.
Tom gestured to a soft chair nearby. “Eli, you can sit. You’re not here to feel uncomfortable—you’re here because you deserve to witness this.”
Eli slowly sat down, knees together, backpack in his lap like a shield.
Tom took his place behind the chair. For a moment, he just looked at his son. Really looked at him.
“I raised you to be strong. To defend people who couldn’t defend themselves. I told you being a man means more than lifting weights and shouting the loudest. You hear me, Chase?”
“Yes, sir…” came the reply, quiet but tense.
“Then tell me what the hell made you think it was okay to attack Eli like that. In the hallway. In front of everyone.”
Chase’s jaw moved, but no words came out. Tom waited five seconds. No answer.
“That’s what I thought.”
Tom reached forward, grabbed his son’s arm, and in one fluid motion, pulled him down across his lap.
Chase let out a small, sharp breath—not quite a protest, not quite acceptance. His body stiffened as his dad adjusted him over his strong thighs, placing a firm hand at the small of his back. He didn’t resist, but his face was already pink with shame.
Eli’s eyes widened, heart pounding. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening. The most feared boy in school was about to get spanked. In front of him.
Tom looked directly at Eli now.
“You deserve justice, son. Not just words. Actions. That’s what this is.”
And with that, the first SMACK rang through the room.
Chase jerked, gritting his teeth. The second smack came harder. Then the third. Tom was spanking him with a strong, practiced rhythm—like a craftsman at work. Bare hand, full force. Each strike landed with a sharp crack against the thin gym shorts.
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
Chase twisted, trying to hold in a grunt. His ears were already burning red.
Tom paused.
“You humiliated someone for who he is. Let’s see how humiliation feels on your end.”
And with that, he hooked a thumb into Chase’s waistband.
“Dad—!”
“You earned it, Chase.”
Down came the shorts. Not fully off—just lowered to mid-thigh, exposing tight white briefs stretched across muscular cheeks already pink from the first round. Eli gasped softly, hand flying to his mouth. Chase’s face was crimson.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
The underwear did little to protect him.
“Do you think Eli asked to be gay?” SMACK!
“Do you think it’s funny to turn someone’s identity into a joke?” SMACK!
“How dare you make him afraid to walk down his own school hallway?” SMACK! SMACK!
Chase squirmed now, hands clenching the rug, face scrunched in effort not to cry out.
Tom stopped again, breathing steady.
“Eli,” he said without looking up, “Do you have anything you want to say right now?”
Eli sat there frozen, hands clenched at his sides, jaw tight.
He opened his mouth. Closed it again.
Then, finally, in a low but quaking voice:
“Do you even realize what you did to me, Chase?”
Chase, face flushed , he twisted his head slightly to listen. Tom, still holding his son in place, stayed silent.
“Do you know what it’s like to wake up every day and already hate yourself before you even brush your teeth?” Eli’s voice cracked. “To walk into school and pretend not to notice people staring or whispering or laughing just behind your back?”
He took a shaky breath, eyes burning.
“You think it’s easy to be different? You think I want to feel like I don’t belong? That I haven’t tried to just act ‘normal’—whatever the hell that means?”
“You made me feel like I was disgusting. Like I was a joke. Like the only way to survive was to hide every piece of myself.”
His fists were trembling now.
“You have no idea how many nights I’ve stared at the ceiling wondering if I’d ever feel okay in my own skin. If anyone would ever see me and not think less of me.”
Chase’s face was hot—not from the spanking anymore, but from something deeper, colder. He opened his mouth, tried to speak… but no words came.
Eli’s voice lowered, trembling like a tightrope.
“You broke something in me, Chase. And I’m still trying to put it back together.”
He tried to continue, but his throat tightened. A sob slipped through. He blinked rapidly, but the tears had already started rolling down.
“So yeah. Watching you get spanked like a brat… It doesn’t fix anything. But at least, for once, you know what it feels like to be small.”
Tom exhaled slowly. Even he looked shaken.
Chase didn’t respond. His face was pressed into the cushion now, eyes wide and wet, the sting on his bottom now second to the ache in his chest.
Tom gave his shoulder a firm, grounding squeeze.
“That’s what real pain sounds like, Chase,” he said softly. “And you caused it.”
Then, after a moment of heavy silence…
CRACK!
Another sharp spank landed on Chase’s bare bottom—followed by another, and another.
“So you’d better learn,” Tom said, voice steel. “Because this isn’t just about your backside. It’s about your heart.”
The spanking continued. Smack after smack landed on his now pink bottom
Eli hesitated. Then, in a voice that cracked halfway:
“I used to think Chase hated me. But I don’t think that’s true. I think he just… wanted to be safe with the other boys. And to do that, he made sure I wasn’t.”
Silence.
Even Chase froze at those words.
Tom nodded slowly.
“That sound about right, Chase?”
The boy sniffed. Quietly.
“Y-yeah…”
Tom gave him three more sharp smacks—louder than before.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
“Then you’re damn lucky Eli’s braver than you.”
SMACK! SMACK!
Chase squirmed again, fingers digging into the rug, his muscular legs kicking slightly.
“You think this is hard, son?” Tom grunted. “This is nothing compared to what you did to that boy’s spirit.”
Then, in one swift movement, Tom grabbed the waistband of both the gym shorts and the underwear.
“D-Dad, no—!”
“You lost the right to modesty when you made someone else feel ashamed of who they are.”
And down they came—all the way ,bunched up at Chase’s ankles, leaving his bare backside exposed for the first time in his life. His face went white with shock, then red with humiliation. His firm, athletic cheeks clenched instinctively, but Tom didn’t pause.
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
The sound of bare hand on bare flesh was sharper now. Louder. Cruel in its honesty.
“You don’t get to hide, Chase,” Tom said firmly. “Not from Eli. Not from me. Not from the boy you could’ve been if you’d just had the guts to stand up for what’s right.”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
Chase’s body was jerking now. His bottom was rapidly turning from pink to a blotchy deep red. He couldn’t help the yelps that slipped out—short, strangled, pained.
Eli, sitting just feet away, clutched his backpack tighter but didn’t look away. His eyes were wet, but his jaw was set.
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
“This,” Tom said, “is what accountability looks like.”
Another flurry; six sharp smacks, rapid fire, one on each side, alternating.
Chase finally broke.
“I—I’m sorry!” he gasped. “I didn’t mean—I didn’t think—”
“You didn’t think, and that’s the damn problem,” Tom growled, delivering three more blistering smacks right across the sit-spots. “Well now you will.”
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
Chase’s legs kicked again, his bare bottom now crimson, peppered with blotchy splotches from the relentless onslaught.
Tom finally paused.
Chase was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in short, uneven gasps. His hands were balled into fists near his head, face flushed, eyes shut tight.
Tom let him stay over his knee for a moment—bare, humiliated, defeated.
“You ready to start listening now?” Tom asked quietly.
“Y-yes…” Chase croaked, voice thick with tears.
Tom helped him up slowly—though he left the shorts and underwear tangled around his ankles, a physical reminder that this wasn’t over yet.
Chase stood awkwardly, trying not to cover himself, cheeks burning as much as his bottom. But his dad wasn’t done.
“Hands at your sides, eyes forward. Eli deserves honesty.”
The two boys faced each other now.
Eli’s eyes scanned Chase’s face—wet eyes, trembling jaw, naked shame in every line of his body.
Tom stepped between them like a referee at the end of a match.
“Eli, I want you to ask Chase anything. Say anything. This is your moment. I’ll make sure he listens.”
Eli looked hesitant at first. Then he stood, voice quivering but strong.
“Why?” he asked. “Why me?”
Chase swallowed.
“I dunno…” he said, miserably. “You were just… there. You were different. And the other guys laughed when I teased you. I thought it made me look tough.”
Eli blinked slowly. “Did you really hate me?”
There was a long pause.
Chase shook his head. “No… I didn’t. I just… didn’t want them to hate me.”
Eli took a deep breath.
“You know I was scared to come to school every day because of you?”
Chase looked down, his entire face crumpling.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t know it was that bad.”
“I didn’t either,” Tom said. “Because you kept it from me, Eli. That’s on me. But I promise you—this family stands with you now.”
Tom placed a large hand on Chase’s shoulder.
“You will make this right. Not just tonight. Every day. With how you speak. How you act. How you defend someone instead of joining the crowd.”
He turned Chase to face him fully, his voice dropping low and stern.
“Now answer me. Why is what you did wrong?”
Chase blinked back tears. “Because I made someone feel worthless… for being something they can’t change.”
“And?”
Chase’s lip trembled. “Because I was a coward. I went with the crowd. And I became the person I used to be scared of.”
Tom nodded.
“That’s right. You bullied someone like you were afraid of being bullied. But now? Now you have a choice.”
He looked between both boys.
“You’re going to clean this mess. Not with excuses. With change.”
Chase turned toward Eli again.
“I’m sorry, man. I don’t know if you’ll ever believe me, but… I mean it.”
Eli bit his lip. Then, slowly, he nodded.
“You have a long way to go,” he said softly. “But I think I believe that you want to try.”
A long silence followed. The tension—weeks, months, years of it—seemed to lift, just a bit.
Chase shifted, uncomfortable, still bare, still raw. But for once, not angry. Just… humbled.
Tom gave a small nod.
“Alright. Get dressed. Go upstairs. Shower. And think long and hard about who you want to be tomorrow morning.”
Chase gave one last look toward Eli—shame still lingering, but now softened by something real. Remorse.
Then, awkwardly he left the room.
The upstairs hallway was quiet, except for the faint creaking of floorboards as Chase padded back down in fresh clothes—loose sweatpants and a hoodie, his face flushed and eyes still rimmed in red. His backside throbbed with every step, and the sting hadn’t faded one bit. But his thoughts were elsewhere.
Eli was still sitting on the living room couch when Chase reappeared. The silence hung between them, awkward at first.
Chase rubbed the back of his neck.
“Hey… uh, thanks for staying. I know you didn’t have to.”
Eli looked up and gave a soft smile. “I figured it would’ve been kind of cruel to leave after that.”
Chase chuckled bitterly. “Yeah. That was… intense.”
“You took it,” Eli said. “Every smack. Didn’t expect that from you.”
“Neither did I,” Chase muttered, sinking slowly into the opposite couch cushion, careful not to put weight on his sore backside. “I didn’t think my dad still had that in him.”
A beat of silence passed.
“I meant what I said, though,” Chase added. “I really am sorry, man. Like, all of it. Not just what happened today, but… all the times I made school hell for you.”
Eli turned, facing him fully. “Why now, though? Why apologize?”
Chase swallowed.
“Because I saw your face while I was over his knee. You looked like I looked that day when Coach screamed at me in front of everyone in 8th grade. Just small. Like you wanted to disappear.”
He shook his head slowly.
“And I did that to you. On purpose. That’s messed up.”
Eli said nothing, just watched him for a moment. Then he stood up—and to Chase’s surprise, walked over and offered his hand.
But Chase pulled him into a full hug.
“You’re not the only one who wanted to be accepted,” Chase whispered.
Eli froze for a second, then slowly hugged him back—awkwardly, stiffly at first, then with surprising warmth.
“Thanks,” he murmured. “This… this means a lot.”
They pulled apart, and Chase flopped back down onto the couch with a groan, rubbing his behind.
“You’re gonna have to tell me how to sit through classes tomorrow. My butt feels like it’s glowing.”
Eli grinned, the first real grin Chase had seen on him ever.
“I’d recommend a donut pillow and some humility.”
Chase laughed despite himself.
“You clearly enjoyed watching me get my ass beat, huh?”
Eli raised an eyebrow. “Let’s just say I never imagined you’d be the one bent over getting lectured with your pants down. It was… satisfying.”
Chase rolled his eyes, smirking. “Great. I’m a gay kid’s revenge fantasy now.”
Eli shot back with a grin: “Not gonna lie—it was poetic justice.”
Chase pointed a finger at him. “You’re never telling anyone about this.”
“Too late,” Eli teased. “Already drafting the memoir: ‘From Locker Room Jokes to Living Room Justice: My Journey’.”
They both burst into laughter, the tension finally breaking for good.
Chase shook his head, still grinning. “We’re good now, right?”
Eli nodded. “Yeah. We’re good.”
Chase leaned back, wincing slightly.
“Just one thing,” he said, mock serious. “If we do become friends, and you ever date someone with a hairbrush fetish… please never let my dad meet them.”
Eli snorted. “Deal.”
And with that, two boys who had once stood on opposite sides of cruelty and shame now sat side by side—still sore, still scarred in some ways—but finally seeing each other as equals.
THE END.
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