Page 1 of On My Side (Quiblings #3)

Ren

Playlist: Can I Be Real? | Brynn Elliott

June

I didn’t think I’d regret not bringing an extra pair of pants to family dinner this week, but here we are.

“ Shit,” I hiss, jumping to my feet as my brother-in-law’s Coors Light seeps through my chinos.

“Sorry, man,” my oldest sister Kat’s husband, Steve, slurs, reaching for my crotch.

I slap his hand away. “It’s fine.” I force a smile onto my face, knowing any other reaction would lead to unwanted conflict. “Accidents happen.”

My meager slap doesn’t deter Steve, though, and he reaches toward my lap again. This time, I push my chair back and take a giant step away from the table as the rest of my present family stares. I swear I can hear Millie, my younger sister, snickering into her wine glass.

I make eye contact with my dad. “Think I can borrow a pair of pants?”

He nods, lifting his own bottle of Guinness to his mouth and glancing away. Good. If he looks at me too long, the smile gets harder and harder to maintain.

Of course, Ren Quinn, beloved music teacher and golden boy, doesn’t get to be a little slutty.

When I re-enter the dining room with my chinos balled under my arm, Leo, my younger and only brother, snickers.

“Where are Nic and Josh?” I ask loudly, trying to get the attention off me.

Nic is another one of my older sisters, and she lives in Brooklyn with her partner, Josh.

Since they started dating in the fall, they’ve been coming home more regularly for Sunday dinners.

Nic is autistic and struggles with big family gatherings, but since she started dating Josh, she’s been more comfortable in her own skin, and with the rest of us.

My mom puts on her reading glasses and pulls out her phone, squinting at the screen. “Your sister said, and I quote: ‘there’s no flipping way I’m taking the train today LOL. Maybe next week? Love you.’”

“No way did Nic say flipping ,” Leo objects.

Mom peers at him over her glasses. “There’s no need for me to repeat what she did say.”

I pick at my dinner while smiling and answering questions about the impending end of the school year and beginning of summer.

“Are you teaching private lessons again?” Leo’s twin, Izzy, asks.

I nervously twirl my linguine around my fork. “No, I think I might help out with summer school this year instead.”

My entire family’s eyes are on me as the entire room goes silent.

Some would call me predictable, but the people in my life say dependable.

Since my sophomore year of high school, I’ve taught private piano lessons during summer break, a job I took out of boredom and kept out of necessity.

I’d heard throughout my time in college how underpaid teachers are, but it’s one thing to be told something and another to live it.

When I graduated, I found myself setting up my classroom with my own money while drowning in student debt.

The extra income was necessary for survival.

It still is. The extra income just comes from a different source.

“I thought you loved teaching private lessons!” Mom exclaims, her brown eyes wide.

“I do!” I reassure her, a twinge of guilt burrowing deep in my belly. “The school needs help, and it looks good if I’m able to do it.”

It’s a lie—I don’t love teaching private lessons.

Once I graduated college and became an actual, professional music teacher, it felt like the fun that had once come from private lessons was sucked out of it.

Instead of being excited for lessons, I dreaded them.

The focus became making parents happy instead of doing things at the student’s own pace and evaluating their individual needs and wants.

Not to mention the moms who think their flirting is subtle and can’t seem to control their giggles around me.

So, when a friend from college mentioned in passing last year they were creating a new app and looking for contributors, my interest was piqued.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t an audio erotica app. I’m sure I appeared shell-shocked as she explained the premise to me: dozens of diverse creators fulfilling diverse fantasies by providing audios with a focus on consent, pleasure, and intimacy.

I was desperate enough for a change that I said yes, and a week later, a box of recording equipment was waiting outside my door.

I set it up in my spare bedroom, and recorded a friends-to-lovers dominant scripKadence sent me.

I chose Sky as my stage name, and worked hard to perfect his own voice to keep my privacy and anonymity.

Sky is deep-voiced, sensual, and he records audios directed toward all genders.

By he, I of course, mean me.

4Play took off right away, and was one of the top ten most downloaded wellness apps within its launch month.

Articles were written, influencers featured our audios, and I began making more money and more audios than I’d ever thought I would.

I’ve been able to pay off most of my student loans, and have more than a year of my teacher’s salary in savings.

This is important to me because I want to be able to financially support any of my family if they need me to.

Even though that hasn’t been necessary yet, I’m glad I’m prepared if anything bad happens.

“I should get going,” I say, bringing myself back to the present. Thinking about sex work at the dinner table with my family is probably frowned upon, and I have to upload an audio to the drive by midnight.

Mom’s face falls, which is how I find myself staying another hour. I could leave sooner, should leave sooner, but I can’t find it in me to make anyone less than extraordinarily happy.

Finally, I’m at the apartment I share with my cat, Princess Leia.

Girl cats get the worst rep, but Leia—named after my favorite fictional general—is the best. Is she stubborn and sometimes rude?

Sure, but I was raised with and by strong-willed women and have a soft spot for them.

I found Leia by the seawall the summer after I graduated from college; a tiny, screaming calico kitten who was positively offended when I lured her to me with a can of tuna and scooped her into my arms.

“Hey, baby girl,” I coo as I close the door behind me.

Leia stands from her regular spot on the back of the couch, yawning and stretching like she worked a ten-hour shift.

I don’t have to worry about feeding her, because I splurged on an automatic feeder when my first check from 4Play hit my checking account.

What can I say? I’m a good cat daddy. I scratch behind her ears before heading into the spare bedroom that serves as my recording studio.

I genuinely enjoy being Sky, and I know other people enjoy it, too. More than enjoy if the comments on the “Sky’s Sluts” subreddit are anything to go by. AshBash69 commented that I helped her conceive, which is both cool and bizarre as hell.

I sit at my desk and open my current script, an intimate scenario in which I comfort my wife—the listener—after a bad day with light choking, fingering…the stuff that makes my Sluts feral.

I should probably mention they came up with “Sky’s Sluts” on their own. I had nothing to do with it, but I use it out of respect for their chosen fandom name. Sky is completely anonymous and offline, with no social media presence or identifying information in order to protect myself and my job.

I stretch my neck and take a sip of water before turning the mic on. As I record, I let go of the man who feels the need to please everyone, and become the man who actually does.