Chapter 3: Sperm Donor #24601

The receptionist at the sperm bank lifted her eyes up out of the sperm donor profile suspiciously. Across from her, Chandler and Joey both sported too-tight smiles.

"You're supposed to fill these profiles out on site." The raspiness in her voice outed her as a chain smoker of one too many cigarettes.

Chandler gulped. "I filled out the online version."

The receptionist's expression didn't change. "There is no online version. These forms aren't available on the Web for a reason."

Chandler flushed. "OK, here's the thing: I digitized and wiped blank a previous hard copy of the form that I borrowed from a friend."

"That would be me!" Joey offered up voluntarily, ignoring Chandler's exasperated glare.

"So you've already donated?" The receptionist swiveled her attention to Joey, appraising him up and down while cocking a loaded eyebrow.

"Yup. Donor #03815!" Joey beamed proudly.

Back to Chandler. "And you refilled out the form?"

Chandler nodded.

The receptionist sighed. "I shouldn't even be approving this…." She prompted Chandler over to the ticket stub slot machine. "Take a stub, then read the numbers off to me."

Chandler did so. "2…. 4….. 6…. 0…. 1."

He watched as the receptionist took individual numbered stamps and stamped them in red ink onto his form, in order, one at a time. Then she processed the file. Reaching behind her, she then procured a cup and wrote Chandler's profile number on the side in black Sharpie.

"You can go into one of the back stalls and submit your contribution in there," she droned. "Then bring it back."

Even as he had known on some level that this was required, Chandler nonetheless glanced at Joey in horror. His roommate just shrugged. "It's not a big deal."

Chandler nodded nervously. Then he headed for the bathroom.

"Chandler."

The tightness in Joey's voice made him glance back.

"I want the truth, that Monica is OK with this."

He nodded. He hustled back into the stall.

He stared down at the stupid little cup. How was he supposed to jack off into this thing? Hell, how was he supposed to even get hard? Didn't you need to be hard first?

An image of Monica, in one of the pretty sundresses she liked to wear, came swimming into his mind. Chandler bathed in it, smiling.

Almost unconsciously, he felt his palm stroke over his length, thrumming over the tip.

More images assaulted him, some of her that he had seen, and many more he hadn't, ones that had been only fantasies brought forth into his subconscious during wet dreams that had always seemed random and never seemed to mean anything.

Chandler rubbed himself faster, moaning. His head lolled back, and his eyes rolling up into it, as he panted.

Panted her name:

"Monica…."

He was pumping, giving his balls quite a beating. Finally, with a whimper, he came. It was a struggle just to aim properly and get his jizz to shoot off into the cup. Dribbling out as much as he could and hoping it was a decent sample, Chandler screwed on the lid of the jar.

That was all he managed to do before his knees gave out from under him. He sagged against this little bathroom stall as a terrifying realization washed over him.

Oh God…. He desired his best friend. He was in love with his best friend. How on earth was he supposed to reconcile this? After all, he was with Janice now!

…. True, he loved Monica enough that he was willing to jack off into a cup for her. …. While he had been thinking lurid thoughts about her. But were the lengths he was willing to go truly an indication that he was in love with her? Unlucky in the institution as he often was, Chandler had nevertheless always believed in there being a difference between loving a person and being in love with them.

He staggered out of the bathroom, his mind in a fog, even as he handed the jar to the receptionist, to store it how she would.

Joey put an arm around him as they left the sperm bank.

"Now we have to hope that my profile ends up in Monica's hands," Chandler said dully.

"And if it doesn't?"

Chandler went pale at the possibility of some other random woman selecting his profile, knocking herself up with his sperm and having a child by him. "Then I'll have made a huge mistake."

It was a couple weeks later when Joey came into their apartment with the mail. Chandler was in his BarcaLounger, trying to get over Janice.

Chandler frowned when Joey passed him his share of the mail. "You opened my stuff up again? Tampering with the mail is a federal offense!"

"Trust me: you'll want to read that one," Joey tapped it.

Chandler scanned the missive. He now turned ghastly white. "Someone's accepted my profile. Someone's accepted my swimmers…." He read every inch of the information, and was disheartened to find there was no name. "Who?"

"The hell if I know!" Joey shrugged helplessly.

Chandler studied the form again. There might not be a name, but there was a profile of the woman who had selected his sperm: dark brown hair. 28 years old. Blue eyes. 5'5". 139 pounds.

From the profile alone, it could be Monica…. But then again, it could also be any other woman with those same stats. Certainly, the weight listed was probably close to about what Monica weighed now - definitely not how much she had weighed when he had first met her during college.

God…. Chandler stuffed the form into his coat pocket.

About Three Months Later

Chandler shifted a little in his chair where he and his friends were gathered around Monica's kitchen table. Lifting his head, he caught Monica's eye, and she smiled at him brightly.

She was almost glowing. Even more than she did during most Thanksgivings, buzzing about the kitchen, her primary domain. It was always nice, seeing her so happy, and so comfortable in her purpose, and that was in feeding and almost mothering her friends. Chandler had to imagine that, when Monica finally did have her own child, she would be the most amazing mom.

From where she was sipping from her glass of sparkling grape juice, Rachel smirked. "Someone's happy…."

Monica let out a bubbling giggle, serving the turkey, its presentation prompting Ross to rise so he could dutifully perform the honors and carve. "I have news!"

Everyone began all talking at once, except for Chandler, who felt a deep pit beginning to grow in his stomach.

"Are you leaving the diner?"

"Did you find a new job?!"

Monica held up a hand for silence, smiling. Beaming, even. She was doing something funny with her stomach, stroking her palms over it.

"…. Oh, hell, I'm PREGNANT!"

Rachel let out a startled and elated shriek and leapt from her chair, rounding the table to hug her dear friend. "Oh! Oh, honey, I'm…. This is incredible! How? Who?!"

Monica smiled. "I finally bit the bullet and accepted a sperm donor applicant from the sperm bank. Several weeks ago, I went to my doctor and had the sperm implanted in me through artificial insemination."

Phoebe squealed and now leapt up to join in the embrace, the girls dancing around in a circle.

… Chandler could feel Joey looking at him intensely from across the table. He kept his eyes focused on his plate. Should he get up? Should he hug her and congratulate her? It would look odd if he didn't. And heck, besides, just because Monica had picked an application didn't mean she had picked his application. The odds of that…. It probably even wasn't his!

… Right?

He felt marginally better that Joey was too busy shooting daggers at him to move, and that Ross had somehow turned himself into one of the homosapiens at the museum, frozen as he was with a dangerous carving knife dangling over the turkey. The paleontologist finally set the knife down carefully and deliberately so he could turn and embrace his sister.

"Congrats, Mon." The siblings buzzed cheeks.

"Where's the profile?" Rachel squealed. "Do you still have it?!"

"Mm-hmm!" Monica happily dashed towards her room. Chandler felt all the color leaving his face. How his stomach was roiling with nausea, even though he hadn't yet eaten a damn thing. Nothing beat Monica's cooking, especially on Thanksgiving. It was very rich - one of the reasons he and Joey usually gamely struggled through a fast on the day of to save their strength for the evening meal.

Not the profile…. Please don't read the profile….

But Monica was already dashing back into the room with a piece of paper clutched in her hands, Rachel and Phoebe huddling around. Joey looked like he was starting to move from his chair, then he paused and settled back down.

"OK: he's tall: 6 feet even. Handsome. A statistical data analyst. 29…." Monica pursed her lips in a proud, smug smile. "Blue eyes…."

Rachel clapped her hands, enraptured, and sighed. "He sounds so dreamy…."

"Brown hair…."

"How much does he weigh?" Phoebe demanded. "It better not be too much…." (At this, Rachel murmured something under her breath that Chandler couldn't make out, but which prompted from the girls another round of high-pitched squeals). "I'm just saying: for all you know, you could have knocked yourself up with the sperm of Ugly Naked Guy!"

"Phoebe!" Monica squawked, walloping her friend in the bicep. "If you must know, the man only weighs…." Checked notes. "….. 156 pounds."

Rachel pursed her lips in an impressed smile. "Not bad…. Not bad!"

Chandler could feel himself starting to sweat. So far, he had been holding out hope that Monica would throw out a stat that decidedly didn't match him, except as of right now, he was still checking all the boxes. Same age…. Same height - he was 6 feet even…. The weight….. Joey kept a small scale in their bathroom, but Chandler hadn't stood on it in ages - could he really be clocking in at 156 pounds?

Maybe if Monica wasn't pregnant and he wasn't freaking the fuck out, he would ask her if she wanted to train him again. Take back up running.

Dots were dancing behind his vision. He thought he might have stood, woozily, but he couldn't be sure. From somewhere far away, he could hear Monica's voice echoing:

"Chandler? Sweetie, are you OK….?"

"Hot…. In here…." He managed to rasp.

His vision cleared enough to see that she was now standing before him, smiling in amusement. "That's because no one wears sport jackets to the table, silly! Here, let me take your coat…!" Chandler helped her shrug it off almost unconsciously, swaying a bit and he quickly sat back down as Monica pranced over to the coat rack.

He felt Ross's hand on his shoulder. "Are you OK, man….?"

Chandler lifted his head. Monica had paused over by the coat rack. She was staring down at something, either in her hands or on the floor, he couldn't tell. At last, she strode with purpose back around from behind the bookcase, another piece of paper clenched in her fist.

"Chandler….?" Her voice was like the winter wind, icily calm. "…. Can you please explain to me how a piece of paper with my implantee profile number on it…. is sitting in your coat pocket?"