The classroom had a few less students in it than usual as it was Friday morning, and I’m sure more than a few of them started their weekend last night at the local bars.

I’d always wondered about the intelligence of the schedule-makers to set an economics course for 8 a.m., particularly if the class met Fridays. Why not set a econ course for 8 a.m., since those students were under 21, and unless they had a fake ID, they weren’t going to be drinking Thursday night. Absenteeism would have been much less for the frosh level class.

But that makes too much sense. In the real world, where I lived, the powers that be apparently prided themselves on not making too much sense. I don’t care if it’s politics, big business or a big Midwestern university, once someone becomes a “power that be,” he or she must have to check their common sense at the door.

Like a lot of people, I had been one of those kids who used to start my weekends on Thursday nights. I was a party guy supreme. I got OK grades, but never really put any effort into the academics. I learned what I needed to learn, but didn’t feel that I needed to impress anybody with my grades. Yeah, I later learned that some recruiters were hooked on that, but, oh well, I’d always proven to my bosses that I was more than qualified by my actual performance on the job.

And then I got into teaching, got my master’s and Ph.D in economics and wound up teaching our brightest young minds. I had been an associate professor for the past two years, made decent money, had great hours, and life was good. My wife was a mid-level bank executive, having taken off several years while our kids were toddlers, and she went back to work after they were both in school.

My son, Jeremy, is 9, and my daughter, Sandy, is 7.

My 10:00 class was the frosh class, and it was well-attended. It was my favorite class to teach because at 18, most of those kids were like sponges waiting to absorb knowledge. Also, there were several kids in the class that were not econ majors as most majors required econ as a required frosh class. I really enjoyed getting the basic concepts into journalism majors and history majors, who I’d heard bitch about having to take econ at all.

“All I need to know is how to write, not how to figure out how to spend money,” I’d heard more than one journalism major say at the beginning of the semester. Hell, you can’t be any kind of a journalist today if you don’t understand the basics of economics.

My one afternoon class was also upper level, but since it was at 1, the juniors and seniors actually showed up, although most were hungover. But for this class, these were the best of the best in intelligence, so even hungover, most were probably functioning better in the brain department than most of the regular population. It was a great challenge to teach these kids, especially since I was one of those journalism kids when I started out about a hundred years ago.

There are never any students that come by the office for help on Friday afternoons, so as usual I left for home at about 3. The kids showed up at about 3:30, and after a few minutes of laughter and screwing around, we started getting Friday night dinner ready. That was our routine, and we enjoyed each other’s company as we prepped for my wife’s arrival at about 5:30. We usually made a pretty big dinner, and the four of us would celebrate the week that was as a family before the craziness of the weekend started.

Traci walked in just about her usual time. The kids both screeched and ran over to hug her. I hung back, watching and smiling, waiting for my turn. She was wearing a dark blue business suit, nothing special really, but I stopped breathing for just a quick second upon first laying eyes on her. It didn’t make a difference what she was wearing, she always got that reaction out of me when I first saw her after a separation. She was just that stunningly beautiful, at least to me. After she kissed and hugged the munchkins, she came to me, and we kissed passionately, as we always did after any kind of time apart.

“Please, you two, get a room,” said my son, who always looked clearly uncomfortable when Traci and I showed any kind of physical closeness. Ah, for the innocence of being a 9-year-old.

The same age as me at 35, Traci was a 5-foot-5 bundle of beauty and intelligence. She had long blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and despite having birthed two children, was probably still 36-24-36. She was a regular at our gym and rode her bicycle 20 to 30 miles per week. I was one incredibly lucky man.

And then the world fell in on me.

Since it was the weekend, the kids got to stay up until 10. After they went to bed, Traci and I did some snuggling on the sofa. Within minutes we were both naked, and she was doing the lollipop thing on my dick. I maneuvered us into a 69 and started to return the favor on her delectable pussy. Within minutes she was screaming unintelligibly, trying to muffle her yelling with a pillow from the sofa. Three orgasms in, we had to stop and adjourn to the bedroom so we could at least shut the door.

An hour later we were cuddling together, breathing heavily, both sweating. God how I loved this woman, and how I loved loving her.

“Roger, are you still awake? Roger?”

I was spooned behind Traci, and she could feel my regular breathing, indicating I was either asleep or not far off. I perked up a bit when she spoke.

“I’m awake, Babe. What do you need?”

“Just about the biggest show of love you could ever give me,” she answered softly.

Now I was intrigued, and wide awake.

“You know how depressed Karen’s been over not being able to have kids with Dave, especially since he’s the last male of his bloodline, right,” she started.

“You want to talk about this now?” I asked. I was more than a little puzzled.

Karen is Traci’s younger sister, three years younger, to be exact. She has been told that unless it’s a miracle, she’s not having children. Her husband, Dave, a guy I don’t like much, has some royal Hungarian blood and thinks he should have some male to continue on his royal self.

“She just goes to work, comes home, and mopes around the house. I’ve suggested counseling, but she won’t do it. It’s starting to get really bad.

“Well, I think we’ve come up with the answer to her depression and Dave’s bloodline ending. I’ll carry a baby for them!”

I sat up at that point. I’m pretty sure my mouth was hanging open. I guess we were talking about this.

“Wait ... what?”

“You know she can’t produce hardly any viable eggs, and she probably can’t carry to term if she could produce eggs. But I can produce eggs, and I’ve got two kids to prove I can carry to full term. I love my sister dearly, Roger, and for her I could carry another baby. It would be her baby, hers and Dave’s, but I would carry it for her.

“Now that would mean no sex ... at least no vaginal sex until I was confirmed pregnant. I’d have to go off birth control until then and we couldn’t take the chance that you’d get me pregnant before Dave.

“It might take several weeks, maybe several months...”

“Whoa! Slow the fuck down!” I interrupted. “In vitro is immediate. What the hell...”

The answer hit me like a brick to the head, and as awareness came to me, Traci put her eyes down.

“You mean to have sex with Dave? What the fuck are you talking about!”

“It’s a way for us all to bond,” Traci explained. “Karen and I don’t want the clinical method. We want this to be about love. Karen will be in the room with us.”

“And I’m sure Dave had nothing to do with this decision at all!” I yelled.

“Well, he agreed with us, but it was a decision we all made,” Traci responded.

“It was a decision you all made. Nobody asked my fucking opinion,” I spat. “How is this about love for me?”

I was standing next to the bed by this point, pacing actually.

“I might have been on board with you carrying a child for them, but I’m not on board with you fucking Dave, even with Karen in the room! This is not happening! I don’t give a shit if it makes Karen happy, or if Dave’s bloodline carries on. This will not happen!”

Traci looked at me like I was a petulant child, slowly shaking her head from side to side.

“This is not something that can’t be overcome by love, Dear. Once you get over your initial jealousy, we can get back to being us again. Nothing has to change. It will just be sex. And I know that you love Karen and Dave, and they will be eternally happy and grateful.

“My mom and dad are so excited they can barely contain themselves...”

“You’ve already talked this over with your folks? Sounds like everyone’s except for the poor soon-to-be-cuckolded husband. Is that what I’m hearing?”

“It’s not going to be like that, Roger. Once I’m pregnant it’s back to just you and me. You’re the only one I love. Don’t make this into something bigger than that.

“You always trust me when we disagree on big things. You always let me make the final call, and haven’t things turned out good for us?”

“This is much bigger than me letting you get a brown sofa for the living room, or taking your choice to go to Hawaii for vacation instead of Brazil,” I said. “For some reason you seem to think that my input was not necessary, but this is not going to happen if you expect to stay married.”

“You think about it some more, and I’m sure you’ll come around to my way of thinking. But don’t take too long. I stopped taking my birth control pills a week ago, and starting next weekend I hit my most fertile week.”

I was flabbergasted, to say the least. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep, so I turned the lights on, got dressed, and left the house, all without saying another word.

My favorite watering hole stayed open until 2, and instead of pulling up a spot at the bar as I normally would have, I ordered a double shot of Jameson’s and took it back to a table toward the back of the bar. I downed the first glass in about 10 minutes, and made eye contact with Carol, the bartender, and held up my shot glass for another round. Instead of having the waitress bring the drink over to me, Carol served me herself, asking me if I was OK.

Carol and Archie Mygrant have owned the Cluster Cluck Bar & Grill for about 20 years, and with all that experience Carol could probably be listed as a certified psychologist. She has known me for about 12 years, and all she had to do was look at my face to know something was way wrong. Her question wasn’t really a question, it was more a statement of fact, and she expected to get a straight answer from me. I couldn’t lie to Carol, and gave it up over the next few minutes.

She looked at me hard and gave me a weary smile. She looked over at Archie, who had replaced her behind the bar, and held up one finger. Archie came over with a cup of coffee for Carol, nodded at me, and quietly walked back to the bar.

“You do realize you’re in a big mess here, Roger,” she said. “For as long as I’ve known you two, you’ve always given Traci her way. She sees it as her right to make the final decision. If you don’t put your foot down hard, she’s going to assume she can do what she wants, and you’ll give her tacit approval -- as usual. She’ll fuck this guy until she gets pregnant, then you’ll have to put up with the baby for the next nine months, then she might just repeat the process in the future since you’ve already acquiesced once. And maybe down the line...”

“Ah, shit,” I whispered.

“Yeah, you’re going to have to make some tough choices in the very near future, so you need to think this through really well.”

I had another double right before last call, then drove myself home. I probably could have half the bottle and still have been sober for the bad mood I was in. The house was dark when I got home. I didn’t bother to go upstairs to our bedroom. I got a blanket out of a closet and crashed in my La-Z-Boy.

I heard Traci and the kids laughing in the kitchen sometime the next morning. I staggered into the room, still wearing my clothes from last night, and headed for the coffee pot.

“Morning, Sleepyhead,” Traci cooed to me as I walked by. “Did Mr. Jameson make things better last night? Ready to take on the day and become everyone’s hero?”

She knew me so well she even knew what I would drink when I had to work out a problem. No wonder she figured this was probably a done deal.

We didn’t talk about Traci’s proposal at all on Saturday, but there was a definite tension in the air. While we were eating Saturday night, Traci off-handedly “reminded” me that tomorrow we were invited out to her parents for Sunday dinner. Huh, I didn’t remember her telling me that earlier.

We took off for her parents’ place a little after 3 in the afternoon, pulling up at about 4. As we pulled up in front of Traci’s parents’ house, I spotted the cars belonging to Dave and Karen and two of Traci’s aunts and uncles. I shot Traci a sideways look, and she grinned back at me like someone who already had the answers to a test she was about to take.

The kids ran off to play in the backyard while we adults congregated in the family room. Karen walked over to me slowly, touched my shoulder, and looked deep into my eyes. I shook my head slowly, then put my eyes down. She looked like she was ready to cry until she looked at Traci, who was nodding and smiling. I was starting to feel uncomfortable. There was a cooler of beer in the kitchen, with a couple of bottles of booze on the counter. I grabbed the bottle of Ciroc vodka, threw some ice in a glass, and poured myself the equivalent of two shots. I had a feeling my life as I knew it was about to get really interesting.

I shouldn’t have been surprised that my mother-in-law started things off. Been married to her daughter for 13 years, and the woman still hated me. I wasn’t who my in-laws had wanted Traci to marry, and they made it quite clear on numerous occasions.

“I can’t believe you are so selfish that you would deny Karen and Dave a chance at having their own baby. What kind of dick are you?” Lorraine Tortello practically yelled at me.

So they were going to try to soft-soap me. I didn’t see that coming.

“I’m hardly the selfish one here, Mom. I’ve agreed that Karen and Dave can borrow Traci’s uterus, but there’s reason to borrow her p ... vagina, too. In vitro is a perfectly healthy way to get this done. I see no reason to do anything else.”

“But that’s so clinical, and hardly the loving way our children were conceived. We want Karen and Dave’s child to be conceived in love,” Traci answered. “We want it to be a loving experience.”

“We? Who’s this we?” I questioned. “I was never consulted on this. I was told this, but I’m not agreeing to this. I will never agree to this.

“He doesn’t need to make love to you for you to have their child...”

“It’s about conceiving the child in love, not about Dave and I having any love for each other like that,” Traci interjected. “Karen will be in the room with us, Honey...”

“He’s packing, isn’t he?” I asked as the light bulb went off in my head.

Dave smirked at me. Everyone else was looking at him.

“If she’s going to carry our baby, shouldn’t she at least get a little enjoyment out of this, too?” Karen cried.

“Way wrong answer, Karen!” I yelled.

“So what is it, Traci, is he packing nine inches?”

Dave smirked at me again, nodding his head.

“Just about on the money, old boy,” he sneered.

“So you get a nine-inch pipe to enjoy for a while, he gets to have sex with my beautiful wife, Karen gets her baby, and I get ... to be a fucking cuckold. You can’t be serious – none of you.”

“It’s not like that. I love you, Roger, and only you,” Traci insisted. “After I get pregnant, it will be just you and me again ... forever.”

I slugged down the remaining vodka in my glass and stood up.

“Have Mr. Big Dick and Karen drive you home. I’m suddenly not hungry,” I said as I headed for the door.

Things were more than frosty at home for the first few days of the week. We both talked to the children, but neither of us spoke more than a few sentences to the other. Finally, on Wednesday, after we ate, cleared the dishes and the kids went off to their rooms to do whatever it is kids do, Traci spoke up.

“Roger, you know I would never do anything to hurt us, our family. I know in my heart this is the right thing to do, and I know that once you get past your jealousy and fear, you’ll see that, too. And if we don’t do this now, in a few years you’re going to come to me with big regrets that you screwed it up for Karen and Dave.

“I’m 35, there’s only a small window left for me to carry a child safely and maybe get my body back after. I love my sister and brother-in-law, but I’m not going to be carrying a child for them in my 40s.”

“Then do this in-vitro like everybody else, Traci. Love is much more than you and Karen and Dave doing some sort of threesome,” I responded.

“It won’t be anything like that,” Traci said. “Roger, we’ve been married 13 years. You have to trust me on this. Please.”

“I can’t do this, Traci. I won’t share you with anyone, even family. If you insist on going through with this, there won’t be an us anymore. I won’t be part of this.”

Thursday night after supper the four of us were in our assigned places in the family room watching TV. My assigned place was my La-Z-Boy. The kids and Traci were on the sofa. Traci got up and came over to me, and very gently climbed into the La-Z-Boy with me, actually laying down half on top of me as I was reclining. I scooted over a bit to give her room. Five minutes later, she was blowing gently in my ear, and the hand rubbing my leg was getting a bit adventurous. She planted her lips on mine and then tried to suck my tonsils out.

“God, would you two get a room,” Jeremy said with a real look of disgust on his face.

Traci and I looked at each other, then got up and made our way up the stairs to our room. It was not uncommon for us to do this.

We were both sure that Jeremy knew what was going on; not sure what Sandy knew and understood. Still, we tried to keep things quiet. Five minutes in, Traci had my hard dick in her mouth, also not an uncommon occurrence, but then she went the extra little bit to get that last inch into her throat – something she’d never done before. It was an incredible feeling until the thought hit me: was she practicing on my six inches to be able to get Dave’s 9-incher in her throat, or had she already practiced with Dave’s nine inches and was now able to get my six inches into her throat. I softened immediately. Neither one of us said a word as we got dressed and headed back downstairs to continue watching TV. Jeremy gave us a surprised look when we descended.

The game plan for the next week, according to Traci, was for her to go to Dave and Karen’s right from her work Friday night, and she would stay there until the next Sunday afternoon. We would reconnect as a family Sunday night. While I was guardedly hopeful that she would call this off, I made plans with the kids for both weekends. I wanted to spend as much “happy time” with the kids as I could before I changed their lives forever.

We did the Cincinnati Zoo among our first big weekend. All the kids knew about Traci not being with us is that she was helping Aunt Karen and Uncle Dave with a big home project. We did the Cleveland Zoo and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, among other activities, on the second weekend. I used the same excuse for Traci not being with us.

By the end of the nine days I looked like hell. I hadn’t slept hardly at all.

We had been home about an hour from Cleveland when Traci pulled up in the driveway. The kids ran out of the house to happily greet her, chattering away about our great weekend.

After she dropped her bags off by the stairs, Traci came into the family room to greet me, as I didn’t go to greet her as normal. I didn’t put my recliner down, get up and kiss her either. She stood by the foot of the chair for about five seconds, looking at me. My lack of action wasn’t lost on her.

“So that’s how this is going to be?” she asked.

“Are you really going to play the injured party here, Trace?” I snapped. “Against my expressed wishes, the three of you go off on a nine-day fuckfest to get you knocked up with his baby, while I babysit our kids and pretend to them that nothing’s wrong. That’s not love as I understand it.

“How many times did you let him fuck you? How many different positions did you do? How many times did you even give a shit about me and the kids?

“I wasn’t put here to be anybody’s punching bag, dish rag, or cuckold. Don’t you dare talk to me about love, because if you really loved me, you wouldn’t have spent nine days being Dave and Karen’s slut.

“This had nothing to do with love, and you know it. You wanted him, you got him. Just don’t expect me to sit still for this bullshit.”

“You’re wrong about this week because you’re afraid of losing me. That’s not going to happen, Roger!” Traci cried.

“You daft bitch! It already has happened. You chose him over me this week. And you’ll choose him over me next month if you’re not pregnant. And what happens if you have a girl? Have you already made a contingency plan to do this again to give him a boy?”

Apparently I hit the nail right on the head on that one because Traci flamed red and started checking out the carpet with her eyes.

“Son of a bitch!” How could you do this to us? To me? To our family? You stupid, fucking cunt!”

Traci backed up a few steps as I railed at her. I had never said anything like that to her before, and I could see the fear of recognition on her face. This problem wasn’t going to go away with her pouty-face.

“So are you trying to turn the kids against me by being the fun parent?” Traci quizzed in an effort to change the conversation a bit.

I shrugged.

Traci’s looked morphed from one of sadness to one of anger. She sleeps with another man – for whatever reason – and has the temerity to be angry with me? Will wonders never cease?

My response to Traci came the next day when she was served at work. When I got home, she was already there, and the manila envelope was resting on the counter when I walked in the door. The kids greeted me with their brand of dad’s home mania for about 15 minutes, then they moved off. Traci had watched me the whole time I was engaged with the kids, staying her distance, but watching intensely nonetheless.

“Couldn’t wait to have me served until I got home?” she finally asked with a resigned sadness in her voice.

“Since I have had very little dealings with an attorney, I wasn’t a high priority for them to get the petition done earlier. This was the first chance they had to get it served. Not wanting to waste additional time...”

“This is not going to happen, Roger. There will be no divorce. I told you: I love you, and only you. I will not let you destroy us, our family, for your jealousy and ego-driven insecurity. You’ll thank me someday,” she said.

I exhaled deeply. “Jealousy and ego-drive insecurity. God, how I love those terms. Best defense is a good offense, I suppose.”

I explained to the kids what was happening over dinner. I told them and Traci I would be moving out by the weekend, but they could still see me anytime they wanted. I think all four of us cried at one point or another. The most poignant moment came when Jeremy asked why I was divorcing Traci. He’s pretty astute for a 9-year-old, so I figured I could tell him a sanitized version of the truth.

“We can’t be married anymore because Mommy broke Daddy’s heart,” I said simply.

Jeremy simply nodded.

“But Mommy’s not going to let a divorce happen,” Traci intervened. “We’ll all be a family again pretty soon.”

She gave me a smug, confident look. I twisted my mouth and gave her an exasperated look.

After dinner I got two large suitcases from the closet and loaded a week’s clothing and other stuff I thought I would need into them. Traci watched me from the doorway with a look that at best was irritation.

“We’ll still be here when you get over your mad,” Traci said when I grabbed my keys and headed for my car.

I kissed both kids and told them I loved them. I told them they would still see me a lot as I was going to be around for them.

I moved into a small apartment about 15 minutes away from our house and I continued to do the usual dad things like coach my son’s Little League team and take my daughter to dance class. Because Traci fought the divorce so hard, it took almost a year to get it done.

Dave’s swimmers didn’t get the job done the first month, so Traci went for round two a month later. Although I didn’t have the room in my apartment for the three of us, the kids and I did the best we could for another two weekends, treating the time as if it was some sort of giant camping trip. When I brought the kids home Sunday afternoon, Traci still wasn’t home, so we hung out for a while just like we used to. When she finally showed up, we just looked at each other. Well, actually, I glared at her, while she just looked at me like a disappointed parent looks at an underachieving child.

Traci’s pregnancy started to show in her third month. The little bump in the middle of her body brought back memories of better times for the two of us. Those quickly faded as my anger built at the fact that I was not the father of that bump.

At six months, Traci was pretty large, like she was when she carried our two. I have to admit, I always thought she was incredibly sexy pregnant, and this time was no different. I brought Jeremy home after ball practice one day, and Traci invited me to dinner. Having no other plans, I agreed. After eating, the kids drifted off, but Traci brought out some coffee and apple pie, so I hung around a bit. Before I knew it, we were in what used to be our bedroom, and I was running my hands up and down over her belly. Hey, I’m human, and if she was going to put it out there, I was going to enjoy it. She was going to enjoy it, too, and after a couple of orgasms from my mouth, Traci got up on all fours and I put it to her solidly from behind, being careful not to be too aggressive.

After a few minutes, I introduced my fingers to her clit, at which point she came twice more before I finally got off. I was way surprised I lasted as long as I did, because that was the first time I had had sex since leaving home seven months before. As we were recovering and breathing heavily, she looked at me and said, “Damn, Rog, that was good. I miss this. Are you sure about this divorce? Don’t you still love me?”

“I supposed I’ll always love you, Traci. That’s the problem. I still love you. But you apparently don’t love me enough.”

“Not true, Roger. Come home. Let’s be a family again,” she said.

“What made you think I would let you fuck another man, especially when I told you I wasn’t going to let that happen. You know me better than that, Babe. Why?”

She didn’t answer, but her blush told me a lot. She honestly thought I was going to give her a hall pass on this.

“We made vows, Babe,” I whispered. “You ripped my heart out with your little stunt.”

A couple of months later, I had the kids for the weekend as Traci delivered her baby ... well, technically, Karen and Dave’s baby. I didn’t inquire about it, but the next time I had the kids they told me all about it. I pretended to be interested in their new cousin.

A week later, I got what I considered a surprise phone call from Traci.

“What, no flowers, no phone call? Not even a baby gift for your new niece,” she said in an offhand manner when I picked up. “I would have thought better of you.”

“You apparently think much better of me than I think of me,” I replied. “For the little bit left of our marriage, I don’t believe I qualify as an uncle, and as for sending you flowers ... you still don’t get it. You don’t get to break my heart and keep all of my love. That’s not how this game is played.”

The divorce was finalized a month later. Traci got the kids, the house, child support, and some alimony since I made more than she did. Apparently, she also got the friends, because I noticed that very few of “our” friends kept in touch. I didn’t notice it at first, but then little things started to add up, like many of the husbands hardly even acknowledging me when we saw each other at the children’s events. After getting snubbed on several occasions, I finally was mad enough to ask one of those longtime friends if I was radioactive or had a body odor problem.