1000 Mile Rule

For those of you who are not familiar with the trope, a "1000-mile rule" (or 500-mile, or 5000-mile) is a pact that allows for relaxing the marital vows when a couple is separated by the agreed-upon distance.

What follows is an open-ended, 750-word beginning to a story. I thought of at least a dozen directions this could go, from a thermonuclear BTB finale to full-on FCS (fag cuck shit), but couldn't decide. Maybe I'll write some of those later. In the meantime, I invite all you talented writers to add your own endings. Please hold each submission to 750 words. If desired for easier reading, you may copy this beginning into your submission (with appropriate credit), then add your 750-word ending to the bottom, or create a series of 750-word chapters if you feel you need more. Enjoy...

=Alextasy

1000-Mile Rule

"Hey, Dave." I waved my next-door neighbor in. "How ya' doing? Haven't seen you in a while. Wanna beer?"

He gave me an odd look.

"Sure."

The single word sounded flat, unlike his usual gregarious response. Whatever put him in the dumps, I suspected he seriously needed a beer. Or two.

"I'll grab a couple. Go on back."

I scurried off to the fridge, popped the tops on a pair of cold ones, and met him in my den. I handed him one and dropped into the chair opposite the sofa where he sat.

"What's up, pal?"

There was that odd look again. He leaned forward, reached behind him, and laid a small semi-auto on the cushion beside him. My heart thumped. I looked back and forth between him and the pistol, unsure what to say.

He took a long drink, watching me over the top of the bottle.

"What's up, pal, is you've been fucking Trish."

I gulped. "You knew about that. The thousand-mile rule. We talked about it."

"We talked about dinner, drinks, and dancing. Concerts and plays. That one time when I got stuck in London, I said you could help out, be her 'plus-one' the weekend of her cousin's wedding, so she didn't go alone. I never said anything about sticking your dick in her."

Shit.

"She told me that was part of the deal. If I'd thought for a second you weren't--"

A sudden lump in my throat choked off my words when he laid his hand on top of the pistol.

His voice was eerily quiet. "But you didn't ask, Joe. You didn't say, 'are you sure it's okay if I boff Trish every night while you're gone?' You didn't say, 'Unless you tell me different, I'm gonna shove my cock down her throat'. You didn't say a thing about fucking my wife's ass in my bed."

What could I say?

"You're right. I'm sorry. I guess I could've been more direct. But get serious--how do you ask your best friend about something like that?"

He glanced away, as if considering my situation.

With a little wind in my sails, I went on.

"When Trish told me about your agreement, I didn't believe her. That's why I brought up your 'thousand mile rule' that day we were watching the 49ers. You talked about how lonely and bored she gets when you travel so much. We joked about how phone sex just isn't the same. You seemed so easy about it. I figured you were following the same rules."

Dave stared straight across at me. "I haven't been with another woman since before we were engaged."

He'd stopped fingering the gun.

I felt like a turd. I couldn't take it back. Sure, I'd adored Trish ever since he introduced us, but three years ago, I lived through my own version of cheating wife hell, and never intended to screw up their marriage. I seriously thought I was doing them a favor.

Not that I didn't enjoy it. I hadn't felt secure in a relationship with a woman since my first wife surprised me with the news she was trading up. The nights I spent hanging out with Trish--cooking and eating together, laughing, and burning the sheets up--those were the best I'd known in years. There was no pressure, no expectations other than we would be there for each other, share our time, our interests, and our bodies like the special friends we were until Dave returned.

Truthfully, I envied Dave, that Trish could love him enough to let him play around on the road, then come home to such an energetic, sexually charged, and loving wife. If my first wife had been honest with me, we might have worked out something similar. But there was no forewarning, no discussion, no options. She gave me a two-minute explanation of the facts of life, then the bitch picked up her suitcase and was gone.

"She's pregnant."

I couldn't breathe. Two words sucked the air out of my lungs and sent my thoughts spinning into a maelstrom of what-ifs, and what-nows, and oh-fucks.

"How far long?"

"Best guess? Six weeks."

That's how long he'd been working in Seoul. No way to know who had done it.

"I thought she was... safe."

Dave chuckled. It sounded sad. "Yeah, me too."

He drained his beer, then lifted the gun by the barrel and pushed the grip across the space between us.

"One in the chamber. Your choice."