The Rum Fruitcake Fidelity Test

The Rum Fruitcake Fidelity Test
 
   We begin to eat our supper when I pipe up, “Damn Marsha, you sure had a good idea to move us to New Orleans. We should move into the French Quarter, sell pretzels and beer on the sidewalk, and you can play the guitar for tourists.”  
     Marsha laughs and says, “There you go dreaming again. I’ve done lost the finger calluses for strumming those strings, ain’t played one since high school.”
     “Well use a pick darling and it will come back to you. It is just like riding a bike,” I say.
     “We’d end up panhandling,” she replies.  
     He replies, “My grandpa sold cigars by the roadside in Natchez during the depression. Being a street vendor runs in the blood in my family. You’re from Mississippi so singing the blues runs in your blood.”  
     Marsha says, “Honey you couldn’t sell a bag of potato chips for the life of you. But if you want you can set up a booth at the flea market and sell my macramé. That is more our style.”  
     I then ask her, “What gave you the notion to  
relocate us out here? I mean, don’t you miss the small town atmosphere back home? The only word I can use to describe this place is, exotic. But I tell you for a boy who grew up Baptist those topless bottomless strip joints on Bourbon Street sure take some getting used to.”  
     “Aw shucks honey. I guess I just wanted a change of scenery, but I figured it would do us both good. Natchez was for me, been there, done that. So I decided that I had to change not only my head but my culture too.”  
     I say, “Was our old clunker stuck in the mud?”  
     She says, “Aw no honey. I was head over heels proud of you for getting the balls to marry me. And when we became churchgoers again, we built our marriage on a rock instead of the shifting sands.”
     “What God joined together let no woman tear apart,” I say.  
     “John, it is interesting that you used the word woman instead of the conventional man in that Biblical phrase. I know the only person you worship more than me is Jesus. You’d never stray for some young tart like my friend Brandy with the tush whose pertness you’ve never discussed with me unless I bring it up first. But for my sake would you be kind enough to wear this here Chastity belt? I’ll bring the key with me to the Women’s Bible study group at the church tonight.”    
     “Honey, you know I’d never let my fingers do the walking without you. But if it lets you focus on the Lord’s word instead of worrying about me at home then I’m all for it.”    
     “Sweetheart this contraption ain’t hard to put on. But let me do the honors so I can see it is nice and secure. I bought this thing off the internet and the instructions were pretty clear even for me and you know I am not the sharpest tool on the block.”      Marsha slips my cock in the cage like a crazy man in a straightjacket. My wiener is nice and snug but the hard part is yet to come, pardon the pun. Her handling me makes my prick resist arrest by trying to rise but firmly held in place. My willy waggles in its jail like a prisoner trying to escape his cell.    
     “Darling of mine, when you men get worked up those thoughts come unbidden. This will keep you from letting those fantasies take control of your mind.”    
     “Please don’t stay for the coffee and donuts. Get home soon. My pecker is already feeling like an inmate in solitary confinement.”    
     “Think of it as God’s will. I am your maiden whose hand has exclusive rights to your penis.”    
     While Marsha is away my eyes are entertained by Bible lessons on TV taught by the reverend Throckmorton. Anything to take my mind off the fairer sex is welcome. Finally, I hear her open the door. “Marsha thank God you’re back. Please unhook this thing.”    
     Marsha smiles and cocks her hip. She puts her fingers to her mouth and says, “Oh my, it slipped my mind. The ladies at the class decided to put their husbands to the test. There is no use begging me for the key since I let Brandy keep it. But you could appeal to Brandy’s mercy if your modesty permits.”    
     “You know I love you, sweet darling. But there is only so much a man can withstand. If I go a whole night like this I may end up trying to pry this thing off.”    
     “Well, then hubby take this key to her door, give it to her, and see if she helps you.”    
     I hop in the car and head straight over to Brandy’s not caring a damn about my embarrassment or what she may say. I knock on the door like a lost soul seeking freedom. Brandy answers and says, “Oh my John, you came at last. Come on in and let me give you some fruitcake.” Her tongued words lick my libido with Pentecostal passion. She opens the door to her softly lit cushioned condo. I sit opposite her parted legs. She perches atop the seat of her chair in a yoga pose with her womanly heat barely concealed in a khaki shorts tease. She says, “Can I get you anything? Coke and rum?”    
     I reply, “I don’t drink.”    
     She throws back her head and laughs. “Hey, I’m not trying to ply you with liquor to have my way with you. I know how to mix one that’ll knock your socks off. Let me make one for you; just a teensy-weensy one. You won’t get drunk. I promise.”    
     I nod in acquiescence. “Well, just one.”    
     I sip her concoction until I say, “My cup is empty.”    
     “I’ll fill it for you. Come now, wouldn’t you like me to free your pecker from that awful cage? Your knight doesn’t deserve to be sissified by such a forced bow.”  
     My lips open and words spill. “Oh Brandy, I can’t do that to Marsha. It would break her heart. Just give me that there key and I’ll be on my way.”    
     Brandy tries to stop her laughter with her hand on her mouth. She bowls over with giggles. Finally, she reveals the secret. “John, the key your wife gave you to give me is the very same one for your cock cage. You see this was a test of your fidelity. Had you taken me up on my offer then you’d have broken your marriage covenant. You can relax now. You resisted the beast that I am.”    
     “I sure could use some of that fruitcake.”    
     “I’ll wrap some up for you to share with Marsha. The cake is spiked with rum, which relieves anxiety to help you get a monumental tallywhacker while easing back into monogamy.”