Edgar Wilson Moves On

Edgar Wilson had the biggest cock anyone had ever seen. He used to walk around town with it tucked under his arm. Every now and then, it would squawk and fight to break free. When that happened, Edgar would give it a good thump on the head, say “Quiet now” and the cock would calm itself, settling back against Edgar’s bulging bicep.

Women would titter behind their hands as they watched Edgar stroll down Main Street. Men would admire the sheer size of the cock. Sometimes outsiders would visit the town, see Edgar walking around with his cock, and they would want to pet it. To them, Edgar would say, “No, you don’t want to do that. He’s a feisty cock.”

This went on for about seven years before the cock up and died. People began to wonder if Edgar would ever replace the cock, but he never did. He would walk down Main Street as he had before, but he no longer walked with his head high or his shoulders erect.

After the loss of his cock, he was a different man. There was a noticeable slump in his posture and his eyes were always fixed on the ground. Sometimes he would stop into the local café, have a cup of coffee and a slice of chocolate cake, but most days he just walked around town, dejected, never speaking to anyone.

Edgar had a farm on the outskirts of town. His yard was full of chickens, and there was even a cock, but it was nothing like the cock Edgar used to walk around with. This cock was small and timid, running whenever it caught sight of Edgar. It did stay busy in the hen house, doing its job with gusto, keeping Edgar rich with eggs. He also owned three pigs, each weighing well over three hundred pounds.

While most farmers wouldn’t hesitate to slaughter their livestock for food, Edgar had a soft spot for the animals, and mostly saw them as pets. When the nights got long and lonely, as they often did on his small farm, Edgar would wander over to the pigpen and carry on long conversations with the animals, telling them his dreams, his hopes, his regrets, things he would never share with another person.

One day, Edgar was walking through town when he was stopped in the middle of Main Street by a rather large woman in a bright red dress. He had never seen her around town before, but she seemed to know all about him and his cock. He thought perhaps that she had arrived after the death of his cock, and he hadn’t taken notice of her because he had been so overwhelmed with grief.

“One must move on,” she said. “I have had four husbands, each one now moldering in the grave. I took my period of mourning, cried my tears, but now I walk tall and proud. Some may wonder how this is possible given my loss. The answer is simple, Mr. Wilson. My husbands would have wanted me to live, to get on with my life. Your cock would have wanted the same for you.”

With that, she turned on her heel and shuffled down the street. Edgar stood there for a moment, thinking about her words. His stomach started to rumble, so he walked into the local café, ordering a cup of coffee and a slice of chocolate cake. As he took the final bite of his chocolate cake, he happened to glance up at the message board behind the counter. A sign there read: Kittens. Free to a Good Home.

Edgar Wilson had the fattest pussy anyone had ever seen. He would walk around town with it cradled in his arms. Every now and then it would mewl and try to jump away. When that happened, he would give it a tap, say “Ease yourself” and the pussy would quiet, settling back against his wide, heavily muscled chest.

Women smiled at the gentle way Edgar handled his pussy. Men wondered if he had the same level of fondness for his pussy that he had for his cock. Sometimes outsiders would visit the town, see Edgar with his pussy, and want to pet it. To them, Edgar would say, “Aye, she likes to be stroked. She’s a gentle pussy.”