Obsessed with Kevin
by Pan
“Hey,” Laura-Jean said to the group. “Is anyone else, like, obsessed with Kevin?”
I glanced around nervously, but—to my relief—I wasn’t alone. There were five of us laying around the pool, and four of us immediately, loudly began to agree with Laura-Jean.
“Totally!”
“Oh my god, yes!”
“I had thought it was just me!” I said, overjoyed to learn that everyone else felt the same way as I did.
We called ourselves the First Wives Club. It was a joke; yes, we were all our husbands’ first wives, but—unlike in the film—none of us were divorced. The joke had received mixed results from the husbands; mine found it as funny as I did, but Tammy’s husband hadn’t seen the humor in it.
Although honestly, if any of us were likely to get divorced, it was probably Tammy.
“He’s so cute,” Geraldine said, and I nodded in agreement so hard, I thought my head was going to fall off.
The five of us actually knew each other through our husbands—they’d all gone to college together, and apparently had similar enough tastes that the First Wives Club all got along really well. Though we weren’t that similar in temperament or looks, we had the same sense of humor and had quickly formed a small pack of friends.
Originally it had only been while our husbands were having a poker night or watching The Game or whatever, but now we hung out as much as they did, if not more.
That’s how we knew Kevin.
Kevin was the only one of the college buddies who’d never gotten married. He’d made his opinions on the entire institution of holy matrimony pretty clear…although, to his credit, had never brought it up in any of his best man toasts.
(As the least likely to be wed, he was often best man. No sense of obligation that he’d have to pick you back, y’know? In a tight-knit group like our husbands’, small stuff like that could quickly get political.)
According to Kevin, marriage was a waste of time, monogamy was an illusion, and within a year we’d all be divorced or cheating.
I’d been completely shocked the first time he’d said it, but my husband had grabbed my arm and I’d held my tongue. “That’s just Kevin,” he’d explained to me on the drive home from the restaurant. “He says bullshit like that to get a reaction; just don’t give it to him.”
“I’d like to give it to him,” I’d muttered, but…well, my husband been right. Once you ignored Kevin’s provocative statements, he stopped making them quite as often, and you could get to know the real him.
It hadn’t taken me long to decide that while he wasn’t my favorite of the group, he also wasn’t the worst. He was just…Kevin, y’know?
Over the last few months, he’d started visiting a lot. Just dropping in for no reason, shooting the shit with me and my husband. He’d even come around once or twice to find that my spouse was out. We’d ended up hanging on one-on-one, having a coffee and chatting.
That was when it had started. I’d realized Kevin was…interesting.
No, more than interesting.
Kevin was sort of fascinating.
I honestly don’t know how I hadn’t noticed it before. He’d lived such an interesting life. Sure, on the surface it seemed identical to the rest of the group (childhood, college, white collar job) but…it’s hard to say, maybe it was the way he told it.
Before long, I was hanging on his every word. Whenever he stopped by, I’d drop whatever I was doing so I could spend as much time with him as possible.
And whenever he wasn’t around, I was thinking about him.
I’d been kind of worried, at first. It felt sort of like…you know that feeling you get when you first start dating someone? It was like that. Infatuation, I guess. Limerence.
I couldn’t work out what was happening, but the fact that the rest of the Club felt the same way was incredibly reassuring.
It wasn’t just me. Kevin really was that interesting.
I think I’m underplaying it a little, to be honest. He wasn’t just interesting, or fascinating. He was completely absorbing. And not just his tales, or the conversations we had. Just…everything about him.
When he was around, I lost focus just watching him move. Like, one day I glanced down at one of his hands, and…whoof. I could’ve spent hours just looking at one hand. At just one finger. It was so supple, so strong. Flexible. It had so much…character. Personality.
Yeah. I was more than a little obsessed.
It’s not like I worshipped him, or thought everything he said was right. Like I said, he’d given our marriage—all our marriages—a year, but me and my husband were six years in and going strong.
Kevin wasn’t infallible or magic. He was just…fascinating.
I was incredibly attracted to him. And I mean that in almost all senses of the word. At first it was just a fascination, like I thought his ideas were really interesting. No, more than that: I thought he was really interesting. His backstory, his personality, his…everything.
But you spend enough time staring at someone, thinking about them, I dunno; maybe it’s human nature. I started wondering about more than just his thoughts and his story.
I started picturing his body.
I started imagining what he was like in bed.
I started musing what it would be like to be in bed with him.
I should be clear, my marriage is rock-solid. Despite Kevin’s predictions, almost everything from the wedding onwards had been smooth sailing. My husband and I had our fair share of fights, but we always made up afterwards, and our sex life was amazing.
Until I started fantasizing about Kevin’s sex life.
He’d be a powerful lover, I decided. He’d have sex like he did everything else in life: he’d be decisive, unpredictable, strong.
Fascinating.
I hadn’t even noticed one of my hands creeping between my legs as I pictured it. As I envisioned Kevin having sex with one of his various one-night stands.
At first I was shocked to find myself masturbating, thinking about one of my husband’s best friends. But then I figured…well, what was the harm? It wasn’t like my husband never jerked off thinking about Laura-Jean, or Renisha. He’d never admit it, but a wife can tell these things.
Before long, I was stroking my clit, picturing Kevin above me, looking down at me with those green eyes I’d spent so many hours staring into as we chatted. Those green eyes that I could feel on my body whenever he came by.
It was Kevin’s green eyes that filled my mind as I came.
After that first time, I felt a little guilty, but it wasn’t long before it happened again. And again, and again, and again. Pretty much any time I was alone, I’d rub one out, picturing Kevin’s eyes, his body, his dick.
God how I wanted to see his dick. Taste it. Take it deep inside me.
I even started thinking about it when my husband and I were in bed. It wasn’t fair to him, I knew that, but I…I couldn’t help it. For some reason, I was completely besotted by his friend. My husband would be pounding away at me, using moves that I’d always loved, but the only way I could get any enjoyment out of the situation was by pretending he was Kevin, that I was being taken by the man who’d once told my husband “the only reason to marry a bitch is if she’s preggers or her family is rich.”
(My family isn’t rich, and my husband and I had agreed we didn’t want kids.)
To my great relief, I don’t think my husband knew what was happening—I didn’t, like, scream out Kevin’s name during sex or anything like that—but I always felt so guilty afterwards. I stopped initiating sex entirely, and I think my husband noticed, because he slowed down as well.
Before I knew what had happened, we were in the longest dry spell of our marriage. Two and a half months went by without us making love; the previous record had been two weeks, and that had been because I’d gone home for Christmas and gotten unexpectedly snowed in.
Despite the fact that we weren’t having sex, I was getting off more than ever. Four, five, six times a day, I was rubbing my clit and silently gasping Kevin’s name, grabbing my tits crudely, as I knew he would, and pretending he was there, taking me for his pleasure.
So, yeah. You can see why I was relieved that the other women in my friendship circle felt the same way.
“Cute?” Jenna said with a scoff. “Honey, he’s more than cute. He’s sex on legs.”
“Mmm,” I said, surprising all of us with a lusty moan. “I fantasize about him all the time.”
“Oh my god,” Olive said, tears springing to her eyes. “Me too! I’m so glad we all feel the same way.”
“I love the way he checks me out,” Renisha said proudly, and she was met with a cacophany of agreement. “Like I’m a piece of meat.”
“I’d like to be his piece of meat,” Laura-Jean purred, and I could feel myself getting wet at the idea. Kevin using her as a piece of meat, fucking my married friend without her husband having any idea.
“That’s so hot,” Olive gasped, saying what we were all thinking. I glanced down, and noticed that she’d moved one hand between her legs. The First Wives Club were all decked out in bikinis (except Jenna, who was wearing a onepiece; ever since having a kid, she’d gotten a little shy about her body, even when it was just us girls) and though none of us had gone in the pool, it was immediately obvious that all five of us were wet.
“I want him to fuck me.” I again shocked myself with how forward I was being. Four sets of eyebrows went up at my declaration, but I didn’t let it slow me down. These were thoughts I’d been having for months now, and now that I knew I was surrounded by likeminded friends, I felt no shame. “I don’t even care that I’m married. I’d throw it all away just to feel Kevin inside me, just once.”
I was met not with judgment or disapproval, but with fervent nods and a long “Yessss” from Olive.
“I’ve been so tempted to make a move,” Laura-Jean admitted. “He’s so fucking sexy.”
She was stroking herself as well, her hand inside her bikini bottoms. When I looked down, I was surprised to notice that my hand was gently touching my clit, just as it did so many times each day, thinking about Kevin. Wanting him.
“You should do it,” I urged, and the other girls agreed. “You’re so gorgeous.”
“You’re the hot one,” Jenna said lustily. Her eyes were travelling up and down my bikini-clad body, and I found myself thrusting my chest out for her approval. “I bet he’d fuck you in a heartbeat. I know I would.”
My eyes widened at Jenna’s confession, and then further as the other girls joined in.
“I’m crazy about your lips,” Laura-Jean said.
“It’s the ass, for me,” Renisha said.
“I just want to taste you,” Olive whispered. She was sitting beside me, and as I turned to non-verbally thank her for the compliment, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine.
“Oh, god, that’s so sexy,” Jenna groaned. “Laura-Jean, get over here before I lose control.“
My eyes were closed as my hands began roaming over Olive’s body, feeling her soft skin, savoring the taste of her. I could hear the soft pants of my friends, suggesting they too were enjoying each other’s bodies.
Even as I kissed Olive, even as I felt her hands undo my bikini top and allow my small breasts to fall free, my mind was focused on one thing:
Kevin.
He’d find it so hot, seeing us kiss. He’d made some joke at Jenna’s wedding (she was the newest of the wives) about watching all the bridesmaids fuck. We’d laughed, but I think we’d all known that the joke had come from a place of truth.
He really did want to see us fuck.
And now we were. If only he were here to watch.
The thought made me groan with arousal, a sound immediately echoed by the other girls, and I could tell they were all thinking it too.
What if Kevin were here, watching us? Watching us make love?
We were all so sexy. Our husbands had similar taste; they’d all picked such hot, fuckable wives.
I wanted to fuck all of them.
I wanted to fuck all of them, and I wanted Kevin to watch.
But even if he wasn’t here…
I opened my eyes, and practically ripped Olive’s top off. Behind her, Jenna and Laura-Jean were also getting naked while Renisha watched, languidly stroking herself. We were at Laura-Jean’s house, and her husband wouldn’t be back for hours…though even if he’d been due back in an instant, I don’t know if that would have stopped us.
My mouth moved to Olive’s tits. They were so much larger than mine, each only slightly smaller than my head. I sucked and chewed on one nipple, before shifting my attention to the other, then pulled back, spread my legs, and pushed my friend’s head between them.
Renisha had stopped watching, and joined the two women, moving her head between them, kissing one and then the other. As Olive’s hand urgently pushed my bikini bottom to the side, I could feel her tongue—the same tongue that had just been in my mouth, the only female tongue I’d had any kind of sexual contact with—moving up and down my engorged labia.
Kevin would love this, I told myself.
“Kevin would love this,” Renisha said in hushed awe, as she moved from the other couple to where I was sitting.
“Mm-hmm,” I agreed, and my face split into a smile as she leaned forward to kiss me, reaching down to cup my breasts as Olive’s tongue found my clit.
The next two hours passed in a blur as the five of us fucked and sucked and kissed and tongued each other to climax after climax after climax. I lost track of who made me cum the most, whose pussies I sucked and whose assholes I fingered. It was just one long sequence of sexually-charged energy, as the First Wives Club appreciated each others’ bodies, all the while knowing why we were doing it.
For Kevin. It was all for Kevin.