So…. Rufus Sewell tells us that his effortlessly stylish and oh so suave Italian detective, Aurelio Zen, is "just a bloke". Just a middle aged, soon to be divorced bloke, stuck in a frustrating job and living with his mother.
And so it seemed to me that when an ordinary bloke like Aurelio gets hit upon by three beautiful women, it would get his mind working overtime. And I knew exactly what he would be thinking about.
So here is the first chapter in the (I'm fairly sure, although happy to be corrected) inaugural Zen fan fiction about how an ordinary bloke deals with a fairly extraordinary opportunity.
Here's hoping that these initial three episodes of Zen are just the first of many, and this story is just the first in a long line of fan fiction by all you wonderfully creative writers out there!
...
Aurelio Zen loved women.
As he lay in the ornately carved bed of his childhood, barely long enough now for his lanky six foot frame, he stared at the high ceiling of his bedroom in his mother's apartment and reflected back over the events of the past several days, and the three very beautiful women who had propositioned him.
As he watched the early morning light dancing over the peeling paint of the watermarked ceiling, he raised his eyebrows and shook his head slightly to himself. Having three women make sexual overtures to him in one day certainly wasn't a circumstance that arose very often, ever before in fact, but he wasn't about to complain.
"Arianna, Nadia, Tania." He spoke their names out loud in alphabetical order so not as to imply favouritism towards any of them.
"Tania, Nadia, Arianna." Reverse alphabetical order.
"Nadia, Arianna, Tania." How many more permutations of their names were there? He knew there was a mathematical formula to calculate possible permutations but… oh fuck it. Who cared? Three women. Three sexual advances. Who would have thought?
He might be fooling himself, might just be feeling the need to have his ego stroked, but he was certain that Arianna, the doe eyed "courtesan", as she had called herself, had only stripped her clothes off in front of him, ever so seductively, in order to tempt him into bed. And it wasn't that he wasn't tempted, wasn't happy to play along. Feigning embarrassment succeeded in prolonging the alluring floorshow for three changes of clothes, complete with five zipper opportunities.
He smirked. Oh yes, that was definitely his favourite part. Observing her fine, half naked form from across the room was more than pleasant, especially as she shimmied her tight little body into dress after dress. But standing behind her, pulling her zipper slowly up the length of her beautifully curved back, inhaling her alluring scent and picturing himself running his tongue seductively up the centre of her neck, were things that a humble detective's dreams were made of.
Perhaps it was just the idea of a courtesan that appealed to his Venetian soul.
There was the question of course, of whether she was tempting him into bed with the expectation of payment, but he hoped that after their shared experiences of the past few days, the hours that they'd spent talking in her apartment after Ruspanti's lawyer leaped to his death from her balcony, and the look she gave him on the bridge as they met to scatter Ruspanti's ashes into the Tiber, that he could secure her favours on personal rather than business grounds.
Of course he could be wrong. He had no doubt that he wasn't the first slightly hopeless, middle aged man stumbling out of a broken marriage to be captivated by her charms, and he was fairly sure that he wouldn't be the last. But one valuable skill that he had developed in his 20 odd years as a police officer was a usually reliable intuition, and the ability to read people. And his intuition was telling him that she was open to more than just a friendly relationship.
Unfortunately, he had a sinking suspicion that Arianna would be more valuable to him as a helpful source of information than as a lover. That he was better off cultivating a friendship with her rather than a sexual relationship. The things she must know about the influential men she had "entertained" would likely be very valuable, and throwing his own cock into the mix would only complicate things.
That didn't stop him wanting her though; wanting her tight little body and her gorgeous bee stung lips. And he had been known to change his mind before.
The prosecutor Nadia Pirlo was a whole different kettle of fish. There was no doubt as to her carnal intentions towards him. No doubt whatsoever. But he knew better than to get involved with a powerful woman like that. End up on the wrong side of her and the likelihood of getting one of his cases successfully prosecuted ever again would be virtually nil.
But did he want her? Good god. Elegant, blonde, powerful, sexy. The quintessential woman of his youthful fantasies. The quintessential woman he had never before managed to snare. Offering herself to him on a plate.
He wondered what she would be like in bed. In the courtroom she was a take no hostages ball breaker, and he couldn't help but imagine that she would be the same behind closed doors. A smile crept across his face as an image of her as a dominatrix entered his mind. Stilettos, fishnets, suspenders, a whip. Her blonde hair pulled back into a severe bun. Pierced nipples. She would be bound to have pierced nipples, and a tattoo of a striking scorpion on her inner thigh. Which he would no doubt find when she ordered him to go down on her.
The thought of tasting the sweet prize that Nadia Pirlo possessed between her long elegant thighs sent a shiver of anticipation up his spine. Perhaps it wouldn't be such a disaster to develop his relationship with her further.
He didn't subscribe to the culture of underhand dealings and corruption that was inherent in the Italian judicial system. But he had no problem with turning a blind eye, as long as it meant that the guilty were suitably punished and the honest received justice. And he knew full well the valuable assistance that friends in high places could provide, when he needed a hand to ensure that justice was achieved.
If Ms Pirlo was so keen to make him a conquest, perhaps he should go along for the ride. It was certain to be an enjoyable one. And he hated to disappoint a beautiful woman. Especially one with a whip.
Although… he had of course already told her that he was involved with someone else. Not that he exactly was… yet. But he wanted to be. Oh how he wanted to be.
He knew full well that Tania Moretti had him exactly where she wanted him. In fact, he watched with some frustration as she manoeuvred him into position like a toy soldier. But he couldn't help himself. She drove him fucking crazy.
He knew it was a perverse part of his nature to not be satisfied with the easy way out, to most want those things that were out of his reach, to not ever be truly satisfied with second place. He didn't need to be loud or cocky or obvious about it, he just needed to win for his own self-satisfaction. And so he couldn't be sure whether his desire to possess Tania Moretti stemmed from love, lust, or pure unadulterated spite.
He was aware that his desire for her grew exponentially with each mention of her name that oozed from Vincenzo Fabri's slimy mouth. The more sure that smug prick was of being the one to bed her first, the more determined Aurelio became to beat him to her.
She was stunning; there was no doubt about it. He was mesmerised by her face, her exquisite mouth, mesmerised by her body. Some days, as he sat at his desk trawling through mountains of paperwork, watching her parade her assets around the office, he fantasised about seeing her dressing in the mornings. To watch her pour that womanly ass into one of those tight skirts she wore purposely to accentuate her hourglass figure. To watch her drape her unquestionably beautiful breasts with the flimsy piece of lace that apparently constituted her bra. A bra that seemed to offer very little in the way of support, but plenty in the way of suggestion, as it languished lazily underneath her sensual satin blouse.
Other times he fantasised about removing those very same garments. In the office. After dark. Fantasised about having sex with her on Fabri's desk, leaving behind enough clues to enable the cocky bastard to work out for himself what had gone on.
But of course, now he didn't need to do that.
With no effort on his part whatsoever, he had been handed the perfect opportunity to rub Fabri's nose in it. All he needed was to provide Tania with the keys to the apartment that she so desired, seduce her in it, and let the reliable rumblings of office gossip do the rest.
He would not only bed her, he would keep her as his mistress. And that would make Fabri sick.
But, he sighed to himself; he still had to decide if that was the path he wanted to go down. If Tania was the woman he wanted. Or if Arianna was the women he wanted. Or perhaps in his heart of hearts it was the dangerous Nadia Pirlo.
Three separate women, three separate challenges, three separate desires. And he was yet to be entirely certain, which of them he desired the most.
But one thing was for certain. Between the three of them, they had his blood pounding, his stomach churning and his cock twitching. His balls were getting more uncomfortable with each passing day and he didn't think he could continue for much longer without turning one of these propositions into reality.
It had been a while since he'd had some good sex. Well, any sex in fact. Far too long.
He rubbed his face roughly with both hands, then stretched out his arms above his head, and his legs as far as he could, until his feet were hanging over the end of the bed. He yawned, feeling every muscle in his body lengthen and stretch. Feeling other parts of him lengthen and stretch… and harden. He sighed.
Slowly, he reached his left arm across the bed, felt the coolness of the sheets under the palm of his outstretched hand. Although he and Mara had been separated for some months now, and this wasn't even their marriage bed, he still slept only on one side of it. Hadn't yet fallen back into the single man's habit of sleeping in the middle, spreading out.
There was no reason why he couldn't of course, he was perfectly entitled to spread himself out as much as he liked. It wasn't as though he had any desire to start living with Mara again. But… well…. he liked being married, he liked the sense of togetherness, of having someone other than Mamma to share his day with, he liked sleeping with someone else. He missed not having a soft, warm female body in his bed. And his taking up the space where one should be, seemed to be an acceptance of his looming single status.
He wasn't prone to nostalgia or melancholy, particularly where his wife was concerned. Rather his soon to be ex-wife, he reminded himself. Their terse pre-dinner exchange of a few evenings ago only served to reinforce his growing dislike of her, but this was one time of the day when he missed her.
He closed his eyes to block out the depressing view of his mother's ceiling, and let his mind wander fondly back to mornings in his old apartment, the apartment that he and Mara had shared for almost ten years. Their home had been a restful place; cool and modern and white, and he loved to wake early with the morning sun creeping under the blinds. He would always wake first and would enjoy a few minutes of contemplation, lying on his back, listening to the rhythm of her soft breath. She would stir not long after him as though she knew he was waiting for her, and in that groggy moment between sleep and consciousness, she would turn and move into him, her head on his chest, her arm across his stomach, her knee bent up over his hip. She would meld her body along the length of his, mould into him and sigh contentedly. It was their morning ritual.
Sometimes they would just lie like this, gently dozing, enjoying the warmth of each other's body until the alarm clock or the phone insisted they start the day.
But other days, most days, she would begin to gently stroke her fingers through the hairs on his bare chest, playing with his nipples, tickling his skin, before following the snail trail of hair down to his belly, and then lower, beneath the sheets. She would wrap her hand firmly around his eager to please morning erection, run her thumb over his sensitive head, and whisper what she wanted, her words arousing him with both their suggestion and the tickle of her breath in his ear.
Sometimes she wanted him to just slide on top of her, nudging her thighs apart with his leg and sinking into her; sometimes she wanted to spoon, pressing her backside into him so he could thrust into her from behind; sometimes she wanted him to take her wet and soapy up against the shower wall; other times watching each others faces in the bathroom mirror as he fucked her hard, bent over the sink.
But his favourite way to start the day was when she didn't whisper anything, but simply purred seductively in his ear before kissing and nibbling her way over his chest and down his belly. Taking every inch of him into her talented mouth and finishing him off, sucking him, stroking him, licking him clean, and not expecting him to do anything more than just lay there and groan his appreciation.
And appreciate it he did. He needed nothing more after that than one of her exceptional espressos to get him striding out the door to work with a self satisfied smile on his face.
You wouldn't guess it by looking at her, but fantastic fellatio and exceptional espressos were Mara's forte. It was just a shame that fidelity wasn't. He had eventually come to realise after years of whisper and innuendo amongst certain of his so called friends, that his wife was more than happy to share her exceptional talents with any man it seemed, who appeared slightly interested. And not just her coffee making talents.
"Uuuuugh," he groaned as he adjusted his now rather uncomfortably erect cock in his pyjamas. Celibacy had never been a natural state for him and all this thinking about beautiful women and blowjobs was doing nothing to help him cope with it. Still, he was reasonably hopeful that one way or another, by the end of the day his present state of frustration was going to be a distant memory.
He reached over to the bedside table and picked up the envelope that lay there, smiling as he tipped the set of house keys out onto his chest. They had been delivered by an anonymous motorcycle courier in the unmarked envelope late the previous night, but Zen knew that they were from Amedeo Colonna. His reward for "fabricating" an already in existence suicide note. Genius.
He couldn't help but laugh out loud. For the life of him he couldn't remember ever being presented with such a set of circumstances as this. A luxury, rent free apartment in central Rome and his choice of three stunning women to bed there.
Of course, he'd acquired the apartment specifically for Tania. And he wouldn't feel right not letting her live there. She was clearly very unhappy in her marriage and he wanted to help her out of it if he could. Even just as a friend, he hated to see her miserable. He knew what it was like to spend every day in a destructive relationship and he wouldn't wish that upon his worst enemy, let alone a woman he had very fond feelings for.
But of course, there was no reason why he couldn't wait until tomorrow to give her the keys. And in the meantime he had a whole day and a whole night to put the apartment to good use.
In one way or another….
To be continued.