Lars

And so it turned out. I'd spent the whole of the next day thinking about meeting up with Lars and that hadn't helped my concentration one little bit. Given how much the company were paying for this training course I felt a little guilty. However, I couldn't get over how much I was looking forward to it. I wondered what he had planned for us. Indeed, I wondered whether he had anything planned for us beyond swimming.

I need not have worried. Of course, when we met up at the pool, we started by swimming ten lengths. I put my heart and soul into it but there was no way I was going to be as fast as him. However, when I reached the end and surfaced, panting and exhausted, he gave me a great big beaming smile so I know he appreciated the effort.

In the shower, afterwards, he was, once again, completely casual as if two men showering naked together was completely normal, which, of course, in a way it is. Even so, when he offered to scrub my back for me, I declined.

After we had got dressed he told me that he had been recommended a gastropub out on the other side of Windsor. I normally find those places rather pretentious but, if that was where he wanted to go, then I had no complaints. When we got there it was OK but nothing special and, seeing as we were paying double what we had paid the night before, we weren't getting double the service, or anything like double the quality. In fact we both agreed that the Indian had been better value all round. Lars, of course, flatly refused my offer to pick up the tab.

The pub was crowded and not really the place to sit and chat and, because of this, we were out quite early and it was still light.

"It's far too nice to be sitting inside. Come, I know just the place," Lars said, leading me to his car. We drove a short distance and ended up in Windsor Great Park. Lars parked the car and we jumped out.

"Let's walk off all that good food," Lars said as he strode off. I had to walk quite fast to keep up. Almost immediately he was leading us off the beaten track and into the wooded areas. As we got further and further from the paths he reached out and took my hand and that seemed perfectly normal. We it felt like we had been walking forever before he found a nice quiet spot where the turf underfoot was soft and springy.

"This will do," he announced and he pulled me towards him, half tripped me, caught me as I fell and then lowered me to the ground. It was as neat as move as you could imagine. One moment we're walking hand in hand, the next I'm lying on my back on the ground with him perched over me. He placed his hands on my shoulders, pinning me down.

"So, my little fawn, are you going to try and run away this time?" he asked but, before I could answer, he kissed me, hard, on the mouth.

My whole body thrilled. A little prissy voice within me was trying to cry out 'No! No!' but a far more animal response was drowning it out with 'Yes, oh, yes!' I suppose I could have fought it but it just seemed so much easier to simply surrender. Whether by design or accident his knee was between my legs and, when he had bent down to kiss me the weight of his thigh pressed down on my prick. I felt his fingers gripping into my shoulders, tight enough to bruise but I wanted to feel them tighter.

After a while he came up for air and, for heartbeat or two, just stared down at me.

"You are not to say a word, do you understand?" his voice commanded. I, in a mixture of fear and exhilaration, nodded in response. He smiled back at me and his eyes remained locked onto mine.

While still pinning me down with his left hand, he reached for the collar of my shirt with his right. I thought he was going to unbutton it, and, in a way, that is what he did. He looked at me with a great big smile and, with one vicious yank, ripped the front open wide. Whether it was buttons or cloth that gave way was immaterial, my chest was bare to the world. I gave a gasp but he just shook his head and shushed me quiet.

Now that my shirt was out of the way, and, to make really sure that it was out of the way, he pushed the material as far back as it would go, he ran his hand over my body, almost as if he was checking for flaws. I just lay there. I didn't know what to do so I did nothing. The touch of his hand on my naked chest was one of the most exciting things that had ever happened to me and, in reaction, my prick was threatening to burst from my trousers. He wasn't gentle but, heaven knows, the last thing I wanted was for him to be gentle. His fingers sought out my nipple and pinched. I had to bite my lip to stop myself from crying out.

He shifted slightly and now his groin was resting against mine. Even through the layers of cloth I could feel that he was hard but then, so was I, rock hard. He moved again and, almost as if by accident, his prick was rubbing against mine. I would never have dreamed in a million years that anything like this could be so exciting but that's just what it was. I had never, ever, felt anything so incredibly sexy.

Lars leaned forward again and I thought he was going to kiss me again but, instead, he reached out with his tongue and, like some sort of cat, licked my eyebrows. This very animal action had a deep tenderness which contrasted starkly with the stark brutality of how he had ripped my shirt. It was as if he were marking me, marking his property. His tongue moved on to my lips but not to kiss. Rather he prised them open and, taking my bottom lip between his teeth, he bit just up to the point of pain.

Meanwhile his hand had made its way to the waistband of my chinos. I wondered if he was going to rip them open as well but, rather, his fingers were fiddling with the button, undoing it. The clash between my apprehension and anticipation was building to a climax. Was he really going to touch me there? Well, of course he was. Was he going to be rough or gentle? Which did I want? Whichever, I knew beyond doubt that I wanted him to touch my prick. Please touch my prick, please, please.... He undid the button at the waistband of my trousers, he undid my fly, his fingers slipped under the elasticated waist of my boxers and....

"What on earth do you think you two are doing! This is a public park! How dare you!"

We both looked up and there was an elderly woman walking one of those small yappy dogs. I just wished the ground would open up and swallow me whole. Lars, on the other hand, just gave her a volley of what I assume was Danish. Of course, I couldn't understand a word but, but, judging by the tone of his voice, it probably translated to something along the lines of 'fuck off, bitch'.

"Do you speak English?" the woman demanded. Lars just gave her another volley of Danish.

"You're not allowed to do this here," the woman continued, speaking slowly and clearly as if to a child. "Do. You. Understand?"

Lars waved his hand as if to dismiss her, as if he really couldn't be bothered.

"Really! Bloody foreigners! No morals! You're disgusting! Perverts the two of you!" the woman exclaimed. "I'm going to call the police."

And, with that, she stormed off.

As she left I sat up and looked around. What, a few moments ago, had been one of the most exciting things ever to happen to me now looked pretty sordid. We were in public, my trousers were open and Lars had his hand inside them. I'm not sure if the woman was actually going to call the police and, if she did, whether we could get arrested for gross indecency or something like that but I certainly didn't want to find out. What's more, any sexiness had completely gone. My erection had evaporated like spit on a hot plate and the shrivelled peanut that was now my prick seemed to be trying to hide its face from this woman.

"I'm sorry, I can't do this," I mumbled.

"No, I too think it would be wise to move on," Lars agreed somewhat bitterly.

"Please, can we just go back to the hotel," I said. "This shirt, it's ruined and I just want to get out of it."

"OK", Lars agreed and he rolled off me and got to his feet.

When I stood up the extent of the damage to my shirt became clear. Mostly it was a matter of the missing buttons but the material was ripped, one shoulder was wide open and it hung from me like a dish-rag. There was no way it was going to be repairable. I tried to pull it together in the front but to no avail and it was so torn I wasn't sure which was worse, wearing it or going topless. In the end I left it on. We made our way back to the car in silence; neither of us sure what to say to the other.

In the car it wasn't too bad but, when we got back to the hotel I had to go through the embarrassment of the walk through the lobby. I had hoped it would be quiet but there was a party of American tourists booking in and they were milling about everywhere. As we went past I felt as if each and every one of them was staring at me. Lars tried to walk with me but, as far as I was concerned, that just made it more obvious. I might as well have had a big neon sign over my head saying 'pervert'. I felt sick to my stomach and just wanted this nightmare to be over.

And then, when we got to the lift, one of the American families that had just booked in was waiting there and, when the lift arrived, there was no other option than to get in with them. The mother was giving me the most awful stares and, as far as the two teenage kids were concerned, I was more interesting than their proposed visit to Legoland the next day. I just hung my head in shame and stood as far away from Lars as possible. When we got to the fourth floor I couldn't even bring myself to acknowledge his presence and just left, wishing to get to my room as quick as I could.

By the time I got there I was all but crying. The evening had started out so well; I'd been having a great time. I really liked Lars, he was so easy to be with and he made me feel so special and then, all of a sudden, it had all gone wrong and I had been caught heavy petting with another guy in the middle of Windsor Great Park. I didn't actually have my prick out but I might as well have done. My cheeks burnt with embarrassment at the memory. I'll never forget how it felt when that woman had arrived! Oh my god, whatever could she have thought. It had all been Lars' fault. It was Lars who had led me along, Lars who had forced me to the ground, Lars who had started it all. One minute Lars had been the perfect gentleman, one minute you couldn't ask for more and then, the next minute, he's ripping off my shirt and sticking his hand down my trousers.

But, for all my embarrassment, that's where it all got complicated. For, however much I would like to blame everything on Lars, I had to accept that I hadn't exactly said 'no' at any point. Even when he had bundled me to the ground, pinning me down, I hadn't really fought him off. And, when his hand had slipped beneath the waistband of my boxers, stopping him had been the last thing on my mind.

What is more, even with the embarrassment it had led to, I had to know what Lars was about to do. Oh, I'm not that innocent that I didn't know in general terms but, right there, right then, how far was he proposing to go? There was no doubt his hand was heading for my prick but what then? Was touching my prick all that he was going to do? Would it be all that I would want him to do? Where was this leading? What more did he want from me? I couldn't help but feel that, crushed beneath him like that, I would have given him anything he wanted, anything at all.

And if I was prepared to surrender, what did that make me? Was I then a fag, a poof, a homo, a fairy, a bender, an arse bandit, a fudge packer, an.... Oh, the list is endless and, for all that we live in an enlightened time, there's still all the nasty names we learn at school. Queer bashing may have become socially unacceptable but that doesn't mean it doesn't happen.

Enough, enough, my head was hurting. I turned on the telly and, because there was fuck all else to watch, ended up falling asleep to Big Brother.

I went through the next day in a haze. I hadn't slept well and I couldn't stop wondering whether I was going to see Lars or not and, if I did, what was going to happen between us. We'd swapped mobile numbers but he hadn't called. I assumed, as with the Speedos, he would contact my hotel room. When I got back from the course I went straight back to my room expecting to find the message light flashing on my phone. I opened the door and went over to find... nothing. I was gutted. There were no messages. None at all. I even phoned down to reception to check. No, there were definitely no messages for a Mr Wilson, or my room.

Up until that point I hadn't realised just how much I had been looking forward to seeing Lars. Sure, I was going to give him a piece of my mind about what he had got me into but, if he wasn't there, then even that pleasure was denied me. I didn't know what to do with myself. I certainly wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of calling him on his mobile. Let him come to me! I switched on the telly but all the programs were kids stuff or games shows. I picked up the mag I had bought but its laddishness bored me and the 'D' list celeb posing in her undies didn't do anything for me at all. I thought about going swimming but, without Lars, there didn't seem to be much point. I ached to see him, I know it sounds daft, but I physically ached. In the end I kicked off my shoes and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling wondering whether I could even be bothered to go out to eat that evening. Maybe I'd just get room service and sit in front of the telly.

It was nigh on half past six and I was about as miserable as I could be when my mobile rang. I picked it up but didn't recognise the number that was calling.

"Yeah," I said when I pressed answer.

"Andy, this is Lars. I'm sorry it's so late. I meant to phone earlier but I couldn't get away. I think I owe you a shirt. Will you let me buy you one?"

"Lars!" my heart leapt. "I thought... I... err... shirt... yeah... I..."

"Shall we meet in the lobby in, say, five minutes?"

"I'll be there."

I jumped off the bed and put on my shoes. It was as if the sun had just come out on a cloudy day. I felt so much better. I wasn't waiting five minutes. I was ready, ready for anything. I grabbed my jacket and went down to the lobby. A few minutes later and Lars appeared and I couldn't help grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"Ah, my young friend, are you ready to go? I think Slough is not so good for shopping at this time of an evening so we must go into London. I am told that the Westfield at Shepherds Bush stays open until ten o'clock. Shall we go?"

We went down to his car and, as we walked through the car park he reached out and held my hand. Any thoughts about what was 'proper' or 'appropriate' went right out of the window. It felt good to be walking together like this. As ever, he was the perfect gentleman, opening the door of the car for me before going round and getting in himself. Then he lent across and patted me on the knee.

"Let's go and buy you a shirt."

"Yes, please."

And we were off.

The M4 is pretty crowded at that time of night but, even so, we were parking up in the Westfield within forty minutes. I was blown away. This was fabulous and, of course, with Lars, we weren't going for Marks and Spencer or anything like that. Only the best for him and, by extension, only the best for me. He took me into this top of the range place and it was a bit like that Pretty Woman film that I girl I knew once dragged me to. Only here I'm the Julia Roberts character. Wow, did they have some posh stuff or what! At first he has to choose exactly the right shirt and then, because my trousers don't match, they have to be replaced as well. And then there's a new pair of shoes, and, after that, another shirt because it looks just as good as the first one. I started to complain that he was spending far, far too much on me but he just brushed my objections aside and, to cut a long story short, before too long I was walking out looking like a million dollars and carrying two overladen bags of new clothes. I've no idea what the final price tag was but it must have been well into four figures

"You've been incredibly generous," I said as we walked back to the car.

"And why should I not want my boy to look his best. You look very smart, very sexy, and that pleases me. Now, I know just the place to dine." Putting his hand in the small of my back he guided me towards his car.

And then, at the restaurant, he was attentiveness itself. He even pulled back my chair for me as we sat down. As ever, he was so easy to talk to and the evening just flew by. By the time we were once again heading west on the M4 back towards Slough I was as relaxed as I had ever been.

"How about a nightcap?" Lars asked as we walked from his car into the hotel.

"That sounds great," I replied.

"The bar is a little too public. I've got a bottle in my room. Why don't you come on up and we'll share it," he suggested.

And so, this time, I didn't get out on the fourth floor but let myself be carried on up with him to the eighteenth. Still hand in hand, he led me to his room and let me in. Talk about how the other half live. His room was enormous and with fantastic views. It was split into three parts, a living area, a bedroom area and a kitchenette. And the bed, what a bed, it was big enough to hold a football match and still have room for a running track around the outside. I went over to the window and stood watching the lights of the planes approaching Heathrow. Even Slough looks good by night. Meanwhile he adjusted the lighting and put on some soft jazz before going to the kitchenette where he pulled out a bottle of champagne from the fridge. I vaguely heard the pop of the cork followed by the fizz of two glasses being filled. He brought them over and stood next to me, watching the lights of the city.

"Beautiful, aren't they," he said softly. He handed me my glass and then put his arm around my waist. It was the most natural thing in the world to lean into him, to feel his strength, to let him support me.

I know it was clichéd but, my god, it worked. The soft lights, the gentle music, the champagne, his arm around me, it all went together to make it simply perfect. For a while we just stood there, watching the world go by but then he turned me towards me and we kissed.

Softly, gently, tenderly. He held me like I was a precious flower and he was scared he would break me. His lips were soft on mine, every nerve end tingling. His tongue teased my lips apart and I opened up in response. I felt myself melt. My knees were unsteady. It must have been the champagne. I barely noticed as he took my glass from me and put his arms around me to stop me falling. I felt so safe, so secure, so treasured, so loved. Slowly and without, for one moment, breaking contact, he led me through to the bedroom and sat me down on the bit of the bed where the covers had been turned back. Now that he didn't need to support me his hands were free to undo the buttons on my shirt and, this time, he did it without tearing. It was soon open and he was easing it back and over my shoulders.

Wanting to help I reached for my trouser button but he moved my hand away.

"No, this is my treat," he whispered between kisses. For the second time I felt his fingers undoing my trousers but this time it wasn't the heat of animal passion but the natural conclusion of what had gone before. Then he stopped kissing me, pushed me gently backwards and removed my shoes, my socks, my trousers and my boxers. Naked, I felt like a child being put to bed by his parent. He slipped me under the covers and, once again kissed me.

"Wait there," he said as he stood back up again and, this time, it was his turn to disrobe. It wasn't as if I hadn't seen his body before, we'd showered together twice, after all, but in the soft light of his bedroom and with the romantic mood he really did look like a god. With me lying down and him standing up he seemed to tower over me. What's more, in the shower his penis had been flaccid. It certainly wasn't any more.