My ex and I had broken up 6 months earlier on good terms. He had always planned to retire at the age of 62 and buy a villa on a gay resort in Gran Canaria in the Canary Islands. We both knew this would be the case when we started seeing each other 18 months before, and although he had tried to persuade me to move abroad with him, I was still in my early 20s and I didn't want to leave my job and my family. We committed to staying in touch though, and immediately planned my first visit to stay with him for a week of sun, drinking and, most importantly, sex! And the visit was finally upon us.
He picked me up from the airport and we immediately slotted into a routine of lots of sex and sunbathing. He lived in a lovely villa on a men-only gay resort. It had a pool at the back, which was shared with all of the neighboring villas. As it wasn't peak holiday season, some of the villas were empty, but the ones that were occupied were, my ex mentioned, mostly lived in by other retired British gay men who lived there for at least most of the year. It was, apparently, a friendly and sociable community, and a number of neighbors made a point of coming to introduce themselves to me in the first couple of days. My ex joked that there were a couple of men there who might struggle to hide erections at having a young smooth lad on the resort parading around, as I did most of the time, in a rather skimpy thong style swim-trunk.
On one of the days, my ex, who was a tradesman, was called by someone he knew on the island who had an emergency and needed assistance. He apologized and asked whether I minded relaxing by the pool on my own for most of the day. I told him not to worry and that I would work on my tan while he was busy and look forward to a nice evening together.
After he left, I spent an hour or so lying by the pool in the morning. I popped inside to look for a book to read and when I left the bedroom two of the neighbors, John and Alf, were stood just inside the threshold of the villa, both grinning, wearing just their Speedos and flip flops. John was very tall and wiry, and as I was only 5 ft 5", he towered over me at around 6 ft 4". I estimated he was in his late 60s, maybe 70. Alf was maybe 5 ft 10", with a broad shoulders and a big belly covered in grey hair. I thought that he was maybe slightly younger than John.
Alf reached out of the door to knock on the window and, holding up his phone, said in a broad Scottish accent "Steve (my ex) texted me and asked us to check in on you to make sure you're OK and see whether you need anything."
I thanked them, but said that I was OK and there wasn't anything I could think of that I needed.
"What about someone to put sun cream on your back?" Asked John, picking up the tanning oil from the table next to him.
I smiled and said "OK, if you want."
I thought to myself that getting to rub oil on a young smooth lad might be the highlight of their week, so why not just go along with it.
John circled behind me and sprayed the oil all over my back and started rubbing it in. He was doing a very thorough job, as I had anticipated, when Alf suggested he had missed a spot. We all laughed, but Alf walked behind me next to where John was and joined in the rubbing. The rubbing moved down to my bum and the backs of my legs, each man paying particular attention to one side.
I let them have their fun and then said, "OK, I think I'm well and truly protected from the sun!"