When I was almost 19 I was in love with a man. A much older man. At 43 years old, he could’ve been my father, but he didn’t at all look his age. I don’t know how he managed to stay so frozen in time, but his smooth, porcelain skin didn’t appear to be a day over 30. A few of my friends had raised their eyebrows at my latest infatuation, not because of the age, but because he wasn’t “conventionally” attractive. He was very...